“You what?”
“That’s a relief.” Edyon needed an excuse quickly and found himself saying, “I’m looking for Stone. I thought I saw him come in.”
“Bollocks.”
“We’re acquaintances, Stone and me.”
“And what’s that in your hand then?”
Edyon’s eyes widened innocently. “This? Oh, this delightful trinket had fallen out of its packaging. I was just putting it back. It’s quite charming. From Abask, I’d expect, judging from the workmanship. Probably fifty years old.”
“Double bollocks.”
“You think it’s older? Or perhaps from Savaant?” Edyon scrutinized the ship closely. “You may be right.” He stepped forward and handed it to the first guard, saying, “Well, as Stone isn’t here, I should be on my way.”
The guard grabbed a fistful of Edyon’s jacket, crushing the silver ship painfully against his chest. “You need to come to see Mister Stone. Now.” And he threw him out of the caravan.
Edyon landed on the grass face-first, mud in his mouth.
“Get up.”
The order was unnecessary, as the second guard was already pulling him to his feet. People were staring as Edyon was dragged past them; one boy pointed and laughed. Edyon gained momentum in his legs and managed to make them walk. He spat out the mud and was relieved to find his jaw wasn’t broken.
They arrived at Stone’s tent, and Edyon was told to wipe his boots before going inside. While he felt that in this instance thievery had been the wrong choice, and he was perhaps not on the path to riches, being asked to wipe his boots felt not at all like the sort of thing that would come before pain, suffering, and death, so he was more than happy to cooperate. He’d hardly finished when he was shoved into the tent and pushed down onto his knees, from where he looked up as beseechingly as possible.
Stone, the pudgy-faced ass, was sitting on one of a pair of very fine mahogany and velvet folding chairs.
Edyon knew silence was often more powerful than speech.
The silver ship, bent out of shape from being shoved against Edyon’s chest, was in Stone’s sausage-like fingers.
“Edyon, Edyon, Edyon.”
Still best not to speak. Wait to hear the accusation.
“What will your mother think of this?”
“This?”
“Stealing . . . again.”
“Stealing? No. I think your men have misled you. This is a silly misunderstanding. I thought I saw someone entering your caravan. The door was open, there were no guards around—a gross dereliction of duty—and I followed, in order to investigate. There was no one there, but I happened to notice that charming silver ornament had fallen from its wrapping.”
Stone sighed heavily. “Please don’t, Edyon. It’s embarrassing.”
“I’m not sure I’m with you.”
“As I said before, what will your mother make of it?”
“She’ll understand I was only trying to help.”
“Help yourself to my property, you mean?” Stone frowned. “Lying on top of stealing, Edyon. It’s not good.”
“Your door was open. Your guards were gone. Anyone could have entered that caravan. Fortunately it was only me, Edyon, who picked up the ship to save it from being crushed.”
Stone put the silver ornament on the table beside him. It fell over.
“The reason it is crushed is because I have suffered rough treatment from your guards. My face. My jaw. The ship too. All without cause.”
“Today, a silver boat. Last month, a gold ring. The month before, a picture frame, and before that an Illastian prayer rug. All items missing from my inventory. They were all you, weren’t they, Edyon?”
“No! Absolutely not.”
Though, in honesty, Edyon wasn’t totally sure. He couldn’t remember ever taking a picture frame, admittedly there was the gold ring, but as for a prayer rug, not recently, though perhaps . . .
“The next man you try to steal from won’t be so kind and forgiving as me, Edyon.”
Forgiving? Edyon’s head came up, half-smiling, half-hoping.
Stone gave another heavy sigh. “I will not tell your mother. You know I am fond of Erin. Genuinely fond.”
Edyon nodded and waited.
“I will not tell her, because that is what you will do. Tell your mother that you have been stealing from me. That is your punishment.”
Edyon couldn’t believe he’d got off that lightly. There was clearly going to be a catch.
“Well, of course I’ll tell her what happened today.”
“Oh—and, Edyon, you had better also tell her that the cost of the missing items is fifty kroners. I have not added interest and I use a conservative estimate for what I could have got for the gold ring. You will have her pay me the money by the end of the fair, or I will do to you again, only worse, what is about to happen to you.”
“What?”
Stone nodded to the guards. “No permanent damage. This time.”
“Stone!”
“Take him.”
Edyon turned, rose, and then ducked as the guard swung at him with some sort of wooden mallet, so close that Edyon felt the weapon whistle past his cheek. He scrambled toward Stone, thinking to use his table as a shield. But it was too late: the guards were on him, and although he cowered back to protect himself, all this achieved was ensuring the mallet struck his jaw and not his eye.
He tasted blood and was vaguely aware of the guards hauling him up, and then he saw the field of caravans, and then they were in the trees and the ground was coming up to meet him again. Then he felt a boot in his balls and he doubled up. The men laughed.
Edyon spat out blood. Was it better to curse them or be quiet? It didn’t matter—he couldn’t form words, though his balls were screaming for him. He took a kick in his back and then another in his stomach, and on his arm and shoulder.
Edyon waited for another, but it didn’t come.
He could hear that the men were still there, but at least they’d stopped the kicking. He had a loose tooth and blood in his mouth again, but it wasn’t too bad. His balls were still intact. If they’d just leave him here, he’d be all right.
“Oi, mate. We’ve got something for you.”
Edyon looked up. The men had opened their trouser flaps and laughed as they pissed on him.
MARCH
DORNAN, PITORIA
MARCH FOLLOWED the prince’s bastard from the fortune-teller’s tent to a field where rows of plain wooden caravans were lined up. The young man climbed into the back of a caravan, and March was considering going closer to investigate when two large men beat him to it. They emerged from behind the caravan, went inside, pulled the young man out, and threw him to the ground, then dragged him off to a tent so close to his mother’s that March ended up standing twenty paces from Holywell, who came over.
“We’ll need to act soon,” Holywell said. “Regan is with the mother.”
“She’s called Erin. The son’s name is Edyon.”
“Well, with Regan visiting, I think we both know what Daddy’s name is. And right now Regan is in there telling her that he wants to take her son back to see Thelonius.”
“So what do we do?”
“We talk to Edyon and tell him our version of events before Regan gets him to believe his.”
“And what is our version of events?”
“That it’s we who have been sent by Prince Thelonius to find his long-lost son. That we will take him back to his father for a joyous reunion in Calidor. And that he should come with us right now.”
“And we take him where?”
“North, by land, to Brigant.”
“Not exactly the direct route to Calidor.”
“No. But we can tell him we have a ship in Rossarb. Once there, we’ll have to make him our prisoner, but the farther we get on the journey before having to tie him up, the easier it will be for us all.”
“We might convince Edyon, but what about his mother? What if Regan was here with Thelonius eighteen years ago? If she knows him, she’ll believe him, not us.”
“That’s why we need to keep Edyon away from his mother, and away from Regan. That’s your job, March. Can you do that?”