Magic Casement by Dave Duncan Page B

horses.”
    Rap
thought he had made rather a cute little speech there-for a stableboy-but it
had an astonishing effect on Jalon. He started. His mouth opened and closed a
few times. He almost seemed to lose color.
    “Impossible!”
he muttered to himself. “But... you are the one the princess went to!”
    Rap
did not answer that, but his face must have reacted, for the minstrel at once
said, “I beg pardon, lad. I mean no harm.”
    He
knelt to fumble with the saddlebag.
    His
supplies were certainly more appetizing than Rap’s. One spot being as
good as another, the two of them sat down where they were. Jalon laid out a
fine lunch of cold pheasant and fresh rolls, wine and cheese and big green
pickles, but obviously he had encountered some problem and his eyes kept coming
back to Rap’s face.
    “Your
name is Rap, right?” he asked suddenly. “And you were the guard,
also!”
    “Yes,
sir. I usually work in the stables, not on the gate. You were correct when you
said that I must be new to it. You were the first stranger I ever challenged.”
He had also been the last. Thosolin had bounced Rap straight back to his post
and then bawled him out thoroughly, telling him to stand there and look pretty
and challenge nothing short of a gang of armed pirates in future.
    “I’m
not surprised you work in the stables,” Jalon remarked, licking fingers, “with
that kind of ability. Tell me about yourself. “
    Rap
shrugged. “There is nothing to tell, sir. My parents are dead. I work for
the king. I hope to stay in his service and be a man-at-arms one day.”
    Jalon
shook his head. “I can tell from your face that there is more to it than
that. I do not mean to be personal, but your nose does not come from Krasnegar.”
    However
it was meant, that remark seemed personal to Rap.
    “You
have brown hair,” the minstrel added thoughtfully. “The
Kransegarians are either lighter or darker than you. Even if they are of mixed
parentage, they are one or the other. Gray eyes? So your parents came from far
away. From Sysanasso, I would guess. You’re a faun.”
    “My
mother, sir. My father was a jotunn.”
    “Tell
me! “ Jalon chewed a pheasant leg and fixed his strangely dreamy blue
eyes on Rap, although there was certainly interest in those eyes at the moment.
    Rap
did not see that it concerned the man, but Jalon was a friend of the king and
was therefore due respect from a servant of the king.
    “My
father was a raider, sir, one of a crew that roamed far to the south. Slavers.
They found good trade selling their captives. My mother was one, but my father
took a fancy to her and kept her. Later he settled in Krasnegar and became a
net maker.”
    Jalon
nodded thoughtfully. “Was he captain of the ship?”
    Rap
shook his head. “Just a crewman, sir. “
    “And
what happened to him?”
    This
was none of any minstrel’s business! “He broke his neck. “
Rap did not hide his bitterness. Maybe it would shame the man out of his
curiosity.
    It
did not. “How?”
    “He
fell off the dock one night. Perhaps he was trying to swim, but the harbor was
frozen solid-he was drunk. I am not of noble birth, sir!”
    Jalon
ignored the sarcasm. “It wasn’t him, then.”
    He
sat in silence for a moment, pondering. Rap wondered what that last remark had
meant.
    “And
your mother, this slave who was not sold with the others... was she the common
property of the whole crew, or just of your father? “
    “Sir!”
    Jalon
smiled apologetically and then stretched out to lean on one elbow while he ate.
“Put up with me for a moment, friend Rap. I am not good at this sort of
thing. I know others who would do it better. But I sense something here... I
have traveled widely and I have heard tales and seen sights that you have not.
I have been to Sysanasso. It is hot and jungly and unhealthy. Fauns have wide,
rather flat noses, and brown skins-browner than yours, mostly-and they have
very curly brown hair. So your hair is a compromise.” He