The two shop assistants brought a lot of clothing for Bromala to try on. This was to be a big sale. Occasionally one or the other would take their leave to serve others who came to shop but would soon return when the other patrons had left. Bromala was measured for dresses and gowns which would be made up for her in the coming weeks and the stack of purchases grew ever larger. Eventually they were finished and Bromala asked if she could wear one of the purchased dresses for the rest of their shopping expedition. Anya agreed and her old dress was wrapped and placed with the rest of the packages for later delivery to their house. Then it was on to the shoe shop next door where they were met personally by the manageress and her assistant.
Tarin and Vigano sat in a booth by the front window of The Tattered Cockerel, each with a half finished tankard of ale in front of them. Vigano wasn’t used to drinking full strength ale and it was going to his head already. His new boots chafed a little at the heel while his comfortable old ones rested beside him on the seat, wrapped in brown paper and tied with string. It was cool in the tavern and not having been in one before, Vigano gazed around him like the tourist he was. Tankards hung on hooks from the beam above the front of the bar while three barrels sat on racks behind the serving area, one ale, one stout and a spare one of ale. Two had been broached while the other waited to be and all had wet cloths draped over them to keep them cool. A few customers sat on stools at the bar while further toward the dimly lit back of the room there were old men playing dominoes. In other booths nearby there were mostly businessmen enjoying lunch, a chunk of bread, cheese and cold meat washed down with ale or stout. It was quiet and peaceful in there.
That is until the door burst open and three youths entered. They were dressed similarly to Tarin and were talking loudly among themselves, drawing attention, which seemed to be the purpose of their behaviour.
“Three ales barkeep and make it snappy,” one of them exclaimed loudly as he drew some coin from a waistcoat pocket.
The bartender took down three tankards and proceeded to fill them as the others looked about them. One spotted Tarin, who was trying to remain unnoticed.
“Tarin Balfour. Well, well, well. Didn’t expect to find you out in broad daylight, especially after the bad turn you did me, telling the Browns who broke their window. I had to pay for it, so you should give me the money it cost. Two silvers.”
Tarin looked stricken but put on a brave face.
“You shouldn’t have broken their window. It’s not their fault their daughter doesn’t like you. You were quite rude to her.”
“She spurned my advances and I had to hire a doxy for that night’s entertainment. She deserved it.”
Vigano was amazed at this conversation and realised why his father had wanted him to visit with Uncle Devlin in the city. His education had certainly needed broadening. Tarin was replying to the lout.
“I’ll give you nothing Davo, you lack any grace and manners and should be held accountable for your actions.”
The young man advanced to their booth and Tarin stood up. Davo was bigger than him and without warning he slapped Tarin across the face, so hard the smaller youth was driven to the back of the booth, collapsing on the seat. Vigano had seen enough, he hated bullies and Davo was certainly a bully. He stood up, balled his fist and drove it into Davo’s soft stomach with all the power of his muscled frame then as the youth bent over, clutching his stomach, Vigano kneed him in the face. Davo flew over backward and lay stretched out on the tavern floor, unconscious. Tarin wiped away the trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth and nodded approvingly as Davo’s two friends bent to assist the lout as he regained consciousness, casting worried looks toward Vigano and Tarin.
The tavern keeper came over to them.
“I seed what he done, that un. Twer fair an I’m not callin’ the Guard but I’ll not ‘ave fightin in my inn. Yous’l ‘ave ter leave.”
Vigano was still apologising to the innkeeper as Tarin dragged him out onto the street.
“That was excellent cousin. Thank you. I think we’re going to get along fine but right now we’d better go and meet the girls. Not a word of this to anyone please Vigano, mother tends to worry about such things. Social standing and all that stuff.”
With that Tarin led off up the street toward the dress shop with nary a backward glance at the inn. If he had, he would have seen Davo, a handkerchief pressed to his battered nose, glaring after him.
They arrived at the dress shop to find it empty but were directed by one of the salesladies to the shoe shop next door. Here they found the girls nearly finished and waited for them. Tarin eyed up the young assistant until he caught his mother glaring at him and then found the tops of his own shoes to be quite interesting. They left the shoe shop together and at Anya’s suggestion, stopped to lunch at a café she knew. Sitting outside on the second floor balcony, in the shade offered by the large umbrellas, they could observe the activity in the street below as they ate lunch. Tarin and Wendi chatted in a low voice with their heads together, ignoring the view, as there was nothing new there for them but Vigano and Bromala couldn’t tear their eyes away from all the activity. Anya was pleased, her niece and nephew seemed fine children, even if somewhat rural. She looked at her own brood, rich and spoilt and wondered where she had gone wrong.
Over the ensuing weeks, Vigano and Bromala were introduced into Wenstrom’s society, meeting well-to-do families with offspring of a similar age. They also went to parties with Tarin and Wendi where the older people were not present and socialised outside of the framework of strict propriety. There were always chaperones at these affairs but it was a lot easier to actually talk to others of their own age there than it was in more formal surroundings. On a number of occasions, Vigano found himself talking with the same young lady. He liked her but wondered at the fact he seemed to keep ‘bumping’ into her at these parties. Was she attracted to him? Did she have him in her sights as the son of a landholder? He asked Tarin about her and his cousin seemed amused.
“Do you like her Vigano?”
“Yes, I think she’s lovely. I just don’t want to make a fool of myself.”
Tarin couldn’t contain his amusement any longer, his face split into a mischievous grin before he spoke again.
“Marista is the girl Davo insulted and then smashed her parent’s window because she turned him down. She’s quite virtuous unfortunately but someone just happened to tell her you sat Davo on his arse and she’s obviously impressed.” He tapped his nose. “I’m not saying who told her either.”
So that was it. Fortune was a strange thing and for Vigano it was even stranger when his Aunt and Uncle took him to formally meet a possible match for him and lo and behold they ended up at Marista’s house. The pair spent the whole afternoon together and were able to have a private talk in the garden under the watchful eye of a servant who was charged with chaperoning Marista. Vigano found himself liking the girl more and more and looked forward to their meetings.
Bromala wasn’t so lucky. She was already a pretty girl, made prettier by her new clothes and her looks tended to attract the boys. Wendi was jealous of the attention Bromala was receiving and tried to socially destroy her at every opportunity. At one afternoon tea party her parents were giving, Wendi enlisted the aid of her spoilt and stuck up friends and when none of the adults were watching they ganged up on Bromala.
“You’re just an unmannered country hick. What would you know about society? Half the boys you meet are only after one thing and you’re sitting on it!”
Bromala was stung by the insult and tried to be reasonable in her response.
“I do try to use some manners. More than you do. At least I don’t go around flaunting my father’s wealth and trying to be better than everyone else.”
“You aren’t better than anyone. Your father’s just a country farmer who happens to own a small keep. Most of my friend’s parents could buy and sell yours twice over. They are rich Traders and business owners, one’s a judge and ano
ther’s a Councilman. Your father is nothing and you are nothing.”
“We aren’t nothing. We employ people and give them jobs. We protect them if the Reavers come. My father is well known.”
“Only in his own Keep. You have nothing a boy would want. Who’d go south to nowhere, in a boring nothing place, just to be with you?”
This last was too much for Bromala. Her head was spinning as she found herself drowning in the insults being heaped upon her and her family. She grasped at the only straw available.
“None of the people you know have a couple of drakons in their barn. Well, we do.”
No sooner were the words out of her mouth than Bromala realised her error. Her hand flew to her lips as shame coloured her cheeks. What had she done? Broken a promise to her father and let the proverbial cat out of the bag. The reaction of the girls around her was one of scorn and disbelief but Bromala was distraught. She leapt to her feet, overturning the small table they sat at and rushed off to her room where she threw herself on the bed, crying. What had she done?
Nothing seemed to come of the event and Bromala was beginning to relax but rumours have a place where they start and often gain momentum. About a fortnight later there was a knock on the door and a Court Officer stood there. He asked to see Devlin Balfour. The man was escorted to the office by a servant and Devlin informed. He went to the office and closed the door behind him. That night, after supper, he took Bromala alone into his office.
“Did you tell some girls, including my daughter that your father has two drakons in a barn?”
Bromala’s cheeks flamed red with guilt and embarrassment.
“How could you be so stupid?” Uncle Devlin asked.
Bromala looked at her feet. Uncle Devlin was right. How could she be so stupid?
“They were teasing me, saying I was a worthless country hick and I couldn’t take it any more. It just came out.”
“So it’s true then?”
Bromala said nothing. She didn’t know how to answer. Her father had said to tell no one. Her Uncle read the indecision on her face and came to his own conclusion.
“My visitor this afternoon was a representative of the Court. The King has heard the rumours of drakons at Balfour’s Keep and has demanded an audience with yourself and Vigano the day after tomorrow. It will take a day’s travel by coach to reach Harrington, the capital, so I suggest you go and break the news to your brother and pack a few things ready to leave in the morning.”
Bromala told Vigano what had transpired and he was annoyed with her but after finding out what had caused his sister to blurt out the secret, he was also annoyed with Wendi and sought her out to express his distaste regarding her attitude towards his sister. Wendi was starting to feel guilty about the problems she had caused but didn’t apologise. In her view, her cousin deserved everything she got. That would teach her for being the centre of attention. Vigano got nowhere and realised that Wendi was a mean-hearted, selfish person who would never change. Pity the poor fellow who married her.
The coach trip was tedious. Long and hot and only relieved because it was taken in Uncle Devlin’s own coach and travelled through countryside neither Vigano nor Bromala had seen before. By the time they reached Harrington, a city much bigger than Wenstrom, they were grateful to check into their hotel and just rest. The next morning they were woken early and breakfasted before the other guests came down to the dining room. Uncle Devlin dressed in his finest suit and both Vigano and Bromala were groomed to within an inch of perfect. They took their coach to the castle and on giving their names, were soon admitted. Richly attired servants escorted the three of them along huge corridors hung with large paintings before showing them into an ante chamber.
“This is to be an informal meeting with King Georgio. You will address him as Sire at all times and do try not to contradict him, he has a bit of a temper.”
The servant bowed and left, leaving them alone, waiting and growing more nervous by the minute. Soon a door opened and they were shown into a large audience chamber and seated on comfortable seats opposite a large stuffed chair covered in luxurious red velvet. A door opened at the far end of the chamber and a servant announced the king. They stood as the King entered, looking surprisingly young and energetic although slightly rotund. He strode to the large chair and sat as they bowed to him, indicating they should sit too. The King wasted no time.
“Right. Who was it spoke of drakons?”
Bromala could do nothing. This was her King.
“Me Sire. I spoke out of turn and should not have said a thing.”
The King absently waved his hand.
“No matter, is it true girl; are there drakons at Balfour’s Keep?”
Bromala was torn, she had betrayed her father’s trust and now she was going to do it again. Vigano saw her twisting her fingers together. He knew her well enough to know the stress she was under.
“There are Sire, two of them,” he answered for her, relieving her of the burden of betrayal.
“Ah, the brother. Yes. So how long has Wiley had the drakons? Tell me the truth now and remember, I’m your King.”
Vigano saw no way out of the conundrum and decided to make the story as bland as possible.
“Sire. My father captured a drakon with a broken wing and put it in the barn to sell. Around that time an old man and a crippled boy turned up at the Keep. They fixed the drakon’s wing and my father decided to keep it. It was a female and soon there was another drakon which grew quickly. They live in the barn to keep out of sight because apparently, Serkahn, the great drakon which protects Conurbal, wants to kill them.”
The story wasn’t quite true but was near enough to true to be believed. King Georgio’s face took on a distant look as he sat quietly, contemplating.
“If we could have drakons, Boronia wouldn’t have to worry about the Reavers any more. I’ve always wanted drakons.”
He turned to their Uncle Devlin who’d wisely remained silent so far, trying not to be noticed.
“Would Wiley Balfour sell his drakons to me do you think Devlin?”
“Sire, I honestly don’t know but you are the King.”
“Yes I am, aren’t I. I’ll have my Chamberlain work out a fair price and go down there with enough of a force to fetch them back.” He turned to Vigano. “Are they chained up in the barn?”
“No Sire. They’re not captive, they stay there because they want to. If they don’t want to go with you, it may be a problem, they’re very big and tremendously strong.”
King Georgio pulled himself up straight in his chair.
“I’m the King. What I say goes. There will be a way.”
His attention wandered as he thought of drakons, the small group before him waiting patiently. Suddenly the King looked up.
“You can go. Thank you for coming. Have a pleasant journey home.”
That was it. They rose and bowed to their King before being escorted from the room. By late evening they were back at Uncle Devlin’s house in Wenstrom.
The next morning there was a family meeting at Uncle Devlin’s house and a decision was made to send a missive to Wiley Balfour as soon as possible telling him of the train of events and King Georgio’s decision regarding the drakons. Problem was, the letter would sit at the port until the next ship sailed south and that could be the King’s own.
10. Flight
Duke Erkhart was furious but he tried not to show it as he strode back and forth in front of the throne in the Grand Hall at Conurbal, deep in thought, his brows drawn, jaw working and his face flushed a peculiar shade of deep red. He paused to examine the soldier in front of him, helmet held under his arm, standing stiffly to attention. The man was reliable and the Duke knew him as one who got the job done, no matter what the task. In fact he’d used him for various unofficial missions in the past.
“What do you mean you can’t find a trace of the Prince or the serving wench?” he snarled.
The Captain in charge of the men detailed to search
house to house throughout Conurbal quaked in his boots. He knew firsthand what happened to those who mightily displeased the Duke. He’d been involved in a few of those measures himself.
“Sire, we’ve searched the capital from top to bottom. Every house, warehouse, business, inn and even houses of ill repute. We’ve uncovered thieves, criminals, cripples and beggars plus stolen goods and all manner of devious goings on in our relentless hunt for the Prince and the serving wench but we still have no idea where they went or even if they’re together.”
“What about her parents?”
“She has none Sire. The father drowned a few years back when he got tangled in his fishing net and the mother couldn’t cope; drowned herself in drink. The wench has had to fend for herself since.”
“Any family?”
“A brother Sire, a fisherman but he’s still out fishing.”
“So, does he own his own boat?”
“Yes Sire, it was his fathers and he’s paid off the debt to them what found it and fetched it back when ‘is father died. He’s pretty well known as a reliable man.”
The Duke stood silently, regarding the Captain. Sometimes he despaired of finding an intelligent person to carry out orders without having to be told exactly what to do.
“Captain. Did it occur to you that the brother may have assisted the Prince and the serving girl to escape? May in fact be sailing off to somewhere else as we speak?”
The Captain’s downcast expression said it all. The Duke was about to roar at the man again but decided against it, the other Dukes, Earls and Barons gathered in the Great Hall may see it as a sign of desperation or weakness even, neither of which he felt. Not a good indicator of a suitable future ruler. He hissed levelly at the man in front of him in biting tones.
Were of the Drakon Page 13