The Eyes of the Dragon

65

Ben Staad stood in Anders Peyna’s study an hour later. He was curious, even a little awed, but not afraid. He had listened closely to everything Peyna said, and there had been a muted chink as money changed hands.

“You understand all of this, lad?” Peyna asked in his dry courtroom voice.

“Yes, my Lord.”

“I would be sure. This is no child’s business I send you on. Tell me again what you are to do.”

“I am to go to the castle and speak to Dennis, son of Brandon.”

“And if Brandon interferes?” Peyna asked sharply.

“I am to tell him he must speak to you.”

“Aye,” Peyna said, settling back in his chair.

“I am not to say `Tell no one of this arrangement.'”

“Yes,” Peyna said. “Do you know why?”

Ben stood thoughtfully for a moment, head down. Peyna let him think. He liked this boy; he seemed coolheaded and unafraid.

Many others brought before him in the middle of the night would have been gibbering with terror.

“Because if I said such a thing, he would be quicker to tell than if I said nothing,” Ben said finally.

A smile touched Peyna’s lips. “Good,” he said. “Go on.”

“You’ve given me ten guilders. I’m to give two to Dennis, one for himself and one for whoever finds the dollhouse that belonged to Peter’s mother. The other eight are for Beson, the Chief Warder. Whoever finds the dollhouse will deliver it to Dennis. Dennis will deliver it to me. I will deliver it to Beson. As for the napkins, Dennis himself will take them to Beson.”

“How many?”

“Twenty-one each week,” Ben replied promptly. “Napkins of the royal house, but with the crest removed. Your man will engage a woman to remove the royal crests. From time to time you will send someone to me with more money, either for Dennis or for Beson.”

“But none for yourself?” Peyna asked. He had already offered; Ben had refused.

“No. I believe that’s everything.”

“You are quick.”

“I only wish I could do more.”

Peyna sat up, his face suddenly harsh and forbidding. “You must not and you shall not,” he said. “This is dangerous enough. You are procuring favors for a young man who has been convicted of committing a foul murder-the second-foulest murder a man may do.”

“Peter is my friend,” Ben said, and he spoke with a dignity that was impressive in its simplicity.

Anders Peyna smiled faintly, and raised one finger to point at the fading bruises on Ben’s face. “I would guess,” he said, “that you are already paying for that friendship.”

“I would pay such a price a hundred times over,” Ben said. He hesitated just a moment and then went on boldly: “I don’t believe he killed his father. He loved King Roland as much as I love my own Da’.”

“Did he?” Peyna asked, apparently without interest.

“He did!” Ben cried. “Do you believe he murdered his father? Do you really believe he did it?”

Peyna smiled such a dry and ferocious smile then that even Ben’s hot blood was cooled.

“If I didn’t, I should be careful who I said it to,” he said. “Very, very careful. Or I should soon feel the headsman’s blade go through my neck.”

Ben stared at Peyna silently.

“You say you are his friend, and I believe you.” Peyna sat up straighter in his chair and leveled a finger at Ben. “If you would be a true friend, do just the things I have asked, and no more. If you see any hope for Peter’s eventual release in your mysterious summons here-and I see by your face that you do-you must give that hope up.”

Rather than ring for Arlen, Peyna saw the boy out himself -out the back way. The soldier who had brought him tonight would be on his way to the Western Barony tomorrow.

At the door, Peyna said: “Once more: do not stray from the things we’ve agreed upon so much as one solitary bit. The friends of Peter are not much cared for in Delain now, as your bruises prove.

“I’d fight them all!” Ben said hotly. “One at a time or all at once!”

“Aye,” Anders Peyna said with that dry, ferocious smile. “And would you ask your mother to do the same? Or your baby sister?”

Ben gaped at the old man. Fear opened in his heart like a small and delicate rose.

“It will come to that, if you do not exercise all your care,” Peyna said. “The storms are not over in Delain yet, but only beginning.” He opened the door; snow swirled in, driven by a black gust of wind. “Go home now, Ben. I think your parents will be happy to see you so soon.”

This was an understatement of some size. Ben’s parents were waiting at the door in their nightclothes when Ben let himself in. They had heard the jingle of the approaching sleigh. His mother hugged him close, weeping. His father, red-faced, unaccustomed tears standing in his eyes, wrung Ben’s hand until it ached. Ben remembered Peyna saying The storms are not over but only beginning.

And still later, lying in bed with his hands behind his head, staring up into the darkness and listening to the wind whistle outside, Ben realized that Peyna had never answered his question-had never said whether or not he believed Peter to be guilty.