The Monk's Habit (The Disinherited Prince Series Book 2) Page 30

  “I brought the recipe from my homeland in Volia.”

  “You know Valiso Gasibli, then?”

  Tamio nodded. “I do. He used to be a friend.”

  “Used to be?”

  “Val is not the warmest of companions,” Tamio said.

  Pol thought Tamio wasn’t either. “I understand.”

  “You might be one of the few who do.” Tamio played with the spoon for a while. “You are the disinherited prince, aren’t you? Poldon Fairfield?”

  With all the mutual acquaintances, Pol had fallen into the trap of mentioning them. If Tamio knew his story, and he might from the Royal Couple, then it wouldn’t be too hard to figure out. What had he done?

  “Your story is safe with me, and we might do something useful together. My loyalty is to my adopted country of Listya. I came here twenty-one years ago, fresh from the monastery to work with your grandfather. I knew Molissa, a beautiful woman. I’ve met you once before when you visited some years ago when you were younger.”

  “I don’t remember you,” Pol said.

  “You probably don’t remember any of those who introduced themselves to you.”

  Tamio was right.

  “What put me off was your brown hair, and I always thought you were smaller and frail.”

  Pol took a sip of the soup. It actually tasted really good after their sparring. “I colored my hair, and Master Searl has cured me.”

  Tamio sat forward. “Really, cured you? I didn’t know you had a malady other than being a weakling. Do you want your throne back?”

  Pol sat back and thought for a moment. The prospects of sitting on the Listyan throne had intruded into his mind often enough, but his health had always made him stifle such notions. “No. I don’t think I’m meant to rule. I know how it’s done, but I don’t like the politics.”

  Tamio smiled. There was little mirth behind that smile. “There is politics everywhere. You can’t have ignored the politics rife in the monastery.”

  “I didn’t, but I wasn’t the Abbot, either.”

  Tamio didn’t look convinced. “Think of all the money in the Royal Treasury.”

  “For a good ruler, the money carries a responsibility. I’m not ready for such things, if ever.”

  “Well. Let’s set that aside. It doesn’t change what I want from you.”

  Pol waited for Tamio to say something, but he just ate some of his soup, so Pol did the same, looking up at the Chief Guard from time to time.

  “Did Val teach you to be a Seeker? He must have, looking at your knife-throwing skills. For now, I just want you to be a messenger boy.”

  Pol made to object.

  “No messages to the King or Queen. I need someone who will blend in and know enough to listen. The person I want will be my personal messenger. You fit the bill nicely. You can even visit your horse, if you are careful.”

  “Do I live in the castle?”

  Tamio nodded. “I’ll let you live in a small cell in this building, nothing fancy, but it will suit you just fine. You wouldn’t stand a chance among the guards. Some would protect you and others would live to give you a hard time. When can you start?”

  “Will today work? I don’t have a place to stay.”

  “Ah. The innkeeper at The Turning Wheel cast you out, eh? When one of Bythia’s officers bought the Shinkyan stallion from him, I figured the innkeeper would have you put away.”

  “He tried.”

  “Did you have to kill anyone?”

  “Four.”

  “How did you do it?”

  Pol guessed this was another test of fitness, so he told Tamio of his fight and flight from The Turning Wheel.

  “Location spells, too. Valiso has made a good little Seeker out of you. No wonder you don’t want to rule. It wouldn’t be as much fun. Well, you’ll be my little Seeker for awhile.”

  Pol hadn’t viewed Seeking as fun, but Tamio made him think about his own motivations. He didn’t want to rule because of his terrible upbringing and the casual death of his mother, but he wouldn’t share that with Tamio.

  Tamio went to his desk and wrote out some orders. “Take this to the first desk on your right. They will prepare the cell while you retrieve your things. This letter contains your personal orders, and when you return, give this to the desk guard in the main lobby. I think we will get along, Aron.”

  Tamio put an emphasis on his assumed name, and the Chief Guard had written his travel name on the orders but misspelled Morfess. It didn’t matter. Pol didn’t know if he should salute or what, so he just bowed to Tamio and left.

  ~~~

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  ~

  THE ONE PLACE THAT POL WANTED TO AVOID WHILE IN ALSADOR was now his home. He looked around at the tiny room. At least it was bigger than the place The Turning Wheel Inn had offered him, and it sported an empty wardrobe for his clothes.

  He wondered what Searl would think, but it didn’t matter. Pol was now in a position to do something, where organizing the innkeeper’s papers didn’t accomplish anything towards his goal of contacting Anna Lassler and getting her out of the castle. Pol was given clothes to wear, a uniform somewhat different from the rest of the guard. His was less military, more like a dress uniform than anything else. The clothes were a little big, but Pol used his magic to make them fit a little better.

  His strength had definitely improved, but his position might become more dangerous than it was in Borstall if Landon or Bythia knew he lived within the castle’s walls.

  The guard building had bells that rang on the hour, and Pol had to report for his first assignment at Tamio’s office. It was just evening on the same day that he had entered the castle to meet with Tamio, and already he had work.

  One of the clerks gave Pol a map and a leather letter-case.

  “Deliver this to Lord Greenhill. His offices are here.” The guard pointed to a spot on the map.

  Pol nodded, but before he left, Tamio called him in.

  “That fits well enough. Don’t wear a cap in the castle proper. Your dark hair color is part of your disguise, right? For now, I want you to keep your ears and eyes open. Use the extra desk out front to write a report to me after every delivery. Give it to the clerk who wrote your orders.”

  “Do I salute? All I really know how to do is bow.”

  Tamio thought. “Bowing is good enough for now. Everyone knows you are new.” Tamio brushed him away with his hand. “Get on with you.” The Chief Guard looked down at the paperwork on his desk. Pol took that as a dismissal.

  Pol stood in front of the door to the kitchens. He took out his map and found a route that would take him far from the Royal Quarters.

  “New around here?” a cook asked. She reminded Pol of Paki’s mother, a cook at Borstall Castle.

  “Just started today. I’m running messages for Regent Tamio.”

  “Oh. Well good for you.”

  “Is there an extra bite to eat? I’ve got to hurry, but I’m hungry,” Pol said. He smiled at her. Pol liked cooks, but he also knew the servants knew more than nobles thought. “I have to deliver this to Lord Greenhill.”

  The cook made a face while she sliced of a chunk of roast beef that was on the spit. “Here you go. Don’t spend a lot of time with Greenhill. He thinks a great deal of himself, and I don’t trust those kind of folks.”

  Pol thanked her. “Can you tell me what to expect from the rest of those in the castle?”

  “I’d be happy to. Just drop by with a smile, and perhaps, share a tidbit of your own.”

  “I will, and thank you for the food.”

  “Any time, if you’re satisfied with bits and pieces of what we’re serving others.”

  Pol picked up the meat. “I am,” He bowed to her and made his way through the kitchens with his unexpected bonus. He had seen Paki do similar things in Borstall, and now he knew why. The meat was bit rare, but that was how Pol liked it.

  He hurried through his circuitous route to Lord Greenhill’s office. The
entry was from an alcove. A clerk sat at his desk, examining his fingernails.

  “I have a dispatch from Regent Tamio.”

  The clerk squinted at Pol. The man must have been nearsighted. “You’re new, aren’t you?

  Pol nodded. “This is my first day on the job.”

  “Do better than the last messenger boy. He disappeared.”

  Pol couldn’t keep his eyebrows from rising. “I’ll make sure I don’t. I want to do a good job.”

  “See that you do. The Lord is currently in conference. You can give the message to me.”

  Pol stood wondering what to do. “I’ll leave it, if you give me a receipt that you accepted it. I don’t want Chief Guard Tamio to fire me on my first day.”

  The clerk looked up at Pol with a languid expression. “Very well. He scribbled on a scrap of paper.

  Pol looked it over and compared the signature to the name placard on the desk. “This isn’t your name.”

  “You can read, eh?”

  Pol nodded. “My mother saw to my education. It is comprehensive.” At least that wasn’t a lie, Pol thought. “Change it, or I will wait.

  “Just knock and you can go in,” the clerk said. He leaned back to look at his nails again.

  What a warm welcome. Pol shook his head in disgust, but only mentally. “Thank you.” He gave the clerk a bow, which the clerk didn’t acknowledge.

  Pol entered after he heard the office occupant instruct him to come inside.

  “You made it through the gauntlet?”

  Pol must have looked perplexed.

  “Cirrul, my clerk. He guards my door,” Greenhill said drily.

  “I’m delivering a message from Chief Guard Tamio.”

  “Call him Lord Regent. He loves to hear it. Here.” Greenhill extended his hand for the document.

  “Should I wait for a reply?”

  “How astute of you, but no. This is my friend Regent’s expenses for the week. I do my bit managing the Royal Treasury.”

  “I’ll be leaving, then,” Pol said.

  “See that you do.” Greenhill waved his hand dismissing Pol.

  When Pol lived in Borstall Castle, his stepfather’s courtiers were always courteous, so Pol never felt threatened, but now that he was just a messenger boy, he could feel the intimidation that he never experienced before. Greenhill seemed to be mocking him from the start. The perspective wasn’t welcome, but Pol knew that he would benefit from his experience.

  The trip was marred by the unexpected rushing of footsteps in the corridor just ahead. Pol slipped into an alcove and made himself invisible. Landon walked past, surrounded by courtiers and guards. The first thought Pol had was that Landon loved being escorted by an entourage. His stepbrother had always liked the pomp that surrounded his stepfather.

  Pol returned to Tamio’s office and sat down to make his observations, giving them to the clerk he had dealt with before.

  “Lord Greenhill told me to call Regent Tamio, Lord Regent.”

  The clerk laughed silently. “Greenhill is a trickster. Lord Tamio will work, but using ‘Lord Regent’ will get you punishments. I’m sure Greenhill knew that.”

  “I’ll put that in my report.”

  “Do,” the clerk said. “When you’re done, Lord Tamio would like you to practice your swordsmanship with the other guards. He told me to warn you not to get them riled up.”

  “I won’t. Do I wear these?”

  The clerk shook his head. “Better-fitting clothes were delivered to your rooms this morning.”

  Pol nodded and left for his cell once he had submitted his report. Four sets of clothes were folded neatly on his bed. An even dressier version of the uniform that he wore accompanied a duplicate. The third stack intrigued Pol. There were black trousers, shirt, jerkin and a black knit hat that had a hole in the side. The fourth set of clothes consisted of a regular guard uniform complete with a sword enclosed in a polished metal scabbard.

  Pol put the hat on and found that the hole was large enough for his eyes. A pair of soft leather shoes, also black, filled out the wardrobe. Was this Seeker’s gear? An assassin’s uniform? He put it at the bottom of the wardrobe. He used hangers for his uniforms and donned the guard uniform for weapons practice. Pol didn’t know how the guards practiced. He’d find out soon.

  He found his way to the practice field and could smell the Royal Stables that had to be on the other side of the far wall. A few guards were practicing, and Pol recognized the guard who had knocked him down.

  The man saw Pol and walked up to him. “Sorry about the end of our fight,” the man said. “I’ve never been bested by a kid before and I lost my head. It looks like you’re one of us. If Tamio chooses you, that’s good enough for me.”

  The man extended his hand, but Pol, using a bit of anticipation magic could tell the big guard was going to throw him.

  “No need. Teach me what you know. That will be good enough,” Pol said.

  “What?” the guard looked perplexed, his hand still extended.

  “I said teach me how to fight after a match. I’ve never had to defend myself with my fists before, and you seem handy enough.”

  “You want me to teach you? In your dreams.” The guard grunted and walked away.

  Pol watched him return to his buddies.

  “Did you know he was going to throw you?” a guard walked up. He was a little older and a little slimmer than some of the rest.

  Pol nodded. “He stood funny.”

  “Indeed he did. I’m Wilf Yarrow, the weapons master. You must be Tamio’s new messenger boy.”

  Pol stood a little straighter. “I am. Aron Morfess, sir.”

  “Good. I heard about your fight with Ossie. What would you have done if you expected him to pulverize your face? It’s still pretty mottled.”

  “I would have withdrawn. I can probably run faster than he can.”

  “And if you can’t run?”

  “I would have raised my sword. He was unarmed, but still dangerous.”

  “Indeed,” Wilf said smiling.

  “What other weapons can you handle?”

  “I haven’t had any training on heavy weapons. I know swords, knives, and a little archery. I can throw knives rather well.”

  “Not something encouraged by the guard,” Wilf said. “But it’s always good to practice what you know best. Regent said you were particularly adept with the blade for your age. Care to spar?”

  Pol shrugged. “That’s what I’m here for.” Pol took off his guard jacket and loosened his sleeves. “What are the rules?”

  “No blood. If you can’t control your blade, then we will fight with wooden practice swords. No hand fighting, no kicking or shoving unless you have closed and are pushing away your opponent. We go until each touch and then stop and start anew until one of us is too tired or beaten up to continue. Simple?”

  Pol nodded. “I’m not known for my stamina.”

  “That’s a fair warning. I’ll pay attention.”

  A few guards gathered to watch Pol perform. He didn’t know if he should go all out or let Wilf win.

  They touched blades in the style that the guard had used at the gate and began. Pol backed up a few steps, ready for a flurry of attacks, but Wilf did the same. He grinned. “We think alike.” He bowed and they touched swords again. This time Wilf did attack, and the man was fast, for an unassisted swordsman. Pol had to use sips of magic to both anticipate Wilf’s attacks and augment his own enough to parry the man’s powerful strokes.

  “You fight like Regent,” Wilf said after touching Pol on the shoulder.

  “I do?”

  “I think you know what I mean,” Wilf said.

  They closed again, and Pol knew more what to expect. He got the touch on the next exchange, a slap on the hip. That brought a few surprised cries from the guards. Pol knew enough to let Wilf win the rest of the touches, but not without a decent fight.

  “Let us go over our match,” Wilf said. He steered Pol to the edge of t
he practice ground. “I’ve never seen a pattern-master as young as you. Your fighting technique is still rough, but your use of magic is better than Regent’s. Even I can tell he uses too much, and you are judicious. If he hadn’t told me that you were from Deftnis, I probably wouldn’t have noticed.”

  “Thank you. Can you teach me to fight better?”

  Wilf shook his head. “I would if I could, but you won’t be here long.”

  “Why not?”

  Wilf looked around. “Regent recruits a certain type of boy for the Emperor. You are a perfect example of what he looks for. The last boy was good, but you are much, much better.”

  “I’m not going to Yastan,” Pol said. “I’ve got my own purpose in Alsador and will be heading back to Deftnis when I’ve done.”

  “He said you might not, but he still doesn’t expect you to be here long.”

  “That makes three of us,” Pol said. “I’ll learn what I can from you, though.”

  Wilf nodded. “I have another match. If you will excuse me, guard.” Pol noticed the smile on Wilf’s face.

  Pol wandered to the other side of the practice field. “Demeron?”

  You found me! I wondered when you would.

  “I’ve been detained for a bit. I can’t get you out yet, so be patient.”

  I will. They have excellent grain here and let me exercise. The King has even been by to see me. He looked a little disappointed, for a human.

  “You used to be his. I took you from him, and the Emperor gave me permission to keep you.”

  I know. I didn’t forget the King’s smell. He has no magic and can’t talk to me.

  “Be patient, I’ll be back to talk to you.”

  Come see me, too.

  “I’ll try.”

  Pol returned to his quarters and changed back into his messenger uniform. He returned to Tamio’s office and addressed the clerk. “What do I do when I’m ready to be sent out?”

  “Wait at your desk. You participated in sword practice?”

  Pol nodded. “I sparred with Wilf Yarrow. How do I wash my clothes, and where do I eat?”

  The clerk told him. Tamio stuck his head out of his office.

  “Morfess, inside.”

  Pol nodded to the clerk and sat down across the desk from the Chief Guard.