The Monk's Habit (The Disinherited Prince Series Book 2) Read online

  “I am watching,” Kell said.

  The defiance in Kell’s voice irked Pol. “Suit yourself,” Pol said as he went ahead describing the set-up and explaining what one had to do. After he started the fire, he stood and said, “Now, you can do it.” He destroyed the twisted bark that he had used to wind around the turning post.

  Kell grimaced and tried to reassemble Pol’s apparatus, but the bark couldn’t be used again.

  “Master Jonness won’t want you to use my set-up again,” Pol said, “We’re supposed to use materials that you scavenge among the trees.”

  The youth kicked Pol’s stuff aside, but bent back down to look at what Pol had made. Kell ignored Pol as he stomped off deeper into the wood and stripped ropy bark from a tree and cut two reasonably straight sticks from a recently fallen tree. He could see the anger in Kell’s posture as Pol sought out possible patterns that might have caused the youth’s ill temper.

  Pol stooped down and picked up a thicker branch and grabbed some dry moss from the fallen tree and put them behind his back, as he followed Kell back to the rest of the fire-makers.

  Kell stood over the remains of Pol’s fire making and growled. Pol tossed the moss and the branch on the ground. “The moss is used to help start the fire, and you’ll carve a base and a holder from the branch,” Pol said.

  “But I didn’t find them myself.”

  Pol looked up at Kell’s truculent face. “I just let you know what you missed. Can you remember what I just said?” Pol could nearly see the dark cloud over Kell’s head. He wondered if Kell ever smiled.

  Kell just nodded, and then got down on one knee and looked at the others at work and at Pol’s things. He cut the thick branch in two and carved a notch into one section and used his knife to cut a tiny bowl in the other part to accept the top of the spindle. Then he tried to wind the bark around the ends of the stick, but it kept falling off.

  “Twist the bark to make it thinner, and cut a notch at each end the bow.”

  “Bow?” Kell asked.

  Finally a question, thought Pol. “Yes, that’s what the stick with the twisted bark is. If you can’t find the right bark, you can make a cord out of reeds, or even tall grass. A shoelace will work even better, if you have one.”

  “Hmpf.”

  What did that mean? Maybe Kell just accepted Pol’s words.

  At least Kell wasn’t stupid. He finally got the idea of what to do, and his bow began to twirl and hum like the rest of the fire-makers. Pol looked over and saw the tiny coals that Kell needed, but Kell had no idea what to do.

  “Slide the smoking bits into the moss and gently blow to get the fire going. That’s how you get it started.”

  “Oh.” Kell looked around. He would find no help by looking around, since he was now the only one making a fire. He slipped the coals into the moss and blew gently until the moss began to smoke. “Then I put shavings on?”

  Pol nodded. He couldn’t give Kell a smile of encouragement, but he nodded. “Have you always used tinder boxes?”

  “I’ve generally used servants, but yeah,” Kell said. He kept blowing on the moss and shaved off some of the edges of one of the sticks to give the fire more fuel and finally made a respectable tiny blaze.

  “Good work, Kell,” Jonness said. “That’s enough. Pol taught you well. Now do it entirely on your own.”

  “Why should I do it again? Isn’t once enough?”

  Pol started at Kell’s outburst. He wasn’t respectful enough to Jonness. “The rest of us have done this twice, today,” Pol said. He got an angry look in return.

  “Do I need to help him?” Pol said, looking at Jonness.

  “No, but let me know that he’s been successful.”

  Pol didn’t like having to report Kell’s results, but he just nodded. Kell began to remind Pol of a smarter Landon, surly with a dislike of Pol. He hung around as the others went back to the Seeker practice room, leaving Pol to observe. Luckily, Kell only needed a tip or two and picked up making a fire quickly enough.

  “Good,” Pol said, getting up. “We can go back to class now.”

  Kell stomped out his tiny blaze, while Pol grabbed the bucket left to quench all the fires. He was going to give the bucket to Kell, but the youth had already headed towards the building, leaving Pol standing by himself.

  Pol ground his teeth and poured water over Kell’s and his fire-making efforts. He took the bucket back to the room and slipped in the back. Kell sat up front, closer to Jonness.

  “One other thing, the Abbot asked me to announce that we have a thief in our midst. Keep your valuables locked up. Hopefully, if we are all careful, the thief won’t have an opportunity to steal. If not, maybe a few of you will have an opportunity to use Seeker skills to find the culprit,” Jonness said, joking. He then reviewed the fire-making technique, and talked about alternate materials for the bowstring and tinder. “If you can’t find string, you can move the spindle by rubbing it between your palms.” Jonness demonstrated how to make the spindle turn.

  Siggon had taught Paki and him the same things. Pol looked over the group and wondered how many had learned any survival skills before coming to Deftnis. Kell obviously came from a privileged household. Pol wondered how many of the other boys came from humble circumstances. Darrol and Paki certainly did. He couldn’t imagine Malden growing up poor.

  The acolytes filed out, but Pol stayed behind.

  “Want to catch the thief?” Jonness asked, smiling.

  Pol shook his head. “I don’t know enough.”

  Jonness crinkled his eyes. “I think you know more than you think. So you have another question?”

  “I do. How many acolytes come from wealthy families and how many come from poorer circumstances?”

  “Thinking about your new friend Kell?”

  “He’s hardly a friend.”

  Jonness chuckled. “Our magic acolytes can come from anywhere in Imperial society. What recommends them is their magic. That’s true with most monasteries that I know of, except for Tesna, who generally accept only the noble-born. For training in arms, an acolyte needs a recommendation. Most of those on the lower rungs aren’t exposed to Deftnis graduates, so our fighters tend to come from better families.”

  “Kell said he had servants light his fires.”

  Jonness nodded. “Undoubtedly true, but I let the Abbot worry about that. I’m only concerned about my students. I know all about your circumstances, since you and your friend Paki came with Valiso Gasibli and Darrol Netherfield. You are the surprising one. I had expected Pakkingail to be the woodsman, but it’s really you. I only wish I had the time to work individually with you, Pol. That kind of training comes later, so be patient and help me with the others.”

  “I will, sir.” Pol said. He bowed to Jonness and left the practice room. Gorm had just told him he had a new class to attend on political geography. From the title, he thought Mistress Farthia had already worked with him in Borstall on such things. That would be another class where Pol might be ahead of acolytes much older than him. Pol thought that he would be more challenged at Deftnis, but disappointment filled him as he dragged himself to a building he’d never been in before.

  He entered a classroom. Tables and chairs for ten students were set on each of two raised tiers overlooking a large table. Pol took a chair in the back on the side. Someone had hung a huge map of Eastril on the wall opposite the seats. Pol groaned when he spotted Kell talking to an older acolyte across the room from him. Kell met his eyes and turned away with a disagreeable expression on his face.

  A balding monk about thirty years old with dark olive skin walked down the steps to the floor. He looked like a bird of prey, with a ruff of dark, curly hair and large brown eyes behind a sharp beak of a nose. That said, the man looked very intelligent to Pol.

  “You are all at various stages of the Seeker track at Deftnis and have been invited to attend this class. I come to the monastery every two years to bring the world to Deftnis for a few months. At o
ther times, I work for the Emperor in Yastan, the capital. I am to be addressed as Master Akonai. My full name is Akonai Pulau Haleaku. If you are curious, I originally grew up in The Shards.”

  Pol had never come across anyone who came from the large island group that sat to the south of the Volian continent. His name certainly sounded exotic.

  Akonai walked around the room, checking off the attendees, starting on the other side of the room. He finally stopped at Pol and looked down at his roll. “Pol Cissert?” he said quietly.

  “That’s me,” Pol said.

  That brought a smile to Akonai’s face. “We have mutual friends, I think.” Akonai lowered his voice. “Ranno Wissingbel sends you his regards, as does his superior. I work in Ranno’s ministry.”

  Ranno’s superior was Hazett III, the Emperor of the Baccusol Empire, and Pol could feel a blush running up his neck. Pol met the Emperor personally when he visited North Salvan in the summer. “Is Mistress Farthia in Yastan?”

  Akonai grinned. “She is, along with Malden Gastoria, an esteemed graduate of Deftnis.”

  The master turned and walked back to the center of the room. “We will be talking about each of the countries in the Empire,” he pointed to his back without turning, “and about the power structures governing all of them. The information that we will discuss is highly confidential, but it has a short life as circumstances quickly change.” Akonai’s gaze lingered on Pol.

  Pol had lost what little power he had in North Salvan, but the subject matter excited him. Farthia, his tutor for the past few years, had only taught him geography and the briefest of what happened in each country, except those bordering North Salvan. To know the political situation, new or not, in all of the Empire would be exciting. No matter what transpired, Pol could learn new patterns that swirled in the countries of the Baccusol Empire.

  The rest of the two-hour class consisted of a review of the different kingdoms and of The Dukedoms, a band of smaller countries. Deftnis was part of the Sand dukedom. Pol had been through all this before and had finished memorizing all the political entities and their capitals last year. Akonai still put in a little bit of inside information or intimations of information while he talked, and that kept Pol interested.

  Pol heard the hourly bell outside.

  “I must leave you. I have some advanced courses for monks only. Same time tomorrow.” Akonai rushed up the steps to the door and left them. They had no books to read, so Pol would bring paper and ink tomorrow to make notes.

  Kell bumped into him on the way out. “What did the monk tell you?” he said. “You always get special treatment. One would think you were royalty.” Kell sneered.

  “I know some people who he knows in Yastan, and he relayed their greetings, that is all.”

  Kell just grunted, pushed Pol aside, and moved on ahead. He couldn’t have been more like Landon that time, except Landon wouldn’t have talked to him as long.

  The next day Darrol joined him in Master Akonai’s class and sat beside him.

  “Do you know all the countries of the Empire?” Pol asked.

  “I know most of them. Don’t quiz me on all the Dukedoms, though.”

  “There they are,” Pol pointed to the huge map, still hanging in front of them.

  Master Akonai walked into the room. He walked up to Darrol. “Netherfield. I haven’t seen you in years. Are you behaving this time?”

  Darrol reddened a bit. “I am. I want to learn a bit about Seeking this time around. I can’t be teaching swordsmanship all my time here.”

  Akonai looked at Pol. “Take good care of this rogue, will you?”

  “He’s here to take care of me,” Pol said with a smile.

  “Not in this class.” The monk strolled back to the center. “I hope you brought some paper and ink. It is permissible to take notes. If you don’t, you might not be able to pass the test you will all take at the end. Understood?”

  Pol heard some grumbling, but he stayed quiet and sharpened the quill of his pen. It looked like he was the only one to come prepared to take notes. Perhaps the others were far enough from their schooling not to realize they might need to record Akonai’s lectures.

  “We are going to move from west to east on the map behind us. I will lay out a map of the country that we talk about on this table,” Akonai pointed to the table in the center of the room, “where we will discuss the merging of geography and politics.”

  They spent the next two hours talking about the relationship between West Huffnya and East Huffnya. Pol knew quite a bit about East Huffnya since the Emperor’s Processional went through that country, and Mistress Farthia discussed each visited country when she had returned from her visit to Yastan. However, Akonai delved more deeply into the political conflicts internally and how that affected the external relationship between the two countries.

  Two hours sped by for Pol, but he had to nudge Darrol awake. He looked down and Darrol had written all of two sentences compared to nearly three pages of notes that Pol took.

  Akonai rubbed Darrol’s thick brown hair. “Wake up, warrior,” he said gently, with humor in his voice. “I think what the Seeking Darrol is good for doesn’t involve too much thinking.”

  Pol kept his mouth shut because he thought Darrol could hear the conversation.

  “Did I explain everything?”

  Pol shook his head. “You only gave us a summary. I could have listened to another two hours.”

  “You probably would have assumed the same position as Darrol soon enough. I’ll talk to the Abbot and see if he’ll let you sit in on my other discussions. Give-and-take makes it all the more interesting than a lecture.”

  Pol looked over at Kell, who gave him a dirty look. Pol didn’t care. “I’d like that.”

  Akonai raised his eyebrows. “I’ve got to run.”

  “Is he gone?” Darrol said lifting his head from the table.

  Pol laughed. “I didn’t think you were asleep.”

  “I absorb everything better with my eyes closed. Anyway, I grew up in East Huffnya, close to Lake. I keep up enough to know a bit more than what Akonai talked about today.”

  After quizzing Darrol, Pol realized that his friend knew as much as he said. The room emptied out, and Darrol and Pol were the last ones to leave the classroom, passing much older acolytes coming in for a different course.

  ~~~

  Chapter Five

  ~

  “WHERE IS YOUR FRIEND?” Gorm said to Pol, just coming to bed.

  “Paki?”

  Gorm nodded. “The very one. He isn’t on the grounds.”

  Pol hadn’t seen him since the morning Seeker class. He shook his head.

  “Probably gone to Deftnis Port,” Gorm said. “I’ll give you an hour to retrieve him. Acolytes aren’t allowed to spend the night outside the monastery in the first year.”

  Pol knew that and wondered where his friend could be. “I’ll find him.”

  He ran out of the dormitory and headed to the building where Darrol lived. Pol knocked on Darrol’s door.

  “I need your help.”

  Pol heard stirring in his room. Darrol looked like he had thrown on his robe, since Pol looked down to see bare feet on the stone floor.

  “What?” Darrol yawned and rubbed his disheveled hair. He evidently had retired early.

  “Paki is missing. Gorm seems to think he has gone down to Port Deftnis for fun and games.”

  Darrol shook his head. “I didn’t think he was that stupid, but if he’s gone, I have an idea where to find him. Give me a minute,” he said.

  Pol waited outside in the corridor. A few monks passed by him, giving him funny looks, but eventually Darrol came out, wearing boots this time. His hair had been dampened and combed back.

  “Follow me.”

  Pol padded after Darrol to the stables. Pol took the time to check on his horse while Darrol looked around and frowned.

  “I thought there would be a game of chance here, but I’m wrong. Perhaps we’ll have
to take a bit of a hike to the port.”

  The trip down from the monastery was uneventful. Darrol talked to Pol about the few places that would serve acolytes. They would find him, but getting back in an hour might be a close thing.

  Pol followed silently behind Darrol as they began their search. Darrol knocked on the door of a tiny restaurant. Glimmers of candlelight edged drawn curtains.

  The door opened. Pol could smell the liquor.

  “Any acolytes tonight?”

  “Darrol Netherfield? Haven’t seen you in ages. Come in for a spot.” A skinny, grizzled, gray-haired man ushered the two of them in.

  Pol looked around at the bodies of snoring men and boys. Most wore the robes of the monastery, monks and acolytes both. He spied Paki, dressed in regular clothes, but behaving like the rest.

  “Sorry, Billious, maybe another time. I’ve come to collect that one on the bench.” Darrol pointed to Paki.

  Bilious grunted. “Take him. He was one of the first to go beddy-bye tonight. The younger they are, the quicker they fall.” The man cackled like an old woman.

  Darrol bent over and lifted Paki over his shoulder. Once outside, Pol heard a bell pealing from the monastery. He doubted they could make it back on time.

  “What was that place?”

  “Billious is a shrewd tavern keeper. He sells monks alcohol for a bit more than other places, but lets the monks sleep it off in his establishment. Since fellow monks frequent the place, it’s a bit more discreet than a tavern, albeit more expensive.”

  “Where did Paki get the money to spend?” Pol asked.

  Darrol shook his head in the darkness. “He hasn’t had the opportunity to buy anything since he came. I imagine it’s money he brought with him. You haven’t spent any of yours, either, I suppose.”

  Pol hadn’t, and he couldn’t even think of wasting it on getting his head muddled. He worried about reaching the dormitory after the hour that Gorm had given Pol. Darrol grunted as he dumped Paki on his bed.

  “Both of you will be punished tomorrow,” Gorm said coming from his cell at the end of the dormitory. “You weren’t supposed to leave the monastery, Pol.”