Heir Of Novron: The Riyria Revelations (47 page)

Hadrian rolled his eyes. “Let me rephrase. Get your own food or go hungry.”

Gaunt glowered and slapped his mattress so that even Royce looked over. “What bloody good is it having a personal servant if you never do anything for me?”

“I’m not your servant; I’m your… bodyguard,” he said with reluctance, the word tasting stale. “How about you, Royce? Can I bring you something?”

Royce didn’t bother even to shake his head. Hadrian sighed and headed for the door.

When he descended the stairs, Hadrian found The Laughing Gnome filled to the walls. People packed the common room. Considering their numbers, the crowd was keeping remarkably quiet. Rather than being filled with a roar of conversation and laughter, the room barely buzzed with a low hum of whispers. All heads turned expectantly when he and Myron emerged from the steps. That was followed quickly by signs of disappointment.

“Right this way, gentlemen,” Ayers called, pushing forward. “Clear a path! Clear a path!”

Hadrian caught a few muttered
false knight
and
joust champion
comments as Ayers escorted them from the bottom of the stairs around to a large table set up in a private room.

“I’m keeping them out so you can eat in peace,” Ayers told
them. “But I can’t kick them out of the inn altogether. I have to live in this town, and I’d never hear the end of it.”

Wyatt, Mauvin, Magnus, and Alric already sat at the table with empty plates before them. Jimmy, dressed now in a stained apron, rushed about filling cups. He held a pitcher in each hand and danced around the table like a carnival juggler. The room was a small space adjacent to the kitchen. Fieldstone made up half of the wall, along with the corner fireplace. Thick milled timbers and plaster formed the upper portion. The room’s three windows remained shuttered and latched.

“Are they all here to see
us
?” Myron asked. He paused at the doorway, looking back at the crowd, mirroring their expressions of awe.

Hadrian had just taken a seat when a cheer exploded beyond the closed door in the common room. Alric drained his glass and held it up to Jimmy, shaking it.

“Are you all right? Where have you been?” voices, muffled by the wooden door, called out in the common room. “Were you kidnapped? Will you resume your office? We missed you. Will you drive out the empire again?”

“Forgive me, dear people, but I have traveled long today,” Arista said from the other room. “I am very tired and cannot hope to answer all your questions. Just know this: the tyrants that once controlled the empire are gone. The empress now—and for the first time—rules, and she is good and wise.”

“You met her?”

“I have. I lived with her for a time and have just come from Aquesta. Evil men held her prisoner in her own palace and ruled in her name. But… she rose up against her captors. She saved my life. She saved the world from a false imperium. Now she is in the process of building the true successor to the Empire of Novron. Show her the trust you have given me, and
I promise you will not be disappointed. Now, if you will allow me, I am very hungry.”

Cheering. Applause.

The door opened and Arista stepped inside, then closed it behind her and leaned on it as if she were barricading it with her body. “Where’d they all come from?”

“Word spread,” Ayers replied, looking self-conscious. “I need to get back to the bar. I can’t leave the mob too long without refreshment.”

As Ayers exited, Hadrian spotted Mince standing with the other boys just outside the doorway. Hadrian waved them in. All five entered the dining room in single file and stood just inside—afraid to move farther.

“They came to our room and told us there was food down here, sir,” Renwick said to Hadrian. “But we don’t know where to go.”

“Take a seat at the table,” Hadrian replied.

All the boys reacted with the same shocked expression, a mixture of fear and wonder.

“Oh, we aren’t going to have the servants eat with us,” Alric said, causing the boys to halt.

“There are enough chairs,” Arista pointed out.

“But honestly, stableboys? Look at them. They’re not just servants; they’re children. There must be somewhere else they can eat.”

“Actually, if I may…” Hadrian spoke loudly, stood up, and grabbed a hold of Mince, who was attempting to worm his way out of the room. “These young men here,” Hadrian said, pointing to Elbright, Kine, and Brand, “assisted in rousing the people of Aquesta to open the gates for you and your army. And Renwick”—Hadrian pointed at the oldest—“was a tremendous help to me as my squire during the time I pretended to be a knight.”

“Still am, sir. I don’t care what they say.”

Hadrian smiled at him. “He also fought in the palace courtyard and was one of the first into the dungeon, if you recall. And this young man here,” he said, holding the squirming boy with both hands, “is Mince. This
child
, as you call him, has been singled out by the empress herself as being instrumental in the overthrow of Ethelred and Saldur. Without them, it is very likely that your sister, Royce, I, and even the empress would all be dead. Oh, and of course, so would you and Mauvin. Not bad for a stableboy. So for all that they have done, don’t you think they deserve a place at our table?”

“Yes, yes, of course, of course,” Alric said quickly, looking a bit ashamed.

“Sit down,” Hadrian told them, and they each took a seat, smiles across their faces.

A rotund woman with short, ratty hair and saddlebag cheeks backed into the room from the kitchen, carrying a deep tray of spit-roasted lamb. She wore a gray wool dress and yet another grease-stained apron.

She approached the table and stopped abruptly, looking at the diners with a disappointed—even irritated—expression. “Missing three,” she said, her high voice reminding Hadrian of a squeaking door.

“I’ll bring a plate up for Royce. He’s… he’s not feeling well,” Hadrian explained.

Arista glanced at him. “Is it okay to leave him alone?”

Hadrian nodded. “I think so. Besides, if he wanted to do something, who’s going to stop him?”

“Elden will also be staying in his room,” Wyatt mentioned. “He has a thing about crowds.”

The cook nodded. Her large breasts, outlined by the apron, hung over the edge of the pan, threatening to nudge the steaming lamb. No one else spoke. Finally she asked, “And where’s
that scoundrel Degan Gaunt? I can’t imagine him turning down a free meal.”

“Scoundrel?” Hadrian said, surprised. “I thought he was a hero here in Ratibor.”

“Hero?”

He nodded. “Yeah, you know. Local boy who went off to seek his fortune, became a pirate, and returned to lead the liberation movement.”

The cook laughed, though it was more like a cackle that juggled its way out of her round throat. She put down the tray and began cutting the meat.

Everyone at the table exchanged glances.

Wyatt shrugged. “I don’t know his background, but Gaunt was no pirate. That I do know.”

Again, the cook cackled and this time put a hand to her lips, which turned the laughter inward and caused her shoulders and chest to bounce.

“Are you going to let us in on the joke?” Alric asked.

“Oh, well, it’s not my place to be spreading rumors, now is it?” she said, and followed the statement by making a show of biting her lower lip. Her hands slowed in their work and then stopped. She looked up and a huge grin pushed the saddlebags apart.

“Okay, so it’s this way,” she said, lowering her voice. “I grew up only a few doors down from Gaunt—right there on Degan Street. Did you know that his mother named him Degan because it was the only word she knew how to spell, having seen the street sign for so many years?”

Now that her mouth was going, so were her hands, and she sliced portions and delivered them to their plates, heedless of the little trails of grease she left. “Anywho, his mother and mine were close and I used to be best friends with his sister, Miranda. She was a joy, but Degan—well, even as a boy he was a demon.
We stayed clear of him when we could. He was a pitiful little wretch. He got caught stealing dozens of times, and not because of need. I mean, I don’t agree with theft, but pinching a loaf of bread from Briklin’s Bakery when the old man has his back turned to surprise your mother with on Wintertide is one thing. I ain’t saying it is right, but I overlook something like that.

“Well, as for Degan, he goes in for stuff like smashing the window on the curio shop so he can have a porcelain rabbit he had his eye on. Thing is, everyone knows he’s a no-good. You can see it in the way shopkeepers watch him or shoo him out the door. They can spot the likes of him a mile away.”

Just then, Ayers barged in. “Jimmy, get to the cellar and roll out another keg. They’ve already drained the one we pulled up earlier.” The boy put down his pitchers and ran toward the kitchen. Ayers stared at the cook. “You’re not bothering these folks, are you, Bella? Is she bothering any of you?”

“Not at all,” Arista replied, and all the heads at the table nodded in agreement.

“Well, keep it that way. She has a way of yammering, she does.”

Bella blinked her eyes innocently.

Jimmy appeared, rolling a barrel from the kitchen.

“How many we got left?” the innkeeper asked.

“Four.”

Ayers frowned. “I shoulda ordered more, but who knew…” He pointed at the diners and shrugged. Ayers took control of the barrel and returned to the tavern. Bella waited a moment, staring at the door. Then a grin filled her face and she went on.

“Now, just ta give you an idea about how bad things got for ole Degan, he even received a visit from the BD telling him to cut it out. Course he don’t and yet somehow managed to avoid punishment. Miranda and I used to talk about how that boy was charmed. But after his mother’s death, he got into
some
real
trouble. Now, I wasn’t there to see it, but rumor is—and it sure seemed like the kinda thing that idiot would do—he got drunk and raped Clara, the candle maker’s daughter. Well, her old man had connections. Not only was he a favorite merchant to the royal chamberlain, but his nephew was in the BD.”

“BD?” Myron asked. “I don’t understand.”

“BD—Black Diamond,” Mauvin told him.

Myron still looked confused.

“Not a lot of literature on them,” Hadrian said. “The Black Diamond is a very powerful thieves’ guild. They control all the illegal activity in a city, just like a potters’ guild controls the pottery market.”

The monk nodded. The cook was standing still again, holding a lamb chop between two greasy, stubby fingers, waiting, as if her body could not move unless her mouth was.

“I’m sorry, please continue,” Myron said. “This is a wonderful story.”

“Well now,” she went on, dumping the chop onto Myron’s plate so roughly and off center that it nearly flipped over. “I remember there were patrols combing the streets for him. They was angry too, shouting that they was gonna hang him, only they never found ole Degan. Turns out that a press-gang near the docks caught him that very night. They didn’t know who he was. They just needed hands for a ship and hauled him off to sea. Like I said, the man is charmed.

“Okay, so this next part I know from reliable folk. Some years later, the ship he was on was attacked by pirates. They done killed the whole crew but somehow ole Degan survived. Who knows how he done it? He probably convinced them pirates he knew where a treasure was buried er sumptin. Anywho, he gets away. Some folks say a storm wrecked the pirate ship, and again he’s the lone survivor. That seems a mite bit
lucky for anyone, but for Degan it doesn’t seem so strange. So he ends up in Delgos and gets into trouble again. He’s back to his old tricks, this time stealing from the merchant families at the border villages. He’s going to be executed for sure this time, but then he spins his greatest tale.

“He says he was only taking the money to finance his dream of freeing the common man from the boot of the aristocracy. Can you believe it? Degan Gaunt, a man of the people? Well, that kinda talk plays real well down that way. Those folks on the peninsula hate the monarchies. They swallow it and, what do you know, not only do they let him go—they give him money for his cause! Well, this just tickles Degan, as you could imagine, and he decides to keep the thing going. He travels all over, giving speeches and getting donations. I heard him once when he was preaching his spiel in Colnora. He was actually pretty good at it—all shouts for liberty and freedom, banging his fist on a podium and working up a sweat. Then a’course he passes the hat. But then—” She stopped talking as she struggled to free a troublesome lamb chop from the rest.

“But then?” Alric asked.

“Oh, sorry,” she said. “Somehow he goes from being this traveling sideshow to actually running an army—and a successful one at that! That’s just strange. It’s one thing to be—”

The crowd outside the door began clapping, and a moment later the door to the dining room opened and Degan stepped inside. He had a disapproving sneer on his face.

“You started serving without me?”

No one answered and the cook puckered her lips, continuing to dish out the meal in silence. Degan took a seat and waited impatiently for his plate. Everyone stared at him until he glared back, irritated. “What?”