EXCERPT: Blood and Honor, by Simon R. Green

“You mentioned an acting role,” said Jordan to Count Roderik.

“The greatest role you’ll ever play,” said Roderik.

“What’s the money like?” asked Jordan.

“Ten thousand ducats,” said Robert Argent. His voice was flat and unemotional, and his cold gaze fixed unwaveringly on the actor.

Jordan kept his face calm with an effort. Ten thousand ducats was more than he’d ever earned in a year, even at the peak of his career. And that was a long way behind him. Ten thousand ducats … there had to be a catch.

“Assuming, for the sake of argument, that I’m interested in this job,” he said carefully, “what kind of role would I be playing?”

“Nothing too difficult,” said Roderik. “A prince—the middle of three sons. There’s a great deal of background information you’ll have “to learn by heart, but an actor of your reputation shouldn’t have any trouble with that. After all, you are the Great Jordan.” He paused, and frowned slightly. “Is Jordan your real name, or would you prefer I used another, offstage?”

The actor shrugged. “Call me Jordan. It’s a good name, and I earned it.”

“I was most impressed with your performance this evening,” said Roderik. “Did you write the material yourself?”

“Of course,” said Jordan. “A strolling player has to be able to adapt his story to suit the level of his audience. Sometimes they want wit and eloquence, sometimes they want conjuring and fireworks. It varies. Did you like my High Warlock? I created the character after extensive research, and I flatter myself I caught the essence of the man.”

“Nothing like him,” said Sir Gawaine. His voice was harsh, with bitter undertones. He looked at the ragged chicken leg in his hand, and threw it casually over his shoulder. Jordan’s stomach rumbled again, and he glared angrily at the knight.

“Is that so, Sir Gawaine? Perhaps you’d care to tell me what he was really like?”

“He chased women and drank too much,” said Gawaine.

“He was a great sorcerer!” said Jordan hotly. “Everybody said so! He saved the Forest Kingdom from the demon prince! All right, there were a few rumors about him, but there are always rumors. And besides … it makes for a better show my way.”

Sir Gawaine shrugged, and looked away.

“If we could return to the subject at hand,” said Roderik icily, glancing angrily at the knight. “You haven’t yet said if you’ll accept the role, sir actor.”

“I’ll take it,” said Jordan. “I’ve nothing better to do, for the moment.” For ten thousand ducats he’d have played the back end of a mummer’s horse, complete with sound “effects, but he wasn’t going to tell them that. Maybe he could hit them for an advance … He looked at Count Roderik. “Well, my lord, shall we get down to business? What exactly is this role, and when do I start?”

“You start now,” said Argent. “We want you to return with us to Castle Midnight, and impersonate Prince Viktor of Redhart.”

Jordan’s heart sank, and for a moment he wasn’t sure whether to scream or faint. “You have got to be joking! Forget it! I’m not getting involved in any conspiracy to commit treason. I once saw a man hanged, drawn, and quartered. It took him two hours to die, and he only stopped screaming when his voice gave out.”

“There’s no question of anything treasonable,” said Roderik soothingly. “Prince Viktor knows all about this substitution, and has agreed to it.”

Jordan looked suspiciously at the three men before him. They all looked very serious. Sir Gawaine had even pushed himself away from the wall to stand upright. Jordan noticed uneasily that the knight’s right hand was now out of sight under his cloak, resting just where the hand ax had been. Jordan turned his attention back to Count Roderik, mainly because it was less disturbing looking at him than it was at Sir Gawaine. He gave the count his best intimidating scowl, and tucked his thumbs into his sword belt to stop his hands shaking. “If the prince knows about this, then what … oh, I get it. You want me to act as a decoy—a double—to draw out an assassin! The deal is off. I’m an actor, not an archery target.”

“My dear fellow,” said Count Roderik, his voice practically dripping sincerity, “I assure you we wouldn’t waste someone of your undoubted talents on a simple decoy’s job. Allow me to explain the situation. Prince Viktor is required by law and tradition to undergo a series of rituals shortly, at Castle Midnight. Unfortunately, he is indisposed at present with a rather troublesome illness, and is unable to perform the rituals. But if he doesn’t appear, he’ll lose his inheritance. So, we need someone who can act enough like the prince to take his place in public and perform the rituals. It’s as simple as that.”

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“Ah,” said Jordan. “I see.” He didn’t believe for one moment that Roderik was telling him the whole truth, but for the time being, he might as well act as though he did. After all, if he’d learned anything as an actor, it was that the aristocracy hadn’t a clue as to the real value of money. You could charge them extortionate amounts for performances, not to mention expenses, and they didn’t even blink. If he played his cards right and watched his back, ten thousand ducats could be just the beginning …

“Assuming I was interested in this job,” he said carefully, “there are some obvious difficulties. What about appearance, for example? How similar are the prince and I in looks? There’s a limit to what I can do with makeup.”

“That won’t be a problem,” said Roderik. “I have a small talent for sorcery. A simple glamour spell, and you’ll become an exact double of the prince. Much more important is your being able to convince Viktor’s friends and family that you are who you seem. For that, we need an actor of your considerable talent. Our agents have been traveling throughout the land, searching for someone suitable, and you can imagine how delighted we were when word came back to us that you might be available. To be honest, we hadn’t even heard you were in Redhart …”

Jordan shrugged airily. “Every career has its ups and downs. If you’d have asked me this at the same time last year, I’d have had to turn you down. The pressure of work was just too great. But, luckily for you, at the moment I’m at liberty to give you my full attention.”

“This time last year,” said Robert Argent, “you were in a debtors’ prison in Hillsdown. You haven’t appeared in a major theater in almost three years. You’re just another strolling player, Jordan, and if you don’t want this job, we can find a dozen just like you to take your place.”

Jordan gave him a hard look. “There is no one like me,” he said flatly. “I’m the Great Jordan. And if I hear one more word out of you that I don’t like, Argent, I’ll double my fee.” He deliberately turned his back on Argent, and looked thoughtfully at Count Roderik. “This glamour spell that’s going to make me look like Viktor; can it be removed easily when the job’s finished?”

“Of course,” said Roderik. “But now, my dear fellow, we are in something of a hurry. It will take us at least a week’s hard traveling to reach Castle Midnight, and the rituals are due to begin shortly after that. I’m afraid we must insist on knowing your answer now.”

Ten thousand ducats … maybe more … a chance to start over again … a role that could be a real challenge … There’s got to be a catch, but I don’t give a damn.

“I’m your man,” said Jordan. “We can leave as soon as I’ve brought fresh provisions.”

“We already have everything you’ll need,” said Argent. “Roderik, start the spell. We’ve wasted enough time in this filthy hole.”

“Wait just a minute,” said Jordan quickly. “You want to cast the glamour spell right here and now? Where everyone can see us?”

“No one will see us in this light,” said Roderik. “The spell is quick and quite painless, I assure you. There’s nothing at all to worry about.”

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Jordan looked suspiciously at Roderik. There’s nothing to worry about was the kind of thing the traveling dentist said as he knelt on your chest and poked his pliers into your mouth. But he couldn’t argue. He’d agreed to take on the role, and the spell was a necessary part of it. He’d just thought he’d get a bit more warning …

Roderik took Jordan’s silence for assent, and raised his left hand. He frowned, and muttered something under his breath. Jordan strained his ears to try and catch the quiet words, but the few he caught were in a language he didn’t recognize. They sounded harsh and grating and somehow … disturbing, and Jordan suddenly wondered if perhaps he’d made a mistake after all. Count Roderik fell silent, and made a sharp, twisting motion with his left hand. Jordan gasped, startled, as his skin suddenly began to itch and creep. His face twitched convulsively. He started to lift his hands to his face, and found he couldn’t. His whole body had locked solidly in place. He couldn’t even blink his eyes. He struggled furiously, to no avail, and then his anger gave way to panic as the first changes began. His bones creaked and groaned. His flesh shuddered, rising and falling like a series of ripples on the surface of a pond. He tried to move or run or scream, and couldn’t. His panic rose another notch when he found his breathing was becoming increasingly shallow. Sweat poured off him. His vertebrae popped one after the other as his back stretched, giving him an extra two inches in height. His fingers tingled painfully as his hands grew long and slender. New cords of muscle crawled along his chest and arms and back. His legs grew thick and sturdy. His face trembled as his features lost definition and then grew firm again in a new shape. And as suddenly as it had begun, the paralysis was gone, and his flesh grew still again.

Jordan swayed on his feet, and Sir Gawaine was quickly there at his side. Jordan clung to the knight’s arm as his head slowly cleared, and his harsh breathing gradually returned to normal. He finally straightened up, and let go of Gawaine’s arm. He gave Gawaine a quick, grateful nod, and then stared in something like horror at his hands. He lifted them up before his face and looked at them, turning them back “and forth before him. They weren’t his hands. The length, shape, and shade were wrong. But the fingers flexed obediently at his command, and he could feel the cool of the evening moving over them. He lowered his hands and looked down at his body. His clothes no longer fit him. He was taller now, and his arms and legs were longer. His shirt was tightly stretched across his new chest and shoulders, and his belt hung loosely about his flatter stomach. Jordan felt a brief surge of vertigo as his mind refused to accept the new body it found itself in, and then the feeling died away as he brought it under control. Jordan was used to being different people at different times. He was an actor. He looked at Count Roderik, who bowed formally.

“Your Highness. Would you like to see a mirror?”

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