Jason said, “Well, we help customers out of coaches. If one pulls up on your side, first see if it’s driven by a coachman alone, or if there’s a footman riding on the back. If there’s no footman, open the carriage door. If the coach has one of the new fold-down steps, lower it for whoever’s inside. If there’s no step, get that box over there and carry it to the coach.” He pointed to a small wooden box kept in the corner of the entrance for such use. It sat next to some dirty towels in a larger metal pan.
A coach pulled up, and Roo glanced at Jason, who nodded; there was no footman, as this was a hired coach, and Roo could see there was nothing like the fancy swing-down step in evidence. He grabbed up the box and, ignoring the rain, placed the box below the door, then pulled down on the handle as instructed. Swinging the door open, he waited. An elderly gentleman climbed quickly down from the coach and took the two steps into the relative shelter of the entranceway.
Roo grabbed the box and was barely a stride away as the coach moved on. He reached the entrance in time to hear McKeller greet the newly arrived patron: “Good morning to you, Mr. Estherbrook.”
Jason was already cleaning the mud from Mr. Estherbrook’s boots as Roo replaced the box in the metal pan designed to confine water and mud. He then took up a rag, and by the time he had it in hand, the client had moved into the inner sanctum of Barret’s.
“That’s Jacob Estherbrook?” asked Roo.
Jason nodded. “You know him?”
“I know his coaches. They’d come through Ravensburg all the time.”
“He’s one of Krondor’s richest men,” confided Jason as they finished cleaning up the floor. “He’s got an amazing daughter, too.”
“Amazing how?” said Roo, putting away the muddy rag. Jason was a young man of middle height, a lightly freckled, fair complexion, and brown hair, one who Roo judged unremarkable in appearance, but his expression became close to transfixed as he answered, “What can I say? She’s the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”
Roo grinned. “And you’re in love?”
Jason blushed, which amused Roo, though he kept any jibe to himself. “No. I mean, if I could find a woman who looked like that who would give me a second glance, I’d tithe to Ruthia”—the Goddess of Luck—“for the rest of my life. She’s going to marry some very rich man or a noble, I’m certain. It just that . . .”
“She’s someone to daydream about,” supplied Roo.
Jason shrugged as he put away his cleaning rag. He then glanced at Roo’s feet and said, “Boots.”
Roo looked down, saw that he was tracking mud on the floor they were trying to clean, and winced. Taking the rag out of the metal pan, he cleaned his own boots and then the tracks he had made. “You don’t do much of this when you spend your life barefoot.”
Jason nodded. “I guess.”
“Now, about this wonder . . .”
“Sylvia. Sylvia Estherbrook.”
“Yes, Sylvia. When have you seen her?”
“She sometimes travels here with her father, on her way to shop in the city. They live out on the edge of the city, near the Prince’s Road, on a large estate.”
Roo shrugged. He knew that in Krondor the King’s Highway was called the Prince’s Road, and he had traveled it with Erik the first time he had come to Krondor, though they had left the highway and cut through the woods and some farmland. Later travels had been by the southern road to the training ground where he had learned the soldier’s trade, so he had never seen the estate of which Jason spoke.
“What’s she look like?”
“She has the most amazing blue eyes and blond hair that’s almost pale gold in color.”
Roo said, “Blue, not green? Blond hair?”
“Blue eyes, blond hair,” answered Jason. “Why?”
“Just checking. I met a really beautiful woman who almost got me killed. But she had green eyes and dark hair. Anyway, go on.”
“There’s nothing more to say. She rides up with her father and then goes off after he gets out. But she smiles at me, and she even took a moment to speak to me once.”
Roo laughed. “That’s something, I guess.”
A shout and the sound of a large wagon moving near caused Roo to turn. Heaving around the corner, looking for a moment as if it were about to attempt to enter the building, came a horse, as tired, old, and ragged a creature as Roo had ever beheld. A loud grinding of wood upon wood was punctuated by oaths and the sound of a lash as a wagon wheel ground across the open portal and the driver came into view.
An instant was all Roo needed to realize this man didn’t possess even the most rudimentary knowledge of driving a wagon and had tried to turn the corner too sharply, jamming the wagon against the side of the building.
Ignoring the driving rain, Roo turned and moved in front of the horse, grabbing the animal by the bridle, while shouting, “Whoa!”
The animal obeyed, as it was hardly moving at all because of the jamming of the wagon against the corner, the deep mud, and near-total exhaustion. “What’s this?” demanded the driver.
Roo look up at a young man, only a few years older than Roo, thin and snaked through to his skin from his appearance. It was also obvious he was a sailor, as he wore no boots or shoes and was sunburned and drunk.
“Heave to, mate,” cried Roo, “before you run ashore.”