‘The fact that Malon had time to stuff a few things into a bag sort of eliminates abduction, too, wouldn’t you say?’
‘It’s probably safe to say that, my Lady.’
‘That would seem to indicate that he left voluntarily – without bothering to let me know where he was going.’
That isn’t at all like him, your Grace,’ Halbren noted. ‘Malon always consults with you before he takes any action.’
‘It’s possible that those Wacites brought him some news about a family emergency of some kind, but I still think he’d have spoken with me before he left.’
‘I’m sure of it, your Grace.’
‘Did anyone else go into his office after the Wacites left?’
‘No, your Grace. The guard at the door and the officer in charge of the night staff would have seen anyone, I’m sure.’
‘When did the Wacites leave?’
‘Three hours after sunset, your Grace.’
‘And Malon left about two hours later?’
‘Approximately, your Grace.’
‘Let’s go have a look at his office, General. We might find some kind of clue there.’
Halbren made a rueful face.
‘Something wrong, Halbren?’ I asked him.
‘I was just wondering where my brains had gone, your Grace. The notion of searching his office never occurred to me. I tend to respect other people’s privacy.’
‘A commendable trait, General, but a little misplaced this time. Let’s go see what Malon left on his desk.’
As it turned out, there wasn’t anything on Malon’s desk. He was a compulsively neat man, so he put things away when he was done with them. I knew him very well, however, and I knew that he’d have a hiding place – for his jug, if nothing else. Finding that hiding place wasn’t very hard for me, since I’ve got certain advantages when it comes to finding things. There was a hidden drawer in his desk that did have the usual half-full jug of spirits. It also had a map of Wacune in it as well, and when I opened the map, Halbren and I immediately saw the inked-in line that traced a course from the northern border of Vo Wacune to the site of the former capital – a course that obviously avoided all the main roads and quite probably followed trails known only to forest bandits.
‘Could he have gone down there, your Grace?’ Halbren asked.
‘I’m almost certain he did, General, and I’m going to speak to him at some length about that. He knows better than to run off on his own. You can have your men ask around, but I’m positive that Malon’s across the River Camaar into Wacune by now.’
‘Some emergency, perhaps?’
I shook my head. ‘No, Halbren. I’ve trained him not to deal with emergencies personally. He’s here to pass along my orders, not to run off to try to take care of things himself.’ My eyes narrowed. ‘When we do find him, he’d better have some very good excuses for this little excursion.’
General Halbren and I got to know each other even better during the two weeks that Malon spent in Wacune. I liked Halbren. In some ways he represented a transition between Arendish impulsiveness and Sendarian sensibility. Moreover, we were both angry with Malon for his unexplained disappearance. Halbren sent word to his own contacts down in Wacune, asking them to scour the forests in an all-out search for my wandering seneschal.
That took, as I’ve said, two full weeks, and when the Wacites finally did locate Malon, he was already on his way back to Muros.
I spent the better part of a day polishing the grand remonstrance I fully intended to shower down on my friend, but I never got the chance to use it. Malon looked tired, but at the same time jubilant, when General Halbren delivered him into my clutches. He had one of those irrepressible grins on his face that reminded me of Killane himself.
‘Now, don’t y’ be after scoldin’ me until y’ve heard me story, yer Grace,’ he said as he entered. Clearly, he’d seen the storm brewing in my face.
‘You’re in trouble, Malon,’ Halbren told him.
‘I’m terrible sorry t’ have caused y’ both so much concern,’ Malon apologized, ‘but I was perfectly all right, don’t y’ know. A distant cousin o’ mine who lives down in Wacune brought me some information a couple o’ weeks ago, an’ I saw right away that here was me chance t’ surprise her Grace here w’ a bit o’ an early birthday present, don’t y’ know. Don’t y’ just love surprises, me Lady?’
‘Not really, Malon. They usually involve bad news.’
‘Not this time, Lady-O,’ he said gaily. ‘As it turns out, some o’ me Wacite relatives dropped by t’ tell me that Duke Garteon an’ his Murgo friend had been seen in th’ vicinity o’ the ruins o’ Vo Wacune, an’ I thought it might be a golden opportunity t’ settle some old accounts as has been naggin’ at y’. I put almost th’ entire Killaneson family t’ work on it, but it still took th’ better part o’ a week t’ track down yer enemy. Him an’ that Murgo was bein’ very careful, don’t y’ know. Anyway, th’ short of it is that we found th’ two o’ them, an’ I set up a little ambush t’ welcome ‘em t’ Wacune.’
‘You idiot!’ I stormed at him. ‘That Murgo is a Grolim!’
‘He might o’ bin, yer Grace, but he didn’t do no Grolimin’ after we stuck a dozen or so arrows in ‘im, don’t y’ know. As I remember it, he did start t’ shout somethin’ just before all them arrows swept him out o’ his saddle. Anyhow, Duke Garteon drove his spurs all th’ way into his horse an’ tried t’ make a run fer it, but we’d had th’ foresight t’ stretch a rope across the trail about chest high, an’ it picked ‘im right outta his saddle as he tried t’ ride through it.’
‘You captured him?’ I exclaimed.
‘That we did, me Lady. That we did.’
‘Where is he?’
‘That would sort o’ depend on how well he’s bin keepin’ up w’ his religious obligations, me Lady,’ my seneschal replied a little evasively.
‘What did you do with him, Malon?’ I bored in.
‘Well, me Lady. We all talked it over while he was layin’ on th’ ground tryin’ t’ git his breath back – th’ fall off his horse havin’ knocked th’ wind outta ‘im, don’t y’ know. When we first went after ‘im, it’d bin our intent t’ capture ‘im an’ deliver ‘im up t’ yer Grace fer disposal as y’ might see fit, but now that we had ‘im an’ got th’ chance t’ look ‘im over, we seen what a disgustin’, weasely little rascal he was, an’ I jist couldn’t bear th’ thought o’ insultin’ y’ by bringin’ such a mangy dog into yer presence. Th’ more we talked it over, th’ more it was that we couldn’t bring ourselves t’ dignify ‘im w’ no formal proceedin’s, don’t y’ know. As we saw it, he jist didn’t deserve that kind o’ consideration.’