DragonKnight - Donita K. Paul [64]
“What’s so bad about being a halfling?”
Bardon forced himself to relax. “It opens the door for impolite people to ask prying questions.”
Holt laughed. “You’ve got no reason to take umbrage at my words, Squire. I’m a sort of halfling myself.”
N’Rae scowled at him. “How is that, Holt? Both your mother and father are mariones.”
He smiled at her, and Bardon saw her frown melt under the warmth of the young marione’s charming expression.
“My mother is a lady, and my father is a boor. Thus you have”—he used his hand to sweep down in front of him, indicating his own person—“a boor with beguiling manners.”
Keeping his face in the careful, noncommittal mask he found useful, Bardon waited. He felt certain that Holt would continue to press him. He was not mistaken.
“So, Squire, you are emerlindian and o’rant. Was your father the o’rant?”
Bardon’s jaw hurt. Underneath the calm expression, he raged. He’d been channeling the tension inward by grinding his teeth together. He relaxed and breathed, then answered in a level tone. “I have never been told.”
“Aha!” Holt smiled sympathetically at Bardon and then with charm at N’Rae. “You see, that is the problem. Not that uncouth fellows like me—rather half-uncouth, half-polished louts like me—ask questions, but that there are no answers to the questions. That would gall anyone. May I make an observation?” His eyes twinkled as he looked again at Bardon.
It would be such a pleasure to punch this young dorker in the nose. Bardon screwed the corner of his mouth down before countering, “Can I stop you?”
A good-natured laugh pealed from Holt’s throat. “I propose that you accept your mysterious background and build a persona around it. Use it to increase your appeal, your stature as a knight.”
It’s a wonder his nose is still straight. I think someone should have broken it for him years ago. Bardon cleaned his sword on a rag and sheathed it. “Holt, I don’t deliberately calculate actions to project an impression on the people I meet.”
“Of course you do.”
Bardon tightened his fists.
Holt chortled again. The sound grated on Bardon’s nerves.
“See?” said the marione. “You are doing it now. You are working to appear calm, when you really want to give me a sound thrashing and perhaps even toss me in the harbor.”
N’Rae’s head swiveled as she watched the two young men. Bardon saw her swallow and knew the prospect of a fight between two men she trusted frightened her.
He looked Holt in the eye. “Tossing you in the harbor is an extremely attractive idea. I hadn’t thought of it.” He let a small smile touch his lips. “But there is something fundamentally wrong with your analysis of my feelings. You see, I don’t endeavor to appear calm for those around to observe. I endeavor to be calm for my own benefit. You employ courtesy to make the way easier for yourself. I have been trained to employ courtesy to make the way easier for another.”
He offered his arm to N’Rae. “I have found Granny Kye. We still need to rescue your grandmother from the jail. Shall we approach Harbormaster Mayfil?”
She grabbed his arm and squeezed it. “I knew you would. At first I wanted to search the market. But Holt kept looking at things instead of people, and then it was so wet. I thought you might still be at the harbormaster’s office, so we came here.” She bounced on her toes. “Where is she? Is she all right?”
“She’s in the jail cell she’s supposed to be in. Earlier, she was in the prison laundry room—”
N’Rae held up a hand. “I can guess. Washing urchins and their clothes?”
Bardon laughed. “Exactly.”
They started toward a knot of men. Harbormaster Mayfil stood in the center.
“I still say,” Holt called after them, “that you should add your halfling status to your image of aspiring knight. Romance, glamour, mystique, all that. Take my advice, Squire. I’m a lot more familiar with the world than you are.”
Bardon stopped. He patted N’Rae’s hand resting on his arm. “Excuse me. This will only take a moment.”