the insult and gestured to Garzik, switching to Rolencian. ‘Go fetch him some broth from the galley.’
Garzik ducked his head and left the cabin.
It was the first time he’d been out on deck since he’d been assigned to serve the lad, and it was good to stretch his legs. The air was fresh and sharp, and the sails billowed in the wind.
Down in the galley, he waited while the cook served up a meal.
When Mitrovan arrived with an empty tray, Garzik hid his surprise.
They exchanged looks and the scribe nodded to the passage. A few moments later Garzik left with Yorwyth’s food and found the scribe waiting for him.
Garzik gestured down the hall to the cabin they’d shared with the injured. ‘They let you out?’
‘Haven’t you heard?’ Mitrovan whispered. ‘I serve Master Cialon now. Thanks for putting in a good word for me.’
‘I didn’t get a chance. One of the sailors suggested you,’ Garzik answered, then frowned. ‘But Cialon was set against having a Rolencian servant. How –’
‘Oh, he’s much like my old master, petty and self-important. The more he despises me, the better he feels about himself. I plan to make myself indispensable. To hear Cialon speak, he’s Lord Travany’s right-hand man. Travany’s not the wealthiest or the most powerful of nobles, but he is part of Lord Yorale’s circle. And Yorale is close to the king. So we’re sure to hear something useful.’
‘You learnt all that in three days?’ Garzik was impressed and felt he’d wasted his time. ‘I’ve done nothing but nurse-maid Lord Yorale’s brat.’
‘Perhaps you should try to get on the lad’s good side. His father...’
But Garzik was already shaking his head. ‘I swear if I had to serve him, I’d end up strangling him.’ He glanced up and down the passage. ‘Keep your ears open. When we learn something useful, we’ll escape and take the news back to Byren. I’ll travel as a Merofynian noble and you can be my scribe.’
‘Let’s hear your Merofynian.’
Instead of taking offence, Garzik obliged him.
Mitrovan nodded. ‘You make a more convincing Merofynian noble than you do a Rolencian scribe.’ Just then, Mitrovan glanced over his shoulder and spotted the kitchen lad coming down the passage with an empty pot. His tone changed immediately. ‘So I don’t mind how often he beats me, as long as I get three square meals a day.’
Garzik went to ask who beat Mitrovan, then noticed the bruise on the kitchen lad’s cheek.
‘There you are, Mitrofan.’ The lad used the Merofynian form of his name. ‘Master Cialon’s looking for you.’
‘Thanks, Arolt,’ the scribe said. As he turned back to Garzik, he sent him a significant look and hurried off.
Taking a leaf from Mitrovan’s book, Garzik nodded to the kitchen lad. ‘Better get this food up to his little lordship, before it goes cold. You should hear him complain, nothing’s ever done to his satisfaction.’
The lad grinned. ‘Pity he didn’t fall and break both legs.’
Pleased with himself, Garzik continued along the lower deck to the ladder, and climbed one-handed, balancing the tray. Yorwyth would surely complain if the broth was spilled.
But up on deck he found Grufyd supporting Yorwyth at the ship’s side as both of them stared towards the headland.
‘Mulcibar’s Gate,’ Yorwyth was saying when Garzik came up behind them. ‘Now I know I’m home.’
Mulcibar’s Gate? The sight stole Garzik’s breath. Of course, he’d heard stories about the river of slow moving hot rock that met the waves in foam and steam, but seeing it was an entirely different thing. Each time a wave dashed itself on the rocks, the water hissed and great gouts of steam shot up.
‘Breakfast at last.’ Yorwyth spotted him. ‘I’ll eat out here.’
In no time at all a table and two chairs had been brought out so the lad could sit with his broken leg elevated, eat his meal and watch the convoy enter Port Mero.
Now that they were safe, Yorwyth
Garzik ducked his head and left the cabin.
It was the first time he’d been out on deck since he’d been assigned to serve the lad, and it was good to stretch his legs. The air was fresh and sharp, and the sails billowed in the wind.
Down in the galley, he waited while the cook served up a meal.
When Mitrovan arrived with an empty tray, Garzik hid his surprise.
They exchanged looks and the scribe nodded to the passage. A few moments later Garzik left with Yorwyth’s food and found the scribe waiting for him.
Garzik gestured down the hall to the cabin they’d shared with the injured. ‘They let you out?’
‘Haven’t you heard?’ Mitrovan whispered. ‘I serve Master Cialon now. Thanks for putting in a good word for me.’
‘I didn’t get a chance. One of the sailors suggested you,’ Garzik answered, then frowned. ‘But Cialon was set against having a Rolencian servant. How –’
‘Oh, he’s much like my old master, petty and self-important. The more he despises me, the better he feels about himself. I plan to make myself indispensable. To hear Cialon speak, he’s Lord Travany’s right-hand man. Travany’s not the wealthiest or the most powerful of nobles, but he is part of Lord Yorale’s circle. And Yorale is close to the king. So we’re sure to hear something useful.’
‘You learnt all that in three days?’ Garzik was impressed and felt he’d wasted his time. ‘I’ve done nothing but nurse-maid Lord Yorale’s brat.’
‘Perhaps you should try to get on the lad’s good side. His father...’
But Garzik was already shaking his head. ‘I swear if I had to serve him, I’d end up strangling him.’ He glanced up and down the passage. ‘Keep your ears open. When we learn something useful, we’ll escape and take the news back to Byren. I’ll travel as a Merofynian noble and you can be my scribe.’
‘Let’s hear your Merofynian.’
Instead of taking offence, Garzik obliged him.
Mitrovan nodded. ‘You make a more convincing Merofynian noble than you do a Rolencian scribe.’ Just then, Mitrovan glanced over his shoulder and spotted the kitchen lad coming down the passage with an empty pot. His tone changed immediately. ‘So I don’t mind how often he beats me, as long as I get three square meals a day.’
Garzik went to ask who beat Mitrovan, then noticed the bruise on the kitchen lad’s cheek.
‘There you are, Mitrofan.’ The lad used the Merofynian form of his name. ‘Master Cialon’s looking for you.’
‘Thanks, Arolt,’ the scribe said. As he turned back to Garzik, he sent him a significant look and hurried off.
Taking a leaf from Mitrovan’s book, Garzik nodded to the kitchen lad. ‘Better get this food up to his little lordship, before it goes cold. You should hear him complain, nothing’s ever done to his satisfaction.’
The lad grinned. ‘Pity he didn’t fall and break both legs.’
Pleased with himself, Garzik continued along the lower deck to the ladder, and climbed one-handed, balancing the tray. Yorwyth would surely complain if the broth was spilled.
But up on deck he found Grufyd supporting Yorwyth at the ship’s side as both of them stared towards the headland.
‘Mulcibar’s Gate,’ Yorwyth was saying when Garzik came up behind them. ‘Now I know I’m home.’
Mulcibar’s Gate? The sight stole Garzik’s breath. Of course, he’d heard stories about the river of slow moving hot rock that met the waves in foam and steam, but seeing it was an entirely different thing. Each time a wave dashed itself on the rocks, the water hissed and great gouts of steam shot up.
‘Breakfast at last.’ Yorwyth spotted him. ‘I’ll eat out here.’
In no time at all a table and two chairs had been brought out so the lad could sit with his broken leg elevated, eat his meal and watch the convoy enter Port Mero.
Now that they were safe, Yorwyth
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