King's Exile: Chronicles of the Dragon-Bound: Book 1 Page 11

Before they turned in for the night, Hammer took Dax aside. “I’m glad you got right with Mr. Holder. I like you, and you do good work.”

  “Thank you. Things seem to be going well,” Dax said carefully.

  “Listen, there’s one more thing I’d like you to know.” Hammer looked around and seemed satisfied no one was paying attention. “You’re not like the rest of the boys, and I want you to know about Lilly.” Dax was puzzled, but he nodded. “You haven’t met her yet,” Hammer continued. “She comes round every week or so to check on me. She’s . . .” Hammer flicked his eyes around the bunkie one more time. “She’s my sister.” He said it so quietly Dax almost missed it. “I don’t let on around here.”

  Dax nodded solemnly back. “Thank you,” he said to Hammer. For a moment he had the urge to share a secret of his own, but he stayed silent. And safe.

  As he lay in his cot that night, Dax thought about what he had learned that day. Layers had layers. Even people like Hammer, whom Dax had thought played a simple but important role in this operation, had secrets. Dax might be alone in a strange world, but it eased his mind to know others had their own hidden lives.

  #

  In the days after his meeting with Holder, the boys saw only the usual guardsmen at the bootblack stand. Well, except for the one time Stinky managed to get something strong to drink at lunch break. A guardsman brought him back to Hammer that afternoon and complained that Stinky had been annoying women in Peddler’s Square. While the guardsman talked to Hammer, Stinky just stood there with his head lolling from side to side. Unfortunately, just as the guardsman turned to go, Stinky gave in to the force of nature and vomited all over the guardsman’s boots. Dax got to clean the mess off, but the next day, a shamefaced Stinky bought Dax two apples from the market with his own money.

  Weeks passed. Dax lost count of the number of boots he had polished. He had also lost track of the date, but it had to be late summer, because the nights were getting cooler. By now he and the rest of the boys shared an easy camaraderie. The guard left the bootblacks alone, stopping from time to time only to have their boots cleaned. They never questioned or bothered the boys.

  While Dax felt relatively safe, he was frustrated. Nothing he could do as a bootblack would affect the first thing up in the castle. Even the information he gathered was weak and old. He heard only random gossip about happenings in the castle—nothing he considered news. He thought of one plan after another, but he rejected them all. The only plan he had was to stay in Holder’s organization and work his way up. He saw no sign of the Goddess’s path, let alone a way to fulfill his vow to regain the throne. He had a goal, but that goal was so far away from his life with the bootblacks that it might as well have been one of the stars in Dashell’s Hammer overhead in the night sky.

  He had another worry. The longer he stayed in Holder’s organization, the more certain it was that he would be expected to commit criminal acts. Holder’s men, and they were almost all men, unlike the guard, which had a fair number of women, ran a hidden network of extortion, embezzlement, and fraud operations in the city. Most were nonviolent but criminal enterprises . . . unless the victims made trouble. There was a deeper layer, though. Dax had heard rumors of things like hired killings and trade in the fallenfairy drug. If Dax stayed, he knew he would have to do something illegal—no doubt more than one illegal something. The thought of committing crimes against the citizens of Tazzelton upset him deeply. Besides, how could someone who could not tell the slightest untruth succeed at a career in crime?

  It was Third Day, a pleasantly cool day with no sun. As usual, while he worked, Dax’s mind wandered through one and another of his thoughts and half-formed plans. Nothing new, nothing new, nothing new. Dax had shined boots all morning when a guard officer sat down at his stool. Dax glanced up and saw Orin Herne. His old mentor was in full uniform, with the sunburst insignia on his shoulder, his unused sleeve pinned up, out of the way. Stunned, Dax gaped stupidly. The guard uniform triggered a reaction. He shifted his feet and prepared to bolt. Herne may have had only one arm, but before Dax had moved even a fraction, Herne seized him by the shoulder.

  “You’re frightened, but I want to help. Please,” Herne said softly. He waited a moment, still holding Dax’s shoulder. “I’m going to let go of you now. You need to hear what I have to say.”

  The honesty of his words was clear to Dax, and he relaxed a little. He glanced over and saw that Hammer was looking at him with concern. Dax made the little motion that signaled, “All’s well,” and turned back to Herne.

  Herne leaned back and put his foot up on the stand in front of Dax. “Good,” he said with a smile. “Now get busy and shine my boots. Remember, I’m just a regular customer.” Herne paused before he went on. “I have to admit, I’m a little overcome to finally find you.” He stopped and cleared his throat. “As you can see, I’ve been recalled to duty.” In public, the general controlled his expressions carefully, but Dax recognized the tightening of Herne’s eyes as anger. “Things have been very . . .” Herne paused. “Very unsettled in the castle these days,” he finally finished. “The guard commanders were told you had disappeared, but Keir told them to keep the information from the men. At first he tried to feed us some rot about how he thought you might have run off to the monastery at the Circular Sea to take your vows. When nobody believed that lie, they told us you’d been abducted.”

  Dax looked up at Herne. “I had to get away,” he said as he buffed the boot. “She was trying to kill me.”

  Herne blinked and sat very still for a time while Dax worked. “Well, that certainly shines a different light on their plot,” he said grimly. He said nothing more until Dax had finished the first boot. “I think I’m beginning to see the picture. They started this Sun-Blaze Guard thing and had them go looking for you. Keir kept me stuck at headquarters, but I’ve been looking around when I’m off duty at places in the city I thought you might be hiding.” When Dax looked up, Herne smiled. “Tactically, I approve of your choice. This probably works as well for you as anything. Easier than some.” As Herne talked, he smiled and nodded just as he would if making casual conversation. “I imagine this uniform gave you a start. It wasn’t my idea, but now we may be able to make it work for us.”

  The word us rang clear as a bell in Dax’s mind. Herne was not referring to the guard, but to the two of them—trainer and student. A rush of relief swept through him. Herne had always been someone he trusted, and now it was clear that had not changed. Dax had a hundred things he wanted to tell Herne. The first thing he said was, “I’ve been using the name Leith, and . . .”

  Herne stopped him with a gesture. “Not now,” he said. “We can’t attract attention here. You’ll have to meet me somewhere where we can talk. I need to know what’s going on before we can plan. You’ve done well so far, but we need to share information.”

  “When? Where?” Dax continued to work on Herne’s boot without looking up.

  “Do you know the Slippery Fish Tavern down near the fishing docks by Little Adok?”

  “I can find it,” Dax replied softly.

  “Two days. I need time to get things ready.”

  “Late afternoon?” Dax offered. “That would be the best time not to draw attention around here. Sometimes guys wander off late in the day.”

  “That would work. I’ll buy you supper. Ask for Tulee. That’s how they know me there.”

  Dax looked up. “Tulee?”

  Herne smiled. “I’ve found it useful to have options for who I choose to be. From time to time, the general finds it instructive to get out and hoist a casual pint with his ears open.”

  #

  Later Hammer took Dax aside. “Did that officer give you any trouble?”

  By that time Dax had an explanation ready. “Nah. It turned out to be a guy who used to know my father. After Da died, he looked after me some. He was glad to see I was making out okay.” Dax’s heart was beating heavily as his implications skated on the thin edge of truth.

/>   Hammer looked at him a little funny. “Okay. You just looked like you were going to run.”

  Dax laughed. “I was! When a guy in a guard uniform recognizes you, you don’t think good thoughts these days.” He shrugged. “Turned out okay. He even left a decent tip. He must have felt sorry for me.”

  Later that night after supper, Dax lay on his cot with his brain swirling with unfocused thoughts. Slowly and purposefully he marshaled some order so he could think. Would he meet Herne? Certainly. He trusted the man, but the brief contact had left him with a million questions. What had Herne meant, the uniform was not his idea? What was happening inside the castle? Were they still looking for him? Sometime while he was trying to figure out what was most important to know, he fell asleep.

  #

  The two days of waiting tortured Dax. From the moment he woke until he fell into an exhausted sleep, his brain raced with questions, plans, and ideas. Yet he had to go through his normal routine as a bootblack. Some customers had gotten to be regulars. They greeted Dax and expected a little conversation about the weather, their aching feet, the quality of the fish in the market, or other, everyday topics. Dax usually enjoyed the normality of these interchanges, but now they were interruptions. He had to pay attention and be pleasant to his customers. It was hard, but he found his diplomatic training helped him appear to be listening.

  Finally, late in the afternoon of the second day, Dax took his shine stuff to Hammer. “Hey, I’m going to see a guy this evening. I might not be back until late.”

  Hammer nodded wisely. “Okay, but take care. You don’t want to get too involved with Holder’s guys until you know what’s going on.” The older boy looked serious and took Dax aside. “You really don’t want to mess with anything like Holder’s fallenfairy business. That’s bad stuff. I’ve seen guys get really messed up with that shit.”

  Dax had heard rumors even in the castle of people who had tried the dust made from the blossoms of the fairy’s brush plant that grew down south in Thara. Although many claimed it was just like getting silly from too much wine, there were tales of others who could not stop using it and ended up with no mind left.

  With complete confidence Dax shook his head no and reassured Hammer. “Not me. The guard puts you away for a long time for that, Holder or no.” He smiled. “Besides, this isn’t about Holder’s business. I’m going to see the guy who was here the other day who knew Da. He wants to buy me supper and have me tell him what I’ve been doing.”

  Hammer looked relieved. “A free meal? Nice! If you have something fancy, be sure to tell us all about it.”

  Next to sex talk, the favorite topic in the bunkie was fancy foods they had heard about and would like to eat. Dax nodded. “We’re meeting at a tavern, and I will order the most expensive thing they have.” He flashed a wide grin at Hammer. “If he lets me, that is.”

  #

  Dax left the bootblacks and headed for the lower city down by the docks. Little Adok, a large outcrop of rock, stood at the east side of Stone Harbor like a smaller echo of the rocky foundation below the castle. He moved through the streets of Tazzelton with more confidence these days. Although he still kept a wary eye out for guardsmen, he had lived on the streets long enough now that his surroundings felt natural. Several times he had the urge to break into a run and dash all the way to the fishing docks, but he forced himself to calm down. He distracted himself by puzzling over what Herne could do to help. Dax had no good information and no plans of his own. He had even less of an idea what Herne had in mind. Safety, the thought of a safe place to hide with Herne, kept intruding into his thoughts.

  Chapter 8

  Skelleridge finished drying the last of the wooden mugs that Molli had taken from the wash water. They had finished the cleaning a little early today. Now he had a moment to sit down and rest his feet before business picked up again in the late afternoon. Ah! What could be a better excuse to try a sample from the new barrel of Jokab’s extra-dark ale? Jokab had delivered it to the Slippery Fish Tavern just that morning from his brewery outside the city on the edge of the Northwood.

  Back in the storeroom, Skelleridge tipped the barrel onto its side and rolled it over to the lift. He was particularly proud of his barrel lift. Phim, the one-eyed sailor, had helped him build it some ten years ago. With the sailor’s knowledge of rigging and knots along with the barkeeper’s ideas, they had come up with a moveable lift that allowed Skelleridge to wrestle heavy barrels into place behind the bar all by himself.

  Once he had the barrel secured and tapped, Skelleridge drew a small amount in a special glass tasting cup. He held it up to the window to let the light shine through it and smiled in satisfaction. It looked perfect with the dark, reddish-brown color Jokab alone seemed to be able to produce. The head looked good—thick and foamy. He sniffed and inhaled the rich, pungent aroma. His mouth salivated as he tipped the cup up for his first sip.

  Ah! Sublime. He sighed and smiled. For several years now he had charged a premium for the privilege of drinking Jokab’s special brew. Some might complain about the price, but let them drink ordinary beer. This ale was special.

  He set aside his tasting cup and drew a half mug for himself—first servings were a privilege of ownership. Just as he sat down, he heard the tinkle of the small bell on the tavern’s door. Annoyed at having his moment of rest interrupted, he looked up. His frown turned into a smile when he saw Tulee and his wife, Wryn. “Come, come.” He waved to them. “Join me. I just tapped a new barrel of Jokab’s best.”

  Tulee waved his thanks and went behind the bar to draw a mug for his woman and himself. Ordinarily Skelleridge bristled when customers casually helped themselves, but he had known Tulee and his wife for years. He saw them as friends as much as customers.

  Tulee had always impressed him with his quiet reserve—unusual for an ordinary workman. He was affable enough, but he never offered much about his own life. Skelleridge had often wanted to ask Tulee about his wooden arm—there was probably a good tale there—but the time never seemed right. And the wig? Although at first glance, it didn’t look too bad, the long, brown locks fell somewhat awkwardly. Ah, but who knew where vanity might take a man? Although Tulee was easy enough to talk to, several times he had seen the man’s eyes turn forbiddingly frosty cold when challenged. No, that was one man he would not want to see with his back up, one arm short or not.

  Wryn sat down with Skelleridge while Tulee brought their mugs to the table. Tulee placed one in front of her, and she hoisted it, “To new beer and old friends.” Her cheery laugh was infectious.

  “Old friends,” the men echoed before they took a sip.

  “Oh, my,” Tulee remarked. He held the mug up to the light and admired the color. “I always forget how good this is when it’s fresh.”

  “It’s good anytime.”

  Tulee nodded. “Right you are, but this is special.”

  Skelleridge nodded in return. “So, an early supper tonight?”

  “Supper, yes, but no rush. We’re supposed to meet my nephew in a bit. We’ll all eat when he gets here.”

  “Nephew, huh? Didn’t know you had one.”

  Tulee snorted. “Didn’t know myself until just recently. My dear sister ran off with a man from East Landly some years ago, and we hadn’t heard anything from her since. Last week we got word that she’d died, and her husband had kicked the boy out. I’m his only kin, so he sent him here.”

  “Some father.”

  “We didn’t think too highly of him when he took off with Mirelda, so it wasn’t that much of a surprise.”

  Wryn smiled. “It will be nice to have a boy around the house for a change. We want to see him get a new start here in Tazzelton. Maybe learn a trade.”

  Skelleridge scratched an ear. “Well, now, I think old Tom over at the Penny Whistle might have a place for a cook’s helper. Maybe Rodsak’s livery?”

  “Both good ideas.” Tulle nodded. “We’ll have to see what the boy is like. Wouldn’t want to burden a fri
end if he’s anything like his father.”

  “Right you are there.”

  Just then the bell jingled again, and Skelleridge looked up and called a greeting. “Asha. Welcome. Your usual?”

  The man nodded, and Skelleridge got up from the table. After he had served the newcomer, Skelleridge returned to the table. “Well, folks, looks as if my moment of rest has ended.”

  Tulle nodded. “Would you mind if we moved a little more out of the way?” he asked. “When the boy gets here, we’d like a chance to talk with him over supper.”

  “Surely.” He turned to the girl lining up fresh mugs near the beer taps. “Molli, help these folks get settled wherever. I need to check with Rossa in the kitchen.”

  #

  Some time later, Skelleridge happened to look up from cutting another slice of the night’s roast pig when a young lad entered the tavern. He was long-haired and scrawny—obviously straight off the street. When the boy glanced at him, Skelleridge was startled by the potent challenge in the boy’s eyes. The boy had sized him up with a glance—way too much insight for a young lad. His kind could be six kinds of trouble, and Skelleridge wanted no part of that in his tavern.

  Just as he was about to come out from the kitchen to shoo him away, the boy approached Molli. Skelleridge caught the name Tulee and realized this must be the nephew Tulee and Wryn were expecting. Skeptically he watched the pair greet the boy warmly and seat him at their table.

  Well . . . maybe it was all right. Another customer called for his attention, and Skelleridge turned away.

  Later Skelleridge reappraised the youth as he ate supper with his uncle and aunt. The boy had packed away enough food for a stevedore. Skelleridge now saw a lad who had seen tough times. He hoped Tulee and Wryn knew what they were doing. That was one reason he had not suggested any position at the Slippery Fish. Who knew what kind of riffraff the boy might be? However, if he stuck around for a while, and if Tulee would vouch for him, Skelleridge decided he might be willing to trust him enough to start with some of the closing chores.