HONOR BOUND (The Spare Heir)

by Southwick, Michael G.

  “That would be very kind of you,” Jorem said with sincerity. “I didn’t even think about my shoes when I set out this morning and I could certainly use a good pair of boots.”

  It only took a few moments to pay for the cloak, gloves and scarf. Jorem had no idea what they should have cost, but the price he paid didn’t seem to be too much to him. Linda had told him that the prices here were good and he decided that he would trust her judgment. Besides, if the snow kept falling he would know how good the cloak was by the time he got back to the inn.

  The woman had Jorem wait while she went to see if the shoemaker was home. She returned in a few moments and escorted him to the door of the shoemaker’s shop. It was actually in the same building, just a few doors down the walkway from the woman’s shop. The door opened and a slender man with short dark hair motioned them in. Jorem was a little surprised when the woman came in with him. She seemed to have taken an interest in him. Apparently she wasn’t going to leave him on his own until she was satisfied he was taken care of.

  The room they entered had an odd, musty smell to it. The rich smell of leather permeated the air. Mingled with the smell of the leather were a variety of odors, some pleasant, some not so pleasant. A varied assortment of shoes and boots lined one wall of the shop. The other walls were a clutter of leather, tools and odd contraptions. A number of partially finished shoes were scattered about the room as though the shoemaker couldn’t decide which pair to finish first.

  “Jessie tells me you are in need of shoes.” The man’s voice was soft and mild and he puttered about the shop as he spoke. “You look a bit young to be on your own. Where might you be from?”

  “I’m staying at the Broken Arms. ” Jorem replied. If possible he’d rather everyone didn’t know who he was. Drawing attention to himself in a place where his brothers had made the royal family so unpopular didn’t sound like a good idea.

  The shoemaker scratched his head and muttered to himself for a moment. “With as much snow as this storm’s putting down it won’t take but a wiff of a breeze to close all of the roads out of here for weeks. I’d have thought those that had come for the knighting would have been long gone by now.”

  “I’ll be staying for a while,” Jorem said as casually as he could.

  The shoemaker sat down on a stool and gestured to a chair in front of him. “Have a seat and we’ll see if I’ve anything that will fit you.”

  Jorem sat down in the stiff-backed chair a little uncertainly. Without any hesitation the shoemaker reached down, grasped Jorem’s ankle and lifted his foot up. Deftly the man stripped off Jorem’s shoe, gave it a cursory inspection and dropped it on the floor. The shoe struck the floor with a wet, plopping sound that was followed by a disapproving tsk’ing sound from Jessie. The shoemaker made no comment, but went on with his work.

  Then the shoemaker held a board against the bottom of Jorem’s foot and made some marks on the board. Just when Jorem thought he was done the man repeated the process with his other foot. He was about to ask the shoemaker why he was measuring both feet when the man began explaining. It was as if he knew Jorem’s question before it was asked.

  “People always think their feet are the same,” the shoemaker said as he peered at the marks he’d made on the board. “Fact is no two feet are the same. I learned this craft at my father’s side. He always said that a man needs a good foundation to stand on. Let’s see if I have anything ready made that will be a close enough match.”

  The shoemaker stood up and walked over to the row of shoes that lined the wall behind Jorem. He pulled three pairs of boots down and inspected them. Several times he referred back to the board he still held in his hand. After contemplating for a moment he placed one pair of boots back where it had been. The other two pair he brought back to Jorem and set them down on the floor. He then sat down and began unlacing one of the boots.

  “I’ve two pair here that should do,” he said softly. “One’s a bit large, but that would give room for an extra pair of thick socks. Both pair should be comfortable and wear well. Let’s try the smaller size first.”

  Reaching over to a nearby rack the shoemaker retrieved a pair of socks to replace the damp ones Jorem had on. After Jorem had put on the dry socks the shoemaker slipped a boot onto his foot and laced it up. The boot felt as though it were knitted onto his foot it fit so well. The bottoms were flexible yet stiff enough that they supported his foot evenly. These would be excellent for hiking, but Jorem was doubtful they would keep his feet warm if it got as cold here as he’d been told it would.

  “These would be wonderful,” Jorem said. “But will they be warm enough for the winter season?”

  “If you’re not out for too long they’d be fine,” replied the shoemaker. “Let’s try this other pair.”

  Before he put on the second pair the shoemaker handed Jorem another pair of socks. This pair of socks were made of a thicker material than the first pair. The man told Jorem to put the second pair of socks on over the first pair for added warmth and a better fit. The moment the boot was slipped onto his foot Jorem could tell these boots were much heavier than the first pair. The fit wasn’t nearly as snug as the first pair, even with two pair of socks. They were comfortable but bulky. The bottoms were quite thick and very stiff. Without asking, the shoemaker slipped the other boot on Jorem’s other foot and began lacing them up. When the boots were laced Jorem stood up and began walking around to get the feel of the boots.

  “Might you be the boy the king left to help the blacksmith?” the shoemaker asked.

  The question was so sudden and unexpected that Jorem nearly stumbled. He should have expected something like this, but for some reason it just hadn’t occurred to him. Turning slowly to face the shoemaker he found that the older lady, Jessie, was at the man’s side. Both of them were looking at him expectantly. ‘Great,’ Jorem thought, and to think Biorne had me worried about bandits.’ Resisting the urge to bolt for the door Jorem took a deep breath.

  Smiling at the two shopkeepers, Jorem replied somewhat nervously. “I am the one paying the debt of honor owed to the blacksmith.”

  “You don’t look like a prince.” The tone of his voice made it obvious that Vern thought the King had left a servant instead of a member of the family.

  “Vern!” Jessie gasped out, although the look on her face showed agreement with what the man had said.

  Jorem casually walked back to the chair and sat down. Inside he was so nervous he thought he might faint. Clasping his hands in his lap, Jorem looked at the two shopkeepers. Jessie stood at Vern’s side, one hand clasping the man’s shirtsleeve. Vern stood with his arms folded across his chest. Neither of them looked very friendly at the moment. It was very likely that these two were acting on the opinions of a large number of the local people. Looking them each in the eyes in turn, Jorem decided that blunt honesty was his best course of action.

  “My name is Jorem, fifth son of King Halden and Queen Tervena. Although I am not my father’s favored son, his blood flows through my veins. Pertheron, son of Duke Rodney, objected to any of my brothers paying the debt that is owed to the blacksmith. It fell to me to stand in their place. As to whether or not I look like a prince, there is little that I can do about that. While I am here I am an apprentice to the blacksmith, not a prince. I will remain with the blacksmith until his son is able to return to his work.”

  “So you’re the spare...” Vern stopped himself as he realized what he was about to say. “You’re the youngest of the King’s sons,” he amended.

  Jorem sat up straight and glared at the two adults in front of him. “I am the one so many refer to as the ‘spare heir.’ As if I need the constant reminder that the Queen gave her life giving birth to me.” The anger in his voice cut the air like a knife.

  Realizing he was rapidly losing control of his emotions, Jorem stood and walked away from Vern and Jessie. He had not meant to get angry. These people had every reason to be upset with his family. The very people that were supposed
to be protecting them had attacked one of their own. It was a good bet that this scene would replay itself many times in the coming weeks. He had best learn to deal with it now as later.

  Still facing away from the shopkeepers, Jorem took a deep breath. His fists were clenched tightly at his side. Closing his eyes, he opened his fists and forced himself to relax. Slowly exhaling, Jorem turned to face his latest challenge. When he turned around he could see his reaction had shocked both Jessie and Vern. In a way it was almost humorous. It appeared that they had just realized that they had insulted a prince. Not to mention that, they had cast doubt on the King’s honor. Jorem couldn’t even imagine what would have happened if they had acted this way with one of his brothers.

  Back in control of himself, Jorem sighed. “I’m sorry. I should be used to what people say about me by now. It has been a very long week. But that is a poor excuse for losing my temper.” Walking back over to the chair, Jorem picked up his wet shoes. “These boots will do fine. I should buy a few extra pairs of thick socks as well.”

  Focused back on his business, the shoemaker pointed to the shoes in Jorem’s hand. “I’ve some cream that will keep those from stiffening when they dry.”

  Jorem smiled at the man’s concern for a pair of shoes. As he reached for his money pouch Jorem ask, “How much do I owe you for all of this?”

  “I can send the bill to the Duke if you would like, sire,” Vern replied.

  Jorem stood motionless for a moment peering into the pouch. He could accept the shoemaker’s offer, but somehow it didn’t feel right. He wasn’t here to be treated like royalty. He was here to do a job and maybe, just maybe, repair the family honor. Fishing around in the money pouch, he located the coins he was searching for. From what Biorne had said, two silver marks was a lot, but it felt right.

  “First off, ”Jorem said, “my name is Jorem, not sire. Secondly, a friend of mine once told me that a craftsman should always be paid his worth.” Looking each of the shopkeepers in the eyes and handing a silver mark to each, Jorem continued. “I understand that there are a number of less fortunate people in the area that could use a good coat and a pair of warm shoes. I would like you to use this to cover my purchases and to provide as many of these people with coats and shoes as you can.”

  Both Vern and Jessie had bewildered looks on their faces. Apparently this was not what they had expected of him. While the shopkeepers were trying to decide how to react to his generosity, Jorem slipped on his new cloak and gloves. The other items fit easily into the pockets of the cloak. Vern and Jessie were still looking at the coins and each other as Jorem stepped out the door of the shop.

  Chapter XVIII

  When Jorem stepped out onto the walkway he saw that the snow was still coming down. Idly, he began wandering up and down the streets. There were buildings of similar design on both sides of the street. Mostly the buildings were the same as the one that held the coat and shoemakers shops, wooden structures painted a variety of colors. Some were two stories, though most were single level. The signs above the doors of the buildings gave a general idea of the services that were offered inside. A few of the signs had words on them, but most of them just had colorful pictures of what could be found within.

  Jorem hadn’t gone far when the aroma of freshly baked bread caught his attention. Following the savory smell, he found himself standing at the door of a bakery. Testing the door, Jorem found that it was open. As he stepped inside he heard the jangling of the bell that was attached to the door. The aroma that encompassed him was so rich that it set his mouth to watering. His stomach growled in response, as if to demand a taste of what he could smell.

  Looking about, Jorem was surprised to find that the room he had entered was quite small. Equally surprising was that he didn’t see any of the food that he could smell. The sidewalls were lined with rows of shelves obviously meant for displaying something. In front of the back wall was a large glass counter. All of it was empty. It looked as if someone had meticulously cleaned the entire room, for there wasn’t even a crumb of bread to be seen.

  Jorem was just about to turn and leave when a girl slightly younger than he appeared through a door behind the counter. When she looked up and saw him her eyes went round with surprise and she turned and fled the way she had come. A moment later a large balding man appeared. A fringe of short, brown hair framed a round, pudgy face that matched the man’s rounded body. He had a stern expression, but the pink, flowery apron he wore kept him from being very intimidating. He put hands that were covered with flour on the counter and his round belly pressed against the glass as he leaned forward.

  “How may I help you, young man?” the man asked in a high, soft voice.

  Jorem could tell the man was trying to be serious, but even through the stern expression he looked kind and friendly. By the look of him, Jorem doubted the man had a mean bone in his body. From the corner of his eye, Jorem could see the young girl peering through the doorway. From the color of her hair and the shape of her eyes, Jorem guessed she was the daughter of the man at the counter. Unlike her father, she was rail thin and very petite.

  “I couldn’t help but notice the wonderful smell coming from your shop,” Jorem explained. “The door wasn’t locked, so I thought you were open.”

  In spite of himself the man smiled at Jorem. “The Book of One teaches that a locked door welcomes no man. Although my door is not locked, I do not sell on Firstday.” At the look of confusion on Jorem’s face, he continued. “Many choose not to cook on Firstday. For them I cook meals and keep the food warm until they are ready to eat.”

  Disappointed, Jorem nodded in understanding. “Is there someplace close were I could buy a meal?” he asked.

  “You are not from around here then?” the man asked.

  “I’m just passing through,” Jorem temporized.

  “With this weather?” The man asked. “You will be staying longer than you think. The places to eat that are good are too far away. Wait for a moment and I will make for you a sandwich.”

  Without waiting for a response, the big man bustled back through the door behind the counter. The man had turned and gone so quickly that Jorem hadn’t even had a chance to protest. He stood in the small room unsure of what to do. Muffled sounds of someone moving about came through the door. Then the young girl poked her head through the door. She stepped up to the counter shyly and looked across it at Jorem.

  “Hi,” she said. “My name is Cassy.”

  Jorem hesitated for a moment. Going around blurting out his name didn’t sound like keeping a low profile. There was no reason why he should give his full name. Borrowing a trick from the guardsman Jacobs, he decided to be someone else for a while. Jorem smiled back at Cassy and stepped closer to the counter. He should have thought of this before.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Cassy.” Jorem said. “My name is Rim.”

  Rim was just a shortened version of his real name. In fact, Pentrothe often called him Rim during lessons. If anyone asked if he were Prince Jorem he could easily brush it off by saying that his friends called him Rim. After all, he did consider Pentrothe a friend and this way he could get to know people without them treating him differently because he was the son of the King.

  “My Da’s the Baker,” Cassy said. “You said you’re not from around here. So where are you from?”

  Her voice was light and musical. Her dark brown hair was cut so that it just brushed the tops of her shoulders. The delicate features of her face reminded Jorem of a porcelain doll he had once seen. The only blemish of her near perfect complexion was the sprinkling of freckles across her nose. Actually the freckles made her even prettier than she would have been without them.

  “I’m from south of here, down in the valley.” Jorem said. No point in being too specific.

  Cassy’s eyes got big when she heard his answer. “Do you live near Capital city?”

  “Near there, yes,” Jorem said, while thinking, “After all, the center is about as close a
s you can get.”

  “Have you ever seen the King?” Cassy ask excitedly. “And the princes, have you seen the princes? My grandpa used to tell me stories about the King when I was little. He said the King was the greatest man he’d ever met, and he said the palace was the grandest building he’d ever seen. I’ve always wanted to meet one of the princes. They must be so handsome and brave. What do they look like?”

  Jorem was left speechless for a moment. He hadn’t known it was possible for a person to talk so fast. It had all come so fast that he wasn’t sure what to say. She spoke clearly enough, there just wasn’t a break between her words. It had sounded like one incredibly long word.

  “Do you always talk that fast?” Jorem ask with a smile.

  Cassy rolled her eyes and looked at Jorem as if he were slow witted. “Maybe you should learn to listen faster. I bet a prince wouldn’t have any trouble understanding me.”

  Jorem had to laugh at that. “You’re probably right. My father has always said that I’m a bit slow.”

  “So, have you seen any of the princes?” Cassy ask again.

  “A prince is just a boy with a title,” Jorem said, a little more seriously. “A title he didn’t have to earn. Yes, I’ve seen the princes and I’ve seen them make mistakes. They are just people. No different from you or me.”

  “But grandpa said King Grendith was so amazing,” Cassy said stubbornly.

  “Did your grandfather know King Grendith when he was Prince Grendith?” Jorem asked.

  “I… I don’t know. He never said,” Cassy said thoughtfully.

  “The main difference between a prince and any other boy is that most people won’t take a prince to task when he does wrong.” This was one of Pentrothe’s favorite subjects and Jorem knew it by heart. “Everyone just looks the other way. Oh, they might talk about it when they think no one can hear, but they just let it go. If people are reluctant to teach a boy right from wrong, how will he learn? What will happen when that same boy, or prince, does something really wrong?”