Ten Arrows

Chapter 8

Each of the four faces around me looked on, a bit stunned, as I slowly counted out the Prince's share - twelve gold coins - into my hand and then held them out for the wide-eyed shopkeeper. They clinked merrily as I dropped them into her outstretched palms.

The old woman simply stood there, staring at the gold in her palms, unsure of what to do. The knights were similarly frozen in place, confused expressions on their faces. Peyla's eyes went from me, to the shopkeeper, then back to me.

I cleared my throat.

"Sorry, but shouldn't someone be collecting tribute, or paying tribute, or something like that?" I said, looking from face to face. "We've got quite a lot of these to get through today, if I'm any judge." I shook my heavy shoulder-satchel for emphasis. It jangled rather pleasantly.

Several minutes, five 'thank-you's, two kisses on the cheek and a signed and marked tribute receipt later, the four of us were off to the next place - a tea shop run by a grizzled old fellow with wild, unkempt hair and a perpetually confused expression on his face. The conversation at that shop went pretty much the same as the previous one, and did nothing to help the man's confused expression.

A jingle of coin later, we were off to the next. I'd received about the same number of 'thank you's as before, but no kisses on the cheek, thankfully. I did also manage to hear a couple of muttered curses directed at the Crown Knights as we'd been leaving, and the sound of someone quietly spitting at the ground.

I grinned privately. This was already a great deal more fun than I'd thought it would be.

The next twenty minutes or so went by in much the same fashion. The shopkeeper, or tenant, or whoever we talked to would begin by looking a tad confused, then angry, then bewildered, until finally they ended up looking like someone who had forgotten it was their birthday and found themselves staring at a pile of presents they've only just realized are for them. The only thing that changed from place to place were the number of heartfelt 'thank you's I received, as well as the number, and volume, of the curses being spat upon the Crown Knights.

In some cases I would gently remind the shopkeeper that these knights were just honest fellows doing a difficult job, and were not deserving of their scorn . . . at which point they would begin cursing Tenarreau instead, sometimes with a surprising amount of both anger and creativity.

Those curses I didn't attempt to dissuade.

The knights handled all of this with an uncomfortable kind of grace. Peyla listened often and spoke rarely, nodding to herself from time to time as my tenants either praised my name or railed against the Prince's greed.

One candlemaker got so riled up, that after a half minute spent spitting out vitriol-laced curses, (a couple of which bordered on treason) Peyla was forced to step in and exert some of her authority as a Preceptor, dressing the fellow down rather severely in her customarily cool tone. Once the fellow figured out who it was he was mouthing off in front of, he promptly went pale and was silent.

After a few dozen visits, and as we walked between shops, Peyla and I began to talk.

"Lord Tucat, may I-"

"Sorry, can I be of assistance, Preceptor Albusequa?" I interrupted, grinning.

She laughed, wryly. "Yes, yes . . . Vincent then."

"Oh. Yes, Peyla?"

"May I ask you something?"

"So long as it's not something dreadfully boring and unimaginative like, 'why are you doing this?' . . ."

"Well, nothing quite so boring as that, but perhaps a related question of sorts?"

"Oh, certainly! Ask away," I said.