With a half
frustrated note in his voice, Locklear said, “Where?”
“You’ll
see,” came the answer, as Jimmy almost ran.
Locklear hurried
after, mimicking, “You’ll see. You’ll see. See
what, damn it!”
Two guards stood
at post. One said, “And where are you young gentlemen off to?”
“Port
Authority,” said Jimmy testily, handing over a quickly penned
order. “The steward can’t find some ship manifest, and
he’s in a fury to get a copy.” Jimmy had been about to
investigate something and was rankled by the need to run this errand.
It also seemed an odd time for the steward to become obsessed with
the need for a manifest.
The guard who
had examined the paper said, “Just a minute.” He
signalled to another soldier near the guard officer’s room by
the main entrance to the palace. The guard hurried over and the first
sentry said, “Can you spare a bit of time to run these lads
down to the port office and back? They need to fetch something for
the steward.”
The guard looked
indifferent. There and back would take less than an hour. He nodded
and the three were off.
Twenty minutes
later, Jimmy stood in the Port Authority office dealing with a minor
functionary as everyone else was off to watch the cortege leave the
city. The man grumbled as he thumbed through a stack of paper work,
looking for a copy of the last manifest of goods delivered to the
royal docks. While he fumbled, Jimmy cast a glance at another paper
hanging on the wall of the office for all to look at. It was this
week’s schedules of departures. Something caught his eye and he
crossed over to look. Locklear followed him. “What?”
Jimmy pointed.
“Interesting.”
Locklear looked
at the notation and said, “Why?”
“I’m
not sure,” answered Jimmy, pitching his voice lower, “but
think a minute about some of the things going on at the palace. We
get held back from the procession, then we ask the Princess about it.
We’re out of her quarters less than ten minutes when we’re
sent on this useless errand. You tell me, doesn’t it seem like
we’re being kept out of the way? Something’s . . . odd.”
“That’s
what I said earlier,” said Locklear impatiently.
The clerk found
and handed over the requested paper, and the guard escorted the boys
back to the palace. Running past the gate guards, Jimmy and Locklear
waved absently, then headed toward the steward’s office.
Once inside the
palace, they appeared at the office as the steward, Baron Giles, was
leaving. “There you are,” he said in an accusatory tone.
“I thought I was going to have to send guards to ferret you out
of wherever you were lazing away the day.” Jimmy and Locklear
exchanged glances. The steward seemed to have forgotten about the
manifest entirely. Jimmy handed it to him.
“What’s
this?” He examined the paper. “Oh yes,” he
remarked, tossing the paper upon his desk. “I’ll deal
with that later. I must be off to see the procession depart the
palace. You will stay here. Should any emergency arise, one of you
will remain in this office while the other will come and find me.
Once the bier has left the gate, I will return.”
“Do you
anticipate any problems, sir,” asked Jimmy.
Walking past the
boys, the steward said, “Of course not, but it always pays to
be prepared. I shall return in a short time.”
After he left,
Locklear turned to face Jimmy. “All right. What’s going
on? And don’t you dare say “You’ll see.” “
“Things
are not what they seem to be. Come on.”
Jimmy and
Locklear dashed up the stairs. Reaching a window overlooking the
court, they quietly observed the preparations below. The funeral
procession was assembling, the rolling bier moving into place,
escorted by a hand-picked company of Arutha’s Household Guard.
It was pulled by a matched set of six black horses, each bedecked
with black plumes and handled by a groom dressed in black. The
soldiers fell in on each side of the bier.
A group of eight
men-at-arms came from within the palace, bearing the casket
containing Arutha. They moved to a rolling scaffolding that allowed
them to raise the casket high atop the bier. Slowly, almost
reverently, they hoisted the Prince of Krondor up onto the black
shrouded structure.
Jimmy and
Locklear looked down into the casket and, for the first time, could
clearly see the Prince. Tradition held the procession should move out
with the casket open so the populace could behold their ruler a last
time. It would be closed outside the city gates, never to be opened
again, save once more in the privacy of the family vault below the
King’s palace in Rillanon, where Arutha’s family would
bid him a final farewell.
Jimmy felt his
throat tightening. He swallowed hard, moving the stubborn lump. He
saw Arutha had been laid out in his favourite garb, his brown velvet
tunic, his russet leggings. A green jerkin had been added, though he
had rarely worn such. His favourite rapier was clasped between his
hands, and his head remained uncovered. He seemed asleep. As he was
moved out of view, Jimmy noticed the fine satin lounging slippers on
the Prince’s feet.
Then a groom
came forward, leading Arutha’s horse, which would follow behind
the bier, riderless. It was a magnificent grey stallion, which tossed
its head high and struggled against the groom. Another ran out and
between the two of them they managed to quiet the fractious mount.
Jimmy’s
eyes narrowed. Locklear turned in time to notice the odd expression.
“What?”
“Damn me,
but something’s odd. Come on, I want to see a thing or two.”
“Where?”
But Jimmy was
off, saying merely, “Hurry, we only have a few minutes!”
as he ran down the stairs. Locklear chased after, groaning silently.
Jimmy hid in the
shadow near the stable. “Look,” he said as he pushed
Locklear forward. Locklear made a show of strolling past the stable
entrance as the last of the honour guard’s mounts were being
led out. Nearly the entire garrison would be walking behind the
Prince’s bier, but once outside the city, a full company of
Royal Lancers would act as escort all the way to Salador.
“Hey, you
boy! Watch what you’re about!” Locklear had to jump aside
as a groom ran from the stable between two horses, holding their
bridles. He had almost run Locklear down. Locklear ambled back and
ducked around the corner beside Jimmy.
“I don’t
know what you expected to find, but no, it’s not there.”
“That’s
what I expected to find. Come on,” ordered Jimmy as he dashed
back toward the central palace.
“Where?”
“You’ll
see.”
Locklear stared
daggers into Jimmy’s back as they ran across the marshalling
yard.
Jimmy and
Locklear dashed up the stairs, taking the steps two at a time.
Reaching the window overlooking the courtyard, they gasped for
breath. The run to and from the stable had taken ten minutes, and the
cortege was about to leave the palace. Jimmy watched closely.
Carriages rolled up to the steps of the palace and pages ran forward
to hold open the doors. By tradition only the royal family, by blood
and marriage, would ride. All others would walk behind Arutha’s
bier as a sign of respect. Princess Anita and Alicia walked down and
entered the first carriage, while Carline and Laurie hurried to the
second, the Duke nearly skipping he was walking so fast. He almost
leaped into the carriage after Carline, rapidly pulling the curtains
over the windows on his side.
Jimmy regarded
Locklear, who stood with an open expression of curiosity on his face
over Laurie’s behaviour. Seeing no need to comment to the other
youngster, Jimmy remained silent.
Gardan took his
place before the procession, his shoulders hung with a heavy black
mantle. He signalled, and a single drummer began a slow tattoo upon a
muffled drum. Without spoken order, the procession set out on the
fourth beat of the drum. The soldiers moved in silent lockstep, while
the carriages rolled forward. Suddenly the grey stallion bucked and
an extra groom again had to hold the animal in place. Jimmy shook his
head. He had an old familiar feeling: all the pieces of some odd
puzzle were about to fall into place. Then slowly a smile of
understanding spread across his face.
Locklear
observed his friend’s change of expression. “What?”
“Now I
know what Laurie’s been up to. I know what’s going on.”
With a friendly slap to Locklear’s shoulder, he said, “Come
on, we’ve got a lot to do and little time to do it.”
Jimmy led
Locklear through the secret tunnel, the guttering torch sending
flickering shadows dancing in every direction. Both squires were
dressed for travel and carried weapons, packs, and bedrolls. “You
sure they’ll not have someone at the exit?” asked
Locklear for the fifth time.
Impatiently
Jimmy said, “I told you: this is the one exit I never showed
anyone, not even the Prince or Laurie.” As if trying to explain
away this transgression of omission, he added, “Some old habits
are harder to break than others.”
They had gone
about their duties all afternoon; after the squires had all retired,
they had stolen away to where they had hastily stashed their travel
packs. Now it was close to midnight.
Reaching a stone
door, Jimmy pulled a lever and they both heard a click. Jimmy put out
the torch and put his shoulder to the door. After several hard
shoves, the protesting door moved, age having made it reluctant. They
crawled through a small door - disguised as stonework - in the base
of the wall beyond the Prince’s marshalling yard, on the street
closest to the palace. Less than half a block up the road stood the
postern gate, with its attendant sentries. Jimmy tried to push the
door shut, but it refused to budge. He signalled to Locklear, and the
younger boy shoved in concert. It held, then with a sudden release
slammed shut with an audible crash. From up by the gate came an
inquiring voice. “Here now, who’s out there? Stand and be
identified.”
Without
hesitation Jimmy was off, Locklear half a step behind. Neither boy
looked back to see if chase was being offered, but kept their heads
down as they dashed along the cobblestones.
Soon they were
lost in the warren of streets between the Poor Quarter and the docks.
Jimmy halted to gain his bearings, then pointed. “That way.
We’ve got to hurry. The
Raven
leaves on the midnight
tide.”
Both boys
hurried through the night. Soon they were passing shuttered buildings
near the waterfront. From the docks came the sound of men shouting
orders as a ship made ready to depart.
“It’s
pulling out,” yelled Locklear.
Jimmy didn’t
answer, only picking up his pace. Both squires reached the end of the
dock as the last line was cast off, and with desperate leaps they
reached the side of the ship as it moved away from the quay. Rough
hands pulled them over and in a moment they stood upon the deck.
“Here now,
what is this?” came an inquiring voice, and a moment later,
Aaron Cook stood before them. “Well, then, Jimmy the Hand, are
you so anxious for a sea voyage you’d break your neck to come
aboard?”
Jimmy grinned.
“Hello, Aaron. I need to speak to Hull.”
The pock-faced
man scowled at the squires. “That’s Captain Hull to any
aboard the
Royal Raven
, Prince’s Squire or not. I’ll
see if the captain has a moment.”
Shortly the
squires stood before the captain, who fixed them with a baleful
expression as he studied them with his one good eye. “Deserting
your post, eh?”
“Trevor,”
Jimmy began, but as Cook scowled, he amended, “Captain. We need
to travel to Sarth. And we saw from the ships’ list in the Port
Authority you’re beginning your northward patrol tonight.”
“Well now,
you may think you need to travel up the coast, Jimmy the Hand, but
you’ve not rank enough to come aboard my ship with no more than
a by-your-leave, and you didn’t even have that. And despite the
public notice - for the benefit of spies, you should know - my course
is westerly, for I’ve Durbin slave runners reported lying at
sea ambush for hapless Kingdom traders, and there’s always
Quegan galleys nosing about. No, you’ll be ashore with the
pilot once we’ve cleared the outer breakwater, unless you’ve
a better reason than simply wanting free transportation.” The
former smuggler’s expression revealed that while he might feel
affection for Jimmy, he’d brook no nonsense aboard his ship.
Jimmy said, “If
I might have a word with you in private.”
Hull exchanged
glances with Cook, then shrugged. Jimmy spent a full five minutes
whispering with the old captain. Then suddenly Hull laughed, a
genuinely amused sound. “I’ll be scuppered!”
A moment later
he approached Aaron Cook. “Have these lads taken below. As soon
as we clear harbour, I want full sail. Make course for Sarth.”
Cook hesitated a
minute, then turned to a sailor and ordered him to take the boys
below. When they were gone, and the harbour pilot over the side in
his longboat, the first mate called all hands aloft and ordered all
sails out and set a northern course. He cast a glance rearward where
Captain Hull stood next to the helmsman, but the captain only smiled
to himself.
Jimmy and
Locklear stood at rail’s edge, waiting. When the boat was
ready, they boarded. Trevor Hull came to stand beside them. “Sure
you don’t want to put back to Sarth?”
Jimmy shook his
head. “I’d rather not be seen arriving aboard a Royal
Customs ship. Attracts too much notice. Besides, there’s a
village near here where we can buy horses. There’s a good place
not a day’s ride beyond there where we all camped last time. We
can watch any who pass. It’ll be easier to spot them there.”
“As long
as they haven’t passed already.”
“They only
left a day before we did, and we sailed every night while they had to
sleep. We’re in front of them.”