“Never assume your opponent is so stupid that he’ll fall for the same trick twice,” Ewen chuckled as he reached down to help up his floored student. “And never let your mother hear that kind of language or she’ll likely thunk ya twice as hard as I just did.”
Azerick’s petulant look quickly evaporated as he grinned at his instructor and allowed himself to be helped to his feet.
“I think this will do it for today. Next time I think we’ll go at it with blades. Every gentleman and sailor should know the fine arts of fencing and sword fighting.”
“Great! I’ve been studying Master
Ellaina
DeMarco’s
book of fencing!” Azerick exclaimed.
Ewen shook his head and said, “Boy, is there a book you haven’t read?”
“Oh sure, lots of them, but they’re all in the Academy library. I hope I can enroll next year,” Azerick frowned as he thought of all those books that were out of his reach.
“I’m quite sure you’ll be there next year. Your father’s done real good these last few years and made a lot of friends with some influence. Why, I’ll bet you’ll have all them books in that library read too in just a couple years.” Ewen assured him.
“You think so? That would be so great! I bet I will read them all, too!” Azerick said as he turned to leave. “Bye, Master Ewen, thanks for the lesson,” he shouted over his shoulder.
Ewen raised a hand in farewell to the retreating youth, chuckling to himself as he gathered up the training equipment. Azerick was probably the only student he had that would thank him for putting a lump on his head that likely would have sent most of his students crying to their mommas.
Not a bad kid for a rich boy,
Ewen thought once again.
Then again, he is new money. Let another generation or two go by and his kids or grandkids will likely be just like the rest of the spoiled brats.
Maybe he is just being a sour old pessimist like usual, he thought, shaking his head.
Azerick’s next tutor was also waiting impatiently for his student in the foyer. Unlike Ewen, there was no love lost between Azerick and his etiquette tutor, Master Astrallia. The boy disliked him immensely and the feeling was mutual.
Master Astrallia was a fat, pompous, over-dressed popinjay, in Azerick’s opinion. He was a regular court sycophant that never failed to miss a court ball or function. Through gall and guile, he had managed to worm his way deep into the aristocracy’s social network.
Master Astrallia found Azerick crude, lazy, and precocious. His job was teaching etiquette, court protocol, and the finer points of mingling with the upper class so as not to embarrass one’s self. This, Master Astrallia felt, was an exercise in futility. He knew that the boy was not stupid in the slightest. He knew that Azerick was a devout reader and could be a preeminent scholar if he kept to the path he was on.
Nevertheless, he was utterly illiterate when it came to proper social behavior. In fact, he was sure that the boy went out of his way to frustrate him. He had taught proper etiquette to many children from wealthy families who had a fraction of this boy’s intelligence, but in this case, he was utterly flummoxed.
Master Astrallia figured that it was probably the trouble with being low born. There simply was not any noble or high-class blood in him. His father was nothing more than a glorified fisherman or some such thing. You cannot make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear, or so the saying goes. Look at the King. Bastard born, his blood was watered down by a commoner, and look at what was happening to the kingdom. It was being torn apart because he panders to the commoners, ignores his noble’s advice, and incurs their scorn.
There was a considerable amount of prejudice within the upper classes against those of “new money.” Azerick’s family held no titles or positions of power. Technically, they were at the lower rung of the upper class, and those who mingled with the long-established families looked down on those who were coming up. Nevertheless, it was good, steady pay and he needed it. Traveling in the elite social circles required a hefty amount of gold to keep him in the latest fashions.
“Well, if you are done brawling like some common thug,” Astrallia drawled, “we can once more attempt to teach you how to act like a true gentleman.”
Azerick retorted, “Even a gentleman may find the need to defend himself and what is his.” Azerick looked pointedly at his tutor’s ample girth. "Even you may find a foot of steel hard to digest."
Astrallia’s face colored a blotchy brighter shade of red as he replied to the insult. “An educated gentleman can always use his wits and words to settle any confrontation. Only an uncouth hooligan who lacks the ability to form complete coherent sentences has to resort to violence. Violence is the solution of the ignorant and stupid. You would do well to remember that since you are not stupid and, with my help, will hopefully cure you of your ignorance.”
That was another thing Azerick found incredibly annoying about his tutor. Astrallia was not stupid and could easily match him in a contest of words. Instead of paying attention, Azerick daydreamed about catching
him
behind the knee with his staff and sending all that blubber falling hard to the floor flailing and rolling like landed fish as he tried to regain his legs. This image brought a smile to his face and kept him in a good mood for the rest of the boring class.
“Did something I say strike you as amusing, Azerick?”
The youth shook of his glazed expression. “No, sir, you are correct in your argument, at least within the circles you travel in.”
“Good, I am glad to hear that it is possible to get through to you despite your inferior breeding.”
Had Azerick known that this was going to be his last class with this snob, he may have well tried to lay him out. However, no one could have seen the horror that was to befall him and his family, that he would have had nothing to lose because everything he had was about to be taken.
CHAPTER 4
Three days later, a contingent of the Watch and a court official called on his mother. He was in the study once again reading a tome on mechanical applications when he heard the commotion outside. Azerick went to a side door and spied upon the proceedings, wondering what could draw such a crowd. His worst fears immediately came to his head that his father’s ship had been lost at sea. But it was summer and the seas rarely posed much of a threat to an experienced captain and crew. Unless it was pirates! Did his father and his ship fall prey to pirates?
However, the truth, as he was about to find out, was far more horrible than he could have ever imagined.
"What is this, sir, what brings you to my home with these armed men?" Celeste demanded, trying to remain polite, but a fear of something certainly dreadful filled her with anxiety.
The official gave her a look completely devoid of expression or emotion as he unfurled and read loudly from a scroll embossed with the duke's seal. "Let it be known that due to the treasonous acts perpetrated by one Darius Giles, all rights, titles, and properties of the afore mentioned is hereby declared to be in forfeiture to the crown and to be seized by the local authority, Duke Ulric of Southport. All forfeitures are to include and encompass those belongings of all direct family members. All those in residence will vacate the premises within thirty minutes of this notice to include family, guests, and household servants. All nonfamily members of the convicted may take their personal belongings, all family of the accused may take only clothing, items of personal but lacking real monetary value, and a purse of no more than ten gold pieces. Anyone still residing within the premises thirty minutes from henceforth will be arrested. Your time starts now."
With a snap, the official rolled the scroll back up and turned an hourglass that he produced from a satchel.
"I do not understand! What has happened to my husband? There must be some mistake!" Celeste wailed.
"I assure you, madam, that there has been no mistake. Darius Giles committed an act of treason and forfeited his life as well as his property. Your time is running out. I suggest you see to your belongings and your servants," the official coldly replied.
"My husband is dead? You killed him?"
"No, madam. Unfortunately the traitor escaped My Lord's justice." Celeste let out a sigh of relief but that relief was quickly replaced by renewed sorrow as the official finished his statement. "He was murdered in his cell by one of his accomplices. Time is running out, madam. I suggest you see to yourself and your son."
Azerick’s knees trembled and his stomach became queasy and felt like it was flopping around inside him like a landed fish. He cried out and ran to hold onto his mother who was also weeping tears of utter anguish.
Celeste consolidated her courage and turned to her son. "Go, Azerick, collect your things, and hurry now."
Azerick’s mother rushed him inside to collect some clothes. Tearfully, Azerick filled a sea bag that he took with him on the occasions that his father took him out on a voyage. The smell of the bag and the thought of his father brought back fresh tears. He filled the bag quickly but on an impulse, took half his clothes back out and ran with his half-empty bag to the study.
His heart was tortured on which books to take and which ones to leave behind. He quickly made up his mind and grabbed his favorite books. Some were not the most enjoyable to read, some of those he had to leave behind, but the ones he took he knew that no matter what happened he would still be able to advance his education and learn.
As he and his mother returned to the courtyard, the compassionless official had one of the soldiers do a cursory search of their possessions. The guard set aside a small jewelry box that was his mothers. She let out a small cry of protest but held herself back from lunging at the man or engaging in a verbal altercation that she knew was hopeless. The guard held up the books Azerick had packed, flipped through them to see if anything was hidden within the pages, and then looked to his superior for instructions.
The small weasel-looking official took one of Azerick’s books from the guard and read the cover and seemed to ponder what whether or not to allow him to have them. Books, particularly books of this quality, were rather valuable. Azerick did not know what he would do without his books. He was sure that if the man told him he could not have them that he would attack him. He swore he would die before living without his books. He looked from the official to the guard and eyed the dagger at the man’s belt. He would snatch that blade and kill this man with it if he could or with tooth and nail if need be.
Perhaps the man saw the look of potential fury in the young boy’s eyes and did not want to be forced to restrain him and possibly hurt him. He was sure the mother would come to the boy's rescue if he had to put hands on him, and that could lead to unnecessary bloodshed. This was distasteful business as it was, family of a traitor or not, and he lacked the stomach for such things. Whatever his reason, Azerick could not care less. What was important was that the man tossed his book back to the guard who stuffed it back into his sack and returned it to him.
Azerick and his mother were hurried out of the courtyard and onto the streets. Word had circulated quickly for there were already several people in front of the manor. Some wore accusing stares and scorn was evident on their faces others had looks that varied from pity to indifference. Regardless of what any of them felt, none spoke up in either scorn or defense. The last thing Azerick saw was the few servants standing by as the guards inspected their possessions before ushering them out of the gates.
Those that they had called neighbor or friend made no offer of shelter to the widow and her son. They soon found themselves in the common quarter where they took shelter at an inn.
****
The Duke’s men worked quickly, and within a few days, nearly every man who sailed into port on
Storm Runner
that night was brought in for questioning. Unfortunately, for the magistrate, his questions produced very few answers. None of the crew claimed to know anything about the secret cargo. Apparently, the captain had not told a single man on his ship about it and none of them had seen it brought aboard. Even his first mate knew nothing about it being brought on board much less who was to receive it once they reached Southport.
Duke Ulric promised to inquire further and would send a courier with any news he discovered. Lord Crassus did not envy the crew of the
Storm Runner,
but that was not his concern. Perhaps it would even turn up some new details. He decided that he had done all he could, called for his coach, and returned to report what had happened to the prisoner to the King in person.