Empire of Avarice (27 page)

Argan went for the biggest one first. It was a large
square size, almost as big as he was, and his eyes bulged as he tore off the
paper to reveal a box. It was gaily coloured with stripes, and there was a lid
that Isbel pointed out. Standing on his chair, Argan flipped the lid open and
peered inside, standing on his tiptoes. He squealed in delight as he saw what
was inside. “A castle! With soldiers!”

Mr Sen smiled magnanimously at his student’s pleasure. Isbel
mouthed a ‘thank you’ to him. She looked over her son’s shoulder. “Oh, look
Argan, a card there to say who it’s from.”

Argan picked up the card, almost falling in, and fumbled
it open. He stumbled over the words. “’Happy b…..’”

“Birthday,” Isbel encouraged.

“’Birthday, from Murrrrr Sen.’”

“Mr Sen,” Isbel said, laughter in her voice.

“Mr Sen,” Argan corrected himself. “Mr Sen! You gave me
this?”

“I did. Happy birthday, Argan.”

“Oh, thank you!” the boy gushed, staring in wonder at
the battlements, towers, drawbridge, buildings and figures all resting within
the box. The others waited patiently for the next unveiling, except Istan who
was now complaining that he was not getting anything and why not? The next was
a long slim package, and the paper was ripped off to reveal a wooden sword. Argan
wielded it experimentally, causing Isbel to step back hastily. “Careful,
Argan!”

“Oh, sorry,” he said. “This is great! Who’s this from?”

“Me,” Vosgaris smiled. “Happy birthday, Argan.”

“Oh, thank you, Fos.” Argan still hadn’t mastered the
captain’s full name, but nobody minded. “Now I can be a proper guard!”

“Well, you’ll have to follow orders, Argan,” Vosgaris
said.

“Istan couldn’t be a guard,” Argan replied, “he never
does as he’s told.”

“Oh, Argan, he’s only a baby,” Isbel scolded him good
naturedly.

Other presents followed. Some were not as exciting,
being new clothes and boots, but the cards contained drawings of soldiers which
he loved, and there were even ones from his father, Jorqel and Amne which he
clutched to his chest and said would stand by his bed. He even said the drawing
of the soldier inside his father’s card was his father. Isbel almost cried at
that but bit her lip and kept her composure. She pointed out presents from Amne
and his father that they had left before they had gone off on their respective
missions, or in the case of Jorqel he’d sent money for Isbel to buy what he’d
suggested.

A helmet, mini suit of armour and book on the animals of
Kastania came from them. After he had finished he had servants take them all up
to his room where they would be placed on the big shelf that had been put up
recently. He wanted to go up and play with them right away, but his mother said
he could do it once he’d spent the morning with Mr Sen. He would be let off the
afternoon as it was his birthday. Before they all went their separate ways, the
cake was cut and a piece passed to all, including the outraged Istan.

The sound of eating replaced Istan’s howling and they
all gratefully spent a few moments savouring the cake, a particularly
flavoursome creation made by the palace cooks. It had lots of icing and sugar
and butter in it, as well as a soft sponge, with jam layered in the middle. Argan
finished his and looked round to see Istan sitting bemused in his high chair
with cake all over him and Rousa trying to wipe it off, much to Istan’s
annoyance who felt the cake should be left there for later when he was hungry
again.

Even the adults enjoyed their slice of cake, and all
patted their mouths and wiped their lips on napkins as they finished. Argan
used his too, vigorously sweeping the crumbs from his mouth, trying to copy the
adults. He was now five so he felt he ought to be more grown up. Mr Sen led
Argan to the classroom and sat him down. “I saw a book on animals given to you
today, Argan,” he began. “That was a nice present. Let me teach you about some
of the animals that we have here and you can then later see if you can find
them in your book, hmmm?”

“Oh, yes,” Argan said. He was still excited about
getting so many lovely presents.

“Let me see – first we have canines. They are both wild
and trained. The wild ones live in forests where they hunt in packs, while
trained ones live in people’s homes.”

“Yes, I’ve seen one,” Argan said, “being walked with a
lead outside!”

“That’s right. All canines must be on leads in cities
and towns.”

“Why is that?”

“Because they can sometimes be dangerous and bite
people. They are hunting animals and sometimes they forget they’re not supposed
to hunt and think some people are to be bitten.”

“Oh, would they think I’m to be bitten?”

“No. You’re a prince and canines are simply not allowed
to bite you.”

Argan seemed satisfied with that. “Being a prince is
good,” he declared.

“Being a prince carries a lot of responsibilities, young
Argan,” Mr Sen said. “You must behave well, you must never be seen to be angry,
you must always carry on in a pleasant and sensible manner, even if you feel
cross and upset. The people will always look to you as a way to behave.”

“Will they?” Argan looked surprised.

“Oh, yes Argan. You will be one of the most important
people in the whole of the empire.”

“Wow,” Argan’s eyes went even wider. Any more, Mr Sen
thought, and the prince would begin to look like one of the predatory nocturnal
birds of prey in his book.

“So, animals.” Mr Sen looked up into the air for
inspiration. “Felines. We have small house felines in Kastania, although I’m
told in some parts of the world there are larger hunting felines that would eat
a man in one go.”

“Oh, really? Where?”

“A long, long way away. Don’t worry, young prince, I
doubt you’ll ever have the chance to see any.”

“Oh,” Argan seemed disappointed. “What about equines? Father
and Jorqel ride those; will I have one of my own one day?”

“Of course,” Mr Sen nodded. “A big one, powerful and
fast. There are wild equines in the empire and are often caught to be used as
breeding pairs for chargers. Your father probably got his charger from a
stables that bred wild equines.”

“Then that’s what I want when I grow up,” Argan decided.
“Any more animals?”

“We have herd animals bred for meat, like wool beasts
and bovines, and fowls and water birds.”

“Water birds!” Argan pounced. “Do they poo their eggs
out?”

“Oh gosh, no!” Mr Sen was mildly shocked. “They have a
second hole where the eggs come out.”

“What, next to their bums?”

“Not so loud,” Mr Sen said in a hushed voice. “Yes.” He
wondered just who had been putting such thoughts into a five year old’s head. “Just
like fowls.”

“Fowls as well? Gosh. Do chargers lay eggs too?”

Mr Sen chuckled. “No, no, young prince, they don’t lay
eggs. Just think if they did; they would be enormous.”

He went on, listing what animals and birds, and even
fish he could think of, but the conversation seemed to slip down the path of which
ones laid eggs and which ones didn’t, and did they produce eggs in the same
manner or not. It was getting a little uncomfortable for the middle-aged man. He
made a note to ask the empress what he should tell Argan once questions turned
to more – basic – subjects, such as breeding, particularly human breeding.

He pondered on whether he ought to have a set of
alternative interesting subjects to distract the young boy with if and when
that time came. Fortunately that day Argan was more interested in getting back
to his room to play with his presents and finally a relieved Mr Sen dismissed
him at lunch time when the call came to eat in the dining chamber.

Sen noticed besides the usual people a newcomer. This
was a priest, quite clearly, and he was intrigued. The Koros’ falling out with
High Priest Burnas in particular and the Temple in general was well known and
things had become quite strained between the palace and the clerics. Now it
seemed the palace was trying to heal the rift – or were they?

He seated himself and looked at the cleric. He was
dressed in the long robes generally associated with priests and was bearded,
another symbol of their calling. A chain hung round his neck and a golden
figure of a bird dangled down his chest. He would therefore be a preacher of
the god Viak, god of the skies. Sen had prayed to Viak on a few occasions but
he was not a regular worshipper, only when the situation demanded it. Viak was
one of the major deities but not one of the most important ones.

“Good day to you, cleric,” he began, “it is a change to
have a member of the Temple here with us.”

The priest looked across the table at him. He had light
grey eyes and looked about thirty years or so. “It has been too long since a
member of the Temple resided here.”

“Cleric Waylar has been appointed to oversee the
religious aspect of palace life, and to teach my two sons the ways of the gods.
He is also to serve on the council as religious representative of the Empire.” Isbel
smiled at the solemn-faced priest.

“With the blessing of High Priest Gaurel?” Sen asked.

There was a long silence. Finally Isbel smiled ruefully.
“High Priest Gaurel is in Niake and has his hands full with rebuilding the
temples there. I do not need his permission to appoint a priest to teach my
sons in Kastan, Mr Sen.”

Sen picked his words carefully; he knew all too well how
sensitive this subject was. All eyes were on him. “That is so, your majesty,
but I would say that High Priest Gaurel believes he should be consulted in
replacing what he sees as his position. I believe this may cause further
trouble between you and him, and between the good Cleric Waylar and the High
Priest as well.”

“High Priest Gaurel is in Niake for exceeding his
authority and believing he can dictate to the palace; he ought to have learned
his lesson. He retains the title only in name. In reality there is no longer a
High Priest and each temple in the empire is no longer beholden to the one same
man.” Isbel held Mr Sen’s gaze and the tutor nodded. He didn’t want to lose his
place here in the palace so he would not press the issue. Both he and the
empress knew the potential problems ahead created by the appointment of Waylar
to the palace, but it was not politic to speak about them aloud or in company.

Mr Sen turned his attention to something more palatable,
the freshly baked bread and a plate of cheeses in front of him. This was
something much more appealing. But he remembered the etiquette in time not to
commit a social blunder. He looked again at Waylar. “Will you bless the food,
Cleric, before I die of starvation here?” he patted his ample stomach and
smiled wistfully.

Isbel smothered a smile. Waylar did not possess a sense
of humour, but he rose to his feet and bowed to the empress. “With your
permission, ma’am?”

Isbel bowed her head in assent and Waylar raised his
arms wide and invoked the blessing of Viak and the other gods to look after
those dining at the table, and to thank the gods for providing them with food. It
only took a few moments, then all began their lunch, even Argan who had been
told not to eat before everyone else. He had sat with eyes on each and every
one of the adults, impatiently waiting for the moment he could attack a
particularly inviting warm roll of bread that was sitting teasing him on a
small plate.

He bit into the bread and savoured the warmth and the
softness. It was much better than the bread he used to have before he moved to
the palace. He decided he like living in the palace; he had a room to himself
and it was such a big room! Everyone was so much more polite and calling him
‘your highness’ and ‘your majesty’ and ‘young prince’ and things. He had better
food, better clothes and more space to run around in. Even better, he could
keep away from Istan and his open mouth that never seemed to shut, even when he
was eating.

He didn’t know why the grown-ups were for ever telling
him that being a prince was hard work and he would have to be on his best
behaviour always. He was always on his best behaviour, much more so than Istan
ever was. He thought Istan would be the one who would have to be told lots and
lots of times. Even then he’d probably carry on being naughty.

A plate of cold meats and those awful tasting round
things the grown-ups liked arrived next. He was going to avoid the round things
– what did they call them? – lovines or something, and instead have those cold
meats and the yummy vegetable things in oil. There was a servant coming round
with a big silver plate and a pretty looking serving fork, asking who wanted
what. Argan looked at him, his face shining in anticipation.

The servant, a short man with fat cheeks but a kind
face, smiled and bowed at the boy. “And what would you like, young prince?” he
asked.

“Oh those meats please!” Argan said, “and the oil
veggy-tables!”

Isbel smiled, sitting next to him. “Don’t you like the
lovines?”

“Ugh!” Argan poked his tongue out.

“Keep your tongue in, Argan,” Isbel said calmly, “we
don’t want to see what you’ve just eaten.”

Argan wondered if that was true, whether everyone could
see his food on his tongue. It didn’t feel as though there was food there, and
he stuck his tongue out as far as he could and tried to peer down at it; his
eyes crossed with the effort.