was missing a foot, despite which he seemed to smile all the time.
Master Ailwin smiled too, and nodded to the Queen. ‘Your Grace, my wife often tells me I talk too much and too little to the point, so let me try to be brief.’ He laid out on the table a dozen coins.
Behind him, the two apprentices finished laying out the armour and retired. Their master entered, bowed low to the throne, and stood decorously against the wall.
The King looked at the coins. ‘Silver leopards and gold. Perhaps not our finest strikes – look how many times this one has been clipped!’ He laughed. ‘Sixty-four twenty-nine?’ he said. ‘My grandfather minted that before Chevin.’
‘Just so,’ muttered Master Random.
‘And this one seems as fat as a ewe with a lamb in her belly,’ the King went on, picking up a heavy silver coin. His eyebrow shot up. ‘Sixty-four sixty-three?’ he asked. ‘I haven’t minted any new coins.’
Ailwin looked at his companions. ‘It is not from Your Grace’s mints,’ he said.
‘It’s from Galle, or Hoek,’ added the Lord Mayor.
The King frowned. ‘King of Kings,’ he said. ‘Who dares counterfeit my coins?’ Then he sat back. ‘But it is solid enough. A fine coin. My father’s likeness.’ He spun it in the air.
‘The King of Galle and the Count of Hoek are counterfeiting our coins,’ Master Random said. ‘Pardon me that I do not stand, Your Grace. I took a wound at Lissen Carrak.’
‘Well I know it, Master Random, and you may always sit in my presence. Holding that door against all those wights – many a belted knight would have failed – aye, and more would give their left hands to have done it! Eh?’ The King’s eyes sparkled. He began to rise. ‘That puts me in mind – I meant to—’
His wife’s hand dragged him back into his seat.
‘The King of Galle and the Count of Hoek are counterfeiting Your Grace’s coins,’ Master Random said again.
The King shrugged. ‘So? They are fine coins.’ He looked at the merchants. ‘They are princes, not highwaymen. If they choose to make coins like ours—’
The Queen pressed his hand.
‘Master Pye!’ called the King.
The Master Armourer stood against the wall – short and stocky, as one would expect of a smith, with a long grey beard and clear grey eyes. He straightened and bowed. ‘Your Grace?’
The Queen leaned forward. ‘Your Grace needs to attend these worthy men.’
‘I am attending, sweet,’ said the King. He smiled at her, and then went back to his beloved Master Pye. ‘Pye, unriddle me this – why is it such a mischief?’ He sat back. ‘I’m too simple. Money is money. Either we have enough, or we don’t. I gather that we don’t? Is that the root of the trouble?’
‘The Captal de Ruth,’ announced the herald.
Master Ailwin winced at the man’s arrival.
‘If you need more money,’ Jean de Vrailly said, ‘tax these men harder. It is a shame that any member of the lower orders dresses like this popinjay. Take all the gold fittings from his belt – that will teach him not to dress this way in public. In Galle we order things better.’
‘Yes, well, Captal, in Alba we do not, and we reckon our kingdom stronger for it.’ The King waved the Captal to a seat. ‘Now be a good fellow and give me some room, here. These fellows are stretching my wits.’
‘As I was saying—’ Master Pye began. He went and stood by the coins, and Master Ailwin gave him a grateful glance.
‘The King of Galle—’ said de Vrailly.
The King turned the full force of his glare on the Victor of Lissen. ‘Master Pye is speaking, sir.’
De Vrailly turned and stared out the window like a pouting basilisk.
‘So,’ said Master Pye. He tossed a much-abused silver leopard on the table and it rang like a faery’s laugh. Then he tossed a fat silver leopard on the table, and it made a rude clank. He shrugged. ‘More tin than silver,’ he said. ‘The word I hear is that the Count of Hoek and the King of
Master Ailwin smiled too, and nodded to the Queen. ‘Your Grace, my wife often tells me I talk too much and too little to the point, so let me try to be brief.’ He laid out on the table a dozen coins.
Behind him, the two apprentices finished laying out the armour and retired. Their master entered, bowed low to the throne, and stood decorously against the wall.
The King looked at the coins. ‘Silver leopards and gold. Perhaps not our finest strikes – look how many times this one has been clipped!’ He laughed. ‘Sixty-four twenty-nine?’ he said. ‘My grandfather minted that before Chevin.’
‘Just so,’ muttered Master Random.
‘And this one seems as fat as a ewe with a lamb in her belly,’ the King went on, picking up a heavy silver coin. His eyebrow shot up. ‘Sixty-four sixty-three?’ he asked. ‘I haven’t minted any new coins.’
Ailwin looked at his companions. ‘It is not from Your Grace’s mints,’ he said.
‘It’s from Galle, or Hoek,’ added the Lord Mayor.
The King frowned. ‘King of Kings,’ he said. ‘Who dares counterfeit my coins?’ Then he sat back. ‘But it is solid enough. A fine coin. My father’s likeness.’ He spun it in the air.
‘The King of Galle and the Count of Hoek are counterfeiting our coins,’ Master Random said. ‘Pardon me that I do not stand, Your Grace. I took a wound at Lissen Carrak.’
‘Well I know it, Master Random, and you may always sit in my presence. Holding that door against all those wights – many a belted knight would have failed – aye, and more would give their left hands to have done it! Eh?’ The King’s eyes sparkled. He began to rise. ‘That puts me in mind – I meant to—’
His wife’s hand dragged him back into his seat.
‘The King of Galle and the Count of Hoek are counterfeiting Your Grace’s coins,’ Master Random said again.
The King shrugged. ‘So? They are fine coins.’ He looked at the merchants. ‘They are princes, not highwaymen. If they choose to make coins like ours—’
The Queen pressed his hand.
‘Master Pye!’ called the King.
The Master Armourer stood against the wall – short and stocky, as one would expect of a smith, with a long grey beard and clear grey eyes. He straightened and bowed. ‘Your Grace?’
The Queen leaned forward. ‘Your Grace needs to attend these worthy men.’
‘I am attending, sweet,’ said the King. He smiled at her, and then went back to his beloved Master Pye. ‘Pye, unriddle me this – why is it such a mischief?’ He sat back. ‘I’m too simple. Money is money. Either we have enough, or we don’t. I gather that we don’t? Is that the root of the trouble?’
‘The Captal de Ruth,’ announced the herald.
Master Ailwin winced at the man’s arrival.
‘If you need more money,’ Jean de Vrailly said, ‘tax these men harder. It is a shame that any member of the lower orders dresses like this popinjay. Take all the gold fittings from his belt – that will teach him not to dress this way in public. In Galle we order things better.’
‘Yes, well, Captal, in Alba we do not, and we reckon our kingdom stronger for it.’ The King waved the Captal to a seat. ‘Now be a good fellow and give me some room, here. These fellows are stretching my wits.’
‘As I was saying—’ Master Pye began. He went and stood by the coins, and Master Ailwin gave him a grateful glance.
‘The King of Galle—’ said de Vrailly.
The King turned the full force of his glare on the Victor of Lissen. ‘Master Pye is speaking, sir.’
De Vrailly turned and stared out the window like a pouting basilisk.
‘So,’ said Master Pye. He tossed a much-abused silver leopard on the table and it rang like a faery’s laugh. Then he tossed a fat silver leopard on the table, and it made a rude clank. He shrugged. ‘More tin than silver,’ he said. ‘The word I hear is that the Count of Hoek and the King of
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