by LeRoy Clary
He was on to something about Lord Kent. A warm glow filled me. I’d never seen Avery around this smaller kitchen before. The royal master he served lived near the elaborate central kitchens at the far end of the ground floor, a considerable distance away, nearer the king and his quarters where the most important people resided and ate. So, the question was not why was I here, but why was he?
I pointedly said, “It’s nice to see you visiting the shabby part of the palace where I live and eat.”
That stalled his sneer. He probably anticipated my next question would be to inquire about his presence, where he could also conveniently stand and observe Lord Kent’s door. I chewed another bite of the pear, then wiped the juice off my chin with the back of my sleeve basically to disgust him. He couldn’t help himself. If I remained quiet, he would talk again. It was the way his mind worked.
“Damon, my considerable duties take me everywhere in the palace at one time or another, even this far from the better residences. I do come to this dilapidated portion a few times a year and suggest to Timor, my master the Heir Apparent. He may soon wish to destroy it and replace this eyesore with a wing of the palace with one more fitting to his position.” His nose went higher into the air, and he crossed his arms over his chest as if he’d won our verbal sparring—but he hadn’t.
“Then it must be something unusual to bring someone as important as you to watch Lord Kent’s door like a common street urchin lurking to steal a loaf of bread from a bakery. I wonder what that might be since I’ve heard nothing about him these past few days. Care to share?”
I tossed him the last as a lifeline and as a gesture of good will, although he’d take it as a slip of my tongue. As expected, he grabbed hold of it. “Many significant things happen in this palace, and you’ll never know about most of them. Not you, nor your low-ranking slip of a princess.”
I tried to express both shock and anger, knowing it didn’t work as intended because of the smile trying to escape my lips. He probably thought I had made a face to scare him. However, Avery puffed himself up and departed with pride, looking the victor to any who watched. The fat cook waddled past me and muttered from the corner of her mouth, “I saw and heard part of that. You didn’t have to let him win.”
“I didn’t.”
“Good. We don’t like that man coming around here. Before you go, grab a loaf of that bread you were eyeing. Only one.”
“How long was he here?”
“Since shift change, with no intention of leaving until you showed up,” she said before hurrying to an oven where an inept cook had burned the edges of a few custard shells. She called over her shoulder, “And we’ll all thank you for running him off.” She turned her attention back to the other cook, and her outrage could be heard throughout the wing.
Knowing hers were not the only eyes watching me, and not wishing to encourage more whispers or interest in Lord Kent by my presence near his apartment, I headed back to report to Elizabeth. When I entered her doorway, I was prepared to bow and scrape as always, if others were present. If so, I’d choose my words carefully and act my part of a loyal and somewhat challenged servant, an easy task for me.
However, she sat alone on a stool while Kendra brushed her blonde hair and the two were whispering and giggling, as usual. Elizabeth glanced my way and said, “Do you need to slide the bolt, so we may speak in private?”
“No. But you were right. Lord Kent is up to something.”
She closed her eyes, probably reviewing in her mind what had tipped her off. She opened them and said, “What did you find out?”
“He went to his apartment, so I strolled down to the kitchen to steal a bite to eat.”
“As if there isn’t enough right here.” She motioned at the table laden with food.
“It gave me the excuse to eat a pear and watch his door.”
“What did you see?”
“Nothing of interest directly from Lord Kent, but Avery, the Heir Apparent’s servant came up behind me in the kitchen and wanted to know what I was doing there.”
Elizabeth reached out and took the brush from Kendra’s fingers, her expression intent upon me. “More to the point, what was he doing there?” she asked.
“Exactly. The fat cook that runs that kitchen said he’d been there since shift change. That is a long time for a servant of his stature to watch a closed door.”
“After he braced you, you had an excuse ready? A serviceable lie?” Elizabeth asked me as she pondered the hairbrush in her hand like she was wondering how it had gotten there.
“No. I explained this is my wing and wondered out loud why he would be watching Lord Kent’s door. I also wondered aloud if something was going on we didn’t know about, anything he might share with me.”
Elizabeth smiled her crafty expression. “To which he said something about there being a lot of things you know nothing about in the palace. Then he probably flounced away like a young girl wearing a pretty new dress.”
I hung my head. “Yes. He nearly destroyed me with his charm, wit, and public display of power.”
Kendra snickered.
Elizabeth roared with laughter. When she again composed herself, she said, “That is one stupid man.”
Kendra said, “But it confirms something important is happening, and we know nothing of it.”
“Yes. It also tells us his master does not know what it is, but he suspects Lord Kent is involved. Interesting.” Elizabeth started brushing her own hair, another indication of how engrossed in thought and intrigue she had become.
Kendra placed her index finger and middle finger together and pointed both at her foot like a crossbow ready to fire a bolt until she received my wink in response. She wanted to talk to me in private. The two-finger signal had been something our mother had taught us when we were toddlers. Not even Elizabeth recognized it.
That was one of the few things Elizabeth didn’t know about us. It didn’t hurt her, and it gave my sister and me a secret method to serve her better, at times. A few private words often saved Elizabeth from making a mistake or being publicly embarrassed. The correct small magic cast at the right time benefited all.
In return, only Elizabeth and my sister knew of my humble magic abilities. Elizabeth had figured them out when we were all around ten years old. I’d used one of my tricks to show off, as usual, and win a children’s game. She had watched from a window and figured it out. Right then she decided to make me her own. However, she never once threatened to expose my secret. Instead, she watched me and questioned my actions, and with her help, my powers increased, as well as becoming more benign. She thought of new and inventive ways for me to use simple magic. A year later her father offered her a pair of personal servants for her birthday present.
She refused the ones he offered, older servants with excellent reputations in the palace. She actually climbed into her father’s lap and placed her arms around his neck and asked for permission to choose her own servants as part of her education. He couldn’t resist. She was already well on her way to becoming a master manipulator.
While I would have been content to use my magic to win a child’s game or wheedle a sweet cake, she pushed me to higher goals. She couldn’t perform any magic herself, but she had an innate understanding of its uses, far beyond my own. She originated sneaky and unusual ways to put it to practical use.
Once, we watched the king’s archers practicing their craft. The best of them always struck the makeshift target chest high and centered. Elizabeth whispered to me, “Make him sneeze.”
I did.
She punched me on the shoulder. Hard. “Not now, silly. Wait until just before he lets the next arrow fly.”
The next arrow sailed off to one side and struck the stone wall, in response to his second sneeze. It missed the target completely, and we refrained from laughing. Elizabeth nodded in satisfaction. She had created another use for me. The archer never knew what had made him miss. I could repeat the spell at will, and that became the subject
of endless conversations. She’s the one that came up with the term: It’s the simple things. Since I did not possess the extraordinary abilities of others, we called mine small magic.
When a Mage or Sorceress performs their magic, the entire population of Crestfallen usually watched. They drew attention to themselves with their long shimmering robes, peaked hats, sparkling wands, loud noises, and I don’t know what all. Most were little more than showmen when it comes to performing. They were treated as mini-gods and considered themselves on a par with royalty—without the onerous daily duties of having to rule.
With Elizabeth’s help, we kept my small manipulations of the physical world a secret and used them sparingly, in ways others wouldn’t detect a magic spell had even occurred. This gave us power nobody could anticipate or defend against.
Over the years, with the help of my magic, several people had imbibed too much wine and then spoke of things they should have kept to themselves. Others laughed at inappropriate times and made mortal enemies because of it, and more had spilled mugs, tripped clumsily, or felt the call of nature so they excused themselves when they should have remained.
It’s the small things, Elizabeth said again and again. The right thread pulled unravels an entire tapestry, and she searched for those threads. I drew my attention from the past and back to her.
Elizabeth mused, “Lord Kent is a blowhard boy who wants respect. But my question is, who would possibly trust him with an important state secret? Let alone an unfounded rumor of no importance? What is happening?”
Kendra said, “While I agree with you, Avery wouldn’t have been there watching his door if he or the Heir Apparent didn’t suspect he knew something.”
Elizabeth turned to her. “There is still most of the day left. Go to his manservant and tell him your princess will walk the paths of the East Gardens after the noon meal. She would greatly enjoy his company so she may hear more about his plans for the future.”
“I’ll be with you?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
“It would be foolish for a princess to walk the gardens without her protector. Besides, they say the gardens are magic this time of the season.”
“You never know what sort of magical things might happen in the garden,” I agreed.
CHAPTER TWO
L ord Kent and his manservant, an older gentleman called Pallor because of his pale complexion, arrived in the garden. Pallor was interesting, if for no other reason than he didn’t appear to partake in palace intrigue, yet his young master had been born cunning and crafty. The dichotomy always drew Elizabeth’s attention, as it did mine.
They were an unusual fit, and Lord Kent had the influence and power to choose servants far more prestigious and fitting for his role in life than Pallor. Elizabeth had mentioned the oddness of their relationship more than once. Not that there was anything suspect or nefarious to consider. Quite the opposite, in her opinion. She believed there was far more color to Pallor than his pale skin.
As for myself, his quiet ways and stoic manner impressed me so much that at times I attempted to imitate them. But my attempts probably failed to convey the quiet confidence and intelligence he portrayed. I didn’t miss the twitch at the corners of his mouth when his eyes met mine. No, he wouldn’t smile while working because that was not his station, and a smile might, in some circumstances, put his master in an awkward position.
Still, I’d not missed the twitch and did my best to return the same with a minuscule turn of my lips. We took up our respective positions behind the royal couple, trailing them by precisely six steps. We were close enough to hear their demands of us, yet not so close we intruded on their private conversation.
“Lord Kent, so glad you could find the time to rejoin me,” Elizabeth used her sweetest tone for the greeting.
Lord Kent puffed himself up and took his place at her side, to her left, of course. That placed her on his right, the subservient side. Despite his young age, he already knew more about power and how to subtly demonstrate it than many doddering old royals.
He waved an arm at the garden as if he was solely responsible for it. “I love walking in the gardens as the plants come to life after a hard winter.”
She smiled softly and batted her eyelashes. The pale blue of her long gown matched her eyes perfectly. “I suppose there is a parable about life in your observation, but I’m never clever enough to decipher things like that. Your forgotten meeting this morning went well?”
Despite wearing different clothing, Lord Kent’s eyes flicked down to his groin area as if to confirm no other wet stain had emerged. His tone was pleasant. “Yes, very well.”
The primary task for Pallor and myself was that we were also the protectors of our masters as well as servants. I wore a conspicuous sword. The silver caps of the scabbard were decorated with gold filigree, a lacework of intertwined vines. Where flowers should bloom, gemstones sparkled. All of that was purely for show.
Inside the decorative sheath rested a thin sword made of the finest Malawian polished steel with no decoration on the blade to detract from its deadly purpose. The blade was surprisingly light and agile in my hand. The single edge was sharp enough to slice in half the most delicate kerchief tossed into the air. Hundreds of hours of practice made my moves with the sword as smooth as those of any maiden on a dance floor.
Others preferred the popular heavy two-handed broadswords. They were nearly as tall as a man and heavy enough to chop firewood. A single downward swipe would split an enemy from head to waist in a single blow. I’d seen it happen.
Elizabeth had once questioned me about my choice of a weapon, subtly suggesting carrying one similar to others. I’d said, “My blade will quickly slice a man three or four times, if not deeply, and perhaps stab him twice before he can raise his broadsword high enough to swing once in my direction.”
“That’s it? That’s all you intend?” she asked as if offended. “You slice instead of kill?”
Ignoring her interruption, I continued, “Most men, even the best of warriors, will stop after they are cut a few times, and he hasn’t yet managed to lift his sword for his first swing. The flick of my blade will discourage an enemy from a fight—so the victory will be mine.”
“If he does not quit at your flicking?” She had asked, ever probing and questioning those around her and meaning no disrespect by the questions.
“Then my intention is to run like the wind.”
“Run?” She giggled. “My sworn protector will run at the sight of an upraised broadsword? Why? Is it not your task to fight for me to your death?”
“And that will happen. However, I’ll do it from ten more steps back from where your enemy raised that beast of a sword, and maybe another ten steps if he chases me and tires. I have no intention of standing up to such a formidable weapon with my little sword.”
“Your solution?” She prompted me. “If your sword isn’t enough?”
“A bolt fired from a crossbow, a knife thrown, or a well-aimed flower pot thrown in his direction all come to mind. Along with a pike, spear, arrow, or heavy rock. Anything I can grab and use as a weapon to attack from a distance, so I’m not sliced in half.”
Her eyes pierced mine. She said, “A little touch of magic will make any of those weapons strike your opponent accurately and with power. You will not miss.”
“No, that will not happen. And that same touch of magic will cause it to travel at deadly speeds. There are times when instead of controlling my magic, it controls me.” The same subject had been discussed many times.
Today, while in the Royal Rose Garden, she walked with her hands clasped behind her waist, out of Lord Kent’s sight, but where they were in sight for me. They communicated with me in a fashion only we understood. A wriggle of her index finger told me to reduce my speed, so the space between us increased. She wanted to say something privately to Lord Kent without Pallor or myself overhearing it.
I slowed my pace and Pallor matched my slightly smaller and slower stride
s. We walked side by side, eight paces back behind our masters instead of six. A glance at Pallor revealed he had slightly raised his eyebrows as he looked my way in question, yet he said nothing. But there was no doubt he had noticed.
His eyes left mine and darted ahead of the royal couple, then to either side and finally behind us. He sensed no danger but remained wary. We were alone, the four of us. His hand rested on the knob of the cane he used to walk with, a generally accepted concession to his age yet he carried no sword.
He was good at his service to his master, a skill much appreciated. Only a slight whitening of his fingers revealed the pressure he placed on an unknown trigger on the cane. His fingers had subtly changed position on the handle of the cane as his body tensed. The cane was not an affectation or a crutch as people believed, but a weapon. I was sure of it. Possibly a thin rapier hid inside it, or even a hated tri-cornered sword. They said the cuts from swords with three sharp edges never heal properly.
Despite Elizabeth’s signal to me, our increased pace again closed the distance to six paces again to relieve Pallor’s suspicions. Whatever she had wished to communicate had already taken place. She would appreciate knowing about the secret weapon in his cane. Not because it scared her, but because knowledge is power in the palace. You never know when the smallest detail will become useful.
The double doors at the end of the garden swung open, and my nemesis Avery confidently strode through them. His head was turned to one side, facing the woman he escorted. She was a tall brunette with chestnut highlights that fell to her shoulders. Her dress was butter-yellow and matched her dainty shoes. She held his elbow pressed to her breast as he led her into the secluded rose garden which was forbidden for all to enjoy, but royalty.
I’d heard mention of her in many rumors, and recognized her instantly, but had never seen Princess Anna. This was the first I’d laid eyes on the beauty from the uplands of Mercia Provence, where they said dragons crowded against each other for enough room in the sky to fly in the thin mountain air. Her father was an obscure earl or duke, or some-such. Royal enough to be royal, but a hundred or more steps from sitting on the throne.
