The Kings Man by Rowena Cory Daniells Page A

complained the sea-hounds had not earned their money. He seemed disappointed the fleet had not run into Utlanders after all. He complained because he had to go home with a broken leg and would have to spend the spring and summer recuperating. From what Garzik could gather, his older brother was serving as a warrior’s squire; he’d been in the thick of the fighting during the Rolencian invasion and would return home a hero.
    Then Yorwyth complained because he’d talked so long the broth had gone cold, which meant Garzik had to go below to reheat it.
    When he returned, the big bay stretched out around them. Nestled in its many inlets were little fishing villages, just like back home. Lord Travany’s ship made for the wharves on the far side, below Mont Mero.
    If Yorwyth had been anyone else, it would have been a pleasant morning. But, just as he’d delighted in teasing the captives, he delighted in teasing Garzik. When he sent him to fetch a book, it was the wrong book and the fault was Garzik’s. Before long, Garzik would have happily thrown the boy overboard.
    ‘What’s the hold up?’ Yorwyth demanded of a passing sailor. ‘Why are we dropping anchor instead of berthing?’
    ‘Too many ships trying to unload. We have to wait our turn, young lord,’ Sionor said. As he hurried off, he sent Garzik a sympathetic look.
    ‘I’m sick of being cooped up on board,’ Yorwyth announced.
    He was not the only one annoyed by the delay. Master Cialon confronted the captain. They were up on the rear deck, so Garzik could only catch snippets of conversation, but it seemed for once they were in agreement. Master Cialon had to deliver the Rolencian war booty to Lord Travany and the captain was eager to get back to Port Marchand where there was cargo in waiting to be collected.
    A moment later, sailors lowered a boat and Master Cialon climbed overboard, with two sailors to handle the oars.
    ‘I bet he’s going to speak to the harbour-master,’ Yorwyth told Garzik smugly. ‘My father won’t be pleased when he hears how we were kept waiting.’
    Perhaps this was true, because the rowboat returned presently without Master Cialon and the ship was ushered past other vessels to a berth. By this time it was mid-afternoon and Mitrovan had joined Garzik. In Master Cialon’s absence, the scribe had the run of the ship and no one to answer to.
    Garzik noticed the surgeon sitting on a bale at the other end of the deck. He had his nose buried in a book. ‘I don’t understand what a man like him is doing on this ship.’
    ‘Escaping disgrace.’ Mitrovan leant close. ‘Apparently, he fought a duel over a woman. Killed a powerful man. Had to leave Merofynia to save his family’s honour.’ The scribe snorted softly. ‘Nobles and their honour.’ Then he glanced to Garzik, his expression far too knowing.
    Garzik felt the injustice of his unspoken accusation. ‘I failed to light the warning beacon. I failed Byren.’ Tears burned his eyes and he fought to hold them back. ‘Because of me, Rolencia fell.’
    ‘How do you know it wouldn’t have fallen anyway? From what I heard there was a traitor in the castle.’
    Garzik shook his head. The scribe was only trying to make him feel better. Shame seared his cheeks, and his throat grew so tight he could hardly speak. ‘I failed Byren, that’s why I have to make up for it with important information.’
    ‘What are you two whispering about?’ Yorwyth demanded fretfully.
    ‘We’re looking forward to dinner,’ Mitrovan answered.
    Yorwyth wasn’t interested. ‘Fetch me a blanket, Grufyd. I’m cold. And fetch a cushion. This seat’s too hard. Wait.’ He sat up straighter in the chair. ‘Come back here and lift me up. I swear...’
    When Grufyd lifted him, he smiled, pointing to the pier as the ship drew closer. ‘Look, my father’s carriage and my old tutor!’
    He waved.
    The tutor spotted Yorwyth and turned to speak with two large servants. The moment the gangplank was fixed,