I eyed the fancy dark blue and black tunic with gold braiding, the long trousers, gilt belt and high boots. It looked suspiciously like a military uniform. “I haven’t been drafted, have I?” I asked of Liam and he laughed.
“No, my Lord. You’re too old to go into military training. Most cadets start out at ten, you’d never catch up. Besides, I don’t think King Random or Merlin will allow you out of sight of the Kingdom. Military cadets are fostered out on other Shadows. No, this is accepted formal court attire for important trade delegations.”
He helped me put them on from clean underwear, the loose white blouse, tunic, pants. He commented on my wound but didn’t seem too surprised at its advanced healing rate. “All you Amber folk heal fast if it doesn’t kill you outright,” he muttered pulling up my boots. They were the best part of the outfit.
“What am I supposed to do at this shindig?”
“Just sit there, look regal and don’t answer any questions unless the King specifically asks you,” he answered. “I’ll be underfoot, too. If I catch you making a faux pas, I’ll kick you under the table.”
He shrugged. “You’re a King’s son, there’s not much you can do and not get away with it.”
I laughed. “Fine thing to tell a teenager. Open license.”
The look he gave me made my balls shrivel. “So, where is this party going to be held?”
“Ceremonial Room. It needs to be large enough to entertain the Duke, his family and retinue. The Gold Merchants and Cavers Association of Tissarette. Wine and dine and hammer out the trade details, mostly boring stuff but the King is a stickler for details and has a real flair for running a kingdom. He surprised all of us when he was granted the crown. We thought it would be Corwin.”
“I hear he has a band, too,” I said running my fingers through my newly trimmed hair.
Liam shuddered. “Acid rock, he calls it. I call it the Devil’s torment. It’s loud enough to crack the castle’s foundations.”
“Oh, yeah? I’d like to listen in on his next jam session. When is it?”
“When hell freezes over, I hope. I’ll find out for you. I suggest you eat something before the affair, the food is usually late and you’ll be starving long before then. I have had the kitchen staff bring you ham and eggs.”
“Thanks, Liam.” I sat down on my couch and kicked my feet back and forth while he straightened up my room. “Where’s Murphy?”
“He’s overseeing the Duchy of Rhys near the Smoking Mountains. We’ve heard rumors of harpies attacking the farmers.”
“Harpies,” I muttered. “What next, hippogriffs and wyverns?”
“We’ve had them and worse, my Lord Raven,” he picked up my sneakers and threw them under the bed. Along with several other pairs of footwear. I’d dig ‘em out when I ran out of something to put on my feet.
Someone knocked on my door and Liam opened it to reveal some of the high muckety-mucks who handled all the social functions. I received deep bows and both guards fell in behind as I followed the officials through the Palace to the fancy governmental section.
Talk about gilt and pomp. It looked as if every tapestry, portrait, suit of armor, weaponry and centuries of hoarding stuff had been dragged out of retirement to impress the locals. There was a protocol to entering the Chambers, I was allowed to come in before the rest of the delegates but after the King. To my surprise, he had me seated next to him. I looked for Corey but he was absent. Random was dressed soberly in a Royal manner and looked every inch a King. He leaned over and whispered, “you look very nice, Raven. Very Princely.”
I snickered and reddened, he squeezed my knee under the table and looked stern as the rest of the crowd came in. Bowing and scraping except for the Miners, they looked like folk who didn’t take crap from anyone.
As a people, the Tissarette were tall, willowy and blonde. Sort of like Danes or Vikings but softer. They were merchants and renown for striking hard bargains in their favor. It was said that after making a deal with one, check your underwear to see if you’d given them up your balls in the deal. Because they could clean you out without you realizing it.
The miners looked like Welshmen, short, stocky with incredible shoulders and arm muscles. Dark red skin, redder than an Indian and with curly hair in various shades of orange and red. Their eyes were a startling green like emeralds with dark brown pupils that were slotted like a cat’s. They were quick to laugh and slow to ire, were fond of drink and gambling. Dressed in fancy gowns with lots of gold wire and gemstones. They didn’t bring any weapons in but I’d heard about their marvelous smithy skills.
There was a lot of drinking, eating and reminiscing before the tables were cleared and the treaties came out. I was relegated to a back table not able to read their languages so I wandered around, checking out the confines of the room and spotted Marcus lurking behind one of the room dividers to the kitchen staff.
“Hey,” he hissed and held it aside. I threw a quick scan and saw no one glancing in my direction so I scooted out.
“Boooor---ing,” I said.
“What’s up?”
“Some dumb-ass treaty, policy thing. I don’t know why I had to be there, I’m just a bump on a log. What are you doing?”
“A few of us are headed for town. Want to come? There’s a new boxer opening up at the Ringside. If you can last eight minutes, there’s a purse of ten Guilden. Against Two-Fisted Twohey.”
He was the local champion and he hadn’t yet been dethroned. I figured it would be at least mid afternoon before anyone noticed I was gone.
“Roelle around?” I questioned and he shook his head.
“She’s getting ready for the Dinner Party tonight. The Duke’s family is here and the other Nobles. It’s a meet and greet.”
“A what?”
“Meet and greet. Introductions to eligible sons and daughters, Raven.” He looked at me oddly. As if I should know this stuff. We ducked into the corner as a brace of armed guards patrolled the hallway, only moving out once they had turned the corner with no chance of them spotting us.
“How do we get out without anyone seeing us?” He grabbed my arm and pulled me into the laundry, busy girls and women washing tablecloths and linens, ignoring us. We danced between vats of boiling water out into the yard, through the presses and into the paddock area empty of horses but not bales of hay and bags of oats. A delivery had just been made and the feed dealer was in the process of leaving. It was a simple matter to climb aboard his wagon and hide in the back. Marcus had grabbed two cloaks and threw one over my fancy uniform hiding my identity. His, he folded in his lap so that we resembled bags of goods. The dealer must have been in a hurry to get home, he kept his dray horses at a spanking trot and didn’t pull them in until their hooves barreled over the bridge into town.
As he slowed the team for the turn, Marcus nudged me and we dropped off the boards to land on the street cobblestones in the city outskirts near the markets. Expressly the area we were forbidden to venture forth towards. Lots of taverns, back alleys and unsavory places to hang out, just the thing for two adventurous boys with more guts than brains.
Men in dark cloaks went inside and came out, men wearing swords and other weapons. We saw women, too. Ladies dressed in clothes that spoke of their profession as clearly as if written in neon.
“Want a beer?” I asked and dug through my pockets for coins. I had a few, everything I needed was provided for me, no one had thought to actually give me any money so I’d had to...acquire some by other means. I was a fair pickpocket but I didn’t like to use such skills.
“The Blue Parrot is known for its ales,” Marcus grinned. “The proprietor brews a great stout.”
I made a face. I didn’t like dark beers. Hell, I didn’t like any beer but fruit of the forbidden tree---.
I pushed the door open, my hood back and walked into a typical country bar. Long wooden bar with the inevitable mirror and a magnificent painting of a lady covered in blue feathers and nothing else. Mugs and tankards, wine glasses hanging from racks overhead. Barrels of beer and hogsheads of wine stacked against the walls. A staircase that went up and down to our right in the taproom filled with tables and patrons. To the left was the kitchen and the smell of roast pork and sweet potatoes made me drool. I could almost taste the fresh rolls cooking.
The clientele were farmers, some soldiers and a great many foreigners from their dress and skin coloration. We saw no one we knew, or at least, no one addressed Marcus.
A heavy woman approached and led us to a small table near the stairwell. “Ale? Stout? Milk?” she asked wiping her sweating face with the corner of her apron.
“Cuke wine?” I ordered and wasn’t prepared for the snort of derision.
“Sure and I’ll go out and order you a 12 course meal to go with it, boy. We have Sinterra Red or Delsoian White, Rose or Merlot from Camdora. You have the blunt to pay for it?”
I threw a silver coin at her and she caught it out of the air. “This’ll get you a bottle or two. And you, sir?”
“Blue Brews Best,” he said. She was back in minutes with two bottles and one glass. Opened his beer and my wine, poured me a flute full with a practiced twist and left change in copper pennies. I sniffed and was pleasantly surprised. It was a sweet wine full of fruity undertones, crisp and delightful. Cherries, blackberries, sunshine and peat. It hit my stomach in a nugget of warmth and made my face flush.
I threw off the cloak and opened my tunic buttons to let the lace of my shirt hang free. The tone of the conversation inside dropped and whispers ran quickly through the crowded room. I was halfway to being drunk, halfway through the bottle when Marcus kicked me under the table.
“Raven,” he hissed.
“Whahh?”
“They’re watching us.”
“So?”
“We’re not supposed to be here.”
Two men approached, dark haired, dressed in black with leather vests and work swords strapped to their belts. Daggers at their sides. Three day old beards and none too clean as if they had come off the road after a long trip. “What’s your name, boy?” the taller with the dark brown eyes asked me.
“Corbin,” I answered my own hand reaching for my blade but I hadn’t worn it when I’d been seated at the Delegation. I’d removed it and handed it over to Liam. He eyed my suit and fingered the material.
“You from the Palace? Some noble born brat?”
“What makes you think that?” I returned, my hand gripping the neck of the bottle.
“Oh, just the fact that the material of your suit alone is enough to feed a family of four for a year.” He grabbed me by the throat and jerked me off the ground as I swung the wine bottle into his head. It cracked and booze went flying as he fell with me on top of him. His companion charged in, dagger drawn and Marcus popped him over the head with his beer bottle. I rolled out from underneath, unsteady on my feet and my throat sore from the man’s squeezing.
“Raven!” Marcus shouted heading for the door. “This way!” We bolted, dodging other bodies. Once outside, I skittered to a stop, unsure of which way to run until Marcus grabbed my shirt sleeves and dragged me down the lane into the darkness.