Raymond E. Feist - The King’s Buccaneer

Amos came over to where Martin and Nicholas watched. ‘The hard part’s going to be unloading that mess. I figure the soldiers at the garrison can give us a hand, but it’ll still take two or three weeks to get it all off the ship by longboat.’

‘Are you going to have time for a visit on the way back?’

‘Ample,’ Amos replied with a grin. ‘Even should I be gone a month, I can spend a few days here before we head back to Krondor. If the unloading goes quickly, I might give the men a week of rest before we brave the straits.’

‘I’m sure they’ll appreciate it,’ said Martin.

As the net was quickly reloaded and the last of the cargo hauled away, Martin said to Nicholas, ‘Ride back to the castle and tell Housecarl Samuel that we’ll be up for our meal in a half hour.’

Nicholas started to turn, then said, ‘Should I return here … Your Grace?’

Martin said, ‘What do you think?’

Because he didn’t know what to think, Nicholas’s answer sounded awkward in his own ear. ‘I’m not sure.’

Martin’s tone was not scolding, but it wasn’t warm, either. ‘You’re my squire. Your place is at my side until I tell you otherwise. Return as soon as you’ve done what I’ve told you.’

Feeling somehow inadequate for not having known that, Nicholas blushed furiously. ‘At once, Your Grace.’

He set heels to the gelding and let the horse stretch out into a canter as he hurried away from the docks. Nearing the busy streets of the town he was forced to slow to a trot. Any horseman was likely to be a noble or a soldier, so most gave way as they heard Nicholas ride up behind or saw him coming. Still, he had to move cautiously. Slowing to a walk, he took in the sights around him. Shops were now opening and traders began setting their wares out in windows as costermongers displayed their produce upon their wagons, and more workers made their way to their places of employment. A couple of young women, not more than a year or two older than Nicholas, whispered to each other as he passed.

Crydee was strange to Nicholas. It was neither the rich quarters of Krondor nor the slums of the city; it was something else. The beggars one found haunting the merchants’ quarters in Krondor were absent, as well as the thieves one didn’t see, he suspected. He also doubted he’d find whores on the corner near the taverns in the evening, though he didn’t doubt there were ample ladies of salable affections in the taverns near the docks. The heavy industry, the large mills, the dyers, the tanners, the wagonwrights, and the rest, were not evident. No doubt there were some dyers and tanners in Crydee, but the reek of their trade didn’t reveal them the way it did down by the harbor in the Prince’s city.

No, Crydee was a town – A big, bustling, growing town, but not a city, and as such it was a place both wondrous and fearful to Nicholas. His nervousness at being away from home was offset by his curiosity about this new place and the people in it.

Clearing the eastern edge of the town proper, he kicked his animal into another canter and hurried toward the castle. His desire to be efficient doing Martin’s bidding was secondary to a more basic motivation: he was hungry.

N ICHOLAS STUMBLED.

Harry said as he passed his friend, ‘Hurry, or Samuel will have our ears!’

In the week since they had come to serve at Crydee, the boys had discovered their bane: Housecarl Samuel. The old steward, approaching eighty years of age, had been in the service of the ducal household of Crydee since Nicholas’s grandfather’s time. And he could still wield a stout switch.

The morning after Amos departed, Harry had stopped upon an errand to make the acquaintance of some local girls, and had returned overly late from his mission to find a tight-lipped Samuel waiting for him. When shown the switch, Harry had tried to joke his way past the punishment, for he hadn’t been whipped since leaving his father’s estates. When it was evident the old man wasn’t jesting, Harry had shrugged off the punishment until he discovered that while Samuel was old, there was nothing feeble about his switch. Nicholas had tried to avoid the same punishment, but on the third day had managed to make hash of a series of tasks for the Duke. For a while he had faintly hoped that his rank would spare him the punishment, but all Samuel said was ‘In my time I’ve switched your uncle the King, boy.’

The two Squires were racing across the courtyard to meet with their supervisor at first light. The Housecarl would inform them if there were any unusual duties to perform instead of reporting to their respective stations outside the Duke and Marcus’s rooms. Usually, they were to remain available to Martin and his son should they need the boys, but sometimes the Duke thought of something for them to do after they had gone to bed; he would pass instructions through the Housecarl.

Reaching the hall that led to the old man’s office, they found him opening the door as they hove into view. The rule was simple: if they weren’t there by the time he was seated behind the large table he used as a work desk, they were late and would be punished.

Scrambling down the hall, the two boys were through the portal as the reed-thin old man sat down. Raising one nearly white eyebrow, he said, ‘Cutting it a bit fine today, aren’t we, boys?’

Harry tried to smile, but failed in the attempt. ‘Anything special, sir?’

Samuel’s eyes narrowed a moment as he thought; then he said, ‘Harry, to the harbor and see if the mail packet from Carse came in during the night. It was due in yesterday, and if it still is not here, the Duke wants to know.’ Harry didn’t wait to see if Nicholas had anything special; when an order was given by the Housecarl, a lowly court page or squire didn’t dare linger. Samuel continued, ‘Nicholas, attend your master.’

Nicholas hurried back toward the Duke’s quarters. Now that he was no longer dashing through the still-dark corridors, he suddenly felt very tired. He was not an early riser by nature. This business of being up before sunrise was taking its toll.

From the morning after the welcoming banquet, the alien quality of being in this frontier castle was slowly being replaced with a familiar routine: either being in a hurry or standing around waiting. And the hours were from before dawn to after the evening meal. The Prince had expected things to be somewhat different, but the impact of just how different things were was beginning to gnaw at Nicholas.

He reached Martin and Briana’s chamber door and waited. If the past week’s experience was any predictor, the Duke and Duchess would both be awake and dressing and coming through that door in the next few minutes. Nicholas turned and leaned back against the wall. He gazed through a window that looked out over the courtyard and the town beyond the wall. The grey of morning was deep, and while Nicholas was becoming used to the landmarks of Crydee, there was still barely enough light to make out details. Within the hour the sun would rise, and the town would be bathed in morning brilliance – or still grey with overcast. The weather around here was very difficult to predict, Nicholas observed.

He yawned and wished he were back on his pallet. No, he corrected himself, he wished he were back in his own bed in Krondor. He had to admit that fatigue made the straw-stuffed mattress tolerable, but he would never think of it as comfortable. Nicholas still grappled with homesickness, but only in rare moments like these when he had a few minutes to think about himself. The rest of the time he was too busy.

His uncle made Nicholas uncomfortable. Before he came to Crydee, his memories of Martin were of a large man with big, gentle hands who had carried him on his shoulders for a time when visiting Krondor. That had been nearly fourteen years ago. Martin had visited the Prince’s court once since then, but Nicholas had been ill in bed at the time and had only had a five-minute visit from Martin. Now the warm, gentle memory of a large uncle was being replaced by the reality of a distant man.