The Fall of The Kings (Riverside) by Ellen Kushner, Delia Sherman

intrigue than engaging in it, even at this mild level. “Ah, disappointment to the family?” he hazarded at last.
    “Ha!” Leonard Rugg roared. “It would take a lot of work for Campion to give his family a sleepless night, after what the father put them through!”
    Basil tried to look knowing. “Yes, but . . .”
    Rugg said expansively, “Oh, you’re thinking of the Tremontaine Chair of Astronomy—certainly the old fellow did all that for us, and a great deal more besides. No one can say he wasn’t generous to the University, although the women’s mathematics scholarship created a considerable stir. But one can’t imagine him as a husband, if you catch my drift.”
    Basil gave up trying to be subtle. “Leonard,” he said as lightly as he could. “Who is Theron Campion’s father?”
    “Oh, don’t you know? He’s dead; be well over eighty now. Something in your line, I’d think, St Cloud, being history and all: he was Tremontaine, the Mad Duke. That one.”
    Basil said absently, “I don’t do modern history,” while his mind raced, trying to place the late Duke Tremontaine.
    “No more do you,” said Rugg, amused. “Listen carefully, then; there’ll be a test when I’m done.” He began ticking points off on his fingers: “Scandal number one: young noble went to University to study instead of to drink. Not done back then—not sure about now, either, but at least there’s a pretense. Scandal number two: got kicked out, went to live with a swordsman in Riverside. Not done then either—living there, I mean. Not like now. Watch wouldn’t even go there then. Scandal number three: inherits Tremontaine and fills the house with scholars, reprobates, and lovers of all, ah, shapes and sizes. Men, women, even historians.” He dug his elbow into Basil’s side. “If you know what I mean. The list goes on and on. Bestowed a rather colorful bastard on the city, too, though I hear she left town long ago. Scandal number . . . What was I up to?”
    “Four,” said Basil, fascinated.
    “Scandal number four: he was driven into exile, passing the duchy to his niece, the Lady Katherine Talbert. Then back he comes, years later, with a beautiful foreigner in tow, who claims to be his lawful wife, and conveniently produces a legitimate heir two months after the Mad Duke’s death.”
    “And the beautiful foreigner is the Lady Sophia.”
    “Damned queer woman. But odds are the boy will still inherit on his cousin’s death.”
    “Inherit the duchy?”
    “So it really doesn’t matter what he studies, does it?”
    “On the contrary,” said Basil shortly. “I think it matters a great deal. If there’s one thing history has to teach us, it’s the importance of educating the ruling class in the realities of life.”
    Rugg laughed. “They’ll hardly learn that in University, dear boy.”
    “Oh, I don’t know,” a voice above them drawled. “Unheated lecture rooms, watered beer, incomprehensible feuds, indiscriminate sex, casual violence, and a general shortage of sleep seems uncommonly like real life to me.”
    Basil started as if he’d been shot. He wondered how much of the conversation Theron had overheard. He wondered whether the pounding of his heart were visible through his robe. He feared it might be.
    Theron was speaking. “Doctor St Cloud, I wonder if I might trouble you for a word in private?” His light voice sounded annoyed, but that just might have been his aristocrat’s drawl. Basil turned to look at him. The long mouth was hard and still.
    Leonard Rugg punched him on the arm. “New student, eh? I wondered. . . . Well, congratulations, St Cloud. Don’t take a copper less than twenty for the term. He can afford it, can’t you, Campion?”
    Theron smiled tightly. “Yes,” he said. “I can.”
    “Thank you, Rugg,” said Basil. “I’m not exactly new at this, you know.” He rose and looked around the tavern. “There,” he indicated an empty table with his chin.
    Basil stalked