Cormyr_ a novel - Ed Greenwood [96]
"First time in Suzail, lad?" the merchant asked heartily. "Well, I'll grant you're as hungry as a war-horse after the ride from High Horn, but let me warn you away from the sweet-spiced fish rolls they seem to like in this town. Sickening things! And I suppose while I'm about it, I'd best give you a warning. If you bite straight into a sausage roll like those you're drooling at, while it's steaming like that, it's your own burnt mouth and tongue you'll be tasting-for the better part of a tenday!"
"My thanks to you, goodman…?" Dauneth said, more to slow the flood of advice than to learn the man's name.
"Rhauligan. Glarasteer Rhauligan, sir, dealer in turret tops and spires, stone and wood both-you order 'em, and we'll build 'em-fast and cheap, and they won't fall down!" There was a cadence to his words, and they sounded like an oft-repeated slogan. Dauneth wondered just how much trade the man actually did. But the neatly bearded trader was raising a wintry brow and saying, "Say… does your castle need a bit of spire work, now?"
"Ah, no, actually," Dauneth said. "It's not my castle to expand or alter, at any rate."
"And you are…?"
The tall, gawky man sighed inwardly as he heard himself saying, "Dauneth Marliir." If this garrulous merchant really did go around the realm fixing towers, Dauneth was probably earning himself a wagonload of questions.
"Of the Marliirs of Arabel?"
Sigh. Here it came. "Yes," Dauneth said firmly. "Ah-is this our hostess?"
Rhauligan cast a look over his shoulder. "Yes, that's Braundlae, right enough, but if that's what you want, lad, you've come to the wrong place! The red lantern est-"
"I came in here for some food," Dauneth said rather desperately. "Standing in line after line up at the court for hours is hungry work, and hard on the feet, too!"
The merchant whistled sympathetically. "Been up at court, have you? Gods, but the place must be buzzing like a ruptured wasps' nest right now!"
"There did seem to be a lot of whispering and people glancing around and then ducking behind doors, yes," Dauneth agreed, "and people rushing about, too-but isn't that what usually goes on?"
"Gods, no, lad. If you're up at court and want to show everyone how important you are, you don't rush anywhere, see? You saunter unconcernedly and wear a little half-smile, like you know all sorts of secrets that these poor fools around you don't, because they're not half so important and close to the crown as you are. See?"
"I'm beginning to, yes," Dauneth said, keeping weariness from his voice with the skill born of long schooling. The Marliirs had fought against Dhalmass at Marsember, had been part of the Redlance Rising, had made the mistake of backing the regent Salember, and had gotten into more sordid troubles with the Keepers of the Royal Rolls over taxes since. The family had to acquire certain skills merely to keep their necks away from executioners' swords and their behinds out of dungeon cells. Smooth talking, superb acting, and a heightened sensitivity to the attitudes of others were prominent among these. Dauneth had acted the part of a gentle, considerate young man of breeding for so long that he'd become one somehow. One of chief skills of young nobles-if they wanted to become old nobles, that is-was the ability to mask boredom behind feigned interest and attention.
"If the dust grows on your eyeballs, lad, you're doing it wrong," the merchant whispered loudly across the table as he bounced a friendly fist off Dauneth's forearm. Dauneth winced, the man had seen right through his politeness and had actually echoed a phrase one of his uncles had used once while teaching him how to sleep while appearing to be still awake. It had served him well with family-hired tutors ever since. "So the Marliirs are trying to get back in the royal good graces, eh? Well, they picked a fine time to send you here, what with the king dying and all!"
"I heard he died yesterday, and they're just keeping it a secret," the servingwoman said as she came up behind Dauneth with a platter