When it comes to mornings, six bells is quite a bit earlier than I'm used to. In fact, during some particularly adventurous days, six bells is when I start thinking about heading off to bed. Nevertheless, I did manage to rouse myself at five bells just so that I'd be completely awake and spry for the Crown Knights who were unfortunate enough to have to escort me around my territory today.
My cook, Mosond, appeared to be a little annoyed with me for forcing him to attend to breakfast at that unaccustomed hour. He decided to share his annoyance with me in the form of some spectacularly spicy sausage on top of a black bean pudding, garnished with quail eggs, a yellow, buttery sauce, and some fried, shredded roots I couldn't recognize. It was hotter than Hades, and required three cups of good, strong tea to put out the flames once I'd finished.
He cooks some of his best meals when he's angry or irritated. It's one of the things that makes irritating him so much fun.
I looked through some of my messages as I sat there, sipping the last of my morning tea. One was another letter from Cyrus, which I'd received sometime in the night. I quickly opened it and inspected its contents.
Have just left Farvatii, and have opted to travel to Vereet by boat, skip some of the sights. Bought a nice souvenir, but paid more than I should have for it. The weather still sucks. Oh, and so does the food. - Cyrus
Grunting to myself, I tucked the letter into my inside vest pocket and perused some of the other items as I drank the rest of my tea.
By the time six bells had arrived I was fully awake and ready to walk out my front door. I was wearing a freshly pressed grey cotton doublet, black trousers and walking boots, a natty black shoulder-cape with wonderfully patterned white trim, a heavy shoulder-satchel, and a pair of thin grey leather gloves that I'd been looking for an excuse to wear lately. I was also sporting a brand new cane. It looked identical to my previous one, save for the fact that the handle on it was a silver crook instead of a stylized cat head.
Once I was outside, as I'd been expecting, I was greeted by two Crown Knights. Unexpectedly, however, Peyla was also standing there with them.
"Oh dear," I said, hanging the crook of my cane on my forearm. "My most sincere apologies for dragging you all the way out here at this ridiculous hour, Peyla. The gods themselves are probably still asleep."
She smiled and shrugged lightly, causing her single silver-white braid of hair to shift slightly on the shoulder it had been draped over. "After you left, the Prince strongly suggested that Preceptor Borshank and myself should personally check in on you and the collection of tribute today. I think he suspects you might attempt further shenanigans."
"Oh, I definitely figured he'd suspect that. It's just that I was just hoping it would be Borshank that got sent down here at this ungodly hour instead of you."
Peyla chuckled. "You know, you're not exactly his favorite person at the moment."
"Who? The Prince, or Borshank?"
"Take your pick."
"I'll be crying myself to sleep tonight, I assure you. Did you want some tea before we go? Or maybe a bit of vimroot oil . . . a quick candle perhaps?"
"No, thank you. I'm fine." She favored me with a disapproving look. "You know, you Haraelians are really quite cavalier when it comes to things like drugs, I've noticed. Quite different than it is in Norsh."
"Well, I don't usually indulge in anything stronger than vimroot, personally. I'm not even certain you could call that a drug. It's scarcely stronger than tea."
"Where I come from, vimroot is banned altogether. Has been for more than twenty years. Getting caught possessing some is usually enough to get the luckless user thrown in jail."
"Really?" I frowned. "And the price of vimroot went through the roof shortly after it was banned, right?"
Peyla looked at me oddly. "Why do you say that?"
"I've got the journals of a few Lords who speculated about that sort of thing. They were involved in selling commodities oversees, inter-city trade routes, shipping lanes, that sort of thing. Making something illegal is usually enough to quadruple what people are willing to pay for it. Similar stuff happens in Vereet, where merely drinking alcohol can get you hanged. A decent bottle of wine can fetch upwards of two hundred gold."
"Well, it's not the same where I come from," she said, sniffing dubiously. "Most folk simply do without. The prices of such things are of no matter."
"If you say so," I smiled. "So, shall we start on the West side and work our way South-east? I know I've got a few tea and candle shops in your quarter that are probably open."
"That's as good a starting point as any," she agreed.
Peyla, myself, and the two knights escorting us loaded ourselves into a waiting carriage bearing the Haraelian royal crest, and we were soon on our way.
I didn't engage in much conversation as we drove, preferring instead to observe the buildings as they flitted by, watching the shopkeepers light their torches and ready their displays as they prepared for another long day hawking their wares. After a while I began to recognize certain shops and streets, and shortly after the carriage came to a stop.
We sent the carriage away and walked up to our first stop - a small, run-down oil and herb shop, owned by a short, wizened old woman who was wearing a dark brown kerchief on her head, and who looked much more awake than I felt just then.
The shop owner watched us approach, nervously cleaning her hands on her smock and giving the four of us a forced smile.
"Milord," she said, bobbing her head in my direction briefly. She considered the two Crown Knights. One was holding two pieces of rolled-up parchment, one of which was a street map documenting the location and businesses that paid me tribute every month. The other knight carried a familiar ledger under one arm and an empty leather satchel in the other. "Interest you in anythin', sir knights? I got some felberries, fresh as can be found. Picked 'em myself not a day ago."
"Unfortunately, these men are here on business, my good woman," I said, waving a gesture at both knights. "Gentlemen, could you please state the reason for our visit?"
The taller of the two knights pulled out an official-looking piece of parchment, unrolled it, and after clearing his throat began to read the prince's edict from the previous day. As he read, I studied the shopkeeper's face. She looked confused at first, and then her expression hardened into one of annoyance. By the time the knight with the journal read the amount they wished to collect from her, she was scowling at both knights furiously.
"Alas, I fear the Prince was not quite as receptive to my new rent idea as I'd hoped," I said with a sigh once both knights had finished speaking. "It appears that the tribute I'm charging you must be returned to the amount it was before our Pitch Day meeting, sad as that makes me. However, this is hardly your fault, I think, nor is it particularly fair that you have to shoulder this burden so unexpectedly. And so, instead of having to fork over the, uh-" I turned and faced the ledger-bearing knight. "How much did you say her tribute was just now?"
"Twenty-four gold marks," he replied.
"Yes, thank you. Instead of being forced to pay the twenty-four gold marks yourself, I would be honored if you would allow me to pay it in your stead," I said, my hands already rummaging through the satchel of coins I'd brought with me for the appropriate amount.
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.
"Are you making a run at the throne?" she asked. Her voice wasn't laced with disbelief, but merely sounded as though she possessed some idly curiosity regarding the answer itself.
"What!? Are you crazy, Peyla?"
Peyla gave a shrug. "Promoting dissent, polarizing the views of the people, 'gifting' them. I've read history journals - this sort of thing has been done often enough in the past, even where I come from. Helps with the transition of power. When done well, it has even been known to work."
"Peyla, for the love of Baal's blackened beard, how could you even ask that?" I laughed. "Why, I can't even imagine a job that's more dreary, or more stressful, than being the Prince of Harael! A man would have to be mad to actually want that particular job. And I may be a good thief, but to even think of trying to break into that vault? That's crazy!"
She gave me a sidelong look and raised an eyebrow. "That's not a 'no' . . ."
I smiled.
"Well, before I answer your question, may I ask one of my own?"
"Certainly."
"When it comes to me and my affairs, can you consider yourself especially trustworthy?"
Her hand was on the pommel of her short-sword so quickly that my heart actually skipped a beat, and before I could do anything she was in front of me, considering me with a very cold sort of expression.
"I'd really like to know what you meant by that," she said, quietly.
Oops. I probably could have worded that better. Possibly I'd just tread into some sort of Norsh thing about honor.
I held my hands out to either side disarmingly.
"What I mean to ask is - if I were to tell you some of the things I've got going on right now, or what I have planned, how much of it could you ignore for the sake of our friendship? And how much would you be honor-bound to share with, shall we say, a certain other interested party you work for?"
"Oh," she said, expression softening instantly. Then it softened further, and her eyes got a faraway look. "Ohhh! Yes, I understand. Sorry, for a minute I . . . well, no matter."
"My apologies for whatever insult you thought I might have been suggesting," I said as we both fell back into step. "That was probably a stupid way of putting it. I just wish to avoid putting you in a difficult situation, that's all. If it turns out that I tell you about something I'm doing, you might be compromising your oath as a Preceptor merely by knowing about it and not doing anything to stop me. And I'd hate for you to have to arrest me. Again," I added with a grin.
She grinned back. "An excellent point. Perhaps it is better if I don't ask you anything at all."
"Oh no - you can't back out of making conversation like that," I teased. "I already owe you an answer to a question, so ask away."
We walked in silence for a while. Eventually, it occurred to me that she was seriously considering what it was she should ask me. From her expression, it seemed that whatever she was about to ask was extremely important.
Finally, she appeared to make up her mind.
"Are you . . . seeing anyone at the moment?" Peyla asked shyly, not quite meeting my eye.
I just about choked while simultaneously tripping over my own feet.
"It . . . uh, I-" is what I managed to stutter. "Okay, when I said you were 'cute' earlier, uh-"
Peyla threw back her head and howled with laughter.
"Oh, forgive me, Vincent, but I just couldn't help myself!" She gave me a sidelong, mischievous grin. "I know all about your recent courting activities. Now we're even, for your 'trustworthy' comment. Vinuushim - a word for awkwardness or distress, repaid in kind. Your Norsh lesson for the day."
"Heh," I said, quietly relieved. "What's the Norsh word for 'I'll get you for that'?"
"There are three, actually. There's 'thelin', 'douvlik', and 'lashivkinthen'."
"Lashiv-kin-then," I said, sounding out the unfamiliar word.
Peyla nodded. "The first one is spoken in jest, while the second is meant as a promise to make things right. The last one is sort of like a battle cry, and is only used as a threat. It literally means, 'this ends when I end you'."
"Oh. Yeah, well . . . I'll go with the first one, then."
"Good idea."
We fell quiet, and were soon stopping at another shop. Everyone went through the whole routine anew - the knights read from the documents they carried, I handed over a handful of gold from my satchel, and it was eventually handed over to the knights. Looks of bafflement, heartfelt thanks, whispered curses, and then we were off to the next one.
The rest of our journey passed without much conversation of any significance, just small, idle chit-chat from time to time. It was almost nine bells by the time we finished re-collecting tribute from all of my territories under Peyla's jurisdiction, and we crossed over into the remainder of it at Sand Street, where I found Preceptor Borshank waiting. He was seated outside of a restaurant at a table that looked to have been brought out into the street just for him, and he appeared to be polishing off the last remnants of breakfast from a large pewter plate.
Upon spying our group, the steel-haired Preceptor stood and regarded us, dabbing a napkin to his lips. He made certain we were close enough to notice a scowl before allowing one to take over his face.
"Peyla. Lord Tucat," he said, his lip twitching slightly as he spoke my name.
"Terrence," she replied, her voice as cool and icy as her expression.
I simply stood there, smiling cheerfully.
"Has there been any funny business?" Borshank asked his co-preceptor, tossing the napkin carelessly upon the table.
"You don't find the same things funny that I do," she remarked casually. "Or . . . I'm sorry, are you asking for my interpretation of how things went? You didn't seem to want my opinion the last time I offered it."
Borshank bristled at that, and he exhaled through his nose, slowly, as though he was expending considerable effort to remain calm. "Has anything gone amiss with the collection of tribute?"
"Again, it would have to depend on your-"
"Knight Lancet," he growled, turning to the knight with the journal. "Have the proper tribute amounts been collected from Tucat's various subjects so far?"
"Uhm, yes sir, Milord Preceptor," he said, shifting uncomfortably, "although-"
"And how pleased have his tenants been with all this?" he asked.
"If you must know, Terrence," Peyla said tartly, "most of them have been muttering curses at us as we've left."
"Fine," Borshank said, donning his gloves, gesturing to both knights as he did. "Continue with exactly what you've been doing, and report to me immediately after." He looked to the knight holding the ledger, pointing to me as he did. "Do not let that one get within four feet of that ledger. If he does, it's your ass. If Lord Tucat tries to interfere with the collection of tribute in any way, he's to be arrested and jailed at once. If he isn't, I'll have the two of you warming a cell in his place. Understood?"
"Sir!" they both said, one standing at attention.
Borshank gave me one last scathing look, turned it upon Peyla, then left. As he was walking away I thought I could hear him mutter something that sounded like 'cow' under his breath.
Peyla watched him go, a crooked smile on her lips.
"Gods, what an ass," she murmured, finally. Then she favored me with a look that spoke both of satisfaction and intense amusement. "Still, now he doesn't know what you've been up to all morning. Don't say I never get you anything."
"It's appreciated, Peyla," I grinned. "Although, there's not much he can actually do to stop me from paying rent on my tenant's behalf, is there?"
"He has his ways. Regardless, now he won't find out until later this evening, after it's already been done. In the meantime, I shan't keep you from your business." She clicked her heels together and tilted forward at the waist, giving me a very subtle bow. "I do hope you don't get too bored this afternoon."
"I'm sure I'll find ways to keep myself amused."
Peyla gave me a knowing smirk, nodded to both knights, and then strolled away unhurriedly, humming to herself. Her long white braid, now no longer hanging over one shoulder, brushed the small of her back and waggled to and fro as she walked.
Despite the fact that she was likely older than the two of them put together, both young knights watched her go with wistful, appreciative expressions.
It had been six bells when we'd begun, and it was now a little after nine. About a quarter of my territory was Peyla's responsibility, which meant I had about three-quarters left to go. I did some quick mental calculations.
"Alright, fellows," I announced, idly inspecting a scuff mark on my cane handle and making a quick attempt to clean it with a gloved thumb, "we should probably get back about it. We've still got a lot of businesses to visit, and I'd prefer to get this all out of the way in a single day, if I could." I jangled my heavy satchel for further emphasis.
The knights grunted their assent. One took a moment to catch another glimpse of Peyla before turning to address me.
"Which way would you prefer to go?" he asked.
You know, I just now realized one of the reasons why Crown Knights seem to get on my nerves.
It's not the fact that they're not actually required to use an honorific when addressing Lords such as myself. It's the fact that they all appear to be so smug, so proud of that particular fact. It's like they seek out opportunities not to be deferential to Lords and Ladies, just to demonstrate that it's not required of them.
Or, it could be that I'm just called 'Milord' by my own staff and "My Lord" by my peers so incredibly often that merely not hearing one or the other has become jarring. But I don't think so.
"Well, if you're open to the idea, I could suggest a route that would shave some time from our journey, perhaps see this whole silly task done before suppertime. That is," I said, raising an eyebrow at the two of them, "if you think it necessary to actually follow me around all day, double-checking stuff. I could simply hand over this sack to you guys, save us all a lot of time and trouble."
"Not likely. We've got our orders," said the shorter of the two knights. He looked around, briefly. "Still, if you know some route through your territory that happens to be more efficient, I won't complain."
I shrugged. "Up to you fellows, I suppose. Lovely day for a walk, in any case." I smiled at the two of them and gestured at the nearby street. "This way, sir knights. Shall I lead the way? A goodly distance ahead of you, of course - I wouldn't want to get within four feet of that book you're holding."
The remainder of the morning went pretty much how it had started, minus most of the conversation, now that Peyla was no longer with me. The tenants we visited behaved much as before, though without the West Preceptor to protect the two Crown Knights from verbal abuse, I found myself having to step in and defend their reputations more often. During a couple of particularly heated exchanges, I actually had to pull certain fiery-tempered shopkeepers aside and have some private words.
I've never had to chastise someone for praising me too enthusiastically before. It was an interesting feeling. The truly funny thing is that I felt that, if anything, just trying to dissuade these tenants from being too vocal had caused them to regard me in an even more favorable light.
My firm-handedness was also appreciated by my two escorts, both of whom eventually loosened up and became more talkative, providing some conversation as we went from door to door, shop to shop, slowly covering my entire territory. They even allowed me to treat them to a spot of lunch at Pavlo's, which I figured wouldn't be hard for them to accept, given the sort of rations I suspected they were used to back at the palace.
Pavlo, upon learning that I was paying his tribute for that month, had insisted that we dine at the cook's table, and for free. Lunch was a rather delightful creamed garlic and leek soup served with braised lobster and watercress sandwiches. The lightly toasted bread was composed of both sourdough and a dark pumpernickel that had been swirled together as dough and then baked and cut, producing a spiral pattern of light and dark within the slices of bread itself. The soup had a dark caramelized onion sauce applied to it as well, resulting in a spiral that twisted in the opposite direction as the bread. Though the ingredients themselves seemed fairly simple, when the plates of food were brought to our table they resembled ornate works of art, so much so that my companions appeared afraid to disturb theirs.
Of course, after their first tentative taste of Pavlo's soup, they lost all such reservations and attacked their meal with an impressive amount of enthusiasm.
When we had all finished our meals, I remarked that a less scrupulous Lord might have arranged for their food to be drugged. The expressions of sudden panic and deathly pallor of their faces was worth the price of the meal, had I actually been paying for it.
I laughed heartily and assured them that, no, I hadn't done any such thing, and that Pavlo would likely be insulted by the mere suggestion that his art be tampered with in such a fashion. They smiled and appeared relieved by my words, but even so, both of them decided to pass on the offer of dessert.
Soon afterward the three of us had returned to the task at hand, and were walking down the street, making conversation, exchanging light-hearted barbs, and generally acting more like three fellows enjoying a day about town than a Lord being escorted by two well-armed Crown Knights who'd been assigned to verify and collect tribute. The particulars of our shop visits quickly developed into a routine, and over the course of our afternoon visits my satchel became lighter and lighter, just as theirs became heavier and heavier with my gold. We left in our wake a trail of shopkeepers that were at once confused, bewildered, and thankful, oft times gushing their appreciation for what I'd done in tones of stuttering disbelief.
Word began to spread, and we soon found that the three of us had become neighborhood celebrities - more often being met with smiles and laughter than with grim faces and suspicious looks. The curses being spat at the knights soon tapered off as well, and by the time two bells had arrived both of my escorts seemed to consider themselves part of the cause for celebration. By three bells they were visibly relaxed and smiling, and by five bells they were casually chatting up a storm as we walked.
"Gods, I just about swallowed my tongue when the preceptor asked if you were seeing someone," the shorter of them, a swarthy fellow named Brandon, was saying. "There's no shortage of knights who'd be interested in stepping out with the likes of her. That hair of hers . . . some days it's like I can't stop staring at it."
"For me, it's the accent," said Vica, the other knight, with a laugh. He turned to face me. "Myself? I was practically swallowing my tongue when you were finding a way to politely decline!"
"She's very attractive, to be sure," I agreed. "However, I'm already pursuing someone, as you doubtless heard her mention."
"You're a better man than me," Brandon said. "I'd be too scared to say no!"
"You're married," his fellow knight reminded him.
"More's the point!" he laughed back. "My wife doesn't scare me half as bad as the Preceptor does . . ."
"Peyla's always struck me as rather friendly and well-meaning, actually," I put in.
"Could be she does really fancy you then," mused Vica thoughtfully. "I don't claim to be an expert when it comes to how she handles her affairs, but I doubt there's many other Lords who get as much face-time as you get with Preceptor Albusequa, and she's never as personable as when I've seen her with you. Doesn't pay the other Lords much mind, mostly. Of course, she may just be keeping an eye on you because you've got a reputation for doing unusual stuff. Things like-"
"Like paying everyone's tribute out of my own pocket?" I asked with a smirk.
"Aye, there's that. And the whole bloody town's heard about that thing you did to Leventale. And Marcsun, of course," Vica grinned. He considered me a moment. "Of course, if the Preceptor does fancy you, that might explain a lot, too. I mean, she did mention that she'd heard you were courting, which could mean she's interested enough in you to find out-"
"Oy," Brandon interrupted, his voice heavily laden with disbelief, "this is Lord Tucat, Vic! You've heard who he's courting!"
Vica gave Brandon a look of uncertainty. "What?"
"Oh, you know," he said, rolling his eyes slightly at his partner's confusion and making 'get on with it' gestures as though they might assist with his memory, "His keepmistress? The one Eric tried asking out that one time? Talia Ivyson?"
Vica's eyes went wide, and he looked at me as though for the first time. "Talia? That's you?"
I nodded my assent, though privately I was more than a little mystified by his reaction. Was Talia that well known? Was I? Were the details of my personal life fodder for conversation among people around town who I didn't even know?
It seemed to me that I should be slightly disturbed by that or something.
"Well, now it all makes a little more sense," Vica said, eyebrows still raised as he looked at me with something resembling awe. "Gods . . . Talia Ivyson! You know, that's doubly impressive, when you consider all those-"
The knight stopped mid-sentence, and his smile slowly turned into a look of distress. His concern-filled eyes quickly looked away from my nose.
"Consider all those what?" I asked, mildly, already feeling like I was familiar with what he'd been about to say.
Vica's expression lost its good cheer, and some of the color drained from his face. "Lord Tucat, I- . . ."
"Oh, you meant these?" I asked, pointing to the scar bridging my nose. I gave him a tight smile. "Yes, I imagine I must have a wonderful sense of humor or something."
"Geeze, Vic!" Brandon hissed.
"I-" Vica began.
"You know, I've often wondered myself what a woman could possibly see in me - how difficult it must be to overlook something like this. Now that you mention it, that could explain the mixed signals I've been getting from her. I imagine it must be dreadful, having to stare at a bunch of scars all the time. Well, actually, I guess I don't have to imagine - I do have a mirror, after all. Still, I've heard people say that I'm fairly well off, so perhaps she's after my gold. Possible, possible . . . "
"Lord Tucat, I wish to apologize," he said unhappily. "I forgot myself. If you wish to register a complaint regarding my behavior, I'll completely understand."
"What? Oh, no . . . no, don't worry yourself," I smiled, waving a quick, dismissive gesture with one gloved hand. "I'm sure you didn't mean anything by it. It's fine."
It was, however, enough to kill the relaxed, casual attitude I'd been fostering up to that point, and both knights seemed to become much more tight-lipped and anxious. Still, we'd covered most of my territory already, with only a handful of tenants left to visit. It was probably for the best if we were more professional about everything, now that we were nearing the end of our journey.
We finished the last of our visits with somewhat less conversation than we'd had before, both guards having sobered quite a bit since Vica had misspoken. Soon I was bringing them down the last street we needed to visit, and not long after that we were walking out of the very last place on our list - an inn, whose innkeeper had sworn up and down that he'd serve up ten bottles of his best wine that night and toast my name a dozen times in the inn's main room as he drank it with his guests. He'd also said that he'd curse the Prince's name at least three times that number, seasoning each of those curses liberally with wine as well.
Given the yellowish complexion of his skin and the condition of his nose, all shiny and red, I had no doubt that he'd at least be giving it an honest try.
"Well then," I said, leaning on my cane slightly while Brandon jotted down the details of the last visit, "that would appear to be that, I suppose." I gave my now-empty satchel a quick shake for emphasis. "Would you boys agree, or is there perhaps some unfinished paperwork that I should be present for?"
"No, that would appear to be everything," Brandon said, glancing over the contents of the journal he held in his hands. He closed it, smiling. "And quite a bit quicker than I thought it could be done, back when I'd been first tasked with this. Might've taken three full days under different circumstances, possibly more. When I saw how many tenants we'd have to visit, and was told what we'd have to do, I swear I almost crapped my pants. Err," he looked uneasy for a moment, "begging your Lord's pardon for my language."
Vica looked uneasy. "I, too, would like to once again make apologies for-"
"Oh gods, are we still going on about that?" I laughed, shaking my head while giving the knight an easy smile. "It's done - it's in the past! And trust me, if I took offense and exacted revenge over every poke and jest about my scars, why, I'd have time for little else!"
"I'm very grateful, Lord Tucat," he breathed, unable to hide his relief.
"Think nothing of . . . hang on, what's this?" I shielded my eyes from the evening sun, watching as a freshly painted black carriage rounded a nearby corner. "Gentlemen, what do you make of that?"
Both knights looked down the street as well, watching the advancing carriage, looking a little puzzled. The driver was none too visible from where he sat, his face shielded by a brigand's hat, and wearing an outfit dark enough to allow him to blend in with the painted black wood of the cart he rode.
When it was about thirty feet away from us the driver pulled on the reins of his horses, slowly bringing them to a stop. He stood up from his bench and adjusted his wide-brimmed hat, revealing a black half-mask that was being worn over his eyes, and a beard that had been tied into a double pirate's braid. As well, the hilt of several dangerous-looking daggers peeked out from atop the belt-sash worn at the fellow's waist. This was in addition to the well-worn shortsword at his side, which he drew as he leaped off of his cart, all while throwing his head back and laughing a very dramatic sort of laugh.
"Stand and deliver!" the large fellow shouted loudly, and in a voice that sounded suspiciously like Theo's. "Your money or your life!"
The small carriage's side doors opened, and four more similarly-garbed men stepped out into the street behind him.
"Gods be merciful!" I said, making a production of widening my eyes. "Highwaymen!"
The two Crown Knights looked at one another, confused.
"What?" Brandon asked.
"You know! Highwaymen!" I said. "The scourge of the . . . uh, highways! Those dastardly . . . brigands of the road! Oh, woe, I fear we are undone!"
Vica merely stood there, looking very confused. Brandon actually did something with his confused expression - he turned it on me.
"There haven't been highwaymen for nearly two-hundred years!" he stammered. "They're the stuff of legend - of stories and plays, for crying out loud! And besides, what would a highwayman be doing in the middle of a city, where-"
"I said, stand and deliver!" Theo shouted, his loud, gruff voice drawing the attention of not only the two knights, but of most passers-by, who stopped what they were doing and looked on, appearing as confused as my escort.
"Curses! If I'd only thought to bring my sword," I cried forlornly, holding up my cane and inspecting it as Theo and the four other black-clad fellows approached. "Or maybe if I'd thought to buy a cane-sword, or something like that!"
"What in Hades name is going on here?" asked Vica in a mystified voice.
"We're highwaymen, you moron!" Theo roared, stopping less than three feet away from where the two knights stood. "Come along - your money, or your life. Err . . . . lives," he amended, looking from one to the other.
"You have got to be kidding me," said a wide-eyed Brandon.
"I have no more money, you base-born scoundrel," I said in a voice loud enough to be heard by those watching nearby, "for I have given my entire sackful of gold to these two fellows here." I pointed to my two escorts. Then, after a few seconds, I made an expression like I'd just realized something and covered my mouth with both hands. "Oops! Oh, Baal curse me for an idiot!"
"So, you two have got a sack of gold, do you?" Theo adjusted his black half-mask with his free hand, raising his short-sword with the other and gesturing threateningly at the two Crown Knights. It was then I noticed that Theo had even painted the blade of his sword red, in true highwayman fashion. "Well that sounds just fine to me! Hand it over, or I'll slice you open from gills to groin!" he bellowed, curling his lip with theatrical menace.
I got the sense that Theo was probably really enjoying himself.
"But," Brandon began, voice making him sound like he was more puzzled than he was afraid of physical violence. "But, you can't rob us!"
"Why not, sonny?"
"This belongs to Prince Tenarreau!" Bren pointed to the symbol on his tunic. "He's the Prince of Harael - the Prince of Thieves! We're Crown Knights! Crown property is off-limits! To all thieves!"
"The man has a point," I interjected, raising a finger to Theo as if to object. "I hardly think-"
"You shut your mouth!" Theo said, winding up a gloved hand and striking me with a truly wicked-looking backhand, one that might have hurt quite badly had we not been practicing realistic looking play-strikes earlier that week. As it was, I could feel the sting of leather on my cheek, and my nose was buzzing with the kind of numb pain that suggested it might be bleeding.
Some people are particularly sensitive to violence. Right now, if you're feeling a bit of concern for me, or asking yourself "How could a friend do something like that and still call themselves a friend?" just bear in mind the following - Theo and I spar all the time. We've nearly broken bones with blunted practice foils. More than once he's actually knocked me unconscious.
Basically, if you can't separate the idea of your friend from a few incidental moments of pain you happen to experience while competing, fencing, exercising, or even just fooling around with them, well, you're probably not much of a friend.
That being said, given the stinging pain I felt in my nose from the heavy slap, I wasn't going to feel quite as terrible the next time I nicked Theo's rib with my foil tip.
"Ow!" I screeched accusingly, clutching my nose and allowing trickles of pain-induced moisture to well up in my eyes. Out of the corner of my vision I noticed the two Crown Knights looking on, aghast. "You hit me! Knights! Someone call for more Crown Knights! Help!"
"Stop your yelling, or I'll do worse than that!" Theo said, waving his sword threateningly at me, and then my escorts. "I'm tired of playing around. Sir knights, I'll have your gold . . . or I'll have your blood. Hand it over."
I turned and bolted away from the three of them, running towards a nearby alley.
"You'll never get away with this, blackguard!" I called over my shoulder. "Knights! I need Crown Knights! Help! Robbery! The Prince is being robbed!"
"Get back here, you nancy-boy!" Theo roared.
All around me I saw people who were either staring at me as I ran, or were watching the spectacle being provided by Theo. His hand-picked collection of knights, all four of whom who had now drawn their own red-painted swords, were also advancing towards the two Crown Knights in a business-like fashion.
"What's going on?" a shopkeeper asked as I ran by.
"The Prince is being robbed!" I called back over my shoulder as I ran. "Call the Crown Knights!"
"Call the Crown Knights!" another voice echoed.
"The Prince is being robbed?" another asked.
"The Prince is being robbed!" I shouted back in agreement, turning around a building corner and running down a side-street.
Nobody followed me as I ran, and after a few quick twists and turns I was able to duck into a dark, empty alleyway. I leaned against the stone wall of a nearby building and panted, listening closely to the sounds in the nearby street. Though faint, I could still make out the occasional call for Crown Knights, or an alarmed voice shouting that the Prince had been robbed.
It was a lucky thing, me propping myself up against that wall like I had, for I soon found that I was laughing so hard that I could barely keep myself upright.