He knew the truth of it. If the princess saw him now, she wouldn’t notice. Her sight would glance off him as if he were the surface of a still pond. He was just another guard—as interesting as a table or pillar.
He turned and walked toward the big doors. He didn’t want to see her. He didn’t want to prove himself right—not after speaking with Rose. What would she have thought if he had told her? What might she have said? How could he explain? No one could ever understand; even he struggled at times.
There was almost as much commotion out in the courtyard as inside. Servants with buckets and bundles ran with their deliveries. For years Reuben had watched the parties from the roof of the woodshed, or in winter from the windows of the stable. In the shadows he would sit for hours marveling at the capes, hats, walking sticks, feathers, and furs. All the parties started like a parade, a traveling show put on just for him. That day, however, he was working the parade.
“You’re late!” Lieutenant Wylin was at the front gate along with Grisham and Bale. Bale looked irritated and gave him a reproachful stare. “You can take your leave now, Bale.”
“Yes, sir,” Bale said, still glaring at Reuben. “ ’Bout bloody time.”
“When you fail to do your job properly, Hilfred,” Wylin spoke sternly, “your fellows suffer. Remember that. You’re part of a team now. Trust me, you don’t want to be the weak link in this chain. The castle guard has a way of solving its own problems.”
Reuben found it strange that Wylin called him by his surname. He never had before, and it sounded odd, as if he were speaking to his father.
“Grisham here will show you what’s to be done. Do as he says, and I’ll be back later.” He paused and then almost as if reading his mind added, “Your father spent many years attaching respect and dignity to the name of Hilfred. Watch yourself, do your duty with honor and courage, fulfill your vow to protect His Majesty and his family, and you’ll make your father proud. Then perhaps one day you’ll find yourself as a sergeant at arms like him.”
Wylin nodded briskly at Grisham and then marched off.
“So what do I do?” Reuben asked.
“Nothing,” Grisham replied. “Think you can handle that?”
“Then why was it so important that I get here on time?”
“ ’Cause Bale’s feet hurt, and he was hungry. You’re gonna stand in that spot for six hours. You’ll see.”
“I really just stand here?”
“That’s the outgoing side,” Grisham said, then pointed across the bridge at the central square of the Gentry Quarter, where a long line of coaches waited, wrapping in a circle around the statue of Tolin Essendon. “See the carriages? They come up on my side. I check their invitations and wave them through. Then they roll to the front door, drop off the guests, and the driver goes back out on your side. The king don’t care about empty coaches leaving his castle. So you just stand there and wave them through. Even you ought to be able to handle that, right?”
“What if they don’t have an invitation?”
“Then we tell them to leave.”
“What if they don’t?”
Grisham smiled. “We never get that lucky. The only fun we ever have is watching the drunks at night. Sometimes they get surly and if they’re merchants, you can give them a kick to the backside. But be sure you aren’t kicking a noble. If they’re really drunk, they might not remember, but if they do, you’ll lose that foot.”
A pair of trumpets played a fanfare from the battlements and the lead carriage rolled forward. On top was the typical driver in heavy black robes and the traditional soft hat. He pulled the pair of mismatched black and white horses to a stop.
“Invitation, please.” He heard Grisham’s voice on the far side.
A boy in a high-collared doublet and fur hat looked out the window at Reuben with an expression of disdain. He rotated a silver dagger with a handle shaped like a dragon through his fingers like a coin trick.
“Welcome to Essendon Castle,” Grisham announced a minute or two later, and the carriage rolled in.
As it did, another pulled up in its place. Across the bridge, Reuben watched the line move and more carriages appeared in Gentry Square from various side streets. Most were open coaches, many of which looked identical to one another. These each had candle-lanterns mounted on the four corners hanging from ornamental iron arms that curled like vines near the top. He wondered if all the identical carriages were hired from the city liveries, as all of those were pulled by a single horse and came equipped with the same retractable top, which could be unfurled like a lady’s fan. That night, being clear and not yet cold, few had them up. Reuben guessed it was just as important to be seen visiting the castle as it was to get invited in the first place. Some of the carriages were drawn by pairs of horses. The more horses the more money, Reuben guessed. The truly rich had no need for hired carriages, and each of theirs was unique, larger, and well decorated. Reuben noticed that Grisham passed these through the gate faster and with more formality.
After the bulk of the parade had passed, as gaps began to form and the flood slowed to a drip, Grisham called him over.
“You take the next one. I may need to piss at some point.”
They switched sides and Reuben waited as the next carriage rolled up. It was one of the open-tops, pulled by a single horse. Riding in back were two men dressed in high-collared cloaks—one heavy, one thin.
The carriage halted at the gate. “Invitation, please,” Reuben asked in the same monotone voice he had heard Grisham use.
The heavy man handed over a folded parchment with white-gloved hands.
Reuben opened it and glanced at the contents. He had no idea what it said—he couldn’t read. He was fairly certain Grisham couldn’t either. Still, it was the same-looking document that all the others had, and the royal seal was all he was really looking for. This was the first time he saw the writing, however, and he marveled at the beautiful lines.
He handed the invitation back. “And your invitation, sir?” He reached out to the thin man.
“This is Viscount Albert Winslow,” the heavy man said. “He is my guest this evening.”
Dozens of carriages had passed the gate and none ever said this. Reuben began to sweat as he wondered what he should do. Feeling foolish, knowing he failed, Reuben took a step to the side to make eye contact with Grisham.
The older guard nodded.
“Ah … thank you. Welcome to Essendon Castle,” Reuben said, then waved them through.
Grisham chuckled as they switched sides again but didn’t say anything.
Soon the carriages stopped coming and Grisham had him close the little gates, swinging the iron bars around and locking them in place with the big crank. This gave them something to lean on, but Grisham warned not to get caught doing so. The sergeants might let it slide, but Wylin and Lawrence didn’t like it, and after the unexpected death of Sergeant Barnes, who used to supervise the guards at the front gate, Wylin would be by more likely to check on them.
“The easy work is done,” Grisham told him. “Now comes the long hours of boredom. We just stand here and open the gate when people leave.”
“Won’t the carriages return?”
“Yeah, but they have to park out on the street for now. There’s no room for all of them in the yard.” Grisham looked up at the castle and then back out at the city. “Okay, I’ve got to hit the privy. It might take me a while—things been backed up, if you know what I mean. You all right to just stand here and not get both of us in trouble?”
Reuben nodded.
“Nothing should happen for the next few hours anyhow. Not out here. Just try not to stab anyone or let an enemy army in, okay?”
“I’ll do my best.”