“How long has it been since somebody challenged him?” Jason asked.

“Ten years,” Bartley said. “That was when he stripped rank and title from the Earl of Geer.”

“Give us a preview,” the other man urged. “What do you mean to throw at him?”

“You’ll see,” Jason said, still not certain himself. “Do you have any advice? What are typical questions?”

Bartley shrugged. “Events from history. Strategies. Riddles. It depends. Copernum has betrayed no weakness. He knows history as if he lived it. He is a master strategist. And he solves riddles like he composed them. We should leave you to your thoughts.”

Rachel approached as the other men walked away. “How are you?” she asked.

“Confused,” Jason said. “What are you doing here?”

“Long story,” she replied. “We have to watch what we say. There’s no safe place to talk.”

“Did you come up with any good questions?” he asked.

She moved closer and spoke more softly, her hand over her mouth. “Yes, actually. A great question. Which is why I went to see our dangling friend. He agreed that the question could help us. He had been doing some investigating through his own spies, and he discovered that Copernum already had his eye on the three of us, especially you. One of your gambling friends is one of the chancellor’s top spies. He knows we’re connected, and he might even know something about our quest.”

“Great,” Jason said. “What do we do?”

“You did it,” Rachel said. “You needed to challenge him without waiting. It will be harder for him to destroy us if you beat him. And if you lose, we just do what we would have done anyhow. Escape Trensicourt immediately.” She handed him an envelope.

“What’s this?” Jason asked.

“Open it when the contest starts,” she said. “It has some questions.”

“Why wait?” Jason wondered, examining the envelope.

“Just in case,” Rachel said. “According to our friend lots of people are watching you with spyglasses right now, reading your lips, observing your actions, trying to pick up clues.”

“Gotcha. How’d you get in here?”

“Our dangling friend called in some favors,” Rachel said. “We’ve been talking for too long. I have to go.”

“You’re not going to watch?”

“No. Trust me. It’s better for both of us.” She turned and vanished hurriedly into the crowd.

Nobody else drew near Jason, but he got plenty of elusive glances. He stood not far from the Petitioner’s Wheel, tapping the envelope against his palm, wondering what questions it might contain. How had he gotten into this mess?

Over the next several minutes people poured into the throne room, claiming all of the available floor space except immediately around Jason. The galleries were mobbed, becoming a sea of expectant faces. The dais also became crowded. Jason figured he would be just as eager to witness an event like this if someone else had been willing to take the risk.

After what had to be much more than twenty minutes, the regent returned and took his seat. Copernum stood immediately beside Dolan, hands clasped behind his back, his expression proud and stern. As an attendant ushered Jason back onto the wheel, the room grew shockingly silent.

“You are certain you wish to pursue this challenge at this time?” the regent asked, staring at Jason, his demeanor graver than earlier.

“I am, sire.”

“Very well. Chancellor Copernum has waived his right to postpone the contest. I shall judge the event. You, Lord Jason, shall pose three questions. If you can supply a better answer than Chancellor Copernum to any one of the questions, you will become the new chancellor. Chancellor Copernum would retain his titles and holdings, remaining the Marquess of Jansington, the Earl of Geer, and so forth. Copernum would become eligible to challenge you for the chancellorship after the space of three months.

“Should you lose, Lord Jason, the title of Caberton will pass to Chancellor Copernum, along with all holdings and privileges pertaining to the title. Are the conditions understood?”

“Yes, sire,” Jason said, his mouth dry.

Copernum nodded.

The regent looked over at Copernum. “Have you anything to say before the contest ensues?”

“What education have you received?” Copernum asked Jason.

Jason looked around the room, unsure how to respond. “I’m almost in high school.”

People in the room shifted and murmured. Copernum glared.

“Can you authenticate this claim?” Copernum asked. “I am one of only eight men living to have graduated from the High School at Elboreth, and I am well acquainted with each of them. I know of no prospective candidates.”

“I never said the High School at Elboreth.”

“That is the only recognized High School.”

“I’ll go to a different one, called Roosevelt High School. It’s far away. I’ve traveled a lot.”

“So it would seem. Your accent has a peculiar ring. English truly suits you.” Copernum stared knowingly. Jason kept silent. “Enough banter. Good luck to you, lordling.”

“And to you,” Jason replied.

“Let the contest begin,” the regent announced. “Chancellor Copernum has fifteen minutes to respond to each question. Should he wish to challenge the worthiness of a particular question, I will have the final word. A disqualified question still counts as one of the three. Copernum retains the right to pose clarifying questions, according to my discretion. I reserve final say as to who has supplied the superior answer to each question, should any controversy arise. Lord Jason, proceed with the first inquiry.”

Jason swallowed. He wished he had a cup of water. He wondered if he should ask for one. No. Everybody was staring at him expectantly. Under the scrutiny of so many spectators he felt extraordinarily self-conscious as he tore open the envelope.

“I wrote these down to help me phrase them correctly,” Jason said nervously, scanning the words as quickly as he could.

The assemblage chuckled in sympathy.

Question one is from our friend in Trensicourt. He said Copernum is ashamed of his father, so although he can answer this, it will provoke him and might put him off balance. Ask him the full name of his father.

“Chancellor Copernum, what is the full name of your father?”

Copernum’s nostrils flared, his lip twitching toward a sneer.