Grailblazers. Part 25

'You heard. You're a knave, a cad and a blackguard, and . . .' Boamund delved back into the archives of his mind, 'you cheated in falconry.'

A red curtain of rage swept unexpectedly across Galahaut's consciousness, obscuring everything else. 'What did you just say?' he gasped.

'You heard,' Boamund snarled. 'At the end of the summer term back in '08. You bought a cage of white mice from the pet shop, and you-'

'It's a lie!'

'It's not,' Boamund retorted. 'I found the receipt in your tuck box.'

'And what were you doing looking through my tuck box?'

'That's beside the point. You used those mice to-'

'So that's where my Aunt Ysoud's fruit cake got to!'

'You used those mice-'

'Greedy pig!'

'Cheat!'

.The girl looked at them, puzzled. Well, at any rate, they were definitely going to fight.

Von Weinacht jumped down from the sleigh and called for his axe.

It had taken two hours - two hours! - for the pick-up sleigh to arrive, and then the tow-rope had broken, one of the reindeer had escaped, and they'd flown the wrong way over the Harris Ridge. The Graf took the axe from a trembling page and advanced towards the malfunctioning sleigh. He'd give it metal fatigue!

He noticed the alarm, and snapped his fingers imperiously.

'All right,' he yelled, 'I'm back now, you can turn that G.o.dawful racket off!'

Radulf, who had come out to meet him, was trying to tell him something, but von Weinacht couldn't be bothered right now. All he wanted to do was give that worthless heap of Nipponese junk a service it would never forget.

'Excuse me.'

Something was tugging at his sleeve.

The Graf looked down and saw a dwarf. He frowned. Years since he'd seen a dwarf about the place. The last one, he remembered, had handed in his notice and gone south to work in the diamond mines. Funny.

'Excuse me,' the dwarf repeated, 'but could you possibly spare a moment? You see, two dangerous knights have broken in, and-'

'Knights?' Von Weinacht scooped the dwarf up in one enormous hand and held him about an inch from his nose. 'Knights?'

'Yes, sire, two knights. Boamund and Galahaut, sir. They're in your daughter's sitting room. Having tea.'

'Tea!' Von Weinacht roared, dropped the dwarf, and broke into a run. Toenail picked himself up, rubbed his elbow vigorously, and followed.

He just hoped he was in time, that was all.

'Will these do?' the girl asked.

It was odd, she was saying to herself, I thought knights always had their own swords. In all the books she'd ever read, a knight didn't go anywhere without at least one sword, sometimes two. Still, there it was. Sometimes, she felt that she didn't really know an awful lot about real life.

'Thanks,' Boamund said gruffly. 'That'll do fine.'

'I found them,' the girl was saying, 'in Father's study. He's got lots of swords and things in there. I think he collects them or something. I brought swords, but there's axes and flails and maces and daggers too, if you want them.'

'Just swords will do fine,' Galahaut said. 'Unless, of course, Sir Boamund wants a shield or anything. He always insisted on having a shield at school.'

'I did not.'

'And if he couldn't have one, he used to burst into tears.'

'At least I didn't put an exercise book down my front when I was tilting.'

'What do you mean by that?'

'You heard.'

'There are some books in the library,' the girl put in helpfully, 'if anyone wants one.'

Boamund drew his sword from its scabbard. It was very cold. 'Shall we get on with it?' he asked. 'That is, if Sir Galahaut is ready.'

'Perfectly ready, thank you.'

'After you, then.'

Von Weinacht stood outside the sitting room and caught his breath.

'In there?'

Toenail nodded.

'Right.'

One kick from the Graf's enormous boot sent the door flying open. But the room was empty.

Oh G.o.d, Toenail thought, I was too late. They've gone off to fight it out; there'll be nothing left but torn clothes and a hundredweight of minced knight. b.u.g.g.e.r.

'I thought you said...'

'They must have left, sir,' Toenail replied. 'Gone somewhere else, I mean.'

'Somewhere else?' There was an extra edge to the Graf s voice, which implied that it was bad enough their being there at all without them moving about like a lot of migratory wildfowl. 'Where?'

'Somewhere where there's plenty of room, I expect,' Toenail replied. 'You see, they were wanting a fight . . .'

The Graf lifted his head and roared with laughter.

'A fight,' he repeated. 'Well, they've come to the right place, then, haven't they?'

'Yes, sir. Only we haven't.'

'Apparently not.' The Graf turned to his pages and shouted, 'You lot! Search the castle, understood. Two dangerous knights. Jump to it.'

Then something thudded into place in von Weinacht's brain, and he swung down a hand and grabbed the dwarf.

'You,' he growled. 'Who are you supposed to be, then?'

'Toenail, sir. I'm a dwarf.'

'I can see that.'

'Attendant on the knights, sir. I came with them from Albion.'

'I see.' Von Weinacht breathed out fiercely through his nose. 'And why are you betraying your masters to me?' he asked.

Toenail squirmed slightly. 'Oh, no reason,' he said. 'I just thought, blow this for a lark, all this mending things and cleaning things. I have nothing to lose but my chains, I thought, and-'

'What chains?'

'Figuratively speaking, sir.'

'Right,' said the Graf 'I'll deal with you later. Follow me.'

He released the dwarf, smashed up a coffee table for good measure, and strode out of the door. Toenail didn't follow him at once; he darted back to his knapsack, retrieved something from it, and then followed as fast as his legs could carry him.

'Will this do?' the girl asked.

They were standing in the main courtyard. Because the entire staff was occupied in searching for intruders, the place was empty except for an abandoned and rather beat-up looking sleigh.

'Yes, that's fine,' said Boamund. 'I suppose we'd better get on with it.'

Although he was still burning with pent-up fury and rage, he was doing it rather more sheepishly than he had been a few minutes before. True, Sir Galahaut had wronged him quite unforgivably, and the shame would have to be washed out in blood; nevertheless, when you thought about it, it was a dashed silly way to settle an argument, chopping the other fellow's head off. Or getting your own chopped off. And a fellow you'd been at the dear old Coll with, into the bargain. He couldn't help feeling, deep down, that there might be a better way of dealing with situations like this. A really aggressive, hard-fought game of squash, for example.

Galahaut had taken off his jacket and was doing flamboyant practice sweeps with his sword. The girl was sitting on the sleigh. She had picked up a box of chocolates from somewhere, and was eating them avidly.

'Ready?' Boamund asked.

'Just a tick,' Galahaut called back. 'Um - got a bit of cramp in the forearm, I think. You don't mind if I just loosen up a bit, do you?'

'Not at all.'

'Jolly decent of you, old man.'

'Not a bit of it, Gally. Have as long as you like.'

The Haut Prince did a few more practice sweeps, and then some arm-flinging exercises. Not, he a.s.sured himself, that he wasn't eager to get on with it and give young Snotty the hiding he'd been asking for ever since he could remember; but there wasn't any rush, was there? All the time in the world.

'Excuse me,' said the girl, 'but why haven't you started yet?'

The knights looked at her.

'We aren't ready yet.'

'Can't rush these things.'

'Wouldn't be sporting.'

'Oh.' The girl shrugged. 'I see. Sorry.'

The knights circled gingerly. Once or twice they tried a few very tentative lunges, but not without asking the other fellow whether he was ready first. The Grafin, meanwhile, finished her chocolates and started clapping. Slowly.

In desperation, Boamund attempted a double left-hand reverse mandiritta, a fiendishly complex and difficult manoeuvre which, as he remembered only too well once he'd started, he'd never quite managed to master. It involves a duplex feint to the right side of the head, a slow pa.s.s to the left body, and finally a long lunge, executed by the fencer on one knee with his left hand pa.s.sing behind his back until it touches the inside of his right knee.

'Help,' he said. 'I'm stuck.'

'Oh, hard luck,' exclaimed Sir Galahaut, sheathing his sword and helping him up. 'Better?'

'I think I've sprained my wrist.'

'That does it, then,' said Galahaut quickly. 'No earthly good fighting if you're not feeling a hundred per cent. Wouldn't be right.'

'Absolutely.'

'Pity,' Galahaut went on, 'but there it is. We'll have to call it a draw, I suppose.'

'Good thinking.' Boamund levered himself to his feet, winced, and put up his sword. 'Just when we were getting back into the swing of it, too.'

'Can't be helped,' said Galahaut sympathetically. 'Hey, where's that drafted girl gone?'

They both looked round. They were alone.

'Got bored, I expect,' said Boamund with contempt. 'That's girls for you, of course. I never did meet one who was really interested in Games.'

When the Graf came thundering down the main staircase into the Great Hall, he found his daughter sitting on the steps of the dais crying into a small lace handkerchief. He dropped his axe and hurried over to her.

'What's the matter, precious?' he said. 'Tell Daddy all about it.'

'It's those silly knights,' the Grafin sniffed. 'They won't fight. They're just standing there chatting.'

'There, there,' said the Graf. 'Don't upset yourself over a couple of silly knights. They're not worth it really.'

'And I thought they were both so brave,' the girl went on. There were little tears, like pearls, on her cheeks. She blew her nose loudly.

'Huh!' The Graf snorted contemptuously. 'Knights! They don't know the meaning of the word.'

'And they just left me sitting there,' the Grafin said, 'after I'd given them tea and everything.'