The sun stood high in the sky. Behind them, dust from the wagon’s wheels hung in the still air as if reluctant to touch the earth again. To their left, the river rumbled on, hurrying to reach Palisade and pass on to the sea far to the south. To the right, the vast plain of Margonne marched to mountains rising in the distant west, too far away to contemplate in the heat. The only consolations in sight were massive clouds rolling eastward toward them, dangling a promise of late afternoon shade and a breeze and perhaps some needed rain.
Riding ahead on the same horse he had ridden from the palace just two days before, Mardans spied a small copse of trees in the distance. He reined his mount to a stop, wiping his forehead with his forearm. The wagon, driven by Aran, slowed to a stop beside him, and a moment later, Dinae’s head popped out of a small vent on the wagon’s roof.
She spoke first. “Why are we stopping?”
“It’s been a long day,” Mardans said, trying to keep weariness out of his voice, “and none of us got much sleep last night. What do you say we stop at that little grove up there, set up camp, and get some rest? We’re in no great hurry.”
“For my part,” Aran said, squinting in the bright sunlight, “I wouldn’t mind gettin’ my hind end off this seat and walkin’ around a bit. I didn’t sit around much at the store.”
“Fine.” Dinae lowered her head back into the wagon and slammed the vent shut. The two men just shook their heads at each other and began moving again.
Arriving a short time later at the cluster of cottonwood, box elder, and willow trees on the far side of the road, they found it unoccupied but replete with evidence that travelers used it often in traveling between Palisade and Blayne. A tight circle of rocks in the center of the interior clearing was undeniably a fire pit, and someone—perhaps the last traveler who had used it—had stacked a small pile of firewood nearby. Logs for seating lay on three sides of the fire pit, and a weathered rope strung between two trees suggested a clothesline that someone had left behind.
Aran adeptly steered the wagon between the trees to the clearing’s rear and set the brake. Climbing down gingerly, he stretched with a sigh. Mardans joined him, leading his horse to a patch of grass just beyond, and soon, the younger man brought the wagon’s draft horse near. After rubbing the horses down, they returned to the clearing and began setting up camp. The younger man fetched their bucket and headed to the river for water.
Dinae chose that moment to emerge from the wagon. Dressed plainly for travel, her usually somewhat wild hair tamed by a ponytail, she looked around the little campsite with a critical eye. It was evident she did not like what she saw. In her acting career, she had traveled extensively across the breadth of Osegra but always with a large and experienced troupe to set up and take down and provide her with everything she might need. “I assume no inn is available in the area?” she asked tartly.
“None,” Mardans answered with a shake of his head. “But right now, this is better. It’s best no one sees us for the next day or two. We don’t know how Bardelbee will react. He could send out a goon or three to look for you and haul you back to Blayne.”
Her bottom lip trembled. “Thanks for getting me out of there,” she said, by his count, for the fifth time.
“Real friends do what they can to help, right?” he replied. “I couldn’t leave you with him like that. He was definitely trying to take advantage of you. I’m glad it was only for money, not something worse.”
She blanched and shivered even in the heat. “I admit I was naive. I thought I could make a big score and ride that to fame and fortune.”
He wagged his finger at her, saying in an old man’s rasping voice, “Now you listen to me, young lady! Let someone older and wiser give you some advice: Never do that again! We would never forgive ourselves if something horrible had happened to you.”
Dinae could not help but laugh. “Oh, Mardans! What did I do to deserve such a friend?”
“You were kind and helpful first,” Mardans said, returning to his own voice, “to a raw beginner without a friend. I’m just repaying an endless debt in kind.”
“Your mother just raised a gentleman, I think,” she said. “And you have a soft spot for stupid, naive girls.”
Mardans snorted a laugh. “You may be right.” She punched him in the arm. He stooped to build a small fire and asked her to fetch the kettle, some cups, and the package of loose tea they had packed into the wagon. “Aran should be back with water in a minute.”
When she returned, and Aran had still not returned, she asked, “Who is Aran? How did you meet him?”
Mardans smiled broadly. “Why, you brought us together!”
“How’s that?” she asked, frowning. “I never saw him before last night!”
“I met him along my walk to the theater yesterday and asked him to point the way. We struck up a conversation and ended up discussing you and your, uh, shall we say, impact on the town. Like most men in Blayne, he was smitten by your beauty. But he wondered if you were some she-devil or practiced otherworldly magic to attract men to do stupid things like fight each other in the streets.”
“A she-devil!” Dinae spat. “I’ll give him some devilry!”
“Put away your claws, Red!” Mardans said, shushing her. “Give him a break. He’s just a country boy trying to figure out how you could entice the whole town into Bardelbee’s theater and have the town’s men eating out of your hand. He’s never encountered a woman in your league before.”
“And what league is that, huh?” she asked, her eyes daring him to undervalue her.
He took it as a challenge. “Well, let’s see. Somewhere above ‘pretty farm girl’ and below the Queen. Well below.”
“What!” she shouted, her nostrils beginning to flare.
“See, I’ve seen the Queen, and I must be honest.” He held up his hands and shrugged. He received two punches for his efforts. “Your punches need a little work too.” For that, he got another one, much harder. “Marginally better,” he commented through gritted teeth.
“You’re insufferable!” she yelled.
“And you’re easy to goad into a fight,” he laughed. “Have I ever told you you have a quick temper?”
She sat down with a “humph” on the log beside him. “I’ve missed our spats this last month. They always end up lightening my mood.”
“Good,” Mardans said, adding a little wood to the fire. “Here comes Aran with the water. I could use a drink.”
A few minutes later, not realizing until then how parched they were, they had each drunk several cups of water and set up the kettle to boil more for tea. Aran poured what remained in the bucket into a pot for later use, then took both horses down to the river. He returned after about ten minutes, staked the horses on the grass patch, and sat down at the fire, making himself a cup of tea.
Mardans saw his opportunity and cleared his throat as if calling a meeting to order. “I’ve told both of you parts of the business I’m getting into, but if you’re willing to help me, you need to know more. First, I’ll start by introducing myself. You both know my real name is Mardans Santinetta. I only use Sam Tinetta when I’m on the king’s business. But neither of you knows what my being a Santinetta means. My mother is Tiena Santinetta, the only daughter of the wealthiest family in Satele.”
Dinae gasped. “You’re richer than the Duke of Bardonnel, and you became a traveling actor? Are you daft, man?”
Mardans grunted. “Probably. I’ve been called worse things. But I’m not satisfied with being an heir, Red. I want to achieve things on my own. But the Santinetta side is only half the story.”
“Yeah, you ain’t said nothin’ about your dad,” said Aran, narrowing his eyes at him.
“The young man gets the prize!” Mardans said, clapping. “Yes, my mother and father never married, so I am one of those children. But you could say I’m a unique specimen because my father is the late King of Margonne, Lorens II.” He bowed.
“What? You’re royalty?” Dinae’s eyes were wide, her mouth open. “My best friend for the last year is a prince, and he’s never mentioned it? You’re lying!” Her green eyes had suddenly flared to life. She balled her fists.
Mardans made a calming gesture with both hands. “No, Red, I’ve been truthful with you. I never told you I was a prince because I am not a prince. Lorens privately acknowledged me as his son, but he never gave me a title. He sent me from the palace when I was twelve to live with my mother, and I had little contact with the royal family after that. Until about three weeks ago.”
“When you returned to Palisade after touring with the troupe,” said Dinae.
“Right,” said Mardans. “That’s when my half-brother, Alfons, the king—long may he reign—asked a favor of me: to find the stolen Dagger of Margonne and the thief who stole it.”
Both Dinae and Aran stood, staring at Mardans. Aran finally asked, “Someone stole Margonne’s Dagger?” Mardans nodded. “From the palace? When?”
“Not quite a month ago,” he answered. “It hasn’t been publicized for obvious reasons. Just look how you two reacted. Whoever the thief was did an excellent job of leaving almost no trace, no clues, and the king is anxious to get it back.”
“But why you?” Dinae asked, her forehead creased. “Couldn’t he hire someone who does that sort of thing for a living?”
Mardans shrugged. “I don’t know of any professional ‘finders.’ Usually, constables or military officers do work like that, but for such a delicate matter, Alfons preferred to keep it in the family, as secret as possible. He and Prince Lirens remembered that I was good at games and puzzles and finding things as a kid, so they thought I could get the job done. They must have thought my Santinetta blood would tell.”
“Are Santinettas good at findin’ things?” Aran asked.
“Let’s just say Santinettas have a reputation for finding out or prying out secrets that others cannot,” Mardans replied. “For now, I’ll leave it at that.”
“So, what are you going to do?” Dinae asked. “Sniff around like a bloodhound until you find it?”
Mardans laughed long and hard at that image, and the other two had to join in. “It may come to that!” Mardans said after the laughter died down. “But we’re going to try something else first.” He got to his feet and motioned them over to the wagon. “You’ve been inside and seen how it is outfitted for someone like a traveling tinker or a musician. It has all the comforts of home, right?”
“Yes, it’s very nice,” Dinae said impatiently. “Get on with it.”
“You probably wondered why the sides are covered in canvas,” he went on.
“When I first saw it, I just thought you were deliverin’ it to a client,” said Aran, “and the canvas was to protect it.”
“No, not protect it,” said Mardans. “Hide it. Help me with the bottom snaps, Aran.” They unsnapped eight of them running along the bottom rail of the wagon’s side and threw the canvas cover up and over the top. Underneath it, the wagon was painted a glossy bright white, and on this field, a painter had stenciled sea-green letters with glinting gold edges, reading:
Would You Care To . . .
Dance
The World's Foremost Entertainer
(I Jest)
Dinae jumped and clapped, realizing at once what she was looking at. “A jester’s wagon! How cute!” But then she suddenly grew serious. “What does this have to do with finding Margonne’s Dagger?”
“It’s my cover,” said Mardans with a grin. “I’m going to impersonate a king’s jester at the palace while I investigate the theft. That’s why I need you both.”
“What’s this about dancin’?” Aran asked, scowling and blushing. “I can’t help you any there. Terrible dancer!”
While Dinae laughed, Mardans patiently explained, “‘Dance’ is my professional name—Mardans, Dance. Don’t you worry. Red and I will do any dancing, if necessary.”
“Oh, good,” Aran answered, relieved. “So, what do you need me to do since I ain’t no good at entertainin’.”
“You may not be an entertainer,” Mardans said generously, “but you are very good at getting things and making them ready in quick time. You pulled together all our supplies for this trip in a wink. You organized it all and had them ready to go hours before we needed to leave. That’s the sort of thing I need you to do. You can be my ‘outside man,’ getting me supplies and information and running messages and doing necessary things while I’m stuck inside the palace. Red, here, is my inside girl and the best entertainer this side of the Great Eastern Ocean.”
She blushed and battered her eyelashes. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”
“But I mean it only when I say it to you,” Mardans said with a smirk.
“’Cause it’s true,” Aran said, his face reddening. “I saw it with my own eyes in Blayne.”
She looked at Mardans and pointed to Aran. “This one’s got a sugared tongue, Dance. He might yet melt this she-devil’s hard heart.”
A few notes:
Dinae mentions that the Santinettas are “richer than the Duke of Bardonnel.” Bardonnel, an eastern duchy of Margonne on the Angevan border, was renowned for its wealth. Its duke, a descendant of Darron Bardonnel, King Margonne's longtime friend, controlled the lucrative border crossing between the two nations at Kolsati on the Angeva Road. However, tolls were not his primary source of revenue. Unbeknownst to most, the ruling Ankara family owned rich mines on both sides of the border (most of which King Margonne inherited from his mentor, Nestor Andromacles, as heir to the Andromacles fortune). The Duke of Bardonnel oversaw these mines for the crown and received a sizable percentage for services rendered.
Ironically, Dinae is unaware she is distantly related to the Bardonnel family, descending from an Angevan Bardonnel, Darron’s youngest sister. At the time, the Bardonnels and their relations were well-known for their red hair, a gene evidently passed down to Red.