Waiter! A clean glass for the Prince, if you please.”

“Oh, not a glass,” said Kevin. “I always think cider tastes best when drunk from an honest wooden mug.”

There was a murmur of assent from the gathered men. “Quite right,” said a tall man, moving up from the back. He had close-cropped gray hair and waved a wooden stein above his head.

“Lord Tripple,” said Kevin.

“A mug of cider, that’s what the Prince needs. Grindsey, where’s that mug I brought—ah, here we go. Here you are, Timberline. Put your lips to this.”

He shoved a wrapped object into Kevin’s hands. Kevin unwound the cloth cover and examined it carefully. It was a wooden tankard, carved from oak in deep relief, then inlaid with cherry, walnut, rosewood, and curly maple. The elaborate hunting scene pictured on the side held at least two dozen figures, so delicately fashioned that a distinct expression clearly showed on each tiny face. “This is beautiful. Really a work of art.”

“Tut,” said Tripple. “A modest enough little gift, I assure you. It’s always a pleasure to meet a man who appreciates fine wood. I can’t tolerate metal tankards—they set my teeth on edge. Now my wood-carvers—they did the doors of our chapel, you must stop by and see it—did this all out of local woods. I keep a wide selection of hardwoods growing on my land. Cut one down, plant two more, that’s the key to careful forest management.”

“Let me put some cider in that for you,” said the Baron, passing it to a waiter.

“Excuse me, my lords,” said a steward. They all looked at him. “I beg pardon for interrupting, my lords, but His Majesty the King was most insistent that our guests be presented.”

“Of course,” said Lord Tripple. He motioned for Kevin to follow the steward, then took up a pace behind him. Baron Ashbury waited until Kevin’s tankard was full, then fell in step with Lord Tripple. Back in the Grand Ballroom, Kevin saw Raymond waiting before a pair of large French doors that fronted a small balcony. Bigelow appeared out of the crowd dragging a reluctant Harkness, who had a string of young women trailing him like a wake. The three men gazed outside with a sense of weary duty. Kevin came up beside Lord Hepplewhit, giving him an inquiring look. Hepplewhit stepped to one side, allowing Kevin to see out a neighboring window. Sixteen feet below were the castle’s front gardens. Quite a crowd had gathered there. Kevin estimated it was over a thousand people.

“Commoners from the city,” said Hepplewhit.