Empire of Avarice

by Tony Roberts

  “Your skills as a scout are wonderful,” Amne said, trying to bring some friendliness back into the conversation.

  “Thank you, ma’am.” Lalaas was formal and correct, but distant in his tone.

  Amne sighed inwardly. Already she was missing the closeness and comradely manner that had been between them, but knew she would from now on have to be treated as a princess once more. She wondered if she would ever view being of noble blood the same again.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Argan sulked. It was so unfair! Istan always got his mother on his side, even when he started things. He was so annoying, picking on Argan and taking his things and then crying if Argan tried to take them back, so that the grown-ups sided with his younger brother.

  They were always telling him he had to act like a prince and behave, but it was so hard, especially if Istan made him cross. Istan never behaved like a prince and they were never telling him to act like one. So why were they always telling him he had to be? Argan sat on his bed and stared at his feet, kicking them in the air since he still wasn’t tall enough for them to reach the ground when he was on his bed.

  Now he was locked in his room. All because Istan had eaten his own sweet pastry fast and then snatched Argan’s half eaten one and stuffed it into his own mouth, and Argan had slapped Istan for being a thief and a greedy porcine. Rousa hadn’t been able to control Istan – she was getting too old to stop him running around anyway – and all she had been able to do was to comfort the thief and tell Argan off.

  He hated Istan. He hated the old Rousa. He hated being a prince. Why couldn’t he be like the other boys and be allowed to run around and shout and play in the courtyard? There were other children in the palace now, but he had been told he wasn’t allowed to play with them since he was a prince and they were not. He had asked his mother a few times wistfully but she had been quite severe and had told him not to ask again the last time he’d asked.

  There were voices coming through the window that overlooked the courtyard now, and he got off the bed and scrambled up onto the toy box by the window and peered out, his nose pressed against the cool glass. The sun didn’t get around to his side of the courtyard until late afternoon, then it made his room nice and warm.

  Down in the courtyard there were three boys running around, boys he didn’t recognise. New arrivals? There were people coming and going a lot these days, and he’d even heard that there was – and he whispered the name in his mind – a Tybar here in the palace! He worried what the Tybar would do. Would he turn into a hissing orph…orph… he tried to remember the correct name Mr. Sen had told him but he couldn’t quite do it, so he made up his own name: wriggler. Would the Tybar turn into a wriggler and come into his room to try to eat him? Hopefully not, and there were always guards outside his room. They’d stop it with their volgar things.

  He’d once asked a guard if he could hold his volgar and the guard had chuckled and told him it was too heavy, but Argan had insisted so the guard had put the long weapon down on the floor and asked if Argan could pick it up, and Argan found it was so heavy that he could hardly move it! But the guard had kindly said to try the pole end and Argan had managed to lift that up to his tummy and the guard had clapped which had been nice of him. The guard had said that once he was big and strong enough to lift it all up then he could hold it like the guards did. Argan had been pleased. At least the guards were nice to him. He liked the guards, and their boss, Vosgaris. Even though Vosgaris had to do as his mother told him, quite often Vosgaris sneaked in things for him with a wink like sweet pastries.

  Now, as Argan peered down into the courtyard, he saw Vosgaris talking to a tall man, and the tall man called one of the new boys over to him and ruffled his hair when he got to the man’s side. It must be his son. Vosgaris smiled and spoke to the boy. Argan would have to speak to Vosgaris and ask him who the boy was, and the man. After all, the palace was his home too and he should know who was coming and going. He might also ask about the Tybar. Vosgaris never laughed at him when he asked questions like some of the others did.

  He felt lonely. He so wished he could join in the chasing game the other boys were playing, and a tear ran down his cheek. The palace felt like a prison at times, whatever a prison was, but he had heard some people say that when they didn’t like what was going on. Maybe he’d ask Mr. Sen what a prison was. He was sure that was a sensible question and Mr. Sen wouldn’t hold his fat tummy and chuckle at him for asking what he thought was a silly question.

  Argan was fascinated by Mr. Sen’s tummy. He was dying to poke it and see if his finger vanished into the wobbly skin, or if it would pop like a bubble and lots of fat stuff would flop out. Ugh! He thought that would be horrible. Maybe he wouldn’t poke Mr. Sen’s tummy after all. He wondered how he was so fat and others weren’t. Would he ask Mr. Sen? No, he thought it might be rude. Despite his sad mood he giggled to himself and cheered up a bit.

  He did wonder about a lot of things, such as what was that stuff that came out of Istan’s nose. And why was there so much? He still hadn’t found out where eggs came from, as Amne wasn’t there anymore and he was sure she knew. He had been told she would return one day but his mother looked so worried when anyone spoke about Amne and Argan decided he better not mention Amne. He did like her and he missed her.

  He returned to his bed and climbed up onto it. Ever since they had moved to the palace things had changed. He could still remember that night, even though it was a long time ago. He couldn’t remember much else, but he did remember that wriggler and it still gave him the scary shakes. He lay on his back and looked up at the ceiling. It was all lines and shapes and he often stared at it, following the lines as they curved round into the flower shapes that were all over it. Someone had told him it was plaster work. He would one day find out what that was. Oh! There was still so much he didn’t know, and it annoyed him! Mr. Sen did teach him a lot but it wasn’t enough.

  He still hadn’t been told what difference it was to be a prince, and what he would be taught that was different to any other boy. He hoped they would soon begin to teach Istan to behave and stop stealing food and toys from Argan. One day Argan would box Istan’s ears so much they would look like those on the great monsters he’d seen in Mr. Sen’s colourful animal book. What were they called? Fantors, or something like that. Fantors were not supposed to be real, Mr. Sen had said, but some had said they were supposed to be real beyond the western mountains where nobody went. Mr. Sen had said the Tybar had come from beyond the western mountains which was why they were so scary.

  Fantors were massive beasts, as big as a house, and crushed people and other animals with their huge feet. One of the cooks, Delorsa, had big feet. Maybe she was part Fantor. She was always treading on things, including the other cooks’ toes, and he’d heard one shout once that Delorsa was a clumsy Fantor. Argan giggled again. Delorsa had not been pleased and had screamed at the cook and whacked her with a spoon. Maybe Argan could use that as an insult to Istan? Not yet, because Istan didn’t know what a Fantor was, but once he did, he’d go round calling Istan a clumsy Fantor. Or maybe something that ate a lot and stole food. What silly animal did that? He’d have to think on that.

  On an impulse he slid off his bed and grabbed one of the books on his bookshelf. It was of animals in Kastan, and he flipped the thick pages – they were thick because of the lovely colourful drawings – and stared at them. There! A porcine was eating some things on the ground, and all the pictures of porcines were of them eating and getting dirty in the mud. Istan the Porcine. That was it.

  “Porcine, porcine,” he said in a sing-song manner. It made him feel better even more. “Istan’s a porcine!” He laughed and slapped the book shut and jumped onto his bed. He’d cheered up.

  “What’s all the singing, then, young Prince?” Vosgaris asked from the doorway. Argan was startled; he hadn’t heard the door being unlocked and opened.

  “Nothing!” Argan smiled brightly. “Just singing to myself.”


  “Ah.” What Vosgaris meant by that was anyone’s guess. “Well, young Prince, I’ve been asked to bring you along to meet your new teacher.”

  “My new teacher?” Argan asked, sliding off the bed again. “What’s going to happen to Mr. Sen?”

  “Oh, Mr. Sen is still going to teach you what he’s been teaching all this time, it’s just that now you’re going to learn how to fight and hold weapons.”

  “Oh? Really?” Argan asked, sucking in his breath. It was exciting; at least something to do other than sit in stuffy old rooms. A chance to do something different! “Who is my new teacher, Vosgaris?”

  The captain smiled and tapped the side of his nose. “Patience, young Prince. You’ll see very soon.” Argan was led downstairs, past a few guards and a group of people who bowed to Argan. Argan had been told that people would bow to him because he was a prince, but he must smile and acknowledge them. What acknowledge meant he didn’t know, until Mr. Sen had said it meant noticing what they did. So Argan smiled as he went past and the people, three women and two men, smiled back, but just a little. It wasn’t considered good manners to smile more than the prince. Vosgaris always looked more serious at times like that, as if he was looking to see if anyone wasn’t going to bow, and once they turned the corner, the captain relaxed again and leaned forward to Argan. “Now, you must be serious and not fool around; this man, your new teacher, does not like silly children being foolish, and since you’re a prince, you ought to behave better than any other boy.”

  “Vosgaris,” Argan said with a huff, “you sound just like mother!”

  The captain looked surprised, and made a show of being shocked. “Really? Oh please don’t go telling her that! Nobody’s allowed to be like your mother! I think she might tell me off, don’t you?”

  “She might, yes,” Argan nodded, then realised they were about to go out into the courtyard. He followed the guard captain out into the sunshine and saw the tall man he’d seen earlier from his bedroom. Vosgaris went up to him and spoke a few words, then turned.

  “May I introduce the Prince Argan of the House of Koros.”

  The tall man bowed, a serious expression on his face. Argan inclined his head to just that small degree he’d been taught, then stared in fascination at the man. There was a deep line down his face, a red line that seemed to look like a cut. It went from the side of his face opposite his eye down to his chin.

  Vosgaris indicated the tall man with his open palm. “Prince Argan, may I introduce Panat Afos, your new military tutor?”

  “Pleased to meet you,” Argan said, a little nervously, still staring at the deep line.

  “Your majesty,” Panat bowed once more. “I’m honoured to meet you, and doubly honoured to be your tutor. Under me, you will learn how to handle a sword, and to conduct yourself in a battle. I served the empire for many years until this wound,” he waved at the deep line on his face, “after which I had to retire. You may like to meet my son, who is probably about your age.” He called across the courtyard to the boy who he’d earlier ruffled. “Kerrin!”

  The boy came running over and bounded to a halt by his father’s side. “Kerrin, my son,” Panat said proudly. “Kerrin, this is Prince Argan Koros.”

  Kerrin, a pale complexioned boy, stared at Argan in surprise, then bowed low, his face very serious.

  Argan bowed in return. “Are you going to stay here from now on?” he asked Kerrin.

  “Oh, yes, your majesty!” Kerrin beamed, looking up at his father. “We have just moved into our new quarters!”

  Panat laid a hand on Kerrin’s shoulder. “Why don’t you tell the young prince about yourself? Captain Vosgaris and I have to discuss many things.”

  “Why is that?” Kerrin asked, and Argan leaned forward, his voice low.

  “Captain Vosgaris is in charge of the security of the palace, and I’m sure he’s going to speak to your father about that very thing! He’s my guardian here in the palace, did you know that?”

  “No,” Kerrin said, “but I’ve just got here so I don’t know much about the palace, except it’s very big and posh! Much posher than we’re used to, I can tell you!”

  “It is, you’re right, Kerrin,” Argan nodded.

  “Young Prince,” Vosgaris said, guiding Panat over to the other side of the courtyard, “you’re to be at the dining hall in a half watch’s time for dinner. Don’t be late or I’ll be in trouble with your mother!”

  Argan bowed, then whispered to Kerrin. “You’ve not seen much of the palace then?”

  Kerrin shook his head. “Only our rooms, which is – oh – I don’t know. We went along so many twisty corridors to get to this yard. Are you really a prince?”

  “Yes, but I don’t feel like one. But I don’t know what a prince is meant to feel like,” Argan said. “I keep on not being allowed to do this or say that or go there by the grown-ups and it’s all very silly. I mean, if I’m a prince then surely I can go anywhere I like!”

  Kerrin giggled, his hand over his mouth. “Grown-ups are like that, don’t you think? I’m not allowed to do this or that as well!”

  “So where shall we go?” Argan asked.

  “I don’t know – where is there to go?”

  Argan thought for a moment. “Um; the servants are all busy working, and they get cross if you get in their way. Mother is doing some grown-up thing with some boring councillors. I know! Let’s go to my study room! Mr. Sen won’t be there now and there’s lots of interesting things in there! C’mon!”

  The two boys slipped through the courtyard door and Argan led Kerrin along the marbled passageway. They passed a couple of guards who watched them out of curiosity, but since the young prince was one of the two, they did nothing other than bow. A scribe came hurrying out of a side room, almost knocking Argan aside, and he apologised profusely, bowing low, before scuttling off to a room on the other side of the passageway.

  “Does everyone bow to you, Argan?” Kerrin asked, trying to peek into the room the scribe had rushed into. The door shut and Kerrin looked away, disappointed.

  “Yes, they’re supposed to. Mother says I have to be treated as a prince, but I must act like one too. It’s very hard, you know, Kerrin. It’s not that easy, I can tell you!”

  Kerrin looked at his companion in sympathy. “So, what are all these rooms? There’s loads of them!”

  “Oh, these are the offices of the scribes and the imperial – “ he paused, trying to remember what he had heard it called. “Oh, I can’t remember, foohey! Something to do with laws and taxes and what have you. Boring stuff.”

  Kerrin grinned. “Must be a lot of people here.”

  “Oh, yes, loads. Most only work here and they go home after they finish, but some live here too, like you’re going to. Do you know what you’re supposed to do during the day?”

  Kerrin scratched his head. “Don’t know, really. Father said I should be learning things but he wants me to be a soldier like he was! He’s great with the sword, and he’ll teach you loads!”

  “Did he get that scar on his head fighting?”

  Kerrin nodded. “Yeah – it stopped him being a soldier. He was proper poorly, so mother said. She said he nearly died! I was too young to remember. Since then he’s looked to teach people how to be proper soldiers. But there wasn’t much work ‘cuz people didn’t like soldiers or want to be. Your father’s changed all that, you know.”

  Argan was touched by the pride in Kerrin’s voice at mentioning his father. Argan wondered if his father would see him again, as he seemed to be fighting that war all the time. He felt suddenly fearful that he would never see his father. Hastily changing the subject, he tugged on Kerrin’s arm. “Here, this is the place!” he opened the classroom door and peered in. Sunlight streamed through the un-curtained windows, illuminating the desks, chairs, tables and bookshelves. There was no sign of anyone. “It’s empty!”

  The two boys entered, Kerrin shutting the door behind him. The newcomer stared in wonder at the rows of books.
“Wow! Look at all those books! What are they about?”

  “Don’t know – my tutor Mr. Sen shows me a few, but most are grown-up’s books, full of writing and no pictures. My books are down here, look!” He showed Kerrin the book full of soldiers and the two lay down on the rug that covered the middle portion of the floor and shared the book.

  They chatted about the various soldiers, some wearing full armour, others only wearing light padded or leather jerkins. Archers, spearmen, swordsmen, cavalry. They found the section on war machines interesting; neither had seen the great devices made to knock down walls, but there they were in the book, great wooden machines with swinging levers that hurled rocks.

  They didn’t notice that so much time had passed, until the door opened and a face peered in anxiously. It was one of the guards. “Ah, there you are, young Prince. Your mother the empress is looking for you.”

  “Oh,” Argan stood up, brushing down his clothes. “Dinner. I forgot!”

  The guard grinned and withdrew, and Argan heard him call out to someone along the corridor. He had a sinking feeling in his stomach. He would be in trouble again. Her always seemed to be in trouble, but he never looked to cause any. He looked at Kerrin who had picked up the book. “Best put it where we found it. I think you’ll be needed to be with your father. I’ve got to go.”

  Kerrin nodded. “We meet again tomorrow? It’d be nice to have a friend here; I lost all my friends when we had to move here.”

  “Friend?” Argan echoed. The fact was he never had a friend before, and the thought pleased him. “Yes, that’d be great!”

  Kerrin smiled shyly. “I’ve never had a prince as a friend before,” he said.

  “Well, I’ve never had a friend ever!”

  They stood grinning at each other, then they heard Vosgaris’s voice. “Prince Argan!”