Читать книгу The King’s Buccaneer - Raymond E. Feist - Страница 10

THE SHIP DROPPED ANCHOR.

Crydee bustled with midday activity as the dock crew made the Royal Eagle secure. Nicholas examined his new home, drinking in the novelty of it. His bouts of homesickness had returned during the long voyage, only vanishing while passing through the dangerous Straits of Darkness, which had taken an eventful day and a half. Then northward past Tulan and Carse, and now to Crydee.

The town had grown in the last twenty years, with signs of expansion everywhere. As they had sailed northward, Amos had pointed out where a fishing village had grown up south of the promontory he named Sailor’s Grief. New buildings were visible high upon a distant hillside to the southeast as the ship entered the harbor. Nicholas squinted against the bright sun reflected off the white façades of the buildings. He saw two carriages and a pair of wagons draw up and halt before a building bedecked by a large royal standard, which proclaimed it the customs house. Servants sitting atop the rear of the carriages leaped from their stations and opened the doors. From the first emerged a tall woman, followed by a taller man. Nicholas recognized them as his aunt and uncle. A flurry of activity followed as the other vehicles came to a halt.

Amos ordered the gangway run out. Nicholas and Harry stood nearby waiting to disembark. Duke Martin, Duchess Briana, and their court stood ready to welcome the Royal Prince and his companions. Amos saw the reception below and said, ‘Well, we know at least one pigeon made it from Ylith.’

For the twenty-eight years since the Riftwar, a relay of messengers between Krondor and the Far Coast had been kept intact, including fast horses and carrier pigeons. With the sudden decision to sent Nicholas made only the day before he departed, word of his impending arrival reached Crydee just days before they came into sight of the harbor.

As the sailors made ready, Harry said, ‘Who are those girls?’

Nicholas had noticed the two young girls who had accompanied the Duke and said, ‘I expect one of them is my cousin Margaret. I don’t know who the other one is.’

Harry grinned. ‘I’ll find out.’

When the gangway was out, Amos turned to Nicholas and formally said, ‘Your Highness?’ – indicating that Nicholas was expected to be the first one off the ship.

Harry stepped forward, to discover Amos’s hand planted firmly on his chest. ‘By rank, Squire,’ he said pointedly.

Harry blushed and took a step back.

Nicholas descended to the quay and a tall man stepped forward. Martin, Duke of Crydee, smiled warmly as he bowed to his nephew. ‘Your Highness, we are most pleased to welcome you to Crydee.’ Martin resembled Arutha slightly, but was taller and heavier. His hair was nearly all grey, and his face was lined by sun and age, yet there was an air of strength about him that was clear for anyone to see. This was no sedentary noble who spent his days drinking wine and issuing orders to servants. This was a man who despite his age still spend nights sleeping on the ground under star-filled skies and who carried game home upon his back.

Nicholas smiled, a little embarrassed at the ceremony, and said, ‘Uncle, I am pleased to be here.’

Amos was second off the ship, and said, ‘Your Grace,’ as he clapped Martin roughly on the shoulder.

All formality evaporated as Martin threw his arms around Amos. ‘You old pirate,’ he said, laughing. ‘It’s been too many years.’ They slapped each other on the back and shook hands. Amos inclined his head toward Nicholas.

Martin returned his attention to the Prince. ‘Your Highness. May I present my wife, the Duchess Briana.’ Nicholas had not seen her since he was a toddler, and his memories of her were vague. It was like meeting her for the first time. A tall woman inclined her head toward Nicholas. Her hair, grey with a startling white streak at the left temple, flowed back from a high brow. There was nothing pretty about the Duchess, but she was a striking woman. Blue eyes set with lines from weather and age regarded the Prince from a face otherwise free of any mark of aging, though she was past fifty. She wore a very practical-looking outfit of leather vest over a silk shirt and trousers tucked into high boots. ‘M’lady,’ said Nicholas, taking her extended hand and squeezing it slightly in greeting. The grip he received was strong, and Nicholas knew the tales of his uncle’s strange lady were mostly true. From the fallen city of Armengar – where women were soldiers alongside the men – Lady Briana could ride, hunt, and fight better than most men, from all reports. Looking at her, Nicholas didn’t doubt it.

Martin continued the introductions. ‘This is my son, Marcus.’ Nicholas turned to his cousin and hesitated; there was something vaguely familiar about him. Brown eyes and brown hair: Nicholas judged he must resemble someone back in Krondor. The same height as Nicholas, Marcus wore his hair the same length as the Prince. But Marcus was almost two years senior to Nicholas and slightly heavier in build. Marcus gave Nicholas a stiff bow and stepped back.

Nicholas said, ‘Cousin,’ and nodded.

Amos came up to stand behind Nicholas and said to Martin, ‘Remember when I first gleaned that you were Arutha’s brother?’

Martin said, ‘How could I forget? That was my first voyage, and you almost drowned us all.’

‘Saved your worthless skin with my masterful sailing, you mean,’ answered Amos. Waving a hand at Nicholas and Marcus, he said, ‘But if the world ever needed proof of your parentage, there it stands revealed.’ He stroked his chin. ‘I think we’ll have to paint one of them green so we can tell them apart.’

Nicholas looked at Amos in confusion, but Marcus’s face was an unreadable mask. Amos said, ‘The resemblance.’

Nicholas said, ‘What resemblance?’

‘To each other,’ answered the admiral.

Nicholas turned to regard his cousin. ‘Do you think …?’

Marcus shook his head slightly. ‘I don’t see it … Highness.’

Amos laughed and said, ‘You never will.’

Martin continued the introductions. ‘Highness, this is my daughter, Margaret.’

One of the two young girls curtsied. Her hair was dark like her brother’s, but she resembled her mother. Nature had given her a straight nose and high cheekbones, but with a less severe cast than Briana’s. She wore her hair long to her shoulders, like her mother, without any adornment. Dark eyes glanced up at the Prince as he said, ‘A pleasure, cousin.’ She smiled at the greeting, and instantly she was lovely.

Nicholas’s gaze drifted to the young woman at Margaret’s side, and he felt his chest tighten. Cornflower-blue eyes that seemed the largest he had ever encountered regarded him. Suddenly he felt clumsy and unsure of himself. Margaret said, ‘This is my companion, the Lady Abigail, daughter of Baron Bellamy of Carse.’ The slender girl curtsied and Nicholas was certain he had never seen anyone do it so gracefully. Unlike Margaret, Abigail had her blond hair gathered up in a silver circlet behind her head, where it cascaded in ringlets. Her skin was pale and clear and her features delicate. She smiled as she arose from her curtsy, and Nicholas couldn’t help but smile back. After a moment the smile became a silly grin.

The sound of a throat clearing behind him brought Nicholas from his trance. He said, ‘M’lady,’ and his voice sounded strained in his own ears. Nicholas turned back toward Martin and said, ‘This is Harry, my Squire,’ as his companion came down the gangway, carrying Nicholas’s and his own travel bags. The boy dropped them on the ground and bowed before the Duke of Crydee. Seeing the Princess and her companion, he grinned broadly.

Martin indicated that Nicholas should ride in the first carriage with himself and his lady. Harry began to walk after them, when Amos’s hand again descended and gripped him by the shoulder. ‘The first carriage is for the Prince, the Duke, and the Duchess. The second is for myself and the Duke’s children.’

Harry said, ‘But –’

Amos pointed to the wagons. ‘You can make sure your Prince’s luggage is in order as it’s unloaded and packed on yon wagons. Then you can ride one of them when you’re done.’

Nakor and Ghuda came down the gangplank and Harry said, ‘What about them?’

Nakor grinned. ‘We’ll walk. It’s not that far.’ He pointed to the castle on the hill overlooking the harbor.

Ghuda said, ‘I could use a little stretch.’

Harry sighed and took the two bags over to the first wagon. A drover said, ‘Here, boy, what’s this?’

Harry was in an ill temper and snapped, ‘Prince of Krondor’s baggage! I’m his Squire!’

The man made a lazy salute as he continued to lean against the wagon and said, ‘Then where will you be wanting that lot, Squire?’ He pointed.

Harry turned and saw the first load of luggage coming off the ship, as a pair of sailors carried one of Nicholas’s heavy trunks down the gangway. It was followed by three more like it. As the creak of wood and the hum of ropes filled the air, a large cargo net from deep within the ship’s hole rose majestically into view. Another dozen trunks and other assorted baggage was hauled over the side and lowered to the quay. Dock hands jumped to and began unfastening the net.

The drover said, ‘And I suppose you know where that lot’s to go, Squire?’

With a sign of resignation, Harry reached back into the wagon and pulled out the two bags that had been his and Nicholas’s source of clothing and personal items for the weeks they had been aboard ship. Obviously, they would be among the last pieces to be loaded. Shaking his head, Harry said, ‘And I’m supposed to supervise?’

With a knowing wink, the drover pushed himself away from the wagon. ‘It’ll go faster and be easier on us all, Squire, if you do your supervising from over there.’ He pointed to a doorway a dozen yards off. ‘Nice ale, good meat pies, and you can supervise through the window.’

Harry’s mouth watered at the thought of meat pies after the ship’s plain fare. But he said, ‘No, I have my duty.’

The drover shook his head. ‘Then do us both a favor, Squire, and supervise real quiet-like, if you catch my drift.’

Harry nodded and moved out of the way as the first pair of trunks were carried over to the wagon. He found himself a shady patch under the overhanging roof of the customs house and leaned against the wall. Glancing up the hill, he could see that Ghuda and Nakor were already leaving the dock area and walking up the broad street that ran through the town to the castle. They would most likely be in the castle a hour before Harry. Muttering to himself, Harry said, ‘I thought this was going to be interesting.’

As the first carriage rolled into the castle courtyard, two rows of soldiers snapped to attention. Each wore the brown and gold tabard of Crydee and carried a shield with the golden sea gull of Crydee upon a brown field, and from each halberd a brown and golden pennant hung. Their armor shone in the sun. As a coachman opened the door and Nicholas stepped out, a short, bandy-legged man with grey hair and a leathery face shouted, ‘Salute!’ At once the soldiers snapped to attention. The halberds dipped, and after a moment the company of soldiers pulled them back. Martin and the others stepped out of the carriage, then the drivers urged the horses on to the carriage house in back.

Nicholas took a good long look at his new home. Castle Crydee was small in comparison to what he knew. There was an ancient keep, around which a single surrounding building had been erected, and later another hall had been added to the rear. Nicholas quickly calculated distances, and found with some disapproval that whoever had erected the outer wall had left a relatively narrow bailey. Should the wall ever be breached, there was little to keep an invader from reaching the central keep.

As if reading his mind, Martin said, ‘My great-grandfather took this keep from the Keshian garrison stationed here, and built the wall around it.’ With a half-smile that reminded Nicholas of his own father, he added, ‘My grandfather built the two additional halls, leaving little further room for growth. Father planned on pushing the wall out to accommodate new growth … but he never got around to it.’ He put his hand upon Nicholas’s shoulder. ‘I never seem to find the time, either.’

A large black-skinned man, with a short black beard, walked slightly behind the short grey-haired man as the pair advanced between the lines of soldiers to come before Nicholas. They both bowed to the Prince.

Amos grinned at the short man. ‘Swordmaster Charles!’

Martin said, ‘Highness, my Swordmaster, Charles, and Horsemaster Faxon.’

Nicholas returned their salutes with an inclination of his head, and spoke a few words to Charles in a foreign language. The Swordmaster bowed and answered in the same language. Then in the King’s Tongue he said, ‘You speak excellent Tsurani, Highness.’

Nicholas blushed. ‘Only a few words, really. But all in the court know of Uncle Martin’s Tsurani Swordmaster.’ To the dark-skinned man he said, ‘And Horsemaster Faxon.’

Faxon said, ‘Your Highness.’

Martin introduced other members of his household, and when the formalities were over, he took Nicholas by the arm. ‘If your Highness will come with me.’

Martin and Nicholas mounted the steps to the castle, while Martin’s children and Abigail followed, heading back to their own quarters.

Briana turned to Amos. ‘We’ll have a reception tonight, but in the meantime, we’ll have someone show you to your quarters.’

Amos said, ‘Just tell me which room, my lady. I lived here too many years to get lost.’

Briana smiled. ‘Your old room is yours again, Amos.’

Amos glanced at the main gate to the castle, noting the pair of guards standing at their posts. ‘You might tell those lads that in a few minutes a pair of very unlikely characters will heave into view. One’s a short madman from Shing Lai named Nakor, and the other is a tall mercenary from Kesh, name of Ghuda Bulé. Let them in, as they’re companions to Nicky.’

Briana’s only reply was to raise an eyebrow. She turned to Swordmaster Charles and said, ‘See to it, please.’

He saluted and hurried off to the gate to inform the guards.

Briana said, ‘Who are these men, Amos?’

Forcing a light air, Amos said, ‘As original a pair as you’d meet anywhere.’

Briana put her hand upon Amos’s shoulder. They had served together in Armengar, her home, when Amos had aided in its defense against the armies of the Brotherhood of the Dark Path. ‘I understand you well enough to know there’s something else. What is it?’

Amos shook his head. ‘Just … something Arutha told me before I left.’ He glanced at the main door of the castle through which Martin and Nicholas had just passed. ‘He said that should anything happen, listen to Nakor.’

Briana was silent a moment, thinking, then said, ‘I have no doubt that “anything” means trouble.’

Amos forced a laugh. ‘Well, I doubt he meant listen to the wizard if there was a surprise party!’

Briana answered with a smile. She gave Amos a hug and kissed his cheek. ‘We’ve missed you, and your humor, Amos.’

Amos glanced around, remembering. ‘I’ve seen too many men die on those walls and spent too many days defending them to have missed Crydee, Briana.’ Then he kissed her cheek and squeezed her in a bear hug. ‘But damn me if I haven’t missed you and Martin.’

Arms around each other’s waists, the tall Duchess and the large sea captain walked up the steps into Castle Crydee.

Martin indicated Nicholas should sit and moved behind a large desk. The Duke’s office looked small compared to Arutha’s in Krondor, and Nicholas glanced around.

Behind Martin, on the wall, was the sea gull banner of Crydee. Above the bird’s head were the faint outlines of a crown, where a piece of material had been removed. Nicholas knew that once his own grandfather had held this office, and had also been second in line to the crown Nicholas’s uncle now wore. But Martin’s line was prevented from inheritance by an illegitimate birth, and all marks of such succession had been removed from the family coat-of-arms.

Martin said, ‘This office was your father’s for a while, during the years of the Riftwar, Nicholas. Before that it was your grandfather’s, and his father’s and grandfather’s before him.’

Nicholas noticed that beyond that one ducal banner, the walls were devoid of personal mementos or trophies; only a large map of the Duchy and another of the Kingdom graced the otherwise bare stone. Martin’s desk was equally well ordered, with a solitary inkwell and quill, a bar of red wax for the ducal signet, and a candle. Two rolled parchments hinted at some unfinished business, but otherwise there was a sense of organization in this room, as if the present occupant was loath to leave at the end of the day with any task unfinished or unresolved. There was something familiar in that, Nicholas realized, as that drive for order was also a hallmark of his father. He returned his attention to his uncle, who was watching him closely. Nicholas flushed.

Martin smiled and said, ‘You are with family, Nicholas, never forget that.’

Nicholas shrugged. ‘I’ve heard Father tell of Crydee, and Amos has war stories that never end, but …’ He glanced around once more. ‘I guess I didn’t know what to expect.’

Martin said, ‘That’s why you’re here. Arutha wished you to know something of your heritage.

‘We’ve a rough court, by Krondorian standards,’ he continued. ‘Close to primitive by the standards of Rillanon and the other eastern courts. But you’ll find it comfortable enough in the ways that matter.’

Nicholas nodded. ‘What exactly will I be doing?

Martin said, ‘Arutha has left that up to me. I think for the time being I’m going to name you my Squire. You’re a little old for the position, but that way you can stay close, and perhaps after a while I’ll find better use for you. I’ll assign your friend to Marcus.’

Nicholas was about to object when Martin said, ‘Squires do not have squires, Nicholas.’ Nicholas nodded.

‘Tonight we’ll have a formal reception, with a troupe of players who are in the town. Then tomorrow you’ll begin your duties.’

‘What will those be?’

‘Housecarl Samuel will fill you in on some of your duties. Swordmaster Charles and Horsemaster Faxon will have others for you. You will do several things every day, mostly to make my time more efficient in governing the Duchy. You may have noticed new buildings above the south bluffs and beyond. Crydee is becoming quite the metropolis by Far Coast standards. There is much to be done. Now I’ll have a servant show you to your rooms.’

‘Thank you, Uncle Martin.’ Nicholas rose as Martin came around the desk and opened the door, signaling for a servant to approach.

Martin said, ‘Beginning tomorrow, Your Highness, you will address me as “Your Grace”. You will be addressed as “Squire”.’

Nicholas flushed, feeling embarrassed but not knowing why. He nodded and followed the servant to his quarters.

That night Nicholas sat between his uncle and his cousin Marcus. The food was hearty if plain, the wine was robust and flavorful, and the entertainment adequate. Nicholas spent the better part of the evening glancing past his aunt and uncle to where Abigail sat beside Margaret. The two girls seemed to have their heads together the better part of the meal, and several times Nicholas found himself blushing without quite knowing why. The few attempts he made at speaking with Marcus resulted in short answers and long silences. Nicholas was beginning to feel that somehow his cousin disliked him.

Amos, Nakor, and Ghuda Bulé were all at the far end of the table, beyond Nicholas’s ability to speak to them. They were obviously having a good enough time swapping stories with Swordmaster Charles and Horsemaster Faxon.

Looking down the table, Nicholas saw Harry attempting to engage a quiet young man in conversation. The man seemed to speak quietly, as Harry was constantly leaning over to hear him. The man seemed not much older than the boys, perhaps in his late teens or early twenties. He had a shock of blond hair that hung to his shoulders, and had bangs that seemed to threaten his vision every moment, as he was constantly brushing them back with his hand. His eyes were blue, and Nicholas imagined that if he ever smiled, he’d be a likable-enough-looking chap.

‘Cousin, who is that?’

Marcus looked to where Nicholas indicated. ‘That’s Anthony. He’s a magician.’

‘Really?’ asked Nicholas, pleased that he had finally gotten more than one sentence from his cousin. ‘What’s he doing here?’

‘My father asked your father to intercede with the masters of Stardock to send a magician to us a few years ago.’ Marcus shrugged. ‘Something to do with Grandfather, I think.’ He put down the rib bone he had been gnawing, dipped his hands in the finger bowl, and wiped them on a linen napkin. ‘Did your father ever talk about having a magician at court?’

Relieved that they were at last engaged in something like a conversation, Nicholas shrugged. ‘A few stories. About Kulgan and Pug, I mean. I met Pug on this journey.’

Marcus kept his eyes upon the magician. ‘Anthony is a good fellow, I’ll warrant you that, friendly when you get to know him. But he keeps to himself a great deal, and those few times Father asks him for counsel, he tends towards the evasive. I fear the magicians at Stardock sent him here as something of a joke.’

‘Really?’

Marcus fixed Nicholas with a sour look. ‘You keep asking “really” as if I’m making this up.’

‘Sorry,’ said Nicholas, blushing a little. ‘It’s just a habit. What I mean is, why do you think the masters of Stardock would do that, send him here as a joke?’

‘Because he’s not a very good magician, from what I can tell of such things.’

Nicholas caught himself as he was about to say ‘Really?’ and instead changed it to, ‘Interesting. I mean, you don’t see a lot of magicians anywhere, but the few who’ve come to court don’t do much by way of magic, at least not anywhere you can see them.’

Marcus shrugged. ‘I guess he has his uses, but there’s something about him that makes me cautious. He’s got secrets.’

Nicholas laughed. Marcus turned to see if Nicholas was laughing at him. Nicholas said, ‘I think that’s part of the act, you know. Lurking in shadows and mysteries and the rest.’

Marcus shrugged again, allowing himself a faint smile. ‘Perhaps. Anyway, he’s Father’s adviser, though he doesn’t do much of that.’

Glad to be involved at last in something other than silence, Nicholas pursued the conversation. ‘You know, I knew Horsemaster Faxon’s father. I didn’t know he’d bear such a resemblance to the old Duke.’

Marcus grunted a noncommittal sound. ‘Gardan was an old man when he came back from Krondor. I never noticed.’

Feeling the conversation slipping away, Nicholas said, ‘I was sorry to hear of his death last year.’

Marcus shrugged, his most expressive gesture, it seemed. ‘He didn’t do much but fish and tell stories. He was an old man. I liked him enough, but …’ Again he shrugged. ‘You get old, then you die. That’s the way it works, isn’t it?’

It was Nicholas’s turn to shrug. ‘I hadn’t seen him for almost ten years. I guess he got older.’ Realizing instantly that the remark was inane, he let the conversation lapse into silence for the rest of the meal.

At the finish of the meal, Martin rose and said, ‘We welcome to our home our cousin Nicholas.’ The gathered court and servants gave polite applause. ‘Beginning tomorrow, he shall be acting as my Squire.’ At this, Harry glanced at his friend with a questioning expression. Nicholas shrugged.

Martin said, ‘And his companion, Harry of Ludland, will be Squire to my son.’

Harry made a face that said, Well, that answers that.

‘Now,’ said Martin. ‘I bid you all good night.’

He extended his hand and Briana placed hers upon it, in ceremonial fashion, and he led her from the table. The ladies Margaret and Abigail followed, and then Marcus rose. Turning to Harry, he said, ‘Well then, if you’re to squire for me, I need you awake an hour before sunrise. Ask any servant where my quarters are and don’t be late.’ Turning to Nicholas, he said, ‘Father will want you ready, too.’

Nicholas didn’t care much for his cousin’s tone, but he refused to be anything but polite. ‘I’ll be there.’

Marcus smiled and it was a shock, for it was the first time since meeting him that Nicholas had seen any expression other than a neutral frown. ‘I expect you will.’ Waving to the servants, he said, ‘Show the Squires to their quarters.’

The boys fell in behind two servants, and as they passed by the magician, Harry said, ‘See you around, Anthony.’

The magician muttered a reply. When they entered a long hallway, Harry said, ‘That’s the Duke’s magician.’

‘I know,’ answered Nicholas. ‘Marcus said he wasn’t very good at his job.’

Harry indicated he had no opinion on that topic, but added, ‘He seems a right enough fellow, if a little shy. Mumbles a bit.’

The servants led the two young men to doors next to one another. Nicholas opened the indicated one and entered what could only be considered a cell. It was barely ten feet in length and eight feet wide. A straw pallet lay on the floor and a small chest for personal belongings took up one corner of the room. A tiny table, a chair, and a rude lamp on the table were the only other features. Nicholas turned to the servant, who was walking away, and said, ‘Where are my things?’

The servant said, ‘In storage, Squire. His Grace said you won’t need them until you’re ready to leave, so he had them put down in the sub-basement. You’ll find all you need in the chest.’

Harry clapped his friend upon the shoulder. ‘Well, Squire Nicky, better turn in and get a good night’s sleep. We’re up early tomorrow.’

‘Don’t let me oversleep,’ said Nicholas, with a sinking feeling in his stomach.

‘What’s it worth to you?’

Nicholas said, ‘How about I don’t knock you on your backside?’

Harry appeared to consider this for a moment, then said, ‘Seems fair to me.’ With a laugh he said, ‘Don’t worry. You’ll get used to being a squire. Look at me; I’ve done right well being yours.’

He entered his own room, and Nicholas looked heavenward, as if to say, because you’ve never had to act like one. With a feeling of deep foreboding, he entered his cell, closed the door, and undressed. Blowing out the lamp, he made his way in the dark toward the pallet, and lying on the straw-packed sack, he pulled the single blanket up over him. The rest of the night was spent tossing and turning, with only a little rest and a deep sense of dread.

Nicholas was awake when the knock came. He fumbled his way in the dark and realized with a sinking feeling that he hadn’t located any means to light the lamp before he had blown it out. He found the door handle in the dark and opened the door. Harry, who stood there, said, ‘You planning on going like that?’

Feeling silly standing in only his undertrousers, Nicholas said, ‘I forgot to locate the flint and steel.’

‘They’re on the table, behind the lamp, where they usually are. I’ll light it; you get dressed.’

Nicholas opened the chest and found a simple tunic and trousers in brown and green, which he took to be the uniform of a Crydee squire, as Harry was garbed in like fashion. He put them on and found them a close enough fit. Pulling on his own boots, he said, ‘What is this business of awaking before dawn.’

Harry put down the now burning lamp, closed the door, and said, ‘Farmers, I guess.’

‘Farmers?’

‘You know. Country people. Always up before dawn, asleep with the chickens.’

Nicholas grunted a vague acknowledgment of the remark as he pulled on his boots. His left foot seemed slightly swollen, which made getting the specially made boot on that more difficult. ‘Damn,’ he said, ‘must be damper here than at home.’

Harry said, ‘You noticed! You mean the mold growing on the stones next to your bed didn’t give you a hint?’

Nicholas swung a lazy backhand at Harry, which he avoided easily. ‘Come on,’ he said with a laugh, ‘it wouldn’t do to be late our first day.’

Nicholas and Harry found themselves alone in the hallway and suddenly Harry said, ‘Where are the servants?’

‘We’re the servants, you dolt,’ said Nicholas. ‘I think I know where the family quarters are.’

By trial and error, the boys found their way through the castle to the family’s wing. Modest quarters compared to what the Prince was used to at home, they were nevertheless considerably more comfortable than the cells the boys had inhabited the night before. A pair of servants were leaving two of the rooms, and Nicholas asked and was told that they were indeed Lord Martin and Lady Briana’s quarters and young Master Marcus’s.

Taking up their stations by the respective doors, the boys waited. After a few moments, Nicholas ventured a quiet knock. The door opened and Martin looked out and said, ‘I’ll be with you in a few minutes, Squire.’

Before Nicholas could answer, ‘Yes, Your Grace,’ the door was closed in his face.

Harry grinned and raised his hand to knock, but before his knuckles could strike wood, the door opened and Marcus stepped through. ‘You’re late,’ he snapped. ‘Come along.’ He hurried down the hallway, and Harry almost had to leap to catch up with him.

A few minutes later, Martin emerged from his bedchamber and moved down the hall without comment. Nicholas fell in behind him and followed along. Instead of heading for the main hall, as the boy expected, the Duke moved through the quiet keep to the main entrance, where stable hands were bringing out horses. Marcus and Harry could be seen riding out the gate as a servant thrust reins in Nicholas’s direction.

Martin said, ‘You can ride?’

Nicholas said, ‘Of course … Your Grace,’ he added quickly.

‘Good. We’ve no shortage of green horses that need a firm hand out.’

As he climbed aboard, Nicholas instantly found himself in a contest with the horse. A quick half-halt jerk to the mouth and a hard seat brought the fractious animal under control. The gelding was young and probably had been cut late, given the stallion-like crest of his neck and his aggressive behavior. Nicholas also didn’t care for the heavy saddle, which made contact with the animal difficult.

But Martin gave him no time for consideration of the finer points of horsemanship, having turned his animal and headed for the gate. Nicholas put heels to the sides of his mount and found he had to use a lot of leg to keep the horse moving forward. Then the explosion came: the animal bucked hard before trying to race through the courtyard. Nicholas automatically gripped with his legs, sinking down in the saddle and giving a quick and firm halt on the reins. He guided the horse into a circle, half-halting with the reins until the animal was calmed down to a nice posting trot. Then, when he was at the Duke’s side, Nicholas slowed the animal down to a walk to match the Duke’s mount.

‘Did you sleep well, Squire?’

‘Not really, Your Grace.’

‘Aren’t the quarters to your liking?’ asked Martin.

Nicholas looked to see if he was being mocked, and saw only an impassive face regarding him.

‘No, they’re adequate,’ he said, refusing to be baited into complaining. ‘It’s the newness of all this, I guess.’

‘You’ll get used to Crydee,’ Martin said.

‘Does Your Grace usually not eat in the morning?’ asked Nicholas, his stomach already noticing the absence of breakfast.

Martin smiled, a slight upturn of his mouth, much like Nicholas’s father’s half-smiles, and said, ‘Oh, we’ll break fast, but there’s always a couple of hours’ work to do before we dine, Squire.’

Nicholas nodded.

They entered the town, and Nicholas saw that the streets were already busy. Shops might still have their windows shuttered and their doors locked, but workers were already on their way to the docks, the mills, and other places of work. Fishing boats could be seen heading out of the harbor in the grey light of dawn, the sun not yet above the distant mountains. Rich smells filled the air as bakers continued the work they had begun the night before, getting ready the day’s wares.

A familiar voice cut the air as they reached the docks. ‘Get those nets ready!’ shouted Amos.

Nicholas saw that the Admiral was supervising the loading of some stores from the dockside. Marcus appeared around a corner, walking along beside a slow-moving wagon, Harry a step behind him. ‘That’s the last of it, Father,’ Marcus called.

Martin didn’t explain to Nicholas what was happening, but the Prince deduced that Martin was adding to the cargo bound to the new garrison up north. The Duke called, ‘Amos, are you going to make the morning tide?’

‘With minutes to spare,’ roared back Amos, ‘if these ham-fisted monkeys can get this cargo aboard in the next half hour!’

The dock workers seemed oblivous to the shouting, taking it as a matter of course, while they efficiently went about the business of loading the cargo nets. When they were full, the crew on the hoist raised up the cargo and swung it above the hold of the ship, lowering it down without missing a beat.

Amos came over to where Martin and Nicholas watched. ‘The hard part’s going to be unloading that mess. I figure the soldiers at the garrison can give us a hand, but it’ll still take two or three weeks to get it all off the ship by longboat.’

‘Are you going to have time for a visit on the way back?’

‘Ample,’ Amos replied with a grin. ‘Even should I be gone a month, I can spend a few days here before we head back to Krondor. If the unloading goes quickly, I might give the men a week of rest before we brave the straits.’

‘I’m sure they’ll appreciate it,’ said Martin.

As the net was quickly reloaded and the last of the cargo hauled away, Martin said to Nicholas, ‘Ride back to the castle and tell Housecarl Samuel that we’ll be up for our meal in a half hour.’

Nicholas started to turn, then said, ‘Should I return here … Your Grace?’

Martin said, ‘What do you think?’

Because he didn’t know what to think, Nicholas’s answer sounded awkward in his own ear. ‘I’m not sure.’

Martin’s tone was not scolding, but it wasn’t warm, either. ‘You’re my squire. Your place is at my side until I tell you otherwise. Return as soon as you’ve done what I’ve told you.’

Feeling somehow inadequate for not having known that, Nicholas blushed furiously. ‘At once, Your Grace.’

He set heels to the gelding and let the horse stretch out into a canter as he hurried away from the docks. Nearing the busy streets of the town he was forced to slow to a trot. Any horseman was likely to be a noble or a soldier, so most gave way as they heard Nicholas ride up behind or saw him coming. Still, he had to move cautiously. Slowing to a walk, he took in the sights around him. Shops were now opening and traders began setting their wares out in windows as costermongers displayed their produce upon their wagons, and more workers made their way to their places of employment. A couple of young women, not more than a year or two older than Nicholas, whispered to each other as he passed.

Crydee was strange to Nicholas. It was neither the rich quarters of Krondor nor the slums of the city; it was something else. The beggars one found haunting the merchants’ quarters in Krondor were absent, as well as the thieves one didn’t see, he suspected. He also doubted he’d find whores on the corner near the taverns in the evening, though he didn’t doubt there were ample ladies of salable affections in the taverns near the docks. The heavy industry, the large mills, the dyers, the tanners, the wagonwrights, and the rest, were not evident. No doubt there were some dyers and tanners in Crydee, but the reek of their trade didn’t reveal them the way it did down by the harbor in the Prince’s city.

No, Crydee was a town – A big, bustling, growing town, but not a city, and as such it was a place both wondrous and fearful to Nicholas. His nervousness at being away from home was offset by his curiosity about this new place and the people in it.

Clearing the eastern edge of the town proper, he kicked his animal into another canter and hurried toward the castle. His desire to be efficient doing Martin’s bidding was secondary to a more basic motivation: he was hungry.