Dain frowned. “But Riva is part of the—”

“Hsst!” Sir Terent uttered in warning. He glanced over his shoulder as though worried they’d be overheard in the din and commotion. The wharf, however, was a busy place. Sailors in short cloaks and bare legs were arguing loudly over the unloading of their cargo. Merchants were inspecting wares. From all sides could be heard haggling and argument and laughter.

“But, Sir Terent—”

“Enough now,” the protector said.

Dain planted his feet stubbornly, ready to argue.

“Enough,” Sir Terent said firmly. “She whom you named has no more place in the Reformed Church. You know that.”

“I feel her presence,” Dain said in protest, gesturing toward the ocean.

Sir Terent’s eyes bulged in shock. He shook his large head. “Unwise, m’lord.  Very unwise. Only Thod and Tomias are we permitted to worship. Do you want to be thrown into prison for heresy now?

“No, of course not.” Dain relented, and let himself be drawn away from the wharves.

It was nearly sunset, and the streets were jammed with people out for revelry.  Streaming ribbons of every imaginable color fluttered from open windows and doorways. The banners of lords and knights flew from lodgings and inns. Horses, too numerous to be stabled in the mews, were tied up in groups in the smaller streets and guarded by zealous grooms.

Music was playing, mostly enthusiastic pounding on drums accompanied by tambourines and rattles. The clear voice of a huckster rose over the hubbub:

“This way, good people! This way to see the sword swallower....” Dain swung in that direction, but Sir Terent grabbed his arm and herded him onward.

“Got to be fresh for tomorrow, m’lord.”

With increasing difficulty they pushed their way through the throngs.  Pickpockets abounded, and Dain kept one hand on his dagger and the other on his purse. Sir Terent crowded even closer on his heels, gripping their food pouch and grumbling curses beneath his breath all the while.  Dain pretended to ignore his complaints, but he knew it was his fault they were out so late. He and Sir Terent had gone to the food shops to collect dinner for everyone, but Dain wanted to look at the sea, and he’d lingered there too long.  It was unfair to the others, cooped up at their miserable lodgings with armor to polish and the horses to tend in readiness for tomorrow’s jousting. Now Dain tried to hurry back, but it was impossible to do anything other than elbow and shove his way through the crowd.

“Have your fortune read, handsome!” called out a woman.

“Sweetmeats, nice ‘n hot!” roared a man.

“See the two-headed donkey!”

“Three coppers for a dance with the Siren of the Sea!” A woman with only one eye leaped into Dain’s path and flung a handful of ribbons in his face. “Buy these for your sweetheart, m’lad!”

“No.” He shoved past her, and felt her nimble fingers dance along his purse.

He had a firm hold on it, however, and heard her curse him as he elbowed on by.

“Gods!” Sir Terent swore, treading on his heels.

A clanging bell warned them, and they jumped back from a street just as a ponderous carriage rumbled by. A dog snapping at the wheels got his paw run over. Yelping, he dodged back and limped away.

Dain and Sir Terent ran across the street and turned down a narrow passage between buildings. It smelled foul and was so dark only Dain could see where he was going.

At the other end, they emerged into a tiny square, where three inns stood in fearsome competition with each other. Theirs was the smallest and filthiest, although its prices were a king’s ransom. They were lucky to be lodged even there, although Dain, Sir Terent, Sir Polquin, Sulein, and Thum had to share a single room and bed, with Lyias on the floor. The food was bad, the service worse, and the ale unspeakable. That was why Dain and Sir Terent had sought out one of the food shops, where they could get plentiful, tasty provisions at more reasonable prices. The landlord knew what they were doing, but he’d made no protest as yet. His ale-room was now filled with other customers camping on the floor and sleeping beneath the tables. He and his staff were so run off their feet trying to supply food and drink to these latecomers that he had no time to demand board from Dain’s party.

Dain ran up the wooden steps and rapped three times on their door.

“Aye?” Sir Polquin asked cautiously from within.

“It’s Dain.”

The door opened, and Dain and Sir Terent shouldered their way inside the cramped chamber. The whitewashed ceiling was fly-specked and stained from old leaks. It was so low Dain had to duck to keep from bumping his head.  Thum, who was kneeling on the floor and polishing Sir Terent’s helmet, dropped his cloth and rose to his feet. “About time,” he said gruffly. “Our backbones are rubbing our—” “Never you mind that,” Sir Polquin said, silencing him. “Clear your work away now so there’s room.”

Sulein was already sitting cross-legged on the wide bed, which stretched nearly from wall to wall. The physician’s dark frizzy hair billowed about his head, and his eyes were snapping with excitement.

“Come, come,” he said, gesturing with his long slender fingers. “Did you get the delicacies from Markeesh? The cakes made from the flower petals of Khalei, the little puffs of cunishe wrapped in slivers of sweetened ham?” “A good joint of roast would serve us better,” Sir Polquin said, sniffing the air.

With great ceremony, Sir Terent opened the food pouch and Dain removed two enormous meat pies in pastry, a roast, little packets of peas and miniature vegetables that smelled delectable, a loaf of bread that was still faintly warm, sweets, and a small package wrapped in linen that he handed to Sulein.  “I couldn’t get the cakes,” he said. “They were sold out. But the proprietor said these things called—” “—disals!” Sulein shouted, already opening the packet and sniffing. He threw back his head in ecstasy. “What blessings have befallen me this day. Disals with poppy seeds. Great thanks to you, Lord Dain, for your kindness.” “All your heathen food cost twice as much as the rest,” Sir Terent grumbled with a frown.

The physician ignored him. He was too busy fingering the little morsels of food and smacking his lips over each bite.

Muttering something about ungrateful foreigners, Sir Terent helped divide the food into the wooden trenchers that Lyias unstacked and held for him. Soon they were all eating, and there was no sound except solid chewing and the faint shouts and whoops downstairs in the ale-room.

Not until they were nearly finished did Thum break the silence by looking at Dain. “Any luck?” he asked.

Dain swallowed his mouthful and shook his head.

Disappointment clouded Thum’s thin, freckled face. “Damne, I was sure you’d gain audience with the king today.”

Sir Polquin gave him a nudge. “Don’t be daft, boy. The king won’t be giving audiences until the festivities are over. Told all of you so a dozen times already. You, Terent, did you take him to the palace again?” Sir Terent’s face turned a deep shade of red. “We went to inspect the jousting field.”

“Aye, but on the way you stopped to petition the palace.” Sir Polquin pointed a thick finger at his fellow knight. “You’ll not fool me into thinking otherwise.” “What harm in it?” Sir Terent asked, glancing sideways at Dain. “No audiences were being given today, but we had to ask. It’s Lord Dain’s duty to inform the king about our dear chevard. No point in shirking that.” Sir Polquin scowled and grumbled in his mustache.

“If only Dain were knighted,” Thum said wistfully. “Then he could compete with you, Sir Terent, and we’d have two chances of someone from Thirst winning the day.”

The protector licked meat grease off his fingers and nodded. “Aye, we would at that.” He cast Dain a speculative glance.

Dain frowned and put down the last crumbs of his pie. “Nay!” he said sharply.  “We could do it,” Sir Terent said, looking between him and Sir Polquin. “Have our own ceremony of investiture.”

Sir Polquin scowled, but Thum jumped to his feet.

“Oh, do it!” he said in excitement. “For Dain’s sake if not—” “No!” Dain said, cutting him off.

The color leached from Thum’s face, and they all stared at Dain.

He stood up, hunched awkwardly against the ceiling. “Don’t do it.” “We have the right,” Sir Terent told him. “Our rank permits us to invest new knights if the need arises—” “On the battlefield,” Sir Polquin put in.

“I don’t want it,” Dain said. “Not this way.” He met their eyes and struggled to find words to express his meaning. “I mean I do want it, more than anything. But it must be done properly, and in correct order. There’s been enough jumping over the rules already. You, Sir Terent, calling me ‘lord,’ when my petition has not yet been heard by the king. Us, having to come here now when we needed also to go home and bury Lord Odfrey.”

“The king won’t refuse your request,” Sir Terent said. “He was near to granting it already when Lord Odfrey asked him. Once he gives you audience, he won’t say no.”

“But I can’t assume that he will and proceed as though it’s already done,” Dain said.

“Quite right,” Sir Polquin agreed brusquely. “Best to be proper. Best to do it right.”