Chapter Text
Augustin heard the little whimper from outside the carriage and took savage satisfaction in it.
But he only heard it because the carriage had pulled to a stop, and he took rather less satisfaction in that, as they’d been meant to go to the port today, to see the Great Ships come in, laden with all their oranges and monkeys and spices and things.
Head Tutor sighed, and leaned over at a knock on the ceiling, sticking his head out of the window. “Yes, Coachman?” he called.
“Royal Carriage is sending back guards, nearing the Thieves’ Forest,” said the coachman smartly. “We’ll sort out quickly and be on our way.”
“Yes, thank you,” said Head Tutor, shaking his head.
“Why is it called that?” demanded Augustin. “You never see it called that on a map!”
“A very long time ago, Your Highness, your great-great-grandfather set up a tollway- to enter the forest on either side, you had to pay a toll,” said Head Tutor absently. “And then your great aunts and uncles sent their guards to the tollway to ensure the tolls went on the correct tax collector’s rolls, but they each of them wanted one set of tolls on the rolls, and another set in their pockets.”
“Oh,” said Prince Augustin. “But that’s…”
“Thievery,” agreed Head Tutor. “Most common people were able to re-route their caravans and goods in other directions, and so the Great Road to the port became ill-traveled and it was all a bit of a mess until it was balanced again, so but the common people remember, Your Highness.”
“So We are the thieves?” demanded Prince Augustin, shocked.
“Mm,” hummed Head Tutor. “From a certain point of view, I suppose. There are those who feel that balance… carries forward, several generations.”
“How many generations?” asked Prince Augustin immediately. “Before we don’t have to… count things anymore?”
“I suppose as many generations as it takes for the people who call it the Thieves’ Forest to forget who the thieves were,” sighed Head Tutor, shaking his head.
A knock came again.
“Yes?” asked Head Tutor, once again craning his neck.
“Little ‘un asks can His Highness come and chat, whilst we wait?” asked the coachman’s lad brightly.
“Oh, yes, I very much can,” said Prince Augustin cheerfully, standing quickly and letting himself out of the little door with its fancy latch to jump down.
“Do be careful,” called Feste’s tutor, although the man sounded very ill, yet.
“Your Highness!” called Feste happily, from the little bench on the back. “Did you see? Did you see?”
“See what, Feste?” asked Prince Augustin eagerly. “I can’t- the blasted windows, Tutor always draws the curtains shut because he says the jostling is bad enough without watching the world hop about.”
“Rowre was saying about the sleeping dragon hill,” Feste said excitedly, waving his arms, “and I saw it move, I did!”
“Sleeping dragon hill?” asked Prince Augustin scornfully.
“Eh, yeah, Your Highness,” said Rowre hesitantly. “‘S’n’old tale, that.”
“What?” demanded Prince Augustin, drawing himself up and attempting to look at Rowre the way Tutor looked at people he thought shouldn’t speak.
“He says it’s an old tale,” explained Feste excitedly. “Isn’t it- the king had a daughter, and the daughter needed marrying, and so he said the bravest man in the realm could marry her, and his people- the- the secret special people-” he peered at Rowre.
“Acolytes and dedicats,” said Rowre with clipped enunciation.
“Yes, those,” agreed Feste, nodding. “Went to ask the Ancient Ones and They gave them a dragon, only on balance, for people to have to be brave, the dragon had to be very bad and fierce, and so it was, and it went about doing all this burning and breaking things and such and then!”
The little boy’s face lit up with delight as he waved- “And then the bravest knight went up and said they all were doing it wrong, trying to kill him and rip his wings off and things, and he put the dragon to sleep! Right there!”
“The Ancient Ones do not have dragons,” said Prince Augustin with firm certainty, very convicted that if he could ask Them for a dragon, someone would have mentioned it before.
“It’s only a story,” said Rowre carefully. “An old one.”
Prince Augustin glared at the lad.
“But I saw it move, Augustin!” said Feste excitedly, bouncing a bit on the bench, which bounced Rowre and made the lad wince, which made Augustin feel again that dull, dark sense of satisfaction. “I mean Your Highness, sorry, I didn’t- I-”
“I shall forgive you,” said Prince Augustin fondly. “As I always do, Feste.”
“Thank you,” breathed Feste, his face glowing with good humor despite the sling that still held his arm tightly to his chest.
Rowre, Prince Augustin noted with a simmering scowl, had his arm around the little boy so he didn’t fall forward off the bench, his two new black boots shoved up against the little kickboard to brace himself.
“I’m very bored in the carriage,” Augustine told Feste. “If I ask, perhaps Head Tutor will say you can come inside and entertain me.”
“Oh,” said Feste, his face falling. “But… I mightn’t see the hills? Only the coachman’s boy said we were coming to the Thieves’ Forest and if I- if we were to look very hard, we might see one of the handless ghosts?”
The little boy craned his neck, before shivering.
Prince Augustin was actually quite interested in handless ghosts, so he tilted his head and asked, “Why are they handless?”
“Well, Your Highness, if you couldn’t pay the toll, say, if you had goods for sale, down the Port,” said Rowre, paying close attention, Prince Augustin was gratified to note, to the shaping of his words, “you could leave a man behind, to stand as good as. And then, when you come back with coin, you could pay the toll, and have him back with you.”
“Except,” said Feste excitedly, leaning in, “if you didn’t have enough, then they wouldn’t keep him, but let you take him, but you must leave a portion behind, you see, Your Highness?”
Prince Augustin didn’t see.
It made no sense!
That was bad balance, that!
“And so they chopped off their hands?” he demanded sternly. “You’re pulling my leg.”
“No,” breathed Feste, horrified at the suggestion. “He wouldn’t, would you, Rowre?”
“I’m only telling the old tales,” said Rowre carefully, his eye watching Augustin in way that made Augustin very distinctly wary, in return. “It’s a way to pass the time, Your Highness. No one knows if they happened or not.”
“I think they did, Your Highness,” said Feste firmly. “And I mean to watch out for handless ghosts, and cry out if I see one, and you can take up your sword and strike them, can’t you, Your Highness?”
“I can,” said Prince Augustin with confidence, for he bore a thrice-blessed blade at his hip.
“Swordmaster says soon I can go and beg leave to carry a blade in the low prince’s defense,” said Feste proudly.
“It’ll be a year or six yet, before you’re granted the boon,” said Berte, prowling around the other side of the carriage and giving himself a stretch. “You well, back here, Feste?”
“Yes, thank you, Berte,” said Feste cheerfully, smiling brightly at the guard.
Berte grunted.
“Causing any problems?” Berte asked Rowre next.
“None yet,” said Rowre in a faint tone, lifting his chin.
“I’ll be waiting,” Berte told the lad, as he always did.
Prince Augustin stopped the savage smile before it could show, because it wasn’t a very nice face to make, and he rather thought Gracious Majesty Mother would want him to keep it on the inside.
But he was very glad Berte never forgot that Rowre was a rat.
Cavalry with the royal livery trotted up, then, and Berte hawked a gob of spit that very much impressed Prince Augustin even as it disgusted him.
“Your Highness, the carriage should be ready to go, when these lot have gotten themselves sorted,” Berte prompted him.
Prince Augustin watched Feste peer around the carriage side into the forest ahead of them, Rowre holding onto the little boy’s thigh so that he didn’t fall.
He couldn’t very well demand Feste join him in the carriage when the boy wasn’t allowed and didn’t want to come.
It would be rude, and it would upset everyone, and he’d have so many ringing scolds heaped upon his head, and anyway perhaps Head Tutor would simply say no, and then he’d have held them up for nothing.
Prince Augustin kicked a stone and stomped back to the carriage’s ornate door, jumping himself back up and in before Berte could lift him up.
Head Tutor had his head back in his book, frowning at something in the pages. Tutor was still fanning himself and looking sickly.
He felt the carriage sway as Berte climbed back aboard, and glared at the empty cushion beside Head Tutor.
They began to creak and roll ahead, and he briefly wondered if he could be given leave to lift only a corner of a curtain, that he might look for handless ghosts and find them before Feste could cry out, but then he remembered it had been his great aunts and uncles, perhaps, who had taken off their hands, and anyway it was only Rowre telling old peasant stories, which should be forgotten soon, so that Prince Augustin wouldn’t have to keep carrying forward the balance of what his many-time ancestors had done to the many-times ancestors of Feste and Rowre.
He kicked the air between the seats only a little, and Head Tutor put down his book.
Prince Augustin refused to meet the man’s searching gaze.
“Is Feste enjoying himself, Your Highness?” asked Head Tutor with sympathy.
“He hates carriage rides,” Prince Augustin informed him. “The coachmaster’s boy is always teasing him and he- he’s usually been whipped, although of course not this time, but he does have a broken arm. And it jounces him so his head aches, and he cries because he could fall.”
“I haven’t heard him cry, Your Highness,” said Head Tutor quietly.
Prince Augustin frowned. “It’s early yet,” he told the man ominously.
“Mm,” hummed the Head Tutor. “It’s not long, now, if we’re in the forest, and we’ll be at the port.”
“It’s not a sea port,” sighed Prince Augustin. “Do you think Gracious Majesty Mother will allow me to go to Nasre and see the sea with you, sometime?”
Head Tutor marked his page and put his book aside, Prince Augustin noted with interest. “She may,” he told Augustin, his eyes bright as he considered the suggestion. “We must herald our arguments in support of such a journey. Tell me, what would you expect to learn, going to see the sea?”
“Oh,” said Prince Augustin, delighted to have found an ally in the long campaign he had waged for a trip to see the real port city where Glorious Majesty Father had been born. “Well, you see…”
It was the rumbly, rough cobblestones and the sound of the people that made him abruptly aware, much later in the journey, that they had made it to the port.
“Very well reasoned, should you think, Thessle?” said the Head Tutor with satisfaction.
“I only wish it weren’t,” sighed Feste’s tutor unhappily.
“Now, now, Tutor,” said Head Tutor fondly, “I marched an army to those shores not that long ago, I’m sure I can manage a wagon with supplies and the rest of us astride, what would you say to that?”
Feste’s tutor perked up a bit, and there was an angle Augustin had never attempted himself.
“May we?” he demanded, staring at Head Tutor with shock. “Ride, I mean.”
“Is there any reason you need to travel inside the carriage?” mused Head Tutor. “Exhaustion, I suppose. Protection… is dubious. We’d need a full complement of guards, but they’d be happier as Berte is, outside, where they can properly scan and see.”
“And young Feste is gathering skills daily,” said Feste’s tutor, sitting up a bit and pulling back the curtain as they came to a full stop. “Oh, Your Highness, look, they’ve gathered!”
Prince Augustin shoved back his own curtain, and began to wave.
This was actually the best part of coming down to port to see the ships come in- all the people lined the streets and shouted at you.
He put his hand inside Glorious Majesty Father’s special pouch, and drew out the iceflower crystals tucked inside, tossing them as far from the carriage as he could manage.
The children outside jumped and shouted and raced to collect them, although they floated on the gentle breeze quite nicely, drifting into safety exactly as they should.
“Your Highness!” shouted Feste, very excitedly, and Augustin grinned. That was exactly what he’d hoped!
He watched as the peasant children laughed with glee and tucked the little treats on their tongues, and then tossed another handful, and another.
Iceflowers on a hot day- one of the last hot days of summer, Gracious Majesty Mother had remarked that morning- were a fleeting, fanciful thing, but you got to throw them as a royal, and people enjoyed them ever-so-much.
Rowre appeared, smiling broadly, and ducked his head, erasing the smile when Augustin glowered at him.
“For Feste, I’ll take it to him direc’ly,” promised the lad, holding up a hand.
Augustin eyed it, throwing another handful over the lad’s head, and then gave in.
Feste’s delighted, “Your Highness!” was worth it, in the end.
As was the thought that the bad lad had to climb down and back up, and it must be somewhat painful, mustn’t it?
The small pouch was endless- he could throw and throw for hours and they’d still have more- but his arm was not, and he was a little hot and tired, himself, by the time the carriage reached the little space beside the long docks where it always came to a stop.
Head Tutor straightened his robes with a deft, fast hand, using Feste’s tutor’s little comb to address his hair.
“You’ll do,” he declared, with a grin, and Augustin grinned back, waiting properly by the door for the coachman’s boy to come and open the door, which he did smartly, lowering the steps as well.
Augustin walked down, and Feste fell in just behind him, and Head Tutor behind him, and Feste’s tutor behind him, and then Rowre the rat, and Berte walked as Berte always walked when crowds surrounded Prince Augustin, a pace behind everyone, but never on the same side more than one step, snaking back and forth along the path and with a glare for everyone equally.
He joined the royal procession, which anyway this year was only High Prince and Heir Weddelly, and the High Prince and Princess Mitkillin and Presselbia, and then the Low Princess Amasta, his next-oldest-sibling. In the late spring the Princess Royale would get to come, and the Heir and the twins would stay behind, and the other Low Princes would come, instead, and he and Amasta might be allowed to come, or might be kept at home, depending.
Everyone knew very well where to stand, except Rowre, who’d been told to stand at Head Tutor’s left shoulder only that morning, because he’d never done a Procession before, and so they made short work of the Procession, thank the Ancient Ones.
When they were at the castle with all the nobles and things, people were always fighting about who processed where and when and it could slow things to a snails pace, but today it was only the royal family and everyone knew where to stand all the time, amongst the royal family.
The Portmaster had his belt with all the keys on the very fat ring, for keeping all the ledgers and locks and things, and he had many things to say and you mustn’t yawn or act like you’d heard them the year before, but they were all very dull, and so Prince Augustin looked instead at the ships in the little harbor, and tried to imagine which of the things they’d see next came from which of the ships out there.
Gracious Majesty Mother had quite a bit to say, and Glorious Majesty Father had some, as well, but not nearly as much because, after all, it wasn’t really his side of the house.
They looked very fine in their stiff embroidered robes, and so did High Prince and Heir Weddelly. The Royal Twins and Low Princess Amasta were resplendent, but somewhat less covered in thick needlework, their own simpler high robes very much in line with the robes Augustin wore.
After all, going to Port to see the ships come in before they went back down the Great River and were pulled up for winter for repairs and things was important, but it wasn’t important like the Fetes Gracious Majesty Mother hosted at the castle, and you didn’t have to wear your very best robes, because everyone knew you were only there for the day and you’d spend most of the day in the carriage, and you did need to be comfortable.
But then the exciting part began, where the shipmasters brought out their most interesting things from the summer trade, and presented them to Gracious Majesty Mother, and she inspected them and sent them down the line, and everyone had to say nice things- Augustin didn’t need to practice anymore what nice things could be said, he remembered the courteous phrases- but then you could look at things and ask questions, and they answered you.
And sometimes the things were good to eat, and that was Augustin’s second favorite part.
His favorite part was the animals.
This year, like every year, the shipmasters showed Gracious Majesty Mother all the little trained rare and exotic creatures, although there was no man with a snake in a basket, to Augustin’s disappointment.
But there were two small creatures who looked rather like stretched-out, long bears, who rolled and jumped around each other quite as if it were a dance and made Princess Amasta clap her hands with delight.
Augustin knew about bears, because when he’d been five, they’d brought a snowbear, and the mages had bound it well, and he’d been allowed to climb up and ride it, which had made Glorious Majesty Father laugh and Gracious Majesty Mother bite her lip.
He quite wanted Feste to see a snake in a basket and a snowbear, but he didn’t mind it much, because instead, the ninth shipmaster brought up a tyger.
“Cor,” breathed Feste, behind him, and Augustin reached back, to pull the little boy closer, and tuck him under his arm so he had the best view Augustin could give him.
It was white with black stripes, and had very blue eyes just as Feste did, and Augustin could not have been more pleased with the shipmaster than if he had caught and trapped the beast and brought it so Feste could very bravely reach out a hand and touch its dense fur.
“Does it live in trees?” asked Prince Augustin politely.
“Snow,” said the man, shaking his head. “Rocks and snow, for miles and leagues, year round, nothing but snow.”
“Oh,” said Prince Augustin who thought that sounded rather dull. He’d had a picture of an orange and a green one in a book in his old nursery, and they’d been asleep in trees and there had been strange fruit and snakes and things in that picture, and it had always interested him.
But rocks and snow they had here in the realm, during winter, and so that was much less interesting.
The man put Feste up on the tiger, which alarmed Her Gracious Majesty Mother again, but Glorious Majesty Father threw his head back and laughed and laughed.
The tyger’s tongue, when it licked up iceflower crystals from Augustin’s palm, was raspy and rough, and so he had to dump a handful into Feste’s hand, and was very pleased when the little boy didn’t burst into tears at being so near to the tyger’s sharp teeth, but only gasped and quivered with excitement.
They were rowed out to the nearest boat, and had a very good dinner on the deck, full of interesting things that Augustin did not eat, and very good chowder, which he ate more than his share of, but that was fine, Head Tutor told him quietly, because chowder was full of things that helped his brain to grow.
Feste was very tired, and even stumbled a bit as they walked to the carriage, and so Head Tutor picked him up and carried him inside and didn’t leave him to ride on the back bench, and they were nearly out of the forest and almost most of the way home, when the carriage made a very strange noise, and Head Tutor shouted, very loudly, “WARE, BERTE, WARE!”
Rowre shouted very loudly, as well, which made Augustin go to pull the curtain, but Head Tutor knocked him down into the floor and shoved Feste at him, too, making the boy squawk and burst into shocked tears.
“Your Highness,” said Head Tutor, having somehow unsheathed his blade and holding it now in the ready position toward the door, “unsheathe your sword, and hold it over you and Feste. Thessle, yours too, my good man, I’ll have you mind the windows opposite the door.”
“Is it the ghosts?” sobbed Feste quietly, trembling all over with fear and crying.
“Hush, child,” said Head Tutor, and Feste, being very good and very brave for such a little boy, did his best.
Augustin wrestled with his blade, and got it out, bracing the pommel on Feste’s hip and pointing it at the door, checking carefully to ensure he wouldn’t foul Head Tutor’s line of engagement.
There was quite a lot of shouting and yelling and the horses made such a ruckus that Augustin’s sword trembled a bit.
“Let the guards do their work,” said Head Tutor in a very grim voice.
The shouting and clanging and even screaming and wailing went on quite a long while, and then there came a knock at the door and an unfamiliar voice said, “All’s well inside?”
“Very well indeed,” called Head Tutor.
“Nils?!” called the voice, and the door opened to the bloodstained face of a guard, grinning widely. “Well, bless my buttons, it is you, m’lord! I thought you were on your deathbed yet?”
“Rumors,” sighed Head Tutor, taking a very deep breath, “will have me dead, in chains, or married every other hour.”
“Aye, well, we’ve a happy handful to drag behind us of all three, m’lord,” said the man cheerfully, as Augustin scrambled up onto the seat to peer out behind the man.
There wasn’t much to see from this angle, though.
“The Prince will remain in the carriage, with his Conscience,” declared Head Tutor, lifting Feste to the seat beside him. “Thessle, see that he does not leave.”
“Yes, Nils,” sighed Thessle, wiping at his brow.
“I will only go to check and make sure the things you mustn’t see are dealt with, Your Highness,” said Head Tutor sternly. “And then you may come out and tell the guards that they did well, and especially thank any guards who have been injured in your defense.”
Augustin nodded eagerly.
“It won’t be but a moment, Your Highness,” said the guard cheerfully. “They were a sorry lot, and we’ve mostly collected any guts they were clumsy enough to lose on the ground.”
“Apax,” scolded Head Tutor.
“He’s a likely lad,” protested the guard. “Everyone says he’s bound for the front!”
“Not today,” said Head Tutor, climbing out of the carriage with a careful slide instead of the jump Augustin always gave, when the steps weren’t down yet. He turned around and gave Augustin a very stern glare, nodded to Thessle, and murmured, “Very well done, Feste,” to the little boy, who swallowed hard and nodded, scrubbing at his tear-streaked face with his hands.
Augustin listened very, very carefully, but people were only saying very boring things like, drag him here, and you lot sit there and clean your sword, dash it all, and things like that.
It took quite a long time, much more than a moment, before the door opened again, and the coachman’s boy, with quite a shocking bruise on his face, lowered the little stairs.
Augustin was out in a moment and down them, almost tripping himself with his speed.
“You might put away your sword, Your Highness,” sighed Head Tutor, in a quiet voice, “as it won’t see any action.”
“I might cut off their hands,” offered Augustin, “if it’s time to balance?”
“It is not time for that,” said Head Tutor firmly. “Her Gracious Majesty will need to confer for quite a long time with the learned judges on the exact balance for today’s little action, Your Highness.”
“Oh,” sighed Augustin, shoving his sword back into its scabbard. “Very well.”
“May I s-stay?” asked Feste from the carriage door.
Augustin rolled his eyes- he couldn’t help it, and turned to give the little boy an imperious glare.
Feste and his tutor both looked out with similar pleading expressions.
“No,” said Head Tutor very firmly. “You’ll come out, both of you, and please hold Feste’s hand, Tutor. The bandits who attacked are very well contained, and the coachman is seeing to the carriage and might need to hoist it up a bit to make repairs.”
“Thank’ee m’lord,” called the coachman, patting the horse he’d been inspecting, who had a bloody wound, Augustin was shocked to see.
“They shot that horse!” said Augustin, eyeing the broken arrow in the horseman’s hand.
“There will be many things that need balance, and that is one of them, Your Highness,” agreed Head Tutor solemnly. “Come, your men are waiting for you, and you must tell them well done, good job.”
“If any want iceflower crystals, they’re ever-so-refreshing,” said Augustin hopefully, as Feste and his tutor came up behind him.
“For sure the wounded will want them, Your Highness,” said Head Tutor in a bracing kind of voice. “And you may certainly offer them to any guard, but do not be disappointed if they are busy about their work and do not want to stop for refreshment.”
“Yes, that’s very good of them, actually,” said Augustin firmly. “May I see the wounded first, Head Tutor?”
“A very perfect priority, Your Highness,” approved Head Tutor. “Litch, Delph, can you assemble your lesser-wounded near the gravely-wounded ones, that His Highness may offer them praise?”
Two of the ones with the sashes that meant they were officers dashed off, as Head Tutor walked Augustin and Feste and Feste’s tutor over to the row of men sitting and lying on the ground.
One man’s face was covered with his tabard, and Augustin eyed it uneasily, thinking perhaps the man should like to breathe without it over his face like that, if he were wounded.
There was, withall, a lot of blood on the bright silver and purple tabards of the men sitting and lying on the ground, and more than one man clutched a blood-soaked cloth to a wound underneath.
“Six wounded, Your Highness,” murmured Head Tutor.
“Not a bad count,” said Berte, “for flea-infested forest scum.”
Berte, Augustin was very glad to see, looked very much like Berte, and had only flecks of blood about his person, and didn’t seem to have any of his own blood anywhere.
“Who pulled the brake?” asked Head Tutor of Berte.
“Guess,” said Berte, sounding irritated.
“Well done,” drawled Head Tutor, sounding impressed and very proud. “I had my suspicions, and I’m glad I was correct.”
“Took us by surprise, waiting until the last carriage,” sighed Berte, “clever buggars.”
Augustin gasped, suppressing the noise when he realized what he’d done.
But it was only that it was such a naughty word that he really wasn’t allowed to hear it!
He wasn’t even supposed to know it at all, Feste’s tutor had explained.
“We’ve sent a man ahead, to collect more guards and send back for a wagon,” Head Tutor told Berte.
“Aye, that’ll do,” said Berte, nodding.
“And His Highness is coming to thank the wounded, and offer them his iceflower crystals as refreshment,” said Head Tutor, sounding very cheerful.
“They’ll love that, Your Highness,” drawled Berte, giving Augustin a very slow smile. “That’ll make a story to tell their grandkids, that will, Your Highness, it’s very good of you to do it.”
“It was very good of them to come to my aid,” said Augustin very loudly and very clearly.
That’s what you were supposed to say when servants unexpectedly helped you out of a muddle or a mess.
“Indeed, Your Highness,” said Head Tutor, nodding at the little row of wounded guards.
Augustin went immediately to the first one, who looked up at him with a cheerful smile despite the bloody rag he clamped to his side. “Your Highness,” he greeted Augustin respectfully. “How may I serve you?”
“You’ve served me very well,” said Augustin. “I have no medals and things to give you- I will ask Gracious Majesty Mother for some, directly we get home- but I do have some iceflower crystals, and they’re very refreshing, if you would like?”
“I- of course, Your Highness,” said the guard, tilting his head back and opening his mouth.
Augustin had to draw very near, but he made certain every single one of the handful of crystals ended up in the man’s mouth.
“They’re spelled with luck and health,” he told the guard very seriously. “And some safety, although that one’s very complex, it sort of- makes sure they don’t get you into an unsafe kind of place.”
“I thank you, Your Highness, luck and health and a safe place to stand is all I very much need at the moment,” said the guard, smiling even more cheerfully up at Augustin as he swallowed.
“I’m sorry you were hurt,” said Augustin. “Is it very bad? You’re very brave.”
“It’s no worse than a missed block in the practice ring,” the guard assured him, although then he grimaced. “And anyway, they’ll send back the Healer and the Druid, and one will set me to rights, Your Highness.”
“Only they didn’t heal Feste- my Conscience- up all the way, when he just broke his arm,” said Augustin apologetically.
“Then I’m doubly grateful to you for the little spells, Your Highness,” said the guard, giving him the best bow he probably could, seated as he was and with his wounds and all.
Augustin went to each and everyone guard, and talked about their wounds and thanked them for their service and offered the little iceflower crystals, and they all took a full handful of the crystals and smiled as best they could and tried to bow.
And then he came to the man with the tabard over his head.
“Your Highness,” said Head Tutor, “the other wounded men are gathered.”
“What about this man?” demanded Augustin, staring at the tabard with its bloodstains.
“He’s not able to hear your words or accept the kindness of the iceflowers, Your Highness,” said Head Tutor solemnly.
“When he wakes up, I should like to tell him my thanks, and give him ever-so-many crystals, if I may,” Augustin told Head Tutor earnestly.
“Yes, when he wakes,” said Feste’s tutor quickly.
“He won’t wake, Your Highness,” said Head Tutor in a quiet, calm voice, his gaze on Augustin very kind but firm, indeed.
Augustin drew a breath. “Because he is very dead, Head Tutor?”
“He is, Your Highness” agreed Head Tutor, nodding his head.
“He died to protect me?” Augustin said, his hand gripping his sword pommel in a sudden clench, a shiver running up and down his spine.
“He did,” agreed Head Tutor. “It is a guard’s duty to do so, Your Highness.”
Augustin couldn’t see the balance in it, but he knew about duty.
You had to do your duty, even if you didn’t like it very much.
“He died bravely,” said the wounded man beside the body. “Your Highness.”
Augustin looked into the wounded man’s pale, sweaty face, and thought a great many things all at once, so that he couldn’t find any words, except to say, “I thank him very much, but I wish he hadn’t had to, guardsman.”
“That’s a credit to you, Your Highness,” said the guard, and all around, the men gave little hear, hear and well said cheers.
And so then Augustin went to the men who had wandered over from their duties, bearing much less bloody tabards, some of them only with knocks to the head or things, and gave them all iceflower crystal, as well, and they said very jolly things to him about how he was a royal they’d happily follow into any forest, and things like that.
There was nothing really to do, after that, as Head Tutor wouldn’t allow him near the little guarded circle of prisoners, and the bodies- for Augustin now knew if you covered the head with cloth, it was a dead body- laid out beside them.
Rowre was helping the coachman’s boy hold the horses steady as the coachman worked with some of the other guards on something to do with the carriage’s wheel, and Head Tutor allowed that they might find it interesting to watch him work, and so they did for a good long while, until Feste leaned right into Augustin’s side and he realized how tired the little boy was.
The sky was beginning to darken, in fact, and the guards were making a little fire near the wounded, and Head Tutor said as long as they didn’t go into the wood, they might help to find twigs and sticks and things, so long as Augustin and Feste minded Feste’s tutor and stayed within sword range of him.
Augustin found a great many sticks, and Feste found very few, but that was all right.
They had just got the fire going, when they began to hear hooves in the distance, a low rumbling noise that built and built.
“That’ll be the first round, for us,” Berte said to Head Tutor. “Men and horses.”
“Yes, and then the carts, which I leave in Captain Policke’s good hands,” sighed Head Tutor.
“Rowre’s in no condition to ride,” Berte said, “and the coachman says he won’t be able to move the carriage until the wheel hub has been addressed, it’ll risk further damage.”
“He’s my man,” said Head Tutor sternly, “and he’ll ride if I tell him ride. I won’t leave him behind.”
Which was quite proper, in Augustin’s opinion, and anyway, Rowre must do as he was told, same as Feste and every other lad and boy in the realm.
“I’ll take Feste and he can ride pillion with you,” offered Berte.
“I can take Feste,” offered Augustin, startling Feste, who had started to droop against his side, his very long stick resting at the edge of the fire instead of poking in the ashes as it had been doing just a few moments before.
“He’ll need to go with a grown man, or he might fall off,” said Head Tutor, shaking his head. “But thank you, Your Highness, that was very kindly said.”
“He won’t like you, Berte,” said Augustin sternly. “So you must take Rowre.”
“I don’t mind Berte,” said Feste, sounding grumpy and sleepy, both. He gave a great yawn, and Augustin felt something very angry lodge itself in his throat, for Feste was always far too forgiving.
“The disposition of my man is not up to you, Your Highness,” said Head Tutor sternly. “Berte will take very good care of Feste, and Rowre quite properly belongs with me.”
“He can stay behind,” directed Augustin.
“He’s not the Royal Guard’s responsibility, Your Highness,” said Head Tutor, turning to give Augustin a very piercing look, indeed.
“Feste needs the best,” said Augustin, as the horses neared.
“Then we must absolutely give him to Berte,” said Head Tutor very firmly, nodding in agreement. “Because it was Berte who did the most, today. Beyond Rowre, of course.”
“What did Rowre do?” demanded Augustin scornfully.
The lad had shrieked as the carriage had bumped abruptly to a halt, and then held some horses’ bridles, that was all!
“Lad spotted movement in the trees and pulled the brake, shouted out just as I caught the edge of the net spell the buggars had laid across the path,” said Berte, sounding angry and again using words Augustin was well aware one didn’t use in polite company- and certainly didn’t use in exalted company!
“So he broke the axle!” declared Augustin, standing up and crossing his arms. “So he can stay behind and mind the carriage, and that’s a good balance and anyway, he can’t ride because you had to whip him again last night because he’s such a bad lad and-”
But he never got a chance to finish. Head Tutor was striding forward very quickly, with a very big frown growing on his face, and Augustin had to scramble backwards, heart in his throat, because the man wore a blade and a belt, and all the authority of someone who’d commanded battalions.
Feste yelped, and the injured guards were all watching with expressions of shock and surprise, as Head Tutor commanded, “Hold your ground!” exactly as Swordmaster did in the practice ring.
Augustin’s body went stiff, and he saw other men also freeze about their chores, heads whipping around to see what the danger was.
Everyone was looking at him.
Augustin felt his lower lip tremble, and he wasn’t going to cry before all these men- the wounded men who’d told him Thank you, Your Highness, not that long before, as he’d offered them the iceflower crystals as refreshment, and the men who’d saved his life and guarded the bandits and, he was suddenly aware, the arriving patrol of guards with fresh mounts would also see, and watch him, while Head Tutor scolded him.
“I don’t have to listen to you,” he spat at Head Tutor, and then he turned on his heel and ran for the forest.
“Your Highness!” shouted Feste and Berte and several of the men took up the cry, as well. Their concern only made him run harder, tripping a little over rocks and roots and things and being hit by branches because it was getting a little darker, now, and he wasn’t really looking where he was going.
He didn’t hear Head Tutor say a word, but he did hear the man’s footsteps gaining on him, and gaining on him, until finally the man lifted him up with a strong arm under Augustin’s own, pulling him back to the man’s chest.
Augustin had not a thought in his head as he thrashed in that hold, thinking only to get away, to be gone, to go, go, go.
“Shhh, Your Highness,” soothed Head Tutor eventually, and it was then that Augustin realized he was sobbing, great big huge loud, noisy things, and he only hoped they were far enough away from the road that nobody could hear him do it.
He stopped fighting as the man continued to murmur, his voice rumbling up from his chest, low and hypnotic where it hit Augustin’s ear. “You’ve done very well today, and we’ve asked so much of you,” Head Tutor was saying, quietly and gently. “So very much, Your Highness, and you’ve done so very well. There, there, let it all out, Your Highness, all of it out, that’s very well done.”
Augustin cried harder, until he made himself sick, and Head Tutor simply stepped them away from the mess and put Augustin on his feet, pulling a handkerchief from his doublet and rubbing it on Augustin’s mouth and chin, before dropping it to the ground to rub his back, and continue his stream of words.
It was all so efficiently managed!
Did the man never- did he never-?
-did he always know just what to do?!
Augustin cried until he couldn’t anymore, while Head Tutor simply rubbed his back and told him he’d done very well.
Very well at what?! thought Augustin, horrified. He’d had a bad attitude and fought with Head Tutor, and then run off into the woods, and Berte would be so mad, and Feste was going to have to be beaten with the cane or a belt or something else even more awful, and he’d promised that wouldn’t happen!
“I’m sorry,” he croaked at Head Tutor. “Please don’t- I know I’ve been very bad, but please don’t beat Feste, I- I’ll do anything, please don’t, he’s been badly frightened today and I- I- I wasn’t thinking and I- I- I know it’s especially bad to run off if there might be more bandits and I-”
It turned out he did have more tears he could cry.
“Shhh,” said Head Tutor, pulling him forward.
Augustin hesitated, because he didn’t very much like to be coddled, but Head Tutor was very firm about it and didn’t pick him up when he wrapped his arms around Augustin’s shoulders and pressed his head into Head Tutor’s doublet.
Augustin cried whatever was left in him, onto the man, making a very big wet spot and not very much caring.
“Now,” said Head Tutor, when the cries had turned back into sniffles, “that was a very well-done apology.”
Augustin pulled out a handkerchief and rubbed at his face, gasping for air.
“Her Gracious Majesty the Queen couldn’t have done a better one,” Head Tutor said firmly, which made Augustin choke a laugh, because of course she could have done better than that.
He sighed, and shoved the handkerchief back in the little slit in his robes.
“Many guards desert- that means to leave the Queen’s Guard abruptly, with no notice- the night after their first battle or sortie,” said Head Tutor very seriously, ducking his head a little so that Augustin lifted his eyes despite the shame that choked his throat. “It’s a great thing to bear, the weight of the action and fighting, the fear and the sounds, and then, of course, the wounded and the dead.”
Augustin swallowed hard, and then nodded. “Yes,” he said simply, the only word he could manage.
“If they’ve a very good Captain, she or he will chase them,” said Head Tutor, “did you know that?”
“Th-they will?” asked Augustin, who had not known that.
Head Tutor nodded, although it was getting very dark. “And do you know what happens, if their Captain finds them, as they are in the middle of deserting after their first battle?”
“Punishment?” hazarded Augustin, who really had no idea what you would do to balance that sort of thing in your guards.
“Mm, they could,” agreed Head Tutor. “Some might. But the very best Captains help them collect themselves, and return to camp, and put it out that they’ve taken a little stroll around the perimeter to settle their nerves. And everyone says, well, that’s all right, then, because if your Captain takes you for a stroll of the perimeter, well, nothing more to be said about it, is there? You must follow orders and obey.”
Augustin sniffled.
“So here is what I propose,” said Head Tutor. “You and I shall take a turn around the perimeter, checking for more bandits, you see. And when we head back to the carriage, they’ll be all sorted out and ready for us to mount and ride back to the castle. They’ll want to switch out the injured carriage horses, if they brought any spares, and decide which of the men will remain behind and which will go to the castle, there’s a great deal of work to be done yet. They likely brought food and they’ll want to divide that up and make sure Feste gets some, as well.”
Augustin breathed, a very deep breath, and nodded. It did seem like there must be a lot of work to do, to get them back to the castle in good order.
“And when we get back to the clearing, we’ll let everyone know we were doing a stroll of the perimeter, and nothing more need be said,” Head Tutor told him seriously.
Augustin drew a breath, and then nodded a final time. “Yes,” he said, and then he added, “Please.”
“Good, Your Highness,” said Head Tutor. “Come, let’s walk, and we’ll keep the fire in our line of sight as we do it.”
Augustin was embarrassed, a little, to note that Berte slipped off back to the carriage, and behind him one of the sash-wearing officers, as they began to walk.
But Berte had been in the Guard as well, and he’d know, about strolling the perimeter, and how you had to do what your Captain said.
It was very much the same with Head Tutors.
They walked, and Head Tutor talked about his own first sortie, and how awful it had felt to look at the dead and feel very much like they oughtn’t to be dead. To feel a balance owed, he said seriously, that one might never properly repay.
Augustin said very little, for he was feeling very tired, and very hot, and very small, sometimes, beside the strong and sturdy Head Tutor, who mother said was resting and recovering, but who never much seemed to need rest.
When they came to the road, they crossed it quietly, and yes, there the guards were, very busy about their tasks, the officers with their sashes grouped up by the carriage conferring with the coachman, who was clearly waving at the axle.
By the fire, Rowre sat, one arm around a drowsing Feste, and his mouth was moving like he was telling the little boy some story.
Rowre didn’t much sit, when he could stand, but he sat by the fire and held Feste, and didn’t look like he minded it very much at all.
It was full dark, when they exited the forest on the other side, and the man who’d opened the carriage door at the end of all the fighting raised his hand to them and stepped forward smartly.
“Perimeter secured, m’lord?” he asked Head Tutor. “Your Highness?”
“Very secure,” said Head Tutor. “Not a bandit in sight, and we tromped everywhere and made sure to stir them up, if any were still about.”
“Very good, m’lord,” said the man. “The carriagemaster refuses to leave the carriage, so we’ve loaded it with the wounded, and we’ll take his boy back, as the boy knows exactly the part that’s needed and who to speak to at the wheelwright’s shop.”
“Very good,” said Head Tutor, scrubbing at his face. “We’ve lost none of the-”
“None, m’lord,” said the man, as if he was soothing Head Tutor. “And they did have time to pack a little kit, and they’ve all been dosed with Be-Well, which ought to hold them. They said the carts were on their way directly behind the cavalry, you’ll meet them on your return.”
Head Tutor sighed. “I know you know your duty,” he murmured.
“I’ve saved back some rolls for you and His Highness,” said the guard captain, “easy food to eat on a horse, and we’ve waterskins, as well.”
“You’ve thought of everything,” laughed Head Tutor, shaking his head. “Well, at least we could help with the perimeter.”
“Very much, m’lord,” agreed the man, giving Augustin a nod. “I remember well my own perimeter check with you, and I would not be here today to think of everything, had you not caught me and taken me for a stroll.”
Augustin stared at the man, who gave him a very firm nod and the kind of sympathetic look that tightened Augustin’s throat and made tears sting his eyes so he had to blink.
“Lead me to my horse, and find me my man,” sighed Head Tutor. “Tell Berte to take up Feste, and find His Highness the best mount we have available, he’s a very accomplished rider and you needn’t worry he only needs the gentlest.”
“Yes, m’lord,” said the guard captain sharply, and then he was off, leaving Augustin staring up at Head Tutor, as Head Tutor stared down at him.
“I believe,” said Head Tutor quietly, “that you have seen the measure of Rowre, today, that I had hoped you might see, Your Highness, given time. I want him up by me on the horse, so that we can do a kind of perimeter stroll on the ride home, Rowre and myself, although I don’t doubt he’d prefer a real stroll and not a ride.”
Augustin stared back up at him, thinking a hundred thoughts at once.
“Will you allow it?” asked Head Tutor, tilting his head, his keen gaze sharp even in the darkness of deep sunset, with barely any moonlight yet and only the crackling of the fire on the other side of the Great Road for light. “Your Highness?”
Augustin thought of a dozen responses he could say, but he knew only one he could give to Head Tutor in this moment.
“Yes, of course,” he told the man solemnly. “Rowre must ride with you.”
“Thank you, Your Highness,” sighed Head Tutor, bowing his body much as the wounded men had done, stiffly and with deep feeling.
“Nils,” called Berte, Feste already in his arms. “Will you come and hold him while I mount? He’s half-conked already.”
“I can do it,” offered Rowre, already slipping Feste from his arms as Head Tutor strode over.
“I’m- I can-” offered Feste, struggling and sounding very near to tears, if Augustin was any judge.
“No,” Augustin said firmly to the little boy. “You shall let them help you up. Berte will carry you the whole way home, very comfortably in his arms, which are very strong, Feste. He is the very best of Gracious Majesty Mother’s guards and he will protect you, so you needn’t worry about anything, and you will kindly rest.”
“Yes, Your Highness,” said Feste very humbly, and he let Rowre hand him up to Berte without even a whimper of complaint.
A guard came and gave Augustin a simple little roll with spiced meat inside, and led him to a pony Augustin did not recognize.
“It’s a courier’s pony, Your Highness, we didn’t have time to saddle yours,” the guard apologized. “But he’ll do well for you.”
“Yes, thank you,” said Augustin, allowing himself to be lifted and taking up the reins to show he knew what he was about.
“By me, Your Highness,” called Berte, and Augustin rode over.
Feste gave him a sleepy little stare, clearly comforted that he was nearby, and that was very good.
He was only nine years old, and he’d been very brave, and clearly needed his bed.
“It’ll be a full mark before we’re at the gates,” sighed Head Tutor, coming up on Augustin’s other side. “We don’t dare gallop in the dark.”
“Aye,” said Berte in a disinterested tone. “About that, even so.”
“I’m sorry, lad,” said Head Tutor quietly. “There’s no use for it, you’ll have one last very bad mark, and then we’ll be done with this blasted day.”
Rowre buried his forehead against the man’s back and nodded, clearly already miserable.
“You did very well,” Augustin said suddenly, surprising the other men as well as himself, by the way they all three looked down at him- Head Tutor, Berte, and Rowre, too. He ignored them, and stared straight ahead. “Thank you for your service, Rowre.”
Rowre swallowed hard, and his voice sounded just as choked as the very young guard with the sliced head and busted ribs as he said, “Thank you, Your Highness.”
Augustin watched the bodies and figures in the dark before him intently, and when the guards in front began to move, he kicked his pony into action.
He minded his seat, checking on Feste from time to time, anytime the sky cleared enough for him to see the boy clearly. He smiled when Feste had clearly fallen asleep, clutching Berte’s tabard with the hand of his good, unbroken arm, and with his head resting gently on the man’s shoulder.
And he very definitely didn’t look at Rowre, when the Head Tutor began to quietly shush and soothe the lad, and tell him how very well he’d done, today, and how close they were to the castle.
It was, as Head Tutor had said, a very hard ride for the lad to take, on top of all the duties he’d done all day, and he did very well to cling to Head Tutor and not slide off and desert into the night, thought Augustin.
And anyway, if you had to walk the perimeter with Head Tutor after your very first sortie or battle, it was the very best kindness if no one watched you as you did it.