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.
• CHAPTER FOUR •
Squire
NICHOLAS STUMBLED.
Harry said as he passed his friend, ‘Hurry, or Samuel will have our ears!’
In the week since they had come to serve at Crydee, the boys had discovered their bane: Housecarl Samuel. The old steward, approaching eighty years of age, had been in the service of the ducal household of Crydee since Nicholas’s grandfather’s time. And he could still wield a stout switch.
The morning after Amos departed, Harry had stopped upon an errand to make the acquaintance of some local girls, and had returned overly late from his mission to find a tight-lipped Samuel waiting for him. When shown the switch, Harry had tried to joke his way past the punishment, for he hadn’t been whipped since leaving his father’s estates. When it was evident the old man wasn’t jesting, Harry had shrugged off the punishment until he discovered that while Samuel was old, there was nothing feeble about his switch. Nicholas had tried to avoid the same punishment, but on the third day had managed to make hash of a series of tasks for the Duke. For a while he had faintly hoped that his rank would spare him the punishment, but all Samuel said was ‘In my time I’ve switched your uncle the King, boy.’
The two Squires were racing across the courtyard to meet with their supervisor at first light. The Housecarl would inform them if there were any unusual duties to perform instead of reporting to their respective stations outside the Duke and Marcus’s rooms. Usually, they were to remain available to Martin and his son should they need the boys, but sometimes the Duke thought of something for them to do after they had gone to bed; he would pass instructions through the Housecarl.
Reaching the hall that led to the old man’s office, they found him opening the door as they hove into view. The rule was simple: if they weren’t there by the time he was seated behind the large table he used as a work desk, they were late and would be punished.
Scrambling down the hall, the two boys were through the portal as the reed-thin old man sat down. Raising one nearly white eyebrow, he said, ‘Cutting it a bit fine today, aren’t we, boys?’
Harry tried to sm
ile, but failed in the attempt. ‘Anything special, sir?’
Samuel’s eyes narrowed a moment as he thought; then he said, ‘Harry, to the harbor and see if the mail packet from Carse came in during the night. It was due in yesterday, and if it still is not here, the Duke wants to know.’ Harry didn’t wait to see if Nicholas had anything special; when an order was given by the Housecarl, a lowly court page or squire didn’t dare linger. Samuel continued, ‘Nicholas, attend your master.’
Nicholas hurried back toward the Duke’s quarters. Now that he was no longer dashing through the still-dark corridors, he suddenly felt very tired. He was not an early riser by nature. This business of being up before sunrise was taking its toll.
From the morning after the welcoming banquet, the alien quality of being in this frontier castle was slowly being replaced with a familiar routine: either being in a hurry or standing around waiting. And the hours were from before dawn to after the evening meal. The Prince had expected things to be somewhat different, but the impact of just how different things were was beginning to gnaw at Nicholas.
He reached Martin and Briana’s chamber door and waited. If the past week’s experience was any predictor, the Duke and Duchess would both be awake and dressing and coming through that door in the next few minutes. Nicholas turned and leaned back against the wall. He gazed through a window that looked out over the courtyard and the town beyond the wall. The grey of morning was deep, and while Nicholas was becoming used to the landmarks of Crydee, there was still barely enough light to make out details. Within the hour the sun would rise, and the town would be bathed in morning brilliance – or still grey with overcast. The weather around here was very difficult to predict, Nicholas observed.
He yawned and wished he were back on his pallet. No, he corrected himself, he wished he were back in his own bed in Krondor. He had to admit that fatigue made the straw-stuffed mattress tolerable, but he would never think of it as comfortable. Nicholas still grappled with homesickness, but only in rare moments like these when he had a few minutes to think about himself. The rest of the time he was too busy.
Prince of the Blood, the King's Buccaneer Page 49