Guardians of the West

Errand felt somehow betrayed by her reaction. He and Kheva had gone out of their way to get themselves into trouble, and all she did was laugh about it. There was no scolding, no acid commentary, nothing but laughter. He definitely felt that this levity was out of place, an indication that she was not taking this thing as seriously as she ought. He felt a trifle bitter about the whole thing. He had earned the scolding she was denying him.

"You boys will clean it up, won't you?" she asked them.

"Of course, Lady Polgara," Kheva assured her quickly.' "We were just about to do that."

"Splendid, your Highness," she said, the corners of her mouth still twitching. "Do try to gather up all the feathers." And she turned and walked out of the ballroom, leaving the faint echo of her laughter hovering in the air behind her.

After that, the boys were watched rather closely. There was nothing really obvious about it; it was just that there always seemed to be someone around to call a halt before things got completely out of hand.

About a week later, when the rains had passed and the slush had mostly melted off the streets, Errand and Kheva were sitting on the floor of a carpeted room, building a fortress out of wooden blocks. At a table near the window Silk, splendidly dressed in rich black velvet, was carefully reading a dispatch he had received that morning from his partner, Yarblek, who had remained in Gar og Nadrak to tend the business. About midmorning, a servant came into the room and spoke briefly with the rat-faced little man. Silk nodded, rose, and came over to where the boys were playing. "What would you gentlemen say to a breath of fresh air?" he asked them.

"Of course," Errand replied, getting to his feet.

"And you, cousin?" Silk asked Kheva.

"Certainly, your Highness." Kheva said.

Silk laughed. "Must we be so formal, Kheva?"

"Mother says I should always use the proper forms of address," Kheva told him seriously. "I guess it's to help me keep in practice or something,"

"Your mother isn't here," Silk told him slyly, "so it's all right to cheat a little."

Kheva looked around nervously. "Do you really think we should?" he whispered.

"I'm sure of it," Silk replied. "Cheating is good for you. It helps you to keep your perspective."

"Do you cheat often?"

"Me?" Silk was still laughing. "All the time, cousin. All the time. Let's fetch cloaks and take a turn about the city. I have to go by the headquarters of the intelligence service; and since I've been appointed your keeper for the day, the two of you had better come along."

The air outside was cool and damp, and the wind was brisk enough to whip their cloaks about their legs as they passed along the cobbled streets of Boktor. The Drasnian capital was one of the major commercial centers of the world, and the streets teemed with men of all races. Richly mantled Tolnedrans spoke on street corners with sober-faced Senders in sensible brown. Flamboyantly garbed and richly jeweled Darwinians haggled with leather-garbed Nadraks, and there were even a few black-robed Murgos striding along the blustery streets, with their broad-backed Thullish porters trailing behind them, carrying heavy packs filled with merchandise. The porters, of course, were followed at a discreet distance by the ever present spies.

"Dear, sneaky old Boktor," Silk declaimed extravagantly, "where at least every other man you meet is a spy."

"Are those men spies?" Kheva asked, looking at them with a surprised expression.

"Of course they are, your Highness." Silk laughed again.

"Everybody in Drasnia is a spy -or wants to be. It's our national industry. Didn't you know that?"

"Well -I knew that there are quite a few spies in the palace, but I didn't think they'd be out in the streets."

"Why should there be spies in the palace?" Errand asked him curiously.

Kheva shrugged. "Everybody wants to know what everybody else is doing. The more important you are, the more spies you have watching you."

"Are any of them watching you?"

"Six that I know of. There are probably a few more besides -and of course, all the spies are being spied on by other spies."

"What a peculiar place," Errand murmured.

Kheva laughed. "Once, when I was about three or so, I found a hiding place under a stair and fell asleep. Eventually, all the spies in the palace joined in the search for me. You'd be amazed at how many there really are."

This time, Silk laughed uproariously. "That's really very bad form, cousin," he said. "Members of the royal family aren't supposed to hide from the spies. It upsets them terribly. That's the building over there." He pointed at a large stone warehouse standing on a quiet side street.

"I always thought that the headquarters was in the same building with the academy," Kheva said.

"Those are the official offices, cousin. This is the place where the work gets done."

They entered the warehouse and went through a cavernous room piled high with boxes and bales to a small, unobtrusive door with a bulky-looking man in a workman's smock lounging against it. The man gave Silk a quick look, bowed, and opened the door for them. Beyond that somewhat shabby-looking door lay a large, well-lighted room with a dozen or more parchment-littered tables standing along the walls. At each table sat four or five people, all poring over the documents before them.

"What are they doing?" Errand asked curiously.

"Sorting information," Silk replied. "There probably isn't much that happens in the world that doesn't reach this room eventually. If we really wanted to know, we could probably ask around and find out what the King of Arendia had for breakfast this morning. We want to go into that room over there." He pointed toward a solid-looking door on the far side of the room.

The chamber beyond the door was plain, even bare. It contained a table and four chairs -nothing more. The man seated at the table in one of the chairs wore black hose and a pearl-gray doublet. He was as thin as an old bone, and even here, in the very midst of his own people, there was about him the sense of a tightly coiled spring. "Silk," he said with a terse nod.

"Javelin," Silk replied. "You wanted to see me?"

The man at the table looked at the two boys. He inclined his head briefly to Kheva. "Your Highness," he said.

"Margrave Khendon," the prince responded with a polite bow.

The seated man looked at Silk, his idle-appearing fingers twitching slightly.