by Lee Abrey
“Don’t you remember being young?” I said. “I’ve read books from a thousand years ago, young people whining about how the older generation don’t understand them. And the older generation saying, young folk today, what are they like? Wouldn’t be allowed, not in my day.”
“You do whine,” she said, looking amused. I smiled.
“My mother would agree with you.” I could afford to be magnanimous. By now my mother was safely on her way to the west coast with my father. I stopped thinking about doing Saraia over a couch in my rooms, which was what her wearing tight breeches and boots made me want to do. This was the new, almost-pure Polo. I was going to resist temptation.
Once we finished our food, I thanked Saraia for her company, excused myself, bowed politely and went to my suite. There I began a letter to Grandmama Daeva. That way, when Mother next heard from her, Grandmama would be full of my gossip and able to one-up Mother, and her other friends with grandchildren, in the family wars.
I caught Grandmama up with the news about the late Crown Prince and the king nearly dying - which I could supply good detail on, having heard the story from several eye-witnesses - then covered moving to Peterhaven, and wondered what else to say. I told her about my new horse and how I had become a friend of the new Crown Prince.
Like me, Azrael’s here at the citadel to finish school, though he’s also here to keep him safe. We came in on the same coach. It’s nice for us because we’re both new boys. It’s September holidays but school in two weeks.
Thank you very much for the riding whip and books and the help with getting here. I haven’t yet set up my accounts, but it’s all been such a rush. I will get to them soon. Again, thank you so much, I really do appreciate all your assistance. I will try to make you proud of me.
I paused and tried to think of anything else. I couldn’t, unless I wanted to add something spiky about busybody grandmothers who told tales. I was still feeling generous towards everyone so signed it with love.
Bernard showed me where envelopes were in my desk. To my delight, I had an address stamp, and stamped the paper carefully.
Polo Shawcross
103 Queen’s Mews, Green Dragon Citadel,
Peterhaven, Kingdom of Sendren
Having a secret pleasure in stationery, I was terrifically impressed by the stamp and couldn’t wait to use it again. I stamped a page so it was ready in case I wanted to write to someone. At Bernard’s suggestion I also stamped some cards to serve both as an aide-memoire to me and to hand out to anyone I wanted to pass my address on to. I looked through the rest of the stationery and discovered the kit included a leather-bound book that Bernard said was for my use.
“Young men are expected to keep a diary of their time at Court, lordship, a journal of their personal exploits, and then sell their memoirs when everyone involved is too old to care much. The younger generation will be suitably scandalised by the excesses of their elders but assume it was only a few of them who were so wild.” I laughed. Bernard’s eyes crinkled a little and I spotted the sign that he was pleased I’d laughed at his jokes.
“That is sensible, Bernard, keeping a diary. I shall think of it as my pension fund. I was keeping a journal already but this is very smart.” I paused. “Do you keep one?” He nodded.
“I think the chapters devoted to you will be popular, lordship. Of course, if one is including people still alive one should blur their identities enough to set people guessing, but not enough to make them sure.”
“Hmm,” I said, and wrote Monday, 9th September, 2977 A.E. at the top of the first page.
Galaia’s year was twelve months of twenty-eight days, the days slightly longer than Quadrant Standard, the year slightly shorter. A.E. was After Exodus, when settlers from Home officially settled the first Quadrant planet. We on Galaia were established before the rest of the planets and looked down on the Inner Quadrants always claiming to be first.
Then when the Great Silence came we kept the dating system. Perhaps, as we could no longer visit Home, it became a pleasant nostalgia. Besides, when we contacted the rest of the Quadrants again we’d be chronologically matched and catching up on three thousand years of unshared histories would easier.
I jotted down the basics of my adventures so far. Fortunately Bernard had noted major events in what he called the suite diary, which was a large one and lived on a desk in the study area, a large corner of the second sitting room. I used the suite diary to jog my memory of when things had happened, as the past five days or so were a trifle blurred in my mind. There was also a ledger where we began some entries with my coin, and a wall-safe where it could be kept. Seeing the money reminded me I didn’t need to spend it, I was to open some store accounts.
The suite was an immense amount of space for one person. Cats visited, beautiful big black things with golden eyes, but they didn’t stay, as the Palace Cats were loosed in sections of the citadel to catch any vermin, they lived in quarters beyond the Green. The toms were always neutered, or kept in the Palace Cattery, and the others spent afternoons sunning themselves on my windowsills or outside on the balconies.
There were servant quarters too, where Bernard and Bryce the night man lived. Other servants visited. I felt like I was rattling around but was happy to keep doing so. Bernard said along with a bedroom and sitting room, usually shared if you were there with family, most people had a toilet and basin, whereas I was blessed with a shower too. I was still expected to use the baths at least once a day.
It was part of the Peterhaven experience, walking the great distances up and down the hill and across the citadel for meals and ablutions. It was a social experience too, one that generally I enjoyed.
****
Chapter 14 – Finding a Friend
Some of my new clothes and shoes arrived, boots on their way, so I dressed and decided to take a bit of coin and go down into Peterhaven. I was about to set out when Azrael turned up, so I invited him along. He checked with Ross, the officer on duty, and then said he’d love to come if I didn’t mind the pain of a squad of bodyguards.
“I met some of the locals,” I said as we headed to his quarters, where he wanted to change clothes.
“I heard,” he said, before I could elaborate, “Indigo Sutherland tried to drown you in the baths.” I nodded.
“Aye,” I said, “that’s the one. He may have trouble siring children.” Azrael laughed.
“Remind me not to cross you, Polo.” I shrugged.
“One of his rescuers let me go when the other mentioned my name,” I said, “as though I was famous or something. I can only assume they know I’m your friend.” He smiled.
“Famous in Peterhaven?”
“Notorious,” I said, laughing, “please. Famous is so pedestrian.” Azrael had to put armour on, a sleeved mail tunic under his clothes. Like all our armour, it was light, made of bioplas. The bodyguards wanted me to wear armour too. By being next to the Crown Prince I was likely to be hit.
“Our first responsibility is to Himself,” Fenric said, “something happens, we look after him first. Therefore you need protection because we don’t want to be distracted by you bleeding or screaming. Mail will stop a crossbow bolt.” He rubbed a hand through his cropped black hair. “Or at least slow it, depends how close they are.”
We picked up mail for me at the new fort, from the biggest armoury I’d ever seen, which was only part of the citadel’s collections. A coach was waiting at the stables. Most of the bodyguards piled inside with us, some on the outside of the coach, until we reached the city, when we were allowed out to walk along the pavement. The bodyguards cleared a way for us by the simple medium of occupying the footpath and looking fierce. We stopped for coffee and pastries at a place called the Green Dragon Cafe, chosen for the ease with which the bodyguards could defend Azrael. It was a lovely sunny morning but we had to put up with being inside. Still, in a mail tunic lined with padded cotton I didn’t need the warmth of the sun.
“I wonder how many dragon-someth
ing cafes there are in Sendren?” I said. Azrael smiled. “Why can’t we think of better names? Why does everything here have dragon somewhere in it?”
“Dragon’s for variety,” he said, deadpan, “otherwise everything would be Old Bridge or New Bridge.” I laughed. “It’s true,” he said, “we’re not very imaginative.”
“You could rename everything,” I said, “when you’re king.”
“If you let kings rename places,” he said, “every generation the names would change, and at any one time half the population would be lost. Everything would be called Queen Rose’s this, or King Theo’s that. Actually, it would be names like King Theodore the Fifth’s Royal Infirmary. Which of course, everyone would shorten, and the hospitals would all be King Theo’s or to differentiate, the Royal.” I shuddered.
“Alright, I take it back,” I said, “boring names are better.” I decided to eat the custard tart first, a pecan one second.
“I will be the First Azrael,” he said, sounding thoughtful. “There’s only been one major renaming lately and that was a thousand years ago, when Dragon came. Maybe it is time to rename things. Make it compulsory to have dragon in the name.” He grinned at me and I ignored him, pretending not to smile. We sipped our coffees, enjoying our escape from the citadel.
“It must be strange to know you’re to be king,” I said, “providing you’re sensible you’ll be able to do almost anything once you’re ruler. Do you envy your grandfather, growing up without that pressure?” Azrael blinked.
“He did?” he said, sounding surprised. I told him Theo’s story about the plague.
“I always thought my bit of the family was a direct line,” said Azrael, “but it seems we’re a tributary rather than a main channel.”
“When they looked for heirs,” I said, “there were too many children without cat’s-eyes. Plenty of progeny but not breeding true.” He smiled.
“Let’s call it what it is,” he said, “it’s not a prettiness gene or cat’s eyes, it’s Dragon blood.” I looked around. He raised his eyebrows. “Hasn’t Mother given you her standard ‘let’s not pretend’ speech?” I shook my head. It didn’t seem polite to remind him that his mother and I hadn’t done that much talking.
“Call it Blood,” I said, keeping my voice down, “not Dragon. Let’s not alarm the natives. I grew up the only Blood in the village, and believe me, you don’t want to remind them. I wasn’t always big enough to win a fight, and the village boys liked to tell me I was born in an egg, that under my clothes I had scales, and so on. Then they’d try to strip me to find out.”
“What did they find out?” I shrugged.
“Some of them,” I said, “that they had gay tendencies. Others that they had glass jaws.”
“So you had some bad experiences-”
“Some?” I snorted. “My whole life, Azrael. My friends were adults, like my grandmother or local soldiers. My father, married to a Blood woman, is busy blaming the Blood for his own failures. If he’s convinced there’s a Blood conspiracy and suspicious of the more full-blood Dragon people, I don’t really think we should remind ordinary folk.” To my surprise I’d eaten the custard tart already.
“I think that’s wrong,” Azrael said. I shrugged, took a mouthful of the pecan tart. Treacle, pecans, and pastry. So simple, so good.
“Well, we don’t agree then,” I said, and wiped my mouth. “You try living in a village where aside from men at the local barracks, you and your mother are the only Blood. At school I was always the only Blood kid. Once I turned about twelve, I wasn’t allowed to excel on my own merits. It was always ‘because I was Blood’. I could never just be good, even at things that Dragon blood makes no difference to, like schoolwork. I had to hang out with the soldiers at the barracks to have someone to talk to aside from Mother and Father.”
“I have a peasant friend named Cida,” said Azrael, “she says she’s always told she’s good, but only ‘for a woman’ or ‘for a peasant’. You do know there’s no difference between us mentally?” He wasn’t hearing me. I left it for now.
“Aye, I know,” I said, “Blood are as stupid as commoners. They go as crazy as each other.” He laughed.
“You’re such a cynic, Polo.”
“Probably,” I said, suddenly feeling cheerful. “Speaking of commoners, you looked like you were having a pleasant time with young Eva.” He coloured.
“It was fun.” I smiled.
“See,” I said, “you’re not gay.” He grinned at me.
“Aye,” he said, “looking that way. I had no idea women were so good.” I laughed so hard I nearly spat coffee. “I was meaning to ask you,” said Azrael suddenly, “had you ever heard of people changing shape?” I looked around, hoping nobody was listening.
“Aye, I’ve heard of Dragon changing shape,” I said, stressing the word Dragon, “but not the Blood.” He leaned forward.
“I think we can all change,” he said, and I smiled, a little patronising. Next thing he’d say he still believed in the Birthday Dragon.
“Shape-changers are a peasant myth,” I said. “I’ve heard some people are born dragon-shape, but I’ve never heard of being able to change happening to anyone who wasn’t a full-blood Dragon.”
Outside on the street, a magpie hunting crumbs bounced onto a table. The black and white tracery on its feathers reminded me of my beautiful horse. The waitress stepped outside, shooing the bird with a tea towel.
“Nanny says she heard that anyone with bright eyes can change shape, in theory,” said Azrael. I decided to change the subject. It wasn’t that I wasn’t interested, but the waitress had stepped back in and was listening. Behind her, the magpie bounced haughtily back onto the table.
“I was thinking of Magpie as a name for my horse,” I said, struck by the notion.
“I like it,” said Azrael.
“Me too,” I said, “now what shall I spend my birthday coin on?”
****
We finished our coffee and went to look at the shops. Grandmama had sent a list of the places that would carry accounts for me, a selection of Peterhaven’s best, including a general store, a bookshop-stationers and my absolute favourite, a large tailors and military outfitter that did saddlery and tack along with clothes, armour and weapons. It smelled of leather, oils and waxes.
I could have wandered the halls for hours. I didn’t really need much, though I put an ounce of good mindweed and a fifth of excellent bourbon on account at the general store, and just in time remembered the box of condoms. A box of a hundred. I didn’t really need any of it, as the best of everything was available back in the citadel, but I wanted to make a point.
We bundled back into the coach for the journey back up the hill. I stared out the window, lost in my thoughts. Thanks to the king’s generosity I could live very well. It made sense to save my ten silvers allowance from Grandmama, put only things I needed on her accounts, and live otherwise on what the citadel provided. Already I dreaded one day leaving my grace-and-favour accommodation and trying to pay for Magpie’s board.
The stallion would need hard feed, oats and the like, then rugs and stabling. Gods, there would be body-brushes, dandy brushes, combs, hoof-picks, buckets, sponges, rugs, and hay for bedding, along with lucerne hay for eating. Then there were vet and farrier fees, before I even came up against the cost of keeping myself. Somewhere to sleep, linens to sleep on, and food to eat. I was sure there was more. Aha, I thought triumphantly, solar panels and cells. Clothes!
I was suddenly aware of my acute poverty. Being away from parents and living on the Crown brought it home. I’d signed chits for clothes and seen the prices being charged for my wardrobe. The tailors told me the Crown was getting a discount on fabrics but a pair of tailored underpants still cost ten silvers or a month’s allowance. A rich wife might be a handy thing but I didn’t really want to marry for money.
The king and queen hated each other. Much more so than my own parents, but I supposed the royals wouldn’t divorce unless forced to
. Mother and Father left each other every six months or so. As far back as Azrael could remember, Uncle Theo and Aunt Rose had lived on opposite sides of the citadel, only meeting at public events. I wondered if more space might help my parents, then was struck by a moment of horror. Was it my father’s idea to be a kept man when he married Mother? She had her trust fund and a rich, doting mother in Grandmama Daeva. I shuddered.
For me, the idea of a wealthy wife was shelved, but in order to survive once I left school I needed a job to go to. Ideally I could do with something one day a week now so I didn’t have to spend Grandmama’s coin. I might want to study at a guild and my allowance would make a very comfortable nest egg, those ten silvers adding up to four golds a year. What could I do?
I was experienced with animals, handy round either a garden or a kitchen. At sixteen, I was allowed to work a few hours a week, I must find out how many. A job would mean some independence and I could save towards my future. I resolved to talk to Uncle Theo on how to go about it, and if there was anything he knew of.
Across the coach, Azrael reached out a foot and poked me with the toe of his boot.
“You’ve drifted off,” he said. I smiled.
“Aye,” I said, “I was thinking I need a job. Do you know how long a sixteen-year-old is allowed to work per week?” He looked thoughtful.
“I think it’s eight hours until you have your high school certificate. Unless you’re in a paid apprenticeship. Grandpa was talking about it because he had to re-jig the law and put in a minimum hourly wage when he found some apprentices weren’t paid enough to survive on. I gather you expect to be poor when you’re an apprentice but not to actually starve. You’re poor? I can help.” I smiled.
“Thanks, but I’m alright.” I explained about Grandmama Daeva, how between her and Theo’s assistance I wasn’t lacking anything, but wanted to be independent. He reached his hand out and touched mine for a moment. Very hetero. Not tender, more a quick pat. Guards were all around, studiously ignoring us.