Forest Kingdom Trilogy 2 - Blood and Honor

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 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 handaxe had been. Jordan turned his attention back to Count Roderik, mainly because it was less disturbing looking at him than at Sir Gawaine. He gave the Count his best intimidating scowl, and tucked his thumbs into his swordbelt 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 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 shortly to undergo a series of rituals 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.'
    '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 learnt 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 backtracked 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 make-up.'
    '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 ability 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 travelling 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 theatre in almost three years. You're just another strolling player, Jordan, and if you don't want this job we can find a dozen 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