Rise of a Merchant Prince (7 page)

Reaching the town square, they turned and made their way to the bakery where Rudolph worked and lived. At the front door Roo saw Erik hesitate. Roo knew Erik's feelings for Rosalyn were never simple. She was like a sister to him, but at the same time there was something more. Roo and the others around town knew that Rosalyn was in love with Erik, even if he had been too thick to know. At least, he had been aware just before his departure from Ravensburg that her feelings for him were more than sisterly. He had talked about it with Roo more than once. And Roo knew that Erik still didn't really understand how he felt about her.

Suddenly embarrassed by his own hesitation, Erik entered the bakery. Rudolph stood behind the counter, and when he looked up he said, “Can I
help—” His eyes widened as he said, “Erik? Roo?”

Erik offered a friendly smile. “Hello, Rudolph.” He extended his hand as he crossed the small space between door and counter. Roo followed.

Rudolph had never been what either Roo or Erik would count a friend, though in a town as small as Ravensburg all the children of similar age know one another. “I thought you dead,” he half whispered, as if afraid to be overheard.

“That seems to have been the general opinion,” Roo said. “But we were freed by the King.”

“By the King?” asked Rudolph, clearly impressed, as he took Erik's hand and gave it a perfunctory shake. Then he shook with Roo.

“Yes,” said Erik. “And I'm back.” When Rudolph's expression darkened, he quickly added, “For a few days. I'm the Prince of Krondor's man now.” He pointed to the crest on his tunic. “I must be back there before the end of the month.”

Rudolph relaxed. “Well then, it's good to see you.” He looked Erik up and down. “I expect you've come to see Rosalyn?”

“She was a sister to me,” said Erik.

Rudolph nodded. “In the back. Follow me.”

Erik and Roo walked to the end of the counter, where Randolph lifted the hinged top, and stepped through. They followed Rudolph through the large bakery, past now-cooling ovens that would be heated again after nightfall, as the bakers plied their tasks all night long, so there would be hot bread for sale at first light. Large tables, now cleaned, waited for the bakers, and vats that would hold dough after supper were empty. Rows of clean baking pans waited to be filled, and in the corner two apprentice bakers slept
in anticipation of the night's work ahead.

Rudolph moved to another door and they exited the bakery and crossed a small alley, to a room in a residence that Roo knew belonged to Rudolph's employer. Rudolph said, “Wait here,” and entered.

A few moments later, Rosalyn appeared at the door, a child upon her left hip. She gripped the doorjamb tightly, while Rudolph stood behind her, offering her support. “Erik?” she half whispered. “Roo?”

Erik smiled, and Rosalyn stepped forward and put her right arm around his neck, hugging him fiercely. He held her gently, trying to be aware of the squirming baby, and then he realized she was crying.

“Here, now,” he said softly pushing her away. “None of that. I'm fine. I did the Prince of Krondor a service and was pardoned for my crime.”

“Why didn't you send word?” she whispered harshly.

Roo was surprised by the anger in her voice toward Erik, but Erik glanced at Rudolph, who nodded at the question.

“We couldn't,” said Erik. He pointed to the crest on his tunic and said, “I'm the Prince's man now, sworn to his service, and I was under oath not to speak of my freedom since”—he didn't want to bring up the rape and the trial in Krondor—“I left. But now I'm here.”

Rosalyn's child started to squirm and complain and she turned to calm the child. “Shush, Gerd.”

“Gerd?” said Erik.

“It was my father's name,” said Rudolph.

Erik nodded as he looked at the little boy. Then his eyes widened and Roo saw his knees go weak. Roo grabbed Erik's arm as he gripped the doorjamb.

“What?” asked Roo, then he looked again at the little boy. Realization hit him. Rudolph was a stocky, short man, with reddish brown hair. There was nothing of him in this child's face. But from the expression that showed there, and the size of the child, he knew instantly what had occurred while he and Erik had been gone.

Softly Roo asked what Erik seemed unable to say: “Stefan's?”

Rosalyn nodded. Without taking her eyes from her foster brother's face she said, “Gerd's your nephew, Erik.”

The baby
cried.

Roo laughed as Erik quickly handed him back to Rosalyn. He had offered to hold the boy, but the squirming youngster had had Erik looking overwhelmed in less than a minute.

The mood in the room was guarded, a mix of happiness and apprehension. While everyone was pleased to see Roo and Erik alive and well, those in the taproom of the Inn of the Pintail knew that word of Erik's return would quickly reach his half brother. The Prince of Krondor might have pardoned Roo and Erik for their crime against Erik's half brother Stefan, but the surviving brother, Manfred, might not. And Stefan's mother certainly would not. There was a long leap between the letter of the law and its practice when vengeful nobles were involved, everyone knew.

Milo and Nathan motioned Roo aside and Nathan said, “Are you planning on staying long?”

Roo glanced to where Erik sat studying his nephew, fascinated by the little life before him. “Erik mostly wanted to see his mother and you,” he said to
them. “I've got some business. We'll be gone in a week or so.”

Nathan whispered. “Better sooner than later, Roo.”

Roo nodded. “I know. Mathilda von Darkmoor.”

Milo put his finger alongside his nose and nodded once, indicating Roo was correct in his surmise.

Roo said, “But Freida threatened Mathilda's boys' inheritance. You're telling everyone that the baby's Rudolph's, aren't you?”

“Yes,” said Nathan.

“But it's as plain as the nose on your face who his sire is, Roo,” said Milo, looking fondly across the room at his grandson. “There are no secrets in this town. By now the Baron surely knows the baby exists.”

Roo shrugged. “Maybe, but I overheard Manfred talking to Erik—”

“When?” demanded Nathan, his voice an anxious whisper.

“In the death cell. The night before we were to be hung. He came and told Erik there was no hard feelings; he said Stefan was a swine.”

Nathan shook his head. “One thing to say that to a man you count dead the next day, another to a rival to the title of Baron.”

Roo said, “I don't think that's a problem; Manfred said there were other bastards, not just Erik. Seems the old Baron loved the ladies.”

Milo nodded. “That's truth. I hear there's a lad over in Wolfsheim who looks a lot like Erik.”

“Well,” said Nathan, “see if you can't get Erik away as soon as possible. We'll do what we can to protect little Gerd, but if Erik's presence calls undue
attention to the baby. . .”

“I'll see what I can do,” said Roo. “I have business, and the sooner I get it done, the sooner we'll leave.”

“Anything we can do to help?” asked the smith.

A calculating looked entered Roo's eyes. “Well, now that you mention it, I could use a reliable wagon—but one that's not too dear, you understand.”

Milo's eyes rolled heavenward, and Nathan laughed at the obvious ploy. “Gaston's still the only place you're likely to find a wagon,” said the smith.

Erik glanced over to where his friend stood talking to the smith and the innkeeper, the three of them smiling while Nathan laughed at something Roo said, and shook his head with a smile of affection. Roo saw the gesture and returned it, as if to say, “Yes, it's good to be home.”

Roo was out at first light, only slightly hung-over, making his way to the outskirts of town.

“Gaston!” he cried as he came into sight of his destination. The building was little more than a run-down barn, made over to a sort of storage building, with a small shed attached to the front. A sign hung over it, crudely painted hammers, crossed as if they were a noble's swords.

As Roo reached the door to the shop, a head stuck out and a narrow-faced man of indeterminate years regarded him. “Avery?” he exclaimed, half-pleased, half-irritated by his manner. “Thought you hung,” he observed.

Roo stuck out his hand, “Wasn't,” he replied.

“Kind of obvious,” returned the man named Gaston. He spoke with a slight accent, one common
to those living in the smaller backwater towns in the province of Bas-Tyra, but he had lived in Darkmoor since before Roo had been born. He shook Roo's hand and said, “What you need?”

Roo said, “Got a wagon?”

“One out back for sale. She not much to look at; need a little work, but she sound.”

They walked around the building, a combination carpentry shed, tannery, and tinker's shop. Gaston was master of no trade, but adept at fixing all manner of things, and the only source of repair for those without sufficient funds to pay the local smiths and carpenters. If a poor farmer had a scythe that needed to last one more harvest, he brought it to Gaston, not the forge where Erik used to apprentice to old Tyndal and then Nathan. Roo had heard Erik comment that Gaston might not be a fine smith, but he was solid on the basics. And Roo's father had always taken his wagons to Gaston for repair.

They moved to a low fence, composed mostly from scraps of wood Gaston had found here and there, and Gaston opened the rickety gate. It swung open on stiff, loud hinges, and Roo entered the yard where Gaston stowed most of his property. Roo halted a moment and shook his head. He had been in the yard countless times; nevertheless he was amazed whenever he saw the colossal collection of refuse Gaston lay claim to: scraps of metal, a shed full of cloth, and a huge covered stack of wood, all organized in a fashion known only to Gaston, but one which Roo knew was flawless. If Gaston had what you needed, he knew where it lay, and could put his hands on it in moments.

“Saw your papa.”

“Where's he now?” asked Roo, not entirely interested.

“Sleepin' off a drunk. He came back from a run down to Salador. Six or seven wagons, I don't remember, but they got there in good order and were paid a bonus, then he picked up a cargo and came back full, so he blew off a bit last night.”

Gaston hiked his thumb over his shoulder to a bundle of rags under one of two wagons nestled against the lee side of the barn. Roo went over and found the bundle was snoring. He recognized one of the two wagons as his father's. It was as familiar to Roo as his own pallet had been at home. And truth to tell, he had slept in it about as often. When his father got into one of his drunken rages, Roo had often hidden under the canvas tie-down and slept the night there, rather than risk a pointless beating.

“Too drunk to walk three streets home?” said Roo, kneeling and pulling back the topmost rag. The stench that struck him as he did made him wish he hadn't. Not only hadn't his father bathed in some time, his breath hit Roo full on as he snored in obvious stupor.

“Gak!” Roo moved back a couple of steps.

Gaston scratched his chin and said, “We had a few, truth to tell. Tom was buying, so I weren't going to leave him lying there in the street. I bring him over here; I wasn't going to take him all the way home, by damn.”

Roo shook his head. “Not likely.” He regarded the snoring face of his father. The old man seemed smaller somehow. Roo wondered at that, but knew that he would seem large enough if he was awakened before he bestirred himself.

Then Roo laughed. He wasn't a boy any longer and his father hadn't towered over him in years. Roo wondered, if his father tried to strike him again, would he cower as a child would before an enraged parent, or would he act without thought and break his father's jaw?

Not willing to put that to the test, he said, “We'll let him sleep. He probably didn't miss me when I was gone, so I doubt he'll be glad to see me now.”

Gaston said, “You shouldn't go saying that, Roo. He was right enough upset you were going to be hung. Said it more than once. Thought thirty years' hard labor was fair, he said.”

Roo shook his head and changed the subject. “The wagon?”

“She be over there,” said Gaston, pointing to the one that sat next to Roo's father's. It was a serviceable wagon, though in need of some repair and a lot of paint.

Roo quickly inspected it, ensuring the axles and wheels were sound. He said, “We need to replace some of the fittings on the tongue, but it'll do. How much?”

Gaston and Roo began haggling and after a minute a deal was struck. It was slightly more than Roo wished to pay, but a fair price, and the wagon was exactly what he was looking for. He paid the money and said, “Horses?”

“Martin still be cheapest for sound animals,” answered Gaston. “Your papa got an extra team these days. Won them in a dice game last month.”

A calculating look crossed Roo' s face and he said, “Thanks. That's good to know.” Glancing at the snoring figure of his father, he said, “If he wakes
before I return, keep him here. I need to talk to him before I leave town.”

Roo started for the gate and Gaston said, “Where are you off to now?”

“Growers' and Vintners' Hall. I have to buy some wine.”

He left the yard and made his way down the street as the town began to stir into the day's activities. Workers were already at their shops, and now those women heading out to purchase goods and food for their families were also about. Roo nodded in greeting at a few familiar faces, but mostly he was lost in thought about the next step in his plan for wealth.

As he reached the town square, opposite the Growers' and Vintners' Hall, a clatter of hooves upon cobbles heralded the approach of riders, and from the sound, Roo knew they were coming fast. A moment later the squad appeared around the corner of the very hall for which Roo was bound, five riders at a canter. Pedestrians scampered out of the way as the five men in the colors of the Baron of Darkmoor hurried by. Roo marked the leader, the same corporal they had encountered in Wilhelmsburg, and he knew instantly where they would eventually stop: Milo's inn. Roo hesitated and decided against heading directly there. He had business to conduct and, besides, he was pretty sure this would be a matter between Erik and his half brother Manfred. If the Baron needed to speak with Roo Avery, he could come looking for him after he finally found Erik. Roo entered the hall.

Erik stood admiring the forge. Nathan and his apprentice Gunther were showing off the changes
they had made since Erik had left. They were minor, but Erik made a point of admiring the boy's work. It was clear he doted on Nathan and had developed much the same attitude that Erik had toward the smith, that of a boy for a foster-father. Nathan's own children had been killed in an almost forgotten war and he took special pains to care for his apprentices.

“You look fit,” said Nathan. “You like the army?”

Erik said, “There's much about it I don't like, but . . . yes, I think I like the order, the sense of knowing what is expected of you.”

Nathan motioned with his head for Gunther to find some task to attend to, leaving them alone. “And the killing?”

Erik shrugged. “Not much. There are times when it's like hacking wood for the fire. Something you must do. Other times I'm too scared to think. But mostly it's . . .I don't know. . .ugly.”

Nathan nodded. “I've worked with a lot of soldiers in my day, Erik. Be cautious of those who enjoy the butchery. They serve when the fighting's hard, but they're like guard dogs; better to keep them on a short leash most of the time.”

Erik looked at Nathan and their eyes locked. Then Erik smiled. “I promise I'll never get to liking it.”

“Then you'll do,” said Nathan, returning Erik's grin. “Though you'd have been a fine smith, no doubt.”

“Smithing is something I still enjoy. Maybe you'll let me turn a hand to some—”

Roo approached. “Nathan! Erik!”

Erik said, “How is this mysterious business deal of yours going?”

“Just about finished,” answered Roo with a grin.
“A couple of things more and I'll be ready to go.” He made a face. “Besides, there are soldiers wandering around town looking for you.”

The sound of riders entering the inn's courtyard cut short Erik's reply. They left the forge and rounded the barn, entering the courtyard just as the Baron's five guardsmen were getting ready to dismount.

Erik recognized the leader, the corporal they had encountered two days before. “You,” he said, pointing to Roo and Erik. “The Baron wants a word with you two.”

Roo rolled his eyes heavenward, patting his tunic pocket to ensure he still carried his royal pardon. “Can't this wait?”

“No! But I'll give you a choice: ride your own horse or I'll be happy to drag you behind him.”

Roo said, “I'll get my horse.”

A few minutes later, Roo and Erik were mounted and rode past the squad. The corporal said, “Wait a minute! Where do you think you're going?”

They slowed to let the corporal overtake him, then Erik said, “You came cantering in, yet your horses are barely winded and none of them are sweating. So you rode less than a mile to fetch us. Manfred's camped in the old sheep meadow at the edge of town.”

The corporal looked astonished, but before he could speak, Erik put heels to his horse's barrel and was off at a canter, Roo a second behind. The squad followed suit, and soon the seven of them were hurrying through the town.

A few minutes later they passed through the buildings at the east edge of town, and as Erik had predicted, they found Manfred's field tent erected in
the old sheep meadow where the King's Highway intersected the road south.

Erik dismounted and tossed the reins to a guardsman standing near the entrance of the tent. As the five riders came up alongside, Erik regarded the corporal. “What's your name?” asked Erik.

“Alfred,” said the corporal. “Why?”

Erik smiled. “I just wanted to know. Watch the horse.” Roo and Erik moved to the tent and one of the soldiers there drew aside the flap.

Sitting inside was Erik's half brother Manfred. “I must confess, I never thought I'd see you two again,” said the Baron, indicating they should sit, “considering the circumstances of our last meeting.”