And as I watched the dancers moving unheeded around him, an idea formed in my mind, a reckless, useless, stupid idea, but one that promised such fun I could almost hear Bran's laughter.
, I realized grimly. I was gloriously angry at the whole world--at the commander sitting there at his ease, at his numerous soldiery all looking for my dockside-rat self, at the Marquis for scorning us and our ideals, at the ordinary people for not caring that Bran had worn himself tired and grim on their behalf when he should have been laughing and moving right along with all these dancers.
The dancers had been a brightly colored mass, but now I watched individuals. One in particular drew my eye: a big bull of a man, obviously half-drunk. His partner could hardly stop laughing when he lurched and staggered as the others twirled and stamped. I watched the figures of the dance, learning the pattern. The observers seemed to know it well, for when the stomping and clapping occurred, those who wished to cross the room threaded their way among the dancers; then when the couples did hands-high, the floor cleared for the resulting whirls and partner trades.
The drunk man was starting to look tired. He'd want to stop soon, I knew. I'd have to move now, or not at all.
My heart clumped in counterpoint to the music as I slipped through the crowd around the perimeter of the room and then, just as the clap-stamp-clap-stamp commenced, eased my way out among the dancers, ducking a tray here and a swinging arm there. My basket handle was over my elbow, so both hands were free.
When the horns signaled the next hands-high, I remembered my lessons from Khesot on Using Your Opponent's Weight Against Him. Steadying my hand against the drunken man's shoulder, I hooked my good foot around his ankle and yanked, pushing his shoulder at the same time.
He spun, bellowing, his fingers clutching at air, and fell--right across the commander's table. His partner shrieked, waving her arms. I dodged between her and Debegri, who had leaped up, cursing, as he mopped at the wine splashed down his front. With one hand I nipped a chicken pie and with the other a cup of mulled dessert wine, just before the table crashed over on its side, flinging the food everywhere. People screamed and shouted, pushing and shoving to get away from the mess. I ducked between two dancers and backed, laughing breathlessly, toward the door.
The drunken man was yelling, "Where is she? Where is she? Where's the little snipe that tripped me?"
"Calm yourself, sir," Debegri grated, his voice harsh and somehow familiar. "Guards! Right this table…"
Trying to smother my laughter, I turned around on the doorstep and saw another chance. A single warrior stood holding the reins of the beautiful white horse. As I watched, the soldier stifled a yawn and looked over at the door, to where the two guards were busy with Debegri's table.
Flinging the mulled wine squarely into her face, I jumped up across the horse's back, and as it bucked and sidled, I jammed my heels in its ribs and it leaped forward.
The reins went flying. I grabbed at them with my free hand and thrust the meat pie into my mouth with the other.
The warrior sprang to stop me but the horse was too fast. I dashed my basket against the warrior's head and slapped the reins on the horse's white neck.
A spear whizzed right past my shoulder, and a few moments later something sharp pricked my neck. Ducking as low as I could, I clung desperately to the reins. The horse stretched its legs into a gallop, and then a canter. Behind I heard the blare of a summons horn. The chase was on!
, I realized grimly. I was gloriously angry at the whole world--at the commander sitting there at his ease, at his numerous soldiery all looking for my dockside-rat self, at the Marquis for scorning us and our ideals, at the ordinary people for not caring that Bran had worn himself tired and grim on their behalf when he should have been laughing and moving right along with all these dancers.
The dancers had been a brightly colored mass, but now I watched individuals. One in particular drew my eye: a big bull of a man, obviously half-drunk. His partner could hardly stop laughing when he lurched and staggered as the others twirled and stamped. I watched the figures of the dance, learning the pattern. The observers seemed to know it well, for when the stomping and clapping occurred, those who wished to cross the room threaded their way among the dancers; then when the couples did hands-high, the floor cleared for the resulting whirls and partner trades.
The drunk man was starting to look tired. He'd want to stop soon, I knew. I'd have to move now, or not at all.
My heart clumped in counterpoint to the music as I slipped through the crowd around the perimeter of the room and then, just as the clap-stamp-clap-stamp commenced, eased my way out among the dancers, ducking a tray here and a swinging arm there. My basket handle was over my elbow, so both hands were free.
When the horns signaled the next hands-high, I remembered my lessons from Khesot on Using Your Opponent's Weight Against Him. Steadying my hand against the drunken man's shoulder, I hooked my good foot around his ankle and yanked, pushing his shoulder at the same time.
He spun, bellowing, his fingers clutching at air, and fell--right across the commander's table. His partner shrieked, waving her arms. I dodged between her and Debegri, who had leaped up, cursing, as he mopped at the wine splashed down his front. With one hand I nipped a chicken pie and with the other a cup of mulled dessert wine, just before the table crashed over on its side, flinging the food everywhere. People screamed and shouted, pushing and shoving to get away from the mess. I ducked between two dancers and backed, laughing breathlessly, toward the door.
The drunken man was yelling, "Where is she? Where is she? Where's the little snipe that tripped me?"
"Calm yourself, sir," Debegri grated, his voice harsh and somehow familiar. "Guards! Right this table…"
Trying to smother my laughter, I turned around on the doorstep and saw another chance. A single warrior stood holding the reins of the beautiful white horse. As I watched, the soldier stifled a yawn and looked over at the door, to where the two guards were busy with Debegri's table.
Flinging the mulled wine squarely into her face, I jumped up across the horse's back, and as it bucked and sidled, I jammed my heels in its ribs and it leaped forward.
The reins went flying. I grabbed at them with my free hand and thrust the meat pie into my mouth with the other.
The warrior sprang to stop me but the horse was too fast. I dashed my basket against the warrior's head and slapped the reins on the horse's white neck.
A spear whizzed right past my shoulder, and a few moments later something sharp pricked my neck. Ducking as low as I could, I clung desperately to the reins. The horse stretched its legs into a gallop, and then a canter. Behind I heard the blare of a summons horn. The chase was on!
( Sherwood Smith )
[ Crown Duel ]
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