A/N: The Selphie species is just something I made up. They're cat-like
creatures with a mixture of human and cat feature, but mostly cat. Their
status is the same as a woman's would be, meaning it wouldn't be proper for
Selphies to wield swords and hack at bad guys with it.
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And thank you for those who reviewed:
Guilty Mastermind
Rosethorn
CherubKatan: I definitely agree with you on the disclaimer situation. I thought I had put it up, but I guess I hadn't. Kinda made some people mad..oops, that won't happen again. ^_^
newstypeshadow
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Chapter Two: The New Page
Duke Gareth of Kudou was tall and thin, with dull brown hair that fell into his muddy brown eyes. Though he was plain looking, there was something commanding about him all the same.
"Ken of Hidaka, hm?" His voice was thin and nasal. He frowned as he opened the seal on Ken's letter. "I trust you will do better here than your sire. He was always at his books."
Ken swallowed hard. The Duke made him nervous. "He still is, sir."
The Duke looked at him sharply, not sure if he was being pert. "Hmph. So I would suppose." He smiled and nodded at Ken's servingman. "Coram Smythesson. It's been a long time since the Battle of Joyous Forest."
Coram bowed, grinning. "I didn't think yer Lordship'd remember. That was twenty years ago, and me but a lad myself."
"I don't forget it when a man saves my life. Welcome to the palace. You will like it here-though you, boy, will work hard." Duke Gareth turned his attention back to Ken. "Sit down, both of you." They obeyed. "You're here, Ken of Hidaka, to learn what is to be a knight and a noble of Tortall. It's not easy. You must learn to defend the weak, to obey your overlord, to champion the cause of right. Someday you may even be to tell what right is." It was impossible to tell if he was joking, and Ken decided not to ask.
"Until you are fourteen, you will be a page," the Duke went on. "You will wait on table at the evening meal. You will run errands for any lord or lady who asks you. Half your day will be spent learning fighting arts. The other half you will spend with books, in the hope that we can teach you how to think.
"/If/ your masters think you are ready, you will be made squire when you are fourteen. Perhaps a knight will choose you as his body squire. If so, you'll tend your master's belongings, run his errands, protect his interests. Your other lessons will continue-they'll be harder, of course.
"When you are eighteen, you'll undergo the Ordeal of Knighthood. If you survive, you will be a Knight of Tortall. Not everyone survives." He held up his left hand, revealing a missing finger. "I lost this in the Chamber of the Ordeal." He sighed.
"Don't worry about the Ordeal now. You have eight years to think about it. For the present, you will live in the page's wing. Coram rooms with you, but I hope he'll be able to serve the palace guard in the free time."
Coram nodded. "I'd like that, yer Grace."
Duke Gareth smiled thinly. "Excellent. We can use a man of your ability." He looked at Ken once again. "One of the older pages will sponsor you and show you how things are done. You'll be in his charge until you are familiar with the palace and your duties. If you are disobedient and work hard, you won't see me often. Misbehave, and you'll learn how harsh I can be. When you prove yourself worthy, you will be granted free time to go into the city. And make no mistake-you'll earn every privilege you get three times over. You are here to learn chivalry, not to have a good time. Timon"-Ken realized the servingman had been in the room all along-"take them to their room. Make sure the boy is properly clothed. Also, a guardsman's uniform for Master Smythesson." The Duke measured Ken with his eyes. "I except you to begin serving at dinner in five days. You'll wait on me. Have you any questions?"
It took all his strength to say, "No, your Lordship."
"A Duke is called 'your Grace.'" The older man smiled and held his right hand out to him. "It is a hard life, but you'll get used to it."
Ken kissed his hand timidly. "Yes, your Grace." He and the two men bowed and left the Duke's presence.
The pages' wing stretched along the west side of the palace, standing near the walls that overlooked the city. Here Timon showed Ken and Coram two small rooms, where they would live during Ken's time as a page. Someone had already placed their baggage inside the door.
Their next stop was with the palace tailors. Realizing they would measure him for his page's uniform, Ken felt sick. His mind whirled with visions of being forced to strip, of being caught and sent home in disgrace before he had even had a chance to start. He couldn't allow anyone to see the tattoo slightly above his belly button. It identified him as a Selphie. The pattern was of a star in a triangle. Many times Ken had gotten into trouble for having his shirt off in places Selphies shouldn't be or aren't liked having around.
Instead a scowling old man whipped a knotted cord around his shoulders and hips, calling out the number of knots it took to circle Ken to his assistant. Then he laid the cord along the length of Ken's right arm and then his leg. The old man sent the anxious-looking apprentice scurrying into a store-room while he measured Coram in the same rapid style. The apprentice returned with an armful of clothing. He was instantly sent after boots and shoes while the grumpy old tailor shook out a gold tunic and held it up to Ken. The bright garment could have easily fitted a much larger youngster.
Coram fought to hide a grin. "Isn't it a wee bit big?"
The tailor glared at the servingman. "Boys grow," he barked, shoving the whole pile of boots and clothes into Ken's arms. "It's their natures." He turned his scowl on Ken. "You rip 'em, you mend 'em," he said. "Don't let me see you for at least three months."
Ken followed Coram and Timon out, his knees weak with relief. His secret was still safe!
Omi took them to the huge kitchens for a luncheon and spent the afternoon showing them around the palace. Ken was lost in no time. He didn't believe Timon when he told him he would soon learn his way around. The royal palace could hold several Hidaka's, and more people lived there than Ken had ever seen before. He learned that many nobles had suites in the palace. There were also quarters for foreign visitors, a servants' wing, the throne and council rooms, ballrooms, kitchens and libraries. It all made him feel extremely small.
The sun was setting as they quickly unpacked. Coram changed into clean clothes in his own room while Ken slowly laid out his new uniform. He noticed his hands were shaking.
"Ken?" the servingman called.
He opened his door. Coram was ready to go.
"Well lad?" he asked. His dark eyes were kind. "How shall we work on this? Th' boys are changin' for dinner."
He tried to smile. "You go on." It was hard making his voice sound relaxed. "I'll be fine."
"You're sure?"
"Of course," he replied stoutly. "Would I have said so if I wasn't?"
"Yes," was the calm answer.
Ken sighed and rubbed his forehead. He wished Coram didn't know him so well. "Best no as later, Coram. I'll be all right. Really. Go on."
Coram hesitated for a moment. "Good luck Ken."
"Thanks." Ken watched him leave and felt lost. Locking the door-it wouldn't do for someone to come in unannounced-he reached for his shirt.
When he was fully dressed, Ken stared at his reflection in the mirror. He had never looked so fine. The full-sleeved shirt and hose were bright scarlet against the cloth-of-gold tunic. Sturdy leather shoes covered his feet; his dagger and purse hung from a slim leather belt. True, the clothes /were/ a little large, but he was too dazzled by the colors to care.
There was one other thing to be said for such a bright red and brighter gold: the royal uniform gave him the courage to unbolt the door and step into the hall. He couldn't have done it in his battered old clothes. Several boys saw him and hurried to spread the word: There's a new boy in the palace! Suddenly the pages' wing was very quiet. Everyone came to inspect the newcomer.
Someone behind Ken grabbed him. He spun. A tall, gangly boy of nearly fourteen looked Ken over, a sneer on his thick mouth. He had cold green eyes and redish-orangish hair that flopped over his forehead.
"I wonder what this is." His crooked teeth made him spit his s's. Ken wiped a drop of saliva from his cheek. "Probably some back-country boy who /thinks/ he's a noble."
"Leave him alone, Schuldig," someone protested. "He didn't do anything to you."
"He doesn't have to," Schuldig snapped. "I bet he's some farmer's son trying to pass for one of us."
Ken blushed a dull red. "I was told pages were /supposed to learn manners," he murmured. "Whoever told me that must've been mistaken."
The boy grabbed Ken's collar, lifting him off his feet. "You'll do what you're told," Schuldig hissed, "till you earn the right to call yourself a page. If /I/ say you're the goatherd's son, /you/ say, 'yes, Lord Schuldig.'"
Ken gasped with furry. "I'd as soon kiss a pig! Is that what /you've/ been doing-kissing pigs? Or /being/ kissed?"
Schuldig threw him against the wall, hard. Ken charged, ramming into Schuldig's stomach and knocking him to the floor. Schuldig yelled and shoved Ken off him.
"What is this?"
The young male voice was clear and forceful. Schuldig froze; Ken slowly got to his feet. The watching boys made way for a red-haired page and his four companions.
Schuldig was the first to speak. "Highness, this boy was acting as if he owned the palace," he whined. "King of the castle, he was, and he insulted me like no gentleman insults another-"
"I don't think I spoke to you, Schuldig of Malven," the boy called "Highness" said. His purple eyes fixed on Schuldig's. The two boys seemed to be about the same height, but the red-haired boy seemed to be about a year younger and much more commanding. "Unless I'm mistaken, I told you not to talk to me at all."
"But, Highness, he-"
"Shut up, Schuldig," instructed one of the boy's friends. This one was big, with tightly curled brown hair and coal-black eyes. "You've got your orders."
Schuldig stepped out of the way, red with furry. The boy who seemed to be running things looked around. "Douglass." He nodded to a boy who had been there all along. "What happened?"
A stocky blond page stepped forward. His hair was still wet from washing. He was the one who told Schuldig to let Ken alone.
"It was Schuldig, Ran," Douglass said. "The new boy was just standing here. Schuldig started on him-called him a country boy, said he was a farmer's son. The new boy said he thought we were here to learn manners. Schuldig grabbed him and said the new boy had to do whatever Schuldig told him to do, and say 'Yes, Lord Schuldig."
The boy called Highness looked at Schuldig with disgust. "I'm not surprised." He turned his bright eyes back to Ken. "Then what?"
Douglass grinned. "The new boy said he'd as soon kiss a pig." The pages started to giggle. Ken blushed and hung his head. Schuldig's behavior was bad, but his wasn't much better. "He said it looked as if Schuldig had been kissing pigs. Either that or being kissed himself."
Most of the boys listening laughed outright at this. Ken could see Schuldig's fists clench. He had made his first enemy.
"Schuldig threw the boy against the wall," Douglass continued. "The new boy tackled him and knocked him down. That's when you came, Ran."
"I'll speak to you later, Schuldig," the red-haired boy instructed. When Schuldig hesitated, Ran added in a soft, icy voice, "You've been dismissed, Malven."
Schuldig hurled himself out of the hallway. The boys watched him go before returning their attention to Ken. He was still studying the floor.
"You have good taste in enemies, even if you do make them on your first day here," Ran said. "Let's have a look at you, sliver-eyes."
Slowly he looked up into Ran's eyes. He was about three years older than Ken was, with fiery-red hair and amethyst-colored eyes. His nose was straight. His face stern, but a smile touched his mouth, and a glimmer of fun slipped from his eyes. Ken linked his hands behind his back, giving Ran stare for stare until the large boy who had silenced Schuldig whispered, "This is Prince Ran, lad."
Ken bowed slightly, afraid that if he bent over anymore he would fall. It wasn't every day a person met the heir to the thrown. "Your Royal Highness," he said. "I'm sorry about the-the misunderstanding."
"You didn't misunderstand," the Prince told him. "Schuldig is no gentleman. What's your name?"
"Ken of Hidaka, your Highness."
He frowned. "I don't remember seeing your family at Court."
"No, your Highness."
"Why not?"
"It's my father. He doesn't like it, your Highness."
"I see." There was no way to tell what he thought of her answer. "Do /you/ like Court, Ken of Hidaka?"
"I don't know," he replied honestly. "I could let you know in a couple of days."
"I look forward to your views." Was he laughing inside? "Have you met the others?"
With royal permission given, the others all tried to introduce themselves at once. The big friendly boy who had given him Ran's name was Raoul of Goldenlake. The large young man with chestnut hair and hazel eyes was Yohji of Kudou, the Duke's son. The slim, dark boy beside him was Alexander of Tirragen, and Raoul's shy blond shadow was Omi of Tsukiyono. There were ten others but these four-and the Prince-were the leaders.
Finally Ran said, "Now that we've met our newest member, who will sponsor him?"
Five of the older boys raised their hands. Ran nodded. "Your sponsor keeps you from getting too lost," he explained to Ken. "I think Yuhji had better take you in hand."
The big youth nodded to Ken, his hazel eyes friendly. "A pleasure."
A bell rang. "We'd better go," Ran announced. "Ken, stay close to Yohji and listen to what he tells you."
Ken followed his new sponsor to the great dinning hall. This was closed only during the summer, when most nobles went to their estates and the rest of the Court went to the Summer Palace by the sea. The other three seasons of the year, the entire Court ate here, served by the pages. Yohji stationed Ken in a niche, where he could see everything. As Yohji hurried back and forth on his servings duties, he whispered explanations to Ken. It was Yohji who showed him to the pages' dining hall after the banquet was over, and Yohji who woke him up (he fell asleep over dessert) and guided him to his room.
"Welcome to the palace, young Ken of Hidaka," Yohji said cheerfully as he handed him over to Coram.
Ken crawled into bed, thinking, /not so bad-for the first day/.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
A bell that hung in a tower high over the pages' wing awakened Ken at dawn. Moaning, he bathed his face in cold water. He was still exhausted from his five-day ride. For once he could have slept late.
Yohji-a wide-awake, disgustingly cheerful and large Gary-came for him just as he was finished dressing.
The bell gently chimed. The pages hurried to their first hour of lessons, Ken trotting to keep up with his sponsor.
"First class is reading and writing," Yohji told him.
"But I know how to read and write!" Ken protested.
"You do? Good. You'd be surprised at how many noblemen's sons can't. Don't worry, young Hidaka." A grin lit his face. "I'm sure the masters will find /some/thing for you to do."
Ken soon discovered that most of what nobles called "the thinking arts" were taught by Mithran priests. These orange-robed men were stern taskmasters, always quick to catch a boy letting his attention wander or napping. When the priest who taught reading and writing was satisfied that Ken could do both-the priest made him read a page from a book aloud, then copy it out on paper-the priest assigned him a long and very dull poem. Ken was to read it and be ready to report on it for the next day. The bell rang the hour when he was only partly done.
"When do I finish this?" he asked Yohji, waving the scroll on which the poem was written. Yohji was guiding him to their next set of lessons.
"In your free time. Here we go. Mathematics. Can you do figures, too?"
"Some," he admitted.
"A regular scholar," said Alex, who had caught up with them, laughing.
Ken shook his head. "No. But my father is very strict about book learning."
"He sounds a lot like my father in that respect," Yohji said dryly.
"I wouldn't know," Ken replied. Remembering what the Duke had said about his father the day before, he added, "I don't think they got along."
Again Ken had to prove his skills, this time to the priest who taught mathematics. Once he was satisfied as to the extent of his knowledge, he put Ken to learning something called "algebra."
"What is it?" Ken wanted to know.
The priest frowned at him. "It is a building block," he told Ken sternly. "Without it you cannot hope to construct a safe bridge, a successful war tower or catapult, a windmill or an irrigation wheel. Its uses are infinite. You will learn them by studying, not by staring at me."
Ken /was/ staring at him. The idea that mathematics could make things such as windmills and catapults work was amazing. He was even more amazed when he realized how hard the work was that he was supposed to complete for the next day.
When Yohji came over to him to give him a hand, Ken demanded, " When am I suppose to do all this? I have to complete four problems for him by tomorrow, and its almost time for the next class!"
"In your free time," Yohji replied. "And the time you have now. Look-if you get stuck, offer to help Alex with his extra-duty chores. He's a mathematical wizard." The bell rang. "Let's go, youngling."
The next class was in deportment or manners as they were practiced by nobles. Ken had learned very quickly to say "Please" and "Thank you," but he quickly realized that these were only the rudiments of deportment. He did not know how to bow. He did not know how to address a Lord as opposed to an Earl. He did not know which of three spoons to use at a banquet. He could not dance, and he could not play a musical instrument. The master gave him a very large tome of etiquette to read and ordered him to start lap-harp studies instantly-in his free time.
"But I have to read the first chapter of /this/ tonight in my free time!" he told Yohji and Alex, thumping the book of etiquette. They were sitting on a bench during their morning break-all ten minutes of it. "And four problems in mathematics, and the rest of that stupid poem-"
"Ah," Yohji said dreamily. "'Free time.' I've heard about that. Don't fool yourself, sliver-eyes. What with extra hours of lessons for punishments /and/ the work you get everyday, free time is an allusion. It's what you get when you die and the gods reward you for a life spent working from dawn until midnight. We all face up to it sooner or later-the only /real/ free time you get here is what my honored sire chooses to give you, when he thinks you have earned it."
"And he doesn't give it to you at night," Alex put in. "He gives it to you when you've been here awhile, on Market Day and sometimes a morning or afternoon all to yourself. But never at night. At night you study. During the day you study. In your sleep-"
The bell rang.
"I could learn to hate that bell," Ken muttered as he gathered up his things. The older two boys laughed and hurried along to the next class.
To his surprise, this one was different. The boys sat upright in their chairs, looking as if they were interested in what was about to happen. The walls were hung with maps and charts. A board with several large, blank sheets of paper fixed to it stood before the chairs. A box containing sticks of charcoal for drawing on the paper sat on the table beside it.
The teacher entered to friendly greetings. This man was not a priest. He was short and plump, with long brown hair streaked with gray, and a long shaggy beard. His hose bagged at the knee; his tunic was as rumpled as if he had slept in it. He had a tin, delicate nose and a smiling mouth. Ken met the man's large green-brown eyes and smiled in spite of himself. He was the oddest mixture of disarray and good nature he had ever encountered, and he liked him on sight. His name was Sir Myles of Olau.
"Hello," Sir Myles greeted him cheerfully. "You must be Ken of Hidaka. You're very hardy to have made it this far the first day. Has anyone said what we try to learn in here?"
Ken said the thing that came to his lips. "The only thing I know is that I jump when I'm told to and I have no free time."
The boys chuckled, and Myles grinned. Ken blushed. "I'm sorry," he muttered. "I wasn't trying to be pert."
"It's all right," Myles reassured him. "Your life here is going to be difficult. Our Code of Chivalry makes harsh demands."
"Sir Myles, are you going to start on the Code again?" Ran asked. "You know we never agree that it asks too much from us."
"No, I'm not going to 'start on' the Code today," Myles replied. "For one thing, you boys won't agree with me until the glamour of being a knights and nobles has worn off and you can see the toll our way of life has taken from you. And for another, Duke Gareth has given me to understand that we are somewhat deficient in our coverage of the Bazhir Wars and that he hopes to find us more knowledgeable when next he stops to visit."
"Sir?" someone asked.
Myles looked at Ken with a twinkle in his eyes. "I often forget-not everyone is a scholar like me, and I tend to use obscure language. Therefore, to translate-Duke Gareth wants me to go over the Bazhir Wars because he thinks I sent too much time arguing the Code of Chivalry and not enough time on the history of Tortall and the history of warfare-which /is/ what I am supposed to teach you."
Ken left the class thinking, something he seldom did seriously.
"Why the frown?" Yuhji asked, catching up to him. "Don't you like Myles? I do."
Startled, Ken blinked at him. "Oh, no. I liked him a lot. He just seems-"
"Odd," Alex said dryly. He and Yuhji seemed to be close friends. "The word your looking for is 'odd'"
"Alex and Myles are always arguing about right and wrong," Yuhji explained.
"Actually, he seems very wise," Ken said hesitantly. "Not that I know many wise people, but-"
"He's also the Court drunk," Alex pointed out. "Come on-before lunch is over and we haven't eaten."
After lunch came an hour of philosophy. Ken almost nodded off to sleep as the teaching priest droned on about duty.
At last Yohji took her outside, down to the acres of practice courts and exercise yards behind the palace. Here was the center of training for knighthood. Ken would spend his afternoons and part of his evenings here, going inside only when it actually rained or snowed-and sometimes not even then. Here he must learn jousting, fighting with weapons such as maces, axes and staffs, archery while standing and while riding, normal riding and trick riding. He must learn to fall, roll, and tumble. He would get dirty, tear muscles, bruise himself, and break bones. If he withstood it all, if he was stubborn enough and strong enough, he would someday carry a knight's shield with pride.
Training was endless. Even once a knight had his shield he still worked out it the yards. To get out of shape was to ask for death at the hands of a stranger on a lonely road. As the son of a border lord, Ken knew exactly how important the fighting arts were. Every year the north tried to invade through the Grimhold Mountains, and Hidaka was Tortall's first line of defense.
Ken could already use a bow and a dagger. He was a skilled tracker and a decent rider, but he quickly learned that the men who taught the pages and squires considered him a raw beginner.
He /was/ a raw beginner. His afternoon began with an hour of push-ups, sit- ups, jumps and twisting exercises. A knight had to be limber and weave quickly.
For the next hour he wore a suit of padded cloth armor as he received his first lessons with a staff. Before he could learn to use a sword, he had to show some mastery of staff fighting. Without the heavy padding he would have broken something that first afternoon. As it was, he learned to stop a blow aimed at his side, and he felt as if he had been kicked by a horse.
Next he learned the basic movement in hand fighting-the fall. He fell, trying to slap the ground as he hit, trying to take his weight on all the right places and creating new bruises whenever he missed or forgot.
The next hour saw him placing a shield on a bruised and aching left arm. He was paired off with a boy with a stout wooden stick. The purpose of this exercise was to teach him how to use the shield as a defense. If he succeeded, he stopped the oncoming blow. If he didn't, his opponent landed a smarting rap on the part of him he had left exposed. After a while they traded off and he wielded the stick while his partner headed off his attack. This didn't make him feel any better-since he was new to the use of the stick, his opponent caught every strike he tried.
Feeling cheated, Ken followed Yohji to the next yard. Archery was a little better, but only a little. Because he already new something about archery, he was permitted to actually string the bow and shoot it. When the master discovered he had a good eye and a better aim, he made Ken work on the way he stood and the way he held his bow-for an hour.
The last hour of his day's studies was spent on horseback. Since Ken had only Chubby to ride, he was assigned one of the many extra horses kept in the royal stables for some of his riding. His first lesson was in sitting properly, trotting the horse in a circle, bringing him to a gallop, galloping without falling off and halting the horse precisely in front of the master. Because his horse was too large for him and had a hard mouth, Ken fell off three times. The beast was impossible for him to control, and when he told the riding master as much, he found himself ordered to report for extra duty three nights a week, after the evening meal.
Ken was staggering with weariness when the distant bell called them inside. He hurried with the others to bathe and change into a clean uniform. By then he was so exhausted he could barely keep his eyes open, but his day wasn't over. Yuhji shook him out of a doze and took him down to the banquet hall. He stationed Ken beside the kitchen door. From this post he handed plates from the kitchen servants to the pages and accepted dirty plates to hand back into the kitchen.
He dozed off during his meal. Yuhji steered Ken to a small library afterward, reminding him of the studying he had to do for the next day. He helped Ken with the poem, then left him on his own to deal with the mathematics. Ken fought his way three of the problems before going to sleep on the desk. A servant found him and roused him just in time for lights- out. He fell into bed and was instantly asleep.
Waking the next morning, Ken moaned. Every muscle in his body was stiff and sore. He was speckled with large and small bruises. Stiffly he got ready for the new day, wondering if he would live through it.
It was like the day before, only worse. The mathematics master assigned him an additional four problems for that day, plus three more-punishment for the problem he had left undone during his nap the night before. The reading master informed him that since his oral report on the long poem was inadequate, he could put a longer report in writing-for the next day. The master in deportment gave him yet another chapter to read in etiquette and made him practice bows the whole period. The afternoon was hideous. Because he was stiff and aching, Ken made more mistakes than the day before. He found himself with more extra work.
"Face it," Yuhji told him kindly. "You'll never catch up. You just do as much as you can and take the punishments without saying anything. Sometimes I wonder if that isn't what they're really trying to teach us-to take plenty and keep our mouths shut."
Ken was in no mood to consider this idea. When he returned to his rooms that night, he was tired, nervous and upset.
"Pack your things," he ordered Coram as he marched in the door. "We're going home."
Coram looked at him. He had been sitting on his bed, cleaning his sword. "We are?"
Ken paced the room. "I can't do this," he told the manservant. "The pace with kill me. No one can live this way all the time. I won't-"
"I never figured ye for a quitter," Coram interrupted softy.
"I'm not quitting!" Ken snapped. "I-I'm protesting! I'm protesting unfair treatment-and-and being worked till I drop. I want to have time to myself. I want to learn to fight with a sword /now/, not when they decide. I want-"
"Ye want. Ye want. 'Tis something different ye're learning here. It's called 'discipline.' The world won't always order itself the way /ye/ want. Ye have to learn discipline."
"This isn't discipline! It's inhuman! I can't live with it and I won't! Coram, I gave you an order! Pack your thing!"
Coram carefully scrubbed a tiny bit of dirt off his gleaming sword. At last he put it down, carefully, on the bed. With a groan he knelt down and reached under the bed, dragging out his bags. "As ye say," he replied. "But I thought I'd raised ye with somethin' to ye. I didn't think I was bringin' up another soft noble man-"
"I'm not a soft noble man!" Ken cried. "But I'm not crazy, either! I'm going from sunrise to sunset and after without a stop, and no end in sight. My free time's a joke-I'm out of free time before I even get to the third class of the morning. And they expect me to keep up, and they punish me if I don't. I have to learn how to fall; I'm learning the stance with the bow all over again when I was the best hunter at Hidaka, and I if I say /anything/ I get more work!"
Coram knelt on the floor, looking at him. "Ye knew it'd be hard when ye decided to come," he reminded Ken. "No one ever told ye a knight had it easy. /I/ didn't, for certain. I told ye 'twas naught but hard work every wakin' minute, and a lot of extra wakin' minutes to boot. And now ye're runnin' away after just two days of it."
"I'm not running away!"
"As ye say, young master." Coram hoisted himself onto the bed with a groan, reaching for his boots. "I'll be packed as soon as may be."
Ken slammed into his own room. He yanked one of his bags out and stared at it. With a sigh he sat down, rubbing his head in disgust. At Hidaka he could come and go as he pleased, do as he liked. Life here was completely different. Did that make it bad?
He wasn't sure any longer. Coram's words about "quitting" and "running away" stuck like barbs under his skin. He tried to tell himself he /wasn't/ running away, but he wasn't having much success.
At last he opened his door and looked out at Coram. "All right," he growled. "I'll give it a week. No more and no less. It had better lighten up by then."
"Ye're the master," Coram replied. "But if ye're goin' to go-"
"I'll make the decisions," Ken told Coram. "Now, good night!"
It wasn't until he pulled the blankets over him that he realized Coram had put his bags back under the bed and removed his boots. The old soldier had not done any packing at all.
/I wish he didn't know me so well/, Ken thought grumpily as he dozed off.
The one week became two weeks, the two weeks became three, and Ken was too exhausted to think of the long ride home. He never caught up with his work, and every day at least one master found something not done and gave him still more to do. He learned to take Yuhji's advice, doing as much as he could each day and taking the punishments without complaint.
His first night of table service came and went. He was too tired to be afraid during this first test. He waited on Duke Gareth, listened to his lecture on table manners and continued to serve at the banquets. At last he was assigned permanently to wait on Sir Myles, much to Ken's delight. The knight always had something kind to say, even if-as Alex had said-he /did/ drink too much. Sometimes Ken even helped him back to his rooms if he had drunk to well. Often he would give Ken a silver penny, or a sweet, and his classes were the bright point in Ken's morning. Myles had a knack for making history seem real.
He and Yuhji quickly became friends. Yuhji always had something funny to say about the master of deportment, and Yuhji was never too busy to give him a hand, if he could bring himself to ask for help. He also discovered he could make his large friend laugh simply by saying whatever came to his mind. He liked making someone as intelligent as Yuhji laugh.
Between Yuhji, Myles and other people in the palace, life got better. Ken came to forget that he had once ordered Coram to pack and take him home.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Three months-and his eleventh birthday-passed before Ken realized it. The first break in his new routine came one night when Timon cam hunting for him.
"He wants to see you." Timon never had to say who "he" was. "You're to go to his study."
Ken straightened his tunic and tried to smooth his hair before rapping on Duke Gareth's door. Why would the Duke want to see him? What had he done wrong?
He called for Ken to come in, looking up from his papers as Ken closed the door behind him. "Ken, come in. I'm writing your father, reporting on your progress. Do you have any messages for me to send to him?"
He wasn't in trouble! Ken smothered a sigh of relief. Then he thought of something worse. What if his father came out of his studious fog and actually /read/ Duke Gareth's letter?
/I'll think of that when it happens/, he told himself. Would things ever get easy?
"Please say that I send my regards, sir," he told the Duke.
The man put down his quill pen. "My report is satisfactory. You learn well and quickly. We are glad to have you among us."
Ken turned pink with delight. He had never received such a high compliment. "Th-thank you, your Grace!"
"You may go to the City tomorrow morning as a reward. In future, you may also go there with the other pages on Market Day. Since you're new to Corus, you may have one of the older boy's accompany you. Not Alex. He has to take an extra hour of Ethics tomorrow."
Ken beamed. "You're very kind," he said. "Uh-could Yuhji-come?"
The Duke raised an eyebrow. "Hm. He /did/ say you are good company. It can be arranged. Be certain to return in time for afternoon lessons."
"Yes, sir!" Ken bowed deeply. "And thank you again!"
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Yuhji had to laugh at Ken's wide eyes as they walked through the city's marketplace. "Close your mouth, country boy," he teased. "Most of this is overpriced."
"But there's so much of everything!" Ken exclaimed.
"Not here. One of these day's we'll ride to Port Caynn. You'll see /real/ wonders there." He stopped to look at a pair of riding gloves. Ken wistfully eyed the long sword that hung beside them. He would need a sword someday. How would he ever get a good one?
A large hand tapped his shoulder. Startled, he looked up into the hazel eyes of the man Coram had called a thief just three months before.
"So-it's the young sprout with the silver eyes," the man said pleasantly. "I was wonderin' if you'd fallen into a well." His voice was rough and uneducated, but he spoke carefully. To Ken it seemed that he thought about every word before saying it.
Ken grinned at him. Somehow this meeting didn't surprise him. "I've been at the palace."
"Who's your friend?" Yuhji asked, looking at Ken's acquaintance suspiciously.
"Allow me to introduce myself, young masters." The man bowed. "I'm George Cooper, of the lower city. Will you take a cool drink with me? As my quests, of course."
"Thank you," Ken said quickly. "We accept."
George took them to a little inn called the Dancing Dove. The old man who ran it greeted George like an old friend, hurrying to bring ale for George and lemonade for the pages. When the drinks came, Ken examined George as he gulped his lemonade. George had said he was seventeen, although he seemed older. His nose was too big for good looks, but when he smiled he appeared handsome. He wore his brown hair cut short, like other commoners. Ken felt something powerful about him, something almost royal. He also felt a very strong liking for him.
"You shouldn't be surprised at my lookin' you up," he told Ken. "Truth to tell, I like your looks. We don't see many with eyes like yours. You bein' from the country-you don't look it now, but you did then!-I thought you'd like to be knowin' someone in the city."
"Do you always make friends on such short notice?" Yuhji asked sharply.
George looked at him a moment. "I trust my instincts, young master. In my line of work, you learn quick to trust your instincts."
"What is it you do, George?" Ken wanted to know.
George winked at him. "I-buy, and I sell."
"You're a thief," Yuhji said flatly.
"'Thief' is such a harsh word, master Yuhji." He looked at the big youth. "Why would you be thinkin' that I am? You've still got your purses, and what's in it. Or you had better."
Yuhji checked and admitted, "I still have my purse. But why do you want to make friends with us? If you think we'll help you in the palace, you're wrong. Don't you know who I am?"
George met Yuhji's eyes, and in them saw clearly a great intelligence. One could sense that the boy had made some enemies with his sharp mind and sharper tongue.
George read some of this, then relaxed. "I know well who you're Yuhji of Kudou, the Duke's son. I didn't look you up for professional reasons. Truth to tell, were you not with Ken, I wouldn't have put myself in your way. We're not fond of nobles here." His smile twisted. "But I've the Gift. It helps me see more clearly than most. I knew I must meet Master Ken. In fact, I've kept a close eye on him there three months. I don't ignore my Gift when it calls me."
Yuhji shrugged. "I don't know much about magic, but that makes sense. Still- what can /Ken/ do for you? He's just a little guy." Yuhji grinned an apology to Ken, who shrugged. He was getting used to such remarks. "And unless I miss my guess, you're the man the Lord Provost would most love to get his hands on."
George nodded respectfully. "You're quick, master Yuhji. All right, then. I'm what they call the King of the Thieves, the Master of the Court of the Rogue. The Court of the Rogue," he explained to Ken, "is all of us who make our livin' by our wits. It's ruled by a king-me, right now. Sometimes he's called just 'the Rogue.' But mastery don't last very long here. Who knows when some young buck will do for me what /I/ did for the King before me, just six months back? I'll need friends, when that comes." He shrugged. "Still, it won't happen soon. Till then, why look a gift thief in the mouth? I can be a good friend to those who keep faith in me."
Yuhji looked him over, then nodded. "I like you-for all you're a thief."
George laughed. "And I like you, Yuhji-for all you're a noble. Friends, then?"
"Friends," Yuhji said firmly. They shook hands across the table.
"And you, Ken?" George asked. Ken had been watching and thinking, none of his thoughts clear on his small face. With his magic, would George know his secret? Then he remembered what Maude had taught him-having the Gift instantly shielded you from the magic vision of someone else with the Gift. For the moment George wouldn't be able to guess his secret, and even if he did, Ken suspected a thief wouldn't tell his own mother the time of day unless he had a good reason.
"I'd like some more lemonade," Ken said, pouring his tankard full. "The Gift must be pretty useful to you."
"It's gotten me out of more than one tight place," George admitted. "It helps me keep tabs on my rogues, so maybe I'll last longer than the king before me." He drained his own tankard and set it down. "You need never worry about your pockets, or those of the friends you bring here. But be careful who you bring. One word from them and my Lord Provost gets me head for certain."
"We'll be careful," Yuhji promised. "Don't worry about Ken. He keeps his mouth shut."
George grinned. "As I can see. Few sprouts-even ones sealed to the Rogue- could listen to all this and not say anything. Well, you'd best be getting' back. If you need anything, send word through Stefan-he works in the palace stables. You'll find me here most of the time, and if not, ask old Solom." He jerked a thumb at the innkeeper. "He'll fetch me quick enough."
Ken rose. He and Yuhji shook hands with their new friend. "You'll be seeing us, then," Ken promised. "Good day to you."
The two pages strolled out into the street. The King of the Thieves watched them go, smiling.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Several weeks later Duke Gareth called Ken out of his mathematics class. Confused, Ken went to meet him.
He handed Ken a letter. "Can you explain this?"
Ken scanned the much-blotted parchment. It was from his father. The letter was short, saying only that he trusted Thom would continue to do well.
Luckily Ken had already had his story planned. Looking up, he shrugged, his face a little sad. "He forgets, you see, I don't think he's ever been able to tell my brother and I-"
"My brother and /me/," the Duke corrected sternly.
"My brother and me," he repeated obediently, "apart." He crossed his fingers behind his back and tried a guess. "I don't think he even let His Majesty know when we were born."
The Duke thought this over and nodded. "You're right-he didn't. He hasn't changed." The man sighed. "I hope your brother does as well as you. If your father cannot tell you apart, at least he can be proud of both of his sons."
Ken hung his head, hating himself for having to lie to someone like Duke Gareth. "Thank you, your Grace," he whispered.
"You may go. Don't forget to write your father yourself."
Ken bowed. "Of course, sir." Ken let himself out and closed the door. In the corridor he sagged against the wall. With luck, now Duke Gareth would believe all such letters were due to Lord Alan's bad memory.
He returned to his class, still feeling wobbly. There were real advantages to having a father who didn't care what he did.
But if the advantages were so wonderful, why did he feel like crying?
______________________________________________________________________
And thank you for those who reviewed:
Guilty Mastermind
Rosethorn
CherubKatan: I definitely agree with you on the disclaimer situation. I thought I had put it up, but I guess I hadn't. Kinda made some people mad..oops, that won't happen again. ^_^
newstypeshadow
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Chapter Two: The New Page
Duke Gareth of Kudou was tall and thin, with dull brown hair that fell into his muddy brown eyes. Though he was plain looking, there was something commanding about him all the same.
"Ken of Hidaka, hm?" His voice was thin and nasal. He frowned as he opened the seal on Ken's letter. "I trust you will do better here than your sire. He was always at his books."
Ken swallowed hard. The Duke made him nervous. "He still is, sir."
The Duke looked at him sharply, not sure if he was being pert. "Hmph. So I would suppose." He smiled and nodded at Ken's servingman. "Coram Smythesson. It's been a long time since the Battle of Joyous Forest."
Coram bowed, grinning. "I didn't think yer Lordship'd remember. That was twenty years ago, and me but a lad myself."
"I don't forget it when a man saves my life. Welcome to the palace. You will like it here-though you, boy, will work hard." Duke Gareth turned his attention back to Ken. "Sit down, both of you." They obeyed. "You're here, Ken of Hidaka, to learn what is to be a knight and a noble of Tortall. It's not easy. You must learn to defend the weak, to obey your overlord, to champion the cause of right. Someday you may even be to tell what right is." It was impossible to tell if he was joking, and Ken decided not to ask.
"Until you are fourteen, you will be a page," the Duke went on. "You will wait on table at the evening meal. You will run errands for any lord or lady who asks you. Half your day will be spent learning fighting arts. The other half you will spend with books, in the hope that we can teach you how to think.
"/If/ your masters think you are ready, you will be made squire when you are fourteen. Perhaps a knight will choose you as his body squire. If so, you'll tend your master's belongings, run his errands, protect his interests. Your other lessons will continue-they'll be harder, of course.
"When you are eighteen, you'll undergo the Ordeal of Knighthood. If you survive, you will be a Knight of Tortall. Not everyone survives." He held up his left hand, revealing a missing finger. "I lost this in the Chamber of the Ordeal." He sighed.
"Don't worry about the Ordeal now. You have eight years to think about it. For the present, you will live in the page's wing. Coram rooms with you, but I hope he'll be able to serve the palace guard in the free time."
Coram nodded. "I'd like that, yer Grace."
Duke Gareth smiled thinly. "Excellent. We can use a man of your ability." He looked at Ken once again. "One of the older pages will sponsor you and show you how things are done. You'll be in his charge until you are familiar with the palace and your duties. If you are disobedient and work hard, you won't see me often. Misbehave, and you'll learn how harsh I can be. When you prove yourself worthy, you will be granted free time to go into the city. And make no mistake-you'll earn every privilege you get three times over. You are here to learn chivalry, not to have a good time. Timon"-Ken realized the servingman had been in the room all along-"take them to their room. Make sure the boy is properly clothed. Also, a guardsman's uniform for Master Smythesson." The Duke measured Ken with his eyes. "I except you to begin serving at dinner in five days. You'll wait on me. Have you any questions?"
It took all his strength to say, "No, your Lordship."
"A Duke is called 'your Grace.'" The older man smiled and held his right hand out to him. "It is a hard life, but you'll get used to it."
Ken kissed his hand timidly. "Yes, your Grace." He and the two men bowed and left the Duke's presence.
The pages' wing stretched along the west side of the palace, standing near the walls that overlooked the city. Here Timon showed Ken and Coram two small rooms, where they would live during Ken's time as a page. Someone had already placed their baggage inside the door.
Their next stop was with the palace tailors. Realizing they would measure him for his page's uniform, Ken felt sick. His mind whirled with visions of being forced to strip, of being caught and sent home in disgrace before he had even had a chance to start. He couldn't allow anyone to see the tattoo slightly above his belly button. It identified him as a Selphie. The pattern was of a star in a triangle. Many times Ken had gotten into trouble for having his shirt off in places Selphies shouldn't be or aren't liked having around.
Instead a scowling old man whipped a knotted cord around his shoulders and hips, calling out the number of knots it took to circle Ken to his assistant. Then he laid the cord along the length of Ken's right arm and then his leg. The old man sent the anxious-looking apprentice scurrying into a store-room while he measured Coram in the same rapid style. The apprentice returned with an armful of clothing. He was instantly sent after boots and shoes while the grumpy old tailor shook out a gold tunic and held it up to Ken. The bright garment could have easily fitted a much larger youngster.
Coram fought to hide a grin. "Isn't it a wee bit big?"
The tailor glared at the servingman. "Boys grow," he barked, shoving the whole pile of boots and clothes into Ken's arms. "It's their natures." He turned his scowl on Ken. "You rip 'em, you mend 'em," he said. "Don't let me see you for at least three months."
Ken followed Coram and Timon out, his knees weak with relief. His secret was still safe!
Omi took them to the huge kitchens for a luncheon and spent the afternoon showing them around the palace. Ken was lost in no time. He didn't believe Timon when he told him he would soon learn his way around. The royal palace could hold several Hidaka's, and more people lived there than Ken had ever seen before. He learned that many nobles had suites in the palace. There were also quarters for foreign visitors, a servants' wing, the throne and council rooms, ballrooms, kitchens and libraries. It all made him feel extremely small.
The sun was setting as they quickly unpacked. Coram changed into clean clothes in his own room while Ken slowly laid out his new uniform. He noticed his hands were shaking.
"Ken?" the servingman called.
He opened his door. Coram was ready to go.
"Well lad?" he asked. His dark eyes were kind. "How shall we work on this? Th' boys are changin' for dinner."
He tried to smile. "You go on." It was hard making his voice sound relaxed. "I'll be fine."
"You're sure?"
"Of course," he replied stoutly. "Would I have said so if I wasn't?"
"Yes," was the calm answer.
Ken sighed and rubbed his forehead. He wished Coram didn't know him so well. "Best no as later, Coram. I'll be all right. Really. Go on."
Coram hesitated for a moment. "Good luck Ken."
"Thanks." Ken watched him leave and felt lost. Locking the door-it wouldn't do for someone to come in unannounced-he reached for his shirt.
When he was fully dressed, Ken stared at his reflection in the mirror. He had never looked so fine. The full-sleeved shirt and hose were bright scarlet against the cloth-of-gold tunic. Sturdy leather shoes covered his feet; his dagger and purse hung from a slim leather belt. True, the clothes /were/ a little large, but he was too dazzled by the colors to care.
There was one other thing to be said for such a bright red and brighter gold: the royal uniform gave him the courage to unbolt the door and step into the hall. He couldn't have done it in his battered old clothes. Several boys saw him and hurried to spread the word: There's a new boy in the palace! Suddenly the pages' wing was very quiet. Everyone came to inspect the newcomer.
Someone behind Ken grabbed him. He spun. A tall, gangly boy of nearly fourteen looked Ken over, a sneer on his thick mouth. He had cold green eyes and redish-orangish hair that flopped over his forehead.
"I wonder what this is." His crooked teeth made him spit his s's. Ken wiped a drop of saliva from his cheek. "Probably some back-country boy who /thinks/ he's a noble."
"Leave him alone, Schuldig," someone protested. "He didn't do anything to you."
"He doesn't have to," Schuldig snapped. "I bet he's some farmer's son trying to pass for one of us."
Ken blushed a dull red. "I was told pages were /supposed to learn manners," he murmured. "Whoever told me that must've been mistaken."
The boy grabbed Ken's collar, lifting him off his feet. "You'll do what you're told," Schuldig hissed, "till you earn the right to call yourself a page. If /I/ say you're the goatherd's son, /you/ say, 'yes, Lord Schuldig.'"
Ken gasped with furry. "I'd as soon kiss a pig! Is that what /you've/ been doing-kissing pigs? Or /being/ kissed?"
Schuldig threw him against the wall, hard. Ken charged, ramming into Schuldig's stomach and knocking him to the floor. Schuldig yelled and shoved Ken off him.
"What is this?"
The young male voice was clear and forceful. Schuldig froze; Ken slowly got to his feet. The watching boys made way for a red-haired page and his four companions.
Schuldig was the first to speak. "Highness, this boy was acting as if he owned the palace," he whined. "King of the castle, he was, and he insulted me like no gentleman insults another-"
"I don't think I spoke to you, Schuldig of Malven," the boy called "Highness" said. His purple eyes fixed on Schuldig's. The two boys seemed to be about the same height, but the red-haired boy seemed to be about a year younger and much more commanding. "Unless I'm mistaken, I told you not to talk to me at all."
"But, Highness, he-"
"Shut up, Schuldig," instructed one of the boy's friends. This one was big, with tightly curled brown hair and coal-black eyes. "You've got your orders."
Schuldig stepped out of the way, red with furry. The boy who seemed to be running things looked around. "Douglass." He nodded to a boy who had been there all along. "What happened?"
A stocky blond page stepped forward. His hair was still wet from washing. He was the one who told Schuldig to let Ken alone.
"It was Schuldig, Ran," Douglass said. "The new boy was just standing here. Schuldig started on him-called him a country boy, said he was a farmer's son. The new boy said he thought we were here to learn manners. Schuldig grabbed him and said the new boy had to do whatever Schuldig told him to do, and say 'Yes, Lord Schuldig."
The boy called Highness looked at Schuldig with disgust. "I'm not surprised." He turned his bright eyes back to Ken. "Then what?"
Douglass grinned. "The new boy said he'd as soon kiss a pig." The pages started to giggle. Ken blushed and hung his head. Schuldig's behavior was bad, but his wasn't much better. "He said it looked as if Schuldig had been kissing pigs. Either that or being kissed himself."
Most of the boys listening laughed outright at this. Ken could see Schuldig's fists clench. He had made his first enemy.
"Schuldig threw the boy against the wall," Douglass continued. "The new boy tackled him and knocked him down. That's when you came, Ran."
"I'll speak to you later, Schuldig," the red-haired boy instructed. When Schuldig hesitated, Ran added in a soft, icy voice, "You've been dismissed, Malven."
Schuldig hurled himself out of the hallway. The boys watched him go before returning their attention to Ken. He was still studying the floor.
"You have good taste in enemies, even if you do make them on your first day here," Ran said. "Let's have a look at you, sliver-eyes."
Slowly he looked up into Ran's eyes. He was about three years older than Ken was, with fiery-red hair and amethyst-colored eyes. His nose was straight. His face stern, but a smile touched his mouth, and a glimmer of fun slipped from his eyes. Ken linked his hands behind his back, giving Ran stare for stare until the large boy who had silenced Schuldig whispered, "This is Prince Ran, lad."
Ken bowed slightly, afraid that if he bent over anymore he would fall. It wasn't every day a person met the heir to the thrown. "Your Royal Highness," he said. "I'm sorry about the-the misunderstanding."
"You didn't misunderstand," the Prince told him. "Schuldig is no gentleman. What's your name?"
"Ken of Hidaka, your Highness."
He frowned. "I don't remember seeing your family at Court."
"No, your Highness."
"Why not?"
"It's my father. He doesn't like it, your Highness."
"I see." There was no way to tell what he thought of her answer. "Do /you/ like Court, Ken of Hidaka?"
"I don't know," he replied honestly. "I could let you know in a couple of days."
"I look forward to your views." Was he laughing inside? "Have you met the others?"
With royal permission given, the others all tried to introduce themselves at once. The big friendly boy who had given him Ran's name was Raoul of Goldenlake. The large young man with chestnut hair and hazel eyes was Yohji of Kudou, the Duke's son. The slim, dark boy beside him was Alexander of Tirragen, and Raoul's shy blond shadow was Omi of Tsukiyono. There were ten others but these four-and the Prince-were the leaders.
Finally Ran said, "Now that we've met our newest member, who will sponsor him?"
Five of the older boys raised their hands. Ran nodded. "Your sponsor keeps you from getting too lost," he explained to Ken. "I think Yuhji had better take you in hand."
The big youth nodded to Ken, his hazel eyes friendly. "A pleasure."
A bell rang. "We'd better go," Ran announced. "Ken, stay close to Yohji and listen to what he tells you."
Ken followed his new sponsor to the great dinning hall. This was closed only during the summer, when most nobles went to their estates and the rest of the Court went to the Summer Palace by the sea. The other three seasons of the year, the entire Court ate here, served by the pages. Yohji stationed Ken in a niche, where he could see everything. As Yohji hurried back and forth on his servings duties, he whispered explanations to Ken. It was Yohji who showed him to the pages' dining hall after the banquet was over, and Yohji who woke him up (he fell asleep over dessert) and guided him to his room.
"Welcome to the palace, young Ken of Hidaka," Yohji said cheerfully as he handed him over to Coram.
Ken crawled into bed, thinking, /not so bad-for the first day/.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
A bell that hung in a tower high over the pages' wing awakened Ken at dawn. Moaning, he bathed his face in cold water. He was still exhausted from his five-day ride. For once he could have slept late.
Yohji-a wide-awake, disgustingly cheerful and large Gary-came for him just as he was finished dressing.
The bell gently chimed. The pages hurried to their first hour of lessons, Ken trotting to keep up with his sponsor.
"First class is reading and writing," Yohji told him.
"But I know how to read and write!" Ken protested.
"You do? Good. You'd be surprised at how many noblemen's sons can't. Don't worry, young Hidaka." A grin lit his face. "I'm sure the masters will find /some/thing for you to do."
Ken soon discovered that most of what nobles called "the thinking arts" were taught by Mithran priests. These orange-robed men were stern taskmasters, always quick to catch a boy letting his attention wander or napping. When the priest who taught reading and writing was satisfied that Ken could do both-the priest made him read a page from a book aloud, then copy it out on paper-the priest assigned him a long and very dull poem. Ken was to read it and be ready to report on it for the next day. The bell rang the hour when he was only partly done.
"When do I finish this?" he asked Yohji, waving the scroll on which the poem was written. Yohji was guiding him to their next set of lessons.
"In your free time. Here we go. Mathematics. Can you do figures, too?"
"Some," he admitted.
"A regular scholar," said Alex, who had caught up with them, laughing.
Ken shook his head. "No. But my father is very strict about book learning."
"He sounds a lot like my father in that respect," Yohji said dryly.
"I wouldn't know," Ken replied. Remembering what the Duke had said about his father the day before, he added, "I don't think they got along."
Again Ken had to prove his skills, this time to the priest who taught mathematics. Once he was satisfied as to the extent of his knowledge, he put Ken to learning something called "algebra."
"What is it?" Ken wanted to know.
The priest frowned at him. "It is a building block," he told Ken sternly. "Without it you cannot hope to construct a safe bridge, a successful war tower or catapult, a windmill or an irrigation wheel. Its uses are infinite. You will learn them by studying, not by staring at me."
Ken /was/ staring at him. The idea that mathematics could make things such as windmills and catapults work was amazing. He was even more amazed when he realized how hard the work was that he was supposed to complete for the next day.
When Yohji came over to him to give him a hand, Ken demanded, " When am I suppose to do all this? I have to complete four problems for him by tomorrow, and its almost time for the next class!"
"In your free time," Yohji replied. "And the time you have now. Look-if you get stuck, offer to help Alex with his extra-duty chores. He's a mathematical wizard." The bell rang. "Let's go, youngling."
The next class was in deportment or manners as they were practiced by nobles. Ken had learned very quickly to say "Please" and "Thank you," but he quickly realized that these were only the rudiments of deportment. He did not know how to bow. He did not know how to address a Lord as opposed to an Earl. He did not know which of three spoons to use at a banquet. He could not dance, and he could not play a musical instrument. The master gave him a very large tome of etiquette to read and ordered him to start lap-harp studies instantly-in his free time.
"But I have to read the first chapter of /this/ tonight in my free time!" he told Yohji and Alex, thumping the book of etiquette. They were sitting on a bench during their morning break-all ten minutes of it. "And four problems in mathematics, and the rest of that stupid poem-"
"Ah," Yohji said dreamily. "'Free time.' I've heard about that. Don't fool yourself, sliver-eyes. What with extra hours of lessons for punishments /and/ the work you get everyday, free time is an allusion. It's what you get when you die and the gods reward you for a life spent working from dawn until midnight. We all face up to it sooner or later-the only /real/ free time you get here is what my honored sire chooses to give you, when he thinks you have earned it."
"And he doesn't give it to you at night," Alex put in. "He gives it to you when you've been here awhile, on Market Day and sometimes a morning or afternoon all to yourself. But never at night. At night you study. During the day you study. In your sleep-"
The bell rang.
"I could learn to hate that bell," Ken muttered as he gathered up his things. The older two boys laughed and hurried along to the next class.
To his surprise, this one was different. The boys sat upright in their chairs, looking as if they were interested in what was about to happen. The walls were hung with maps and charts. A board with several large, blank sheets of paper fixed to it stood before the chairs. A box containing sticks of charcoal for drawing on the paper sat on the table beside it.
The teacher entered to friendly greetings. This man was not a priest. He was short and plump, with long brown hair streaked with gray, and a long shaggy beard. His hose bagged at the knee; his tunic was as rumpled as if he had slept in it. He had a tin, delicate nose and a smiling mouth. Ken met the man's large green-brown eyes and smiled in spite of himself. He was the oddest mixture of disarray and good nature he had ever encountered, and he liked him on sight. His name was Sir Myles of Olau.
"Hello," Sir Myles greeted him cheerfully. "You must be Ken of Hidaka. You're very hardy to have made it this far the first day. Has anyone said what we try to learn in here?"
Ken said the thing that came to his lips. "The only thing I know is that I jump when I'm told to and I have no free time."
The boys chuckled, and Myles grinned. Ken blushed. "I'm sorry," he muttered. "I wasn't trying to be pert."
"It's all right," Myles reassured him. "Your life here is going to be difficult. Our Code of Chivalry makes harsh demands."
"Sir Myles, are you going to start on the Code again?" Ran asked. "You know we never agree that it asks too much from us."
"No, I'm not going to 'start on' the Code today," Myles replied. "For one thing, you boys won't agree with me until the glamour of being a knights and nobles has worn off and you can see the toll our way of life has taken from you. And for another, Duke Gareth has given me to understand that we are somewhat deficient in our coverage of the Bazhir Wars and that he hopes to find us more knowledgeable when next he stops to visit."
"Sir?" someone asked.
Myles looked at Ken with a twinkle in his eyes. "I often forget-not everyone is a scholar like me, and I tend to use obscure language. Therefore, to translate-Duke Gareth wants me to go over the Bazhir Wars because he thinks I sent too much time arguing the Code of Chivalry and not enough time on the history of Tortall and the history of warfare-which /is/ what I am supposed to teach you."
Ken left the class thinking, something he seldom did seriously.
"Why the frown?" Yuhji asked, catching up to him. "Don't you like Myles? I do."
Startled, Ken blinked at him. "Oh, no. I liked him a lot. He just seems-"
"Odd," Alex said dryly. He and Yuhji seemed to be close friends. "The word your looking for is 'odd'"
"Alex and Myles are always arguing about right and wrong," Yuhji explained.
"Actually, he seems very wise," Ken said hesitantly. "Not that I know many wise people, but-"
"He's also the Court drunk," Alex pointed out. "Come on-before lunch is over and we haven't eaten."
After lunch came an hour of philosophy. Ken almost nodded off to sleep as the teaching priest droned on about duty.
At last Yohji took her outside, down to the acres of practice courts and exercise yards behind the palace. Here was the center of training for knighthood. Ken would spend his afternoons and part of his evenings here, going inside only when it actually rained or snowed-and sometimes not even then. Here he must learn jousting, fighting with weapons such as maces, axes and staffs, archery while standing and while riding, normal riding and trick riding. He must learn to fall, roll, and tumble. He would get dirty, tear muscles, bruise himself, and break bones. If he withstood it all, if he was stubborn enough and strong enough, he would someday carry a knight's shield with pride.
Training was endless. Even once a knight had his shield he still worked out it the yards. To get out of shape was to ask for death at the hands of a stranger on a lonely road. As the son of a border lord, Ken knew exactly how important the fighting arts were. Every year the north tried to invade through the Grimhold Mountains, and Hidaka was Tortall's first line of defense.
Ken could already use a bow and a dagger. He was a skilled tracker and a decent rider, but he quickly learned that the men who taught the pages and squires considered him a raw beginner.
He /was/ a raw beginner. His afternoon began with an hour of push-ups, sit- ups, jumps and twisting exercises. A knight had to be limber and weave quickly.
For the next hour he wore a suit of padded cloth armor as he received his first lessons with a staff. Before he could learn to use a sword, he had to show some mastery of staff fighting. Without the heavy padding he would have broken something that first afternoon. As it was, he learned to stop a blow aimed at his side, and he felt as if he had been kicked by a horse.
Next he learned the basic movement in hand fighting-the fall. He fell, trying to slap the ground as he hit, trying to take his weight on all the right places and creating new bruises whenever he missed or forgot.
The next hour saw him placing a shield on a bruised and aching left arm. He was paired off with a boy with a stout wooden stick. The purpose of this exercise was to teach him how to use the shield as a defense. If he succeeded, he stopped the oncoming blow. If he didn't, his opponent landed a smarting rap on the part of him he had left exposed. After a while they traded off and he wielded the stick while his partner headed off his attack. This didn't make him feel any better-since he was new to the use of the stick, his opponent caught every strike he tried.
Feeling cheated, Ken followed Yohji to the next yard. Archery was a little better, but only a little. Because he already new something about archery, he was permitted to actually string the bow and shoot it. When the master discovered he had a good eye and a better aim, he made Ken work on the way he stood and the way he held his bow-for an hour.
The last hour of his day's studies was spent on horseback. Since Ken had only Chubby to ride, he was assigned one of the many extra horses kept in the royal stables for some of his riding. His first lesson was in sitting properly, trotting the horse in a circle, bringing him to a gallop, galloping without falling off and halting the horse precisely in front of the master. Because his horse was too large for him and had a hard mouth, Ken fell off three times. The beast was impossible for him to control, and when he told the riding master as much, he found himself ordered to report for extra duty three nights a week, after the evening meal.
Ken was staggering with weariness when the distant bell called them inside. He hurried with the others to bathe and change into a clean uniform. By then he was so exhausted he could barely keep his eyes open, but his day wasn't over. Yuhji shook him out of a doze and took him down to the banquet hall. He stationed Ken beside the kitchen door. From this post he handed plates from the kitchen servants to the pages and accepted dirty plates to hand back into the kitchen.
He dozed off during his meal. Yuhji steered Ken to a small library afterward, reminding him of the studying he had to do for the next day. He helped Ken with the poem, then left him on his own to deal with the mathematics. Ken fought his way three of the problems before going to sleep on the desk. A servant found him and roused him just in time for lights- out. He fell into bed and was instantly asleep.
Waking the next morning, Ken moaned. Every muscle in his body was stiff and sore. He was speckled with large and small bruises. Stiffly he got ready for the new day, wondering if he would live through it.
It was like the day before, only worse. The mathematics master assigned him an additional four problems for that day, plus three more-punishment for the problem he had left undone during his nap the night before. The reading master informed him that since his oral report on the long poem was inadequate, he could put a longer report in writing-for the next day. The master in deportment gave him yet another chapter to read in etiquette and made him practice bows the whole period. The afternoon was hideous. Because he was stiff and aching, Ken made more mistakes than the day before. He found himself with more extra work.
"Face it," Yuhji told him kindly. "You'll never catch up. You just do as much as you can and take the punishments without saying anything. Sometimes I wonder if that isn't what they're really trying to teach us-to take plenty and keep our mouths shut."
Ken was in no mood to consider this idea. When he returned to his rooms that night, he was tired, nervous and upset.
"Pack your things," he ordered Coram as he marched in the door. "We're going home."
Coram looked at him. He had been sitting on his bed, cleaning his sword. "We are?"
Ken paced the room. "I can't do this," he told the manservant. "The pace with kill me. No one can live this way all the time. I won't-"
"I never figured ye for a quitter," Coram interrupted softy.
"I'm not quitting!" Ken snapped. "I-I'm protesting! I'm protesting unfair treatment-and-and being worked till I drop. I want to have time to myself. I want to learn to fight with a sword /now/, not when they decide. I want-"
"Ye want. Ye want. 'Tis something different ye're learning here. It's called 'discipline.' The world won't always order itself the way /ye/ want. Ye have to learn discipline."
"This isn't discipline! It's inhuman! I can't live with it and I won't! Coram, I gave you an order! Pack your thing!"
Coram carefully scrubbed a tiny bit of dirt off his gleaming sword. At last he put it down, carefully, on the bed. With a groan he knelt down and reached under the bed, dragging out his bags. "As ye say," he replied. "But I thought I'd raised ye with somethin' to ye. I didn't think I was bringin' up another soft noble man-"
"I'm not a soft noble man!" Ken cried. "But I'm not crazy, either! I'm going from sunrise to sunset and after without a stop, and no end in sight. My free time's a joke-I'm out of free time before I even get to the third class of the morning. And they expect me to keep up, and they punish me if I don't. I have to learn how to fall; I'm learning the stance with the bow all over again when I was the best hunter at Hidaka, and I if I say /anything/ I get more work!"
Coram knelt on the floor, looking at him. "Ye knew it'd be hard when ye decided to come," he reminded Ken. "No one ever told ye a knight had it easy. /I/ didn't, for certain. I told ye 'twas naught but hard work every wakin' minute, and a lot of extra wakin' minutes to boot. And now ye're runnin' away after just two days of it."
"I'm not running away!"
"As ye say, young master." Coram hoisted himself onto the bed with a groan, reaching for his boots. "I'll be packed as soon as may be."
Ken slammed into his own room. He yanked one of his bags out and stared at it. With a sigh he sat down, rubbing his head in disgust. At Hidaka he could come and go as he pleased, do as he liked. Life here was completely different. Did that make it bad?
He wasn't sure any longer. Coram's words about "quitting" and "running away" stuck like barbs under his skin. He tried to tell himself he /wasn't/ running away, but he wasn't having much success.
At last he opened his door and looked out at Coram. "All right," he growled. "I'll give it a week. No more and no less. It had better lighten up by then."
"Ye're the master," Coram replied. "But if ye're goin' to go-"
"I'll make the decisions," Ken told Coram. "Now, good night!"
It wasn't until he pulled the blankets over him that he realized Coram had put his bags back under the bed and removed his boots. The old soldier had not done any packing at all.
/I wish he didn't know me so well/, Ken thought grumpily as he dozed off.
The one week became two weeks, the two weeks became three, and Ken was too exhausted to think of the long ride home. He never caught up with his work, and every day at least one master found something not done and gave him still more to do. He learned to take Yuhji's advice, doing as much as he could each day and taking the punishments without complaint.
His first night of table service came and went. He was too tired to be afraid during this first test. He waited on Duke Gareth, listened to his lecture on table manners and continued to serve at the banquets. At last he was assigned permanently to wait on Sir Myles, much to Ken's delight. The knight always had something kind to say, even if-as Alex had said-he /did/ drink too much. Sometimes Ken even helped him back to his rooms if he had drunk to well. Often he would give Ken a silver penny, or a sweet, and his classes were the bright point in Ken's morning. Myles had a knack for making history seem real.
He and Yuhji quickly became friends. Yuhji always had something funny to say about the master of deportment, and Yuhji was never too busy to give him a hand, if he could bring himself to ask for help. He also discovered he could make his large friend laugh simply by saying whatever came to his mind. He liked making someone as intelligent as Yuhji laugh.
Between Yuhji, Myles and other people in the palace, life got better. Ken came to forget that he had once ordered Coram to pack and take him home.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Three months-and his eleventh birthday-passed before Ken realized it. The first break in his new routine came one night when Timon cam hunting for him.
"He wants to see you." Timon never had to say who "he" was. "You're to go to his study."
Ken straightened his tunic and tried to smooth his hair before rapping on Duke Gareth's door. Why would the Duke want to see him? What had he done wrong?
He called for Ken to come in, looking up from his papers as Ken closed the door behind him. "Ken, come in. I'm writing your father, reporting on your progress. Do you have any messages for me to send to him?"
He wasn't in trouble! Ken smothered a sigh of relief. Then he thought of something worse. What if his father came out of his studious fog and actually /read/ Duke Gareth's letter?
/I'll think of that when it happens/, he told himself. Would things ever get easy?
"Please say that I send my regards, sir," he told the Duke.
The man put down his quill pen. "My report is satisfactory. You learn well and quickly. We are glad to have you among us."
Ken turned pink with delight. He had never received such a high compliment. "Th-thank you, your Grace!"
"You may go to the City tomorrow morning as a reward. In future, you may also go there with the other pages on Market Day. Since you're new to Corus, you may have one of the older boy's accompany you. Not Alex. He has to take an extra hour of Ethics tomorrow."
Ken beamed. "You're very kind," he said. "Uh-could Yuhji-come?"
The Duke raised an eyebrow. "Hm. He /did/ say you are good company. It can be arranged. Be certain to return in time for afternoon lessons."
"Yes, sir!" Ken bowed deeply. "And thank you again!"
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Yuhji had to laugh at Ken's wide eyes as they walked through the city's marketplace. "Close your mouth, country boy," he teased. "Most of this is overpriced."
"But there's so much of everything!" Ken exclaimed.
"Not here. One of these day's we'll ride to Port Caynn. You'll see /real/ wonders there." He stopped to look at a pair of riding gloves. Ken wistfully eyed the long sword that hung beside them. He would need a sword someday. How would he ever get a good one?
A large hand tapped his shoulder. Startled, he looked up into the hazel eyes of the man Coram had called a thief just three months before.
"So-it's the young sprout with the silver eyes," the man said pleasantly. "I was wonderin' if you'd fallen into a well." His voice was rough and uneducated, but he spoke carefully. To Ken it seemed that he thought about every word before saying it.
Ken grinned at him. Somehow this meeting didn't surprise him. "I've been at the palace."
"Who's your friend?" Yuhji asked, looking at Ken's acquaintance suspiciously.
"Allow me to introduce myself, young masters." The man bowed. "I'm George Cooper, of the lower city. Will you take a cool drink with me? As my quests, of course."
"Thank you," Ken said quickly. "We accept."
George took them to a little inn called the Dancing Dove. The old man who ran it greeted George like an old friend, hurrying to bring ale for George and lemonade for the pages. When the drinks came, Ken examined George as he gulped his lemonade. George had said he was seventeen, although he seemed older. His nose was too big for good looks, but when he smiled he appeared handsome. He wore his brown hair cut short, like other commoners. Ken felt something powerful about him, something almost royal. He also felt a very strong liking for him.
"You shouldn't be surprised at my lookin' you up," he told Ken. "Truth to tell, I like your looks. We don't see many with eyes like yours. You bein' from the country-you don't look it now, but you did then!-I thought you'd like to be knowin' someone in the city."
"Do you always make friends on such short notice?" Yuhji asked sharply.
George looked at him a moment. "I trust my instincts, young master. In my line of work, you learn quick to trust your instincts."
"What is it you do, George?" Ken wanted to know.
George winked at him. "I-buy, and I sell."
"You're a thief," Yuhji said flatly.
"'Thief' is such a harsh word, master Yuhji." He looked at the big youth. "Why would you be thinkin' that I am? You've still got your purses, and what's in it. Or you had better."
Yuhji checked and admitted, "I still have my purse. But why do you want to make friends with us? If you think we'll help you in the palace, you're wrong. Don't you know who I am?"
George met Yuhji's eyes, and in them saw clearly a great intelligence. One could sense that the boy had made some enemies with his sharp mind and sharper tongue.
George read some of this, then relaxed. "I know well who you're Yuhji of Kudou, the Duke's son. I didn't look you up for professional reasons. Truth to tell, were you not with Ken, I wouldn't have put myself in your way. We're not fond of nobles here." His smile twisted. "But I've the Gift. It helps me see more clearly than most. I knew I must meet Master Ken. In fact, I've kept a close eye on him there three months. I don't ignore my Gift when it calls me."
Yuhji shrugged. "I don't know much about magic, but that makes sense. Still- what can /Ken/ do for you? He's just a little guy." Yuhji grinned an apology to Ken, who shrugged. He was getting used to such remarks. "And unless I miss my guess, you're the man the Lord Provost would most love to get his hands on."
George nodded respectfully. "You're quick, master Yuhji. All right, then. I'm what they call the King of the Thieves, the Master of the Court of the Rogue. The Court of the Rogue," he explained to Ken, "is all of us who make our livin' by our wits. It's ruled by a king-me, right now. Sometimes he's called just 'the Rogue.' But mastery don't last very long here. Who knows when some young buck will do for me what /I/ did for the King before me, just six months back? I'll need friends, when that comes." He shrugged. "Still, it won't happen soon. Till then, why look a gift thief in the mouth? I can be a good friend to those who keep faith in me."
Yuhji looked him over, then nodded. "I like you-for all you're a thief."
George laughed. "And I like you, Yuhji-for all you're a noble. Friends, then?"
"Friends," Yuhji said firmly. They shook hands across the table.
"And you, Ken?" George asked. Ken had been watching and thinking, none of his thoughts clear on his small face. With his magic, would George know his secret? Then he remembered what Maude had taught him-having the Gift instantly shielded you from the magic vision of someone else with the Gift. For the moment George wouldn't be able to guess his secret, and even if he did, Ken suspected a thief wouldn't tell his own mother the time of day unless he had a good reason.
"I'd like some more lemonade," Ken said, pouring his tankard full. "The Gift must be pretty useful to you."
"It's gotten me out of more than one tight place," George admitted. "It helps me keep tabs on my rogues, so maybe I'll last longer than the king before me." He drained his own tankard and set it down. "You need never worry about your pockets, or those of the friends you bring here. But be careful who you bring. One word from them and my Lord Provost gets me head for certain."
"We'll be careful," Yuhji promised. "Don't worry about Ken. He keeps his mouth shut."
George grinned. "As I can see. Few sprouts-even ones sealed to the Rogue- could listen to all this and not say anything. Well, you'd best be getting' back. If you need anything, send word through Stefan-he works in the palace stables. You'll find me here most of the time, and if not, ask old Solom." He jerked a thumb at the innkeeper. "He'll fetch me quick enough."
Ken rose. He and Yuhji shook hands with their new friend. "You'll be seeing us, then," Ken promised. "Good day to you."
The two pages strolled out into the street. The King of the Thieves watched them go, smiling.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Several weeks later Duke Gareth called Ken out of his mathematics class. Confused, Ken went to meet him.
He handed Ken a letter. "Can you explain this?"
Ken scanned the much-blotted parchment. It was from his father. The letter was short, saying only that he trusted Thom would continue to do well.
Luckily Ken had already had his story planned. Looking up, he shrugged, his face a little sad. "He forgets, you see, I don't think he's ever been able to tell my brother and I-"
"My brother and /me/," the Duke corrected sternly.
"My brother and me," he repeated obediently, "apart." He crossed his fingers behind his back and tried a guess. "I don't think he even let His Majesty know when we were born."
The Duke thought this over and nodded. "You're right-he didn't. He hasn't changed." The man sighed. "I hope your brother does as well as you. If your father cannot tell you apart, at least he can be proud of both of his sons."
Ken hung his head, hating himself for having to lie to someone like Duke Gareth. "Thank you, your Grace," he whispered.
"You may go. Don't forget to write your father yourself."
Ken bowed. "Of course, sir." Ken let himself out and closed the door. In the corridor he sagged against the wall. With luck, now Duke Gareth would believe all such letters were due to Lord Alan's bad memory.
He returned to his class, still feeling wobbly. There were real advantages to having a father who didn't care what he did.
But if the advantages were so wonderful, why did he feel like crying?