The King’s Buccaneer. Raymond E. Feist

sat down. Raising one nearly white eyebrow, he said, ‘Cutting it a bit fine today, aren’t we, boys?’

      Harry tried to smile, but failed in the attempt. ‘Anything special, sir?’

      Samuel’s eyes narrowed a moment as he thought; then he said, ‘Harry, to the harbor and see if the mail packet from Carse came in during the night. It was due in yesterday, and if it still is not here, the Duke wants to know.’ Harry didn’t wait to see if Nicholas had anything special; when an order was given by the Housecarl, a lowly court page or squire didn’t dare linger. Samuel continued, ‘Nicholas, attend your master.’

      Nicholas hurried back toward the Duke’s quarters. Now that he was no longer dashing through the still-dark corridors, he suddenly felt very tired. He was not an early riser by nature. This business of being up before sunrise was taking its toll.

      From the morning after the welcoming banquet, the alien quality of being in this frontier castle was slowly being replaced with a familiar routine: either being in a hurry or standing around waiting. And the hours were from before dawn to after the evening meal. The Prince had expected things to be somewhat different, but the impact of just how different things were was beginning to gnaw at Nicholas.

      He reached Martin and Briana’s chamber door and waited. If the past week’s experience was any predictor, the Duke and Duchess would both be awake and dressing and coming through that door in the next few minutes. Nicholas turned and leaned back against the wall. He gazed through a window that looked out over the courtyard and the town beyond the wall. The grey of morning was deep, and while Nicholas was becoming used to the landmarks of Crydee, there was still barely enough light to make out details. Within the hour the sun would rise, and the town would be bathed in morning brilliance – or still grey with overcast. The weather around here was very difficult to predict, Nicholas observed.

      He yawned and wished he were back on his pallet. No, he corrected himself, he wished he were back in his own bed in Krondor. He had to admit that fatigue made the straw-stuffed mattress tolerable, but he would never think of it as comfortable. Nicholas still grappled with homesickness, but only in rare moments like these when he had a few minutes to think about himself. The rest of the time he was too busy.

      His uncle made Nicholas uncomfortable. Before he came to Crydee, his memories of Martin were of a large man with big, gentle hands who had carried him on his shoulders for a time when visiting Krondor. That had been nearly fourteen years ago. Martin had visited the Prince’s court once since then, but Nicholas had been ill in bed at the time and had only had a five-minute visit from Martin. Now the warm, gentle memory of a large uncle was being replaced by the reality of a distant man.

      Unlike Samuel, Martin never seemed to lose his temper or raise his voice. But he had a way of looking at the boys that made them wish they could crawl off into a hole and hide. If Nicholas or Harry failed in a task, he would say nothing, but turn away with unspoken disapproval in the air. It was for the boys to correct their errors.

      Harry at least had Marcus, who was more than willing to inform him how he was failing. Some of the staff had made it clear that part of Marcus’s coolness toward the boys was due in part to the fact that until shortly before Nicholas’s arrival he had squired for his father, so of course he was measuring everything they did by his own performance. Nicholas had once made the mistake of protesting that it wasn’t fair to chide them for not knowing where something was when sent upon an errand, and Marcus had turned and cooly said, ‘Then you need to find out where it is, don’t you?’

      The door opened and Nicholas came awake. Briana proceeded her husband from the sleeping room and smiled. ‘Good morning, Squire.’

      ‘My lady,’ Nicholas said, bowing to her. His court manners always made her smile, and it had become something of a little game between them.

      Martin closed the door as he came through and said, ‘Nicholas, the Duchess and I ride alone this morning. Have our horses made ready.’

      ‘Your Grace,’ said Nicholas, and with that he was off down the hallway at a run. Samuel had informed Nicholas that when Briana and Martin went riding at dawn, it was usually a two- or three-hour trip, so the Squire knew they’d be stopping in the kitchen for some provisions. He decided a little initiative was called for and dashed for the kitchen.

      Reaching the kitchen, he found the servants hard at work readying the meals for the nearly two hundred people who lived within the walls of Castle Crydee. Mastercook Megar, a solidly built old man, stood in the center of the kitchen supervising every aspect of his crew’s labors. His old wife, Magya, hovered near the stove, her still-keen eyes fixed upon what cooked there. Nicholas slowed to a walk as he entered, saying, ‘Mastercook, the Duke and his lady ride this morning.’

      Megar gave Nicholas a friendly smile and a wave. The kitchen had turned out to be the only place in the castle where Harry and Nicholas had found warm greetings, for the old cook and his wife seemed to have a fondness for boys. ‘I know, Squire, I know.’ He pointed to a saddle pack being filled with food. ‘But it was a good thought,’ he added with a grin. ‘Now off to the stable with you!’

      Friendly laughter followed Nicholas as he hurried from the kitchen, dashing outside toward the stable. Reaching the stabling area, he found it still quiet and knew that Rulf, the senior stableman, was still asleep. How the man had gained his rank was a mystery to Nicholas, although he had been told his father had held the position before him. As the boy hurried through the dark stable, the horses nickered in greeting and some stuck their heads through the stall doors, seeing if he might be arriving with something to eat.

      At the far end of the breezeway, he almost ran into a still figure that had been hidden in the gloom. A dark face turned toward him and a soft voice said, ‘Quiet, Squire.’

      Horsemaster Faxon pointed through the door, and there upon his pallet lay the stout figure of Rulf, snoring loudly enough to rattle the heavens, thought Nicholas.

      ‘Seems a pity to disturb such peace, doesn’t it?’

      Nicholas tried not to grin as he said, ‘The Duke and Duchess ride this morning, Horsemaster.’

      ‘Well, in that case …’ said Faxon, as he picked up a water bucket, took one step across the small room, and emptied the contents upon the reclining figure. Rulf sat up with a gasp and uttered a cry of pure aggravation. ‘Agh! What –’

      ‘You oaf!’ shouted Faxon, all friendliness vanishing from his manner. ‘The day is half over and you’re lying in your bed dreaming of town girls!’

      Rulf sat up sputtering, and when he saw Nicholas, for a moment his eyes narrowed, as if the boy were the cause of his misery. Then he came fully awake and saw the Horsemaster, and his manner changed. ‘Sorry, Master Faxon.’

      ‘Duke Martin and Lady Briana need their mounts! If the horses aren’t tacked up and ready by the time my lord and lady are upon the front steps of the keep I’ll have your ears upon the stable door!’

      The heavyset man arose with a sour look, but said only, ‘At once, Master Faxon.’ Turning toward the loft, he shouted, ‘Tom! Sam! You lazy boys! Get up! We have work to do and you didn’t wake me as I told you to!’

      Sleepy grunts from the loft answered, and a moment later, two young men scampered down the ladder from the hayloft. They were about a year apart in age, from their look, in their mid-twenties, and both bore an unmistakable resemblance to Rulf. He swore at them and sent them scrambling to get the indicated horses. Turning to Faxon, he said, ‘They’ll be ready in no time, Master Faxon.’

      Nicholas turned to see Faxon regarding the three of them. ‘One would never know it to look at them, Squire, but they’re unusually good with the horses. Rulf’s father was Horsemaster Algon’s stableman when I was a boy.’

      ‘Is that why you keep Rulf on?’ asked Nicholas.

      Faxon nodded. ‘You’d probably never guess, but he was very brave when the Tsurani besieged the castle during the Riftwar. Many times he carried water to the soldiers – myself being one of them – right into the battle, armed with nothing