For the first time in years, he thought of the words Headmaster Cyrille had told him on his first day in the orphanage. He’d been sitting in his room, crying over his parents, when the Headmaster came to visit him. That was long before he’d discovered the headmaster’s addiction to the musky-scented tamarang, long before he received the first of the scars that covered his back.
On that first night, he’d thought the headmaster kind, even wise. The man looked like the world’s best grandfather, gray-haired with a jolly face. Cyrille came and sat beside him on the bed and patted his shoulder comfortingly. When he’d turned to look, the headmaster had been smiling. At the time, he’d thought the man was trying to reassure him. “Why do you weep, child?” The headmaster had asked.
Sniffling, wiping at the tears and snot that were running down his face, Aaron had been unable to answer.
“It is because of your parents, is it not?” The headmaster asked, his voice soft, filled with what the child Aaron—naïve and too young to know the hard truths about people, about the world—took to be compassion.
The old man shrugged casually then and his smile turned sharp, cruel, the first signs of his true self. “Men die and the gods watch. It is the way of things. And do you know what the gods do, when they watch, young Envelar?”
Aaron had shaken his head, unable to speak past the lump in his throat. The man had grinned wider displaying a crooked row of brown-stained teeth as he leaned closer, so close that Aaron could smell the bitter, acrid smell of the tamarang, though he’d known nothing of the herb then. He could feel the cloying, sickening warmth of the man’s breath against his face, “They laugh. Men die, and the gods laugh, my son. So has it ever been. So will it ever be.”
The headmaster had been a cruel man, one who exalted in the perverse depravities he visited on the young girls of the orphanage as well as the severe beatings he administered to the boys. He was a sick, evil bastard. Now he was a dead one and what difference did that make? Those who had suffered or died under his twisted care got none of that which was taken from them back. The dead remained dead and the girls, those girls with the dead eyes and shuffling, lifeless walks, would never get their innocence back.
Over the years, as the headmaster’s tamarang addiction grew worse, so too did his rages and degradations. In the end, when Aaron had come for him, he’d barely had enough of his wits left to understand that he was going to die. Aaron had stood and watched as the man gasped his last breath, as his eyes glossed over with the unmistakable gaze of the dead, and he had enjoyed it. Still the man had been right. “Men die and the gods laugh.” He muttered as he gazed out over the endless water as it eddied indifferently in the wind.
Aaron was so lost in his own dark thoughts that he had no idea anyone was behind him until he felt a hand on his arm. He whipped around and was surprised to see Adina standing there, watching him with eyes the color of the roiling water, her brow creased with worry, “Are you okay?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
She shrugged. In the white, clinging silk shirt that she wore, he found that the motion did interesting things with her breasts, and all thoughts of the headmaster and the orphanage where he’d spent the last years of his childhood faded, and the sounds of those child’s screams stilled and grew silent. “I called your name three times.”
He coughed and forced his eyes away from the view the dress provided, “I … err… I was thinking.”
“Oh?” She asked. “What about?” She smiled a small, knowing smile, and he got the impression that he may have taken too long to look up, after all.
“Just some things Balen and Randolph were telling me.”
She raised an eyebrow curiously, and he began to retell the story the two men had told him. Adina waited silently as he did, asking few questions, but he saw the anger gathering in her eyes like the first signs of darkening clouds before a thunderstorm. By the time he was finished, tears were winding their slow, meandering way down her face. “I didn’t know it had gotten so bad,” she said, her voice a dry, weak whisper, “With Eladen gone, the people must have had nowhere to turn. Claudius is a sniveling coward, a fat buffoon who cares only about himself, but I wouldn’t have expected him to let the people starve. There are plenty of farms in the north—it doesn’t make any sense.” She shook her head slowly, wiping at her eyes, “I had no idea.”
A surge of anger flared through him, and although Aaron knew it wasn’t fair, he couldn’t stop himself. “Why would you? You were too busy giving orders and living a life of luxury in your castle just like the rest of your brothers and sisters. How could you be bothered to know that the common folk were starving to death? They’re nothing but cattle to people like you anyway.”
She jumped as if struck and took a hasty step back. “That’s not true! How can you say that?”
“How?” He growled, grabbing her roughly by the arms, “Because I know, that’s how. My parents died because of people like you. Because of nobles, I spent the last years of my childhood getting beaten until I couldn’t walk by an old bastard who loved his pipe more than his god. But that was fine wasn’t it?” He sneered, “He paid his taxes to your father, didn’t he? He kissed all the right asses, was invited to some of the best parties, and shit, he worked wonders for the orphan population, didn’t he? Taking those poor, downtrodden girls and boys off the streets? Why, the man was almost a fucking saint.”
“Let go of me; you’re hurting me,” Adina gasped, but he wasn’t listening. His mind was traveling back to those days so long ago, to the pain and the impotent rage that had been his constant companion.
He gripped her tighter as he moved closer so that his face was only inches from her, “And hey, if he made the occasional visit to a young orphan girl’s room at night? If, during his nightly beatings, he managed to beat some of the younger, weaker boys too badly, so badly that the next day they were just gone? Disposed of like broken toys? Well, what does that matter? They’re just orphans, right? Just commoners. Of course, no one would ever know anyway because no one ever fucking asks. Oh but you nobles care, don’t you? Sure, you and your friends put on your new dresses and go to dinners and talk about how you pity the common man, about how you abhor his suffering. All the while, you sit your pampered asses on fluffed pillows and cover yourselves in silk, but at least you’re sorry”
She tried to jerk away again, but he pulled her back with a growl. One of her arms moved, and before he knew it she was holding a small, thin blade against his throat. “I said let go of me.”
He barked a harsh laugh, “Or what? You’ll kill me?” He leaned against the blade, a feral grin splitting his face, and her eyes widened as blood welled up against his throat. “Go ahead, princess,” he snarled, “Your kind have been killing my kind for years. Why stop now?”
She tried to pull away again, and this time he let her. “I hate you,” She observed, her voice cold and calm despite the flush of red in her cheeks and forehead. She turned and started back toward the cabins.
“I’m surprised, princess,” he called after her, “I didn’t think us commoners mattered enough to warrant anything but your pity.”
She stopped and stood with her back toward him for several seconds before looking back. “I came to tell you that Captain Leomin has asked us to dine with him two nights from now.” Her voice was as hard as iron, as cold as the icy mountains of the north, yet he noticed that her hands were shaking.
“Speaking of us,” he said, “where’s your other servant?”
Her jaws clenched tightly, and she took a deep breath before answering. “Gryle says that he wasn’t made for the sea. Based on the buckets he’s gone through in the past hours, I’d be inclined to agree.” She turned and walked away.
What was all that about? Co asked in his mind.
None of your business, firefly. He said, his eyes still locked on the door through which she’d gone.
She didn’t deserve that, the Virtue admonished.
His smile had no h
umor in it. “If not her, then who? Besides, in my experience, lightning bug, people never get what they deserve.” Despite his words, he’d taken two steps toward the door the princess had disappeared through, an apology on his lips, before he realized what he was doing. He hesitated, his hand on the door, mulling over the words he would say for several moments before her words from the night before ran through his head. Don’t try to act human now, she’d said. And that was right, wasn’t it? Commoners were nothing more than ill, misbegotten beasts to her and her kind, creatures placed on earth to serve and amuse them, easy targets for their sick, perverse indulgences.
After all, Cyrille hadn’t always been alone in his nighttime frolics, had he? He’d often brought “friends,” the same men who spoke with such eloquence about the plight of the commoner, men dressed in rich doublets and trousers, with arrogant swaggers, calculating smiles, and eyes colder than winter frost. He turned away from the door in disgust and walked away. He’d had his fill of nobles.
CHAPTER
FOURTEEN
The next few days aboard the Clandestine passed uneventfully for Aaron. Adina took pains to stay as far away from him as possible, and never once did the chamberlain venture out onto the deck, instead spending his time filling buckets as if he was getting paid to do it. As for the crew, the men were polite enough to Aaron’s face, if in an off-handed, distracted sort of way. When he spoke to them, they answered, but they seemed to use as few words as possible, and always there was some urgent task that required their attention elsewhere. When they thought he wasn’t looking, he saw them sizing him up as if spoiling for a fight. He wasn’t much surprised; he had that effect on people.
As for Captain Leomin, Aaron hadn’t seen the man venture onto the deck since he and the others boarded. He’d begun to think that the Parnen didn’t plan on coming out of his cabin until they put into port when he finally showed himself. Aaron was standing at the edge of the ship, watching the moonlight reflect off the passing water like a field of shifting diamonds, as a skeleton crew of sailors saw to the ship’s needs in what felt like brooding quiet. Somewhere out there, a ship was still following them, and despite the first mate’s boasts of the Clandestine’s swiftness, the ship seemed to be gaining on them, though it could have been his imagination.
He was grimly wondering who would kill him first, Aster or Belgarin’s men, when someone cleared their throat behind him. He turned, his hands balled into fists, expecting to find one of the sailors had finally decided to try his luck. Instead, he was surprised to see Captain Leomin standing before him. The Parnen was smiling widely, and what appeared to be small gold and silver bells twinkled in his long, dark hair. “Oh,” Aaron grunted, “it’s you.”
Leomin smiled wider, “It is good that you are here to tell me. I had begun to wonder. Now, if only someone would tell me what it means to be me, I would be most thankful.”
Aaron frowned, “Listen, I appreciate you taking us out of the Downs, but I’m not in the best mood, and if you don’t have anything to say …”
“Let us say, then, that I do have something to say,” the man said, tilting his head first one way and then the other and setting the small bells to jingling as if to punctuate his words.
Aaron sighed. “Okay then.” The captain grinned, saying nothing. “Well?”
“Oh!” The captain said as if surprised, “you mean now? Very well. Well, let me begin with a question for you, Aaron Envelar, formerly of the Downs. A riddle of sorts. What do all men, smugglers or kings, covet?”
“Silence?”
The captain’s laugh was rich and mellifluous and despite himself, Aaron found that he had to fightt back a smile. “Money, Mr. Envelar,” the captain whispered, as he stepped beside him and stared out at the sea. “Men covet money. Sure, there are other, passing lusts, but they soon lose their … shall we say, luster. For an old man, late in his years, even beautiful women hold little appeal, but all men, young or old, rich or poor, covet money—even if they don’t know what they would do with it if they had it. They yearn for it in the way an alcoholic craves a drink, or a sneak-thief a moonless night. Money, like power, is one of the ways in which all men are made or broken—one of the paths by which we are all tested.”
“What are you talking about?” Aaron asked, realizing, with surprise, that he was interested in what the man had to say. Not for the first time, he was amazed by the fact that the man could speak complete nonsense, but do it in such a way that Aaron felt compelled to listen, as if he was some legendary prophet of old instead of the insane captain of a smuggler crew.
“I am talking,” Leomin said, “about five thousand gold coins.” Aaron tensed at that. The captain’s smile was still in place, but it appeared wooden now, and it didn’t touch the limpid depths of his eyes.
Five thousand gold coins. The exact amount that the man, Aster, had put on Aaron’s head. He knew. Somehow, the man knew about the price Aster had put on Aaron’s head. His hands drifted slowly toward the handles of the blades at his sides. How the captain had figured out didn’t matter. What mattered was that he had, and that he was obviously planning on collecting. Reliable my ass, May, he thought.
“Relax,” the captain said, his midnight gaze never leaving Aaron’s, “we are two men talking, nothing more.” He glanced around as if to make sure that none of the sailors had drifted within ear shot. “Still, such a sum would cause many men to act … crazy.” Normally, such words coming from the odd Parnen would have been a cause for laughter, but Aaron had no time for humor. He was busy considering whether or not to draw his blades and slit the captain’s throat. Maybe he was going to die, but he’d make damned sure he’d have company when he walked Salen’s Fields. The Parnen smiled knowingly as if he could read the sellsword’s thoughts.
“Well,” Aaron growled, “so you know. What do you plan to do about it?”
The captain leaned back, and the bells in his hair set to tinkling once more. “Me?” He asked with a smile, “Why, I am the captain. I intend to do exactly what is best for those of us upon this vessel; we brave souls who have thrust ourselves into the mysterious depths of Sheza’s playing ground, throwing caution to the winds and reservation to the waves.” He gave a flourish of a silk-covered wrist, “In short, I intend to have dinner. Tomorrow night. You are, of course, going to attend?”
Aaron opened his mouth to tell the man that he’d rather attend his own execution, but the Parnen had already started away, waving his long hair, whistling along to the jingle of the bells as he headed below decks. “Five thousand gold coins,” Aaron muttered to himself, still amazed at the sum. It was a funny thing to realize he was worth more dead than alive.
He glanced around at the sailors tending the rigging and working the lines. It could have just been his imagination, but he thought that they were glancing at him more frequently than what would be expected. And what was all that talk about men who were untested? What had that fool of a Parnen been trying to say? He realized, with a groan, that the best way to find out would be to accept the captain’s invitation. “Son of a bitch.” His mood quickly growing from bad to worse, he headed below decks.
CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
The following night, Aaron found himself outside the captain’s cabin. What throw of Iladen’s dice has landed me here? He thought miserably and not for the first time. Inside his head, Co giggled, but he did his best to ignore it as he reached out and knocked.
He heard grumbling from within and the door opened upon the Parnen captain. The man was frowning, “Yes, yes, welcome. Come in and be seated.”
Aaron followed Leomin into a cabin that was at least eight times the size of his own. The air was redolent with the smell of cooked meat and vegetables. The room, like the captain himself, was adorned with ostentatious, glaring decorations of every possible color and shape. Ornately-made diamond chandeliers hung from the ceilings and drapes of richly colored cloths hung against the wall. Interspersed between these were several mounted animal
skulls, many of which he didn’t recognize. A massive, kingly table stood in the center of the room, and Adina sat in one of its high-backed chairs.
Ignoring the princess’s scowl, Aaron walked across the room and took a seat across from her. The captain reclined leisurely in a chair at the head of the table, draping an arm over its back. “It is a poor, destitute time when a captain must not only open his own door to his guests, but must also serve his own food.” The Parnen grumbled. “I’ve a mind to sit here until I wither away to a dry husk. Perhaps that would teach Balen the error of neglecting his duties.” He glanced at the princess knowingly, “Good help is so hard to find these days. After all, what good is a first mate if the man can’t even serve dinner on time?”
“I’m sure, Captain Leomin, that Balen has some good excuse for being unable to attend,” Adina tried carefully.
Leomin rolled his eyes with a sigh, “Oh please. ‘Sir,” he began in a terribly inaccurate mimicry of Balen’s thick accent, “The lads tell me that the ship that’s been following us is closing in, and I must see to it.” He snorted, “An obvious attempt to shirk his duties.” He shook his head in annoyance, and Aaron was thankful that the captain had at least taken the bells out of his hair. He was sure that if he’d had to listen to them jingling through the entire dinner he would have taken his sword to the Parnen and damn the consequences.
“It’s as if the man was born without any sense of decorum, whatsoever!” The captain exclaimed.
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