Black wizards - Douglas Niles [101]
"Hey! You men! You can't come in here!" he snapped, eyeing them suspiciously. "Only the Royal -"
"Silence!" growled the prince, stepping up to the arrogant little gamecock. Tristan's heart had leaped into his throat when the man accosted them, but he now swiftly decided to take the offensive.
"Who are you to speak thus to the captain of the Royal Inspection Corps? Answer me, man!"
"What Royal Inspection -"
"Are you deaf? I want your name, sir, and quickly!"
"B-but," the officer struggled to recover his composure.
"Never mind, fool! But have a care who you insult in the future! We are here to inspect the king's kitchen. There have been some serious complaints lately. Where is it? Be quick, man!"
"There," exclaimed the officer, pointing through an archway into an adjacent courtyard. "Through the door on the left!" The fellow's sigh of relief was almost audible as he turned to march his company away.
Tristan and Daryth passed under the arch and found themselves in a small courtyard. The stench of garbage rose overpoweringly from a pile of fruit cores, bones, rinds, and other refuse. A cloud of fat black flies buzzed into the air. Daryth threw open the door, and they both strode into the building.
They found themselves in a large entryway with several hallways branching in different directions. Daryth started down one with the prince behind him. They soon reached an open door at one end of the corridor, and here the Calishite paused, leaning against the wall out of sight.
For several moments they heard sounds of movement within. Pans clanked against an iron stove, and something sizzled in a frying pan. Soon the aroma of succulent bacon drifted through the doorway.
"Let me try this time," whispered Daryth. Tristan nodded, and the Calishite led the way into the kitchen. All of the activity came to an abrupt halt as they marched imperiously through the door.
The kitchen was huge, with long counters and several large ovens. Several middle-aged men and women were bustling about the stove and counters, and a group of serving wenches were laying out china on trays in the far corner of the room.
"You!" said Daryth, pointing to a stout man with several pink chins. "Tell me – who is the miserable wretch who prepares breakfast for the king?"
"Th-there she is, sir!" said the man, relieved to divert the officer. He pointed an accusing finger at a sturdy matron near the griddle. The woman's face grew pale.
"Come here," said Daryth more softly.
"Yes, sir," she said, meekly stepping over to them. She stared at the floor, shifting nervously from foot to foot.
"Don't be afraid," continued the Calishite. "We are looking for one of the serving wenches. Tell us, which one took the king's breakfast to him yesterday?"
"Sheila!" screeched the woman, turning to point at a black-haired lass. It was now the unfortunate girl's turn to grow pale. "Come here, immediately!"
Sheila stumbled numbly over to the men, and Tristan regretted the need to cause such fear among these Ffolk. Her eyes were wide and slowly filling with tears. Nevertheless, the prince had to continue the charade.
"Come with us!" he ordered.
The young woman nodded dumbly and followed them from the kitchen. In the hall, they turned to her. She sank back against the wall and quivered like a terrified doe.
"We have uncovered a plot that could bring grave harm to the king!" Tristan said sternly. "Has anyone spoken to you about the food you have taken to him?"
"No, your lordship! No one!"
"Very well. It may be that the plotters are working through a different avenue. You may help us to discover who and where they are. Do you understand the importance of this?"
She nodded fearfully.
"You must retrace for us, exactly, the route you took in bringing the king his breakfast yesterday. Every step, every hallway, every door. Do you understand?"
"Yes,"