“Good, sir. It feels good.”
Dubric nodded and said, “I promised Bacstair you would bring Otlee home in one piece. I trust you will return with the others as well.”
“Don’t worry, sir. We’ll be fine.”
Aswin stood near the door and he said, “Kramoris is on the move. Still south.”
Dien glanced toward Aswin. “Does he have a buyer?”
“I don’t know. He’s too far away to read clearly. Hard enough to locate him.” Aswin sighed and closed his eyes, lowering his head. “He’s thinking about spending tonight at a whorehouse in Gattol. Been thinking about it since yesterday. I can’t see any more than that.”
“A whorehouse?” Lars asked, hoping he didn’t blush as brightly as it felt.
“It happens,” Aswin said, shrugging. “People like Kramoris don’t usually patronize wholesome businesses. If you have any luck, he might be there quite a while.” He grinned and gave Lars a wink. “Maybe you’ll have to rescue him from the women before he spends all his coin.”
Lars felt his cheeks warm and he gulped past the clog in his throat.
“You’ll be fine, Pup. Just don’t let the scenery go to your head,” Dien laughed.
Unconcerned with Lars’ embarrassment, Dubric pulled a leather pouch from his pocket. “I put five hundred-crown coins for emergencies in the bottom of your pack and Otlee’s. That should be enough to re-outfit you all if necessary and then some. This is for traveling expenses, not for sight seeing at the Gattolan brothels. Try to bring some back.”
“Yes, sir,” Lars said, accepting the pouch and tucking it into the deep inside pocket of his coat. “No, um, sightseeing.”
While Aswin chuckled and walked away, Dubric looked Lars square in the eye. “Sleep in inns when you can. Do not mention your mission to strangers. Be watchful and wary. And do not, under any circumstances, do anything stupid.”
Lars blanched. The last time Dubric gave him that last particular order, the following morning found him bound, gagged, and covered with a murdered girl’s blood. “I’ll be careful, sir, and I’ll get your mirror and dagger back.”
Dubric nodded and looked at Otlee. “Until you return, I am assigning you to Lars. Listen to him as you would to me.”
Otlee stood a little taller, and his brown eyes gleamed bright with excitement. “I will, sir. I promise.”
Dien pulled a kerchief from his pocket and blew his nose.
“We’ll be fine,” Lars said, patting the big man on the back. “We’re just retrieving some stolen property. It’s not like we’re heading off to slay dragons or anything.”
Dien nodded and embraced Lars quickly. “I know, but Dubric’s frigging right to warn you to watch your back. If word leaks out... it could get mighty damn ugly mighty damn fast.”
“We’ll bring them back before anyone knows they were ever missing.” Lars turned to Otlee. “You ready to go?”
“Yes, sir!” Otlee said, lifting his pack and Lars’.
Chuckling, Lars followed Otlee to the hall.
Lars saw his men before they noticed him. Trumble, compact and lean, his cloak the same color as his light brown hair, leaned against the stable wall, his bow leaning beside him. Moergan stood nearby, not quite as thin but taller, picking at his teeth and wearing dark blue cloak and black boots. Last, beside the stable door, slouched Serian. The only senior page unable to afford his own attire, and by far the biggest if not the tallest of their team, he dressed in standard issue Faldorrahn green and smoked as if disgusted with the world. All three waited outside the stable door with their packs beside their feet and short swords belted to their hips. Lars’ men were ready to go.
“What the...” Trumble said, gasping his surprise as Lars and Otlee approached.
“Bout time you showed up,” Serian grumbled, blowing a stream of pipe smoke. “Dubric give you permission to wear that uniform? You know it’s against the rules.”
“Something like that,” Lars said, opening the stable door. Otlee followed him in, a messenger bird and cage clutched in his hand.
Flavin peeked around a stall. “Just about have ‘em ready,” he said with a jingle of tack.
Lars heard a horse grunt and stomp its hoof. “Which ones are we taking?”
“I’ve saddled Eth, Gerald, Zelus, Sov, and Hannah.”
“Sounds fine,” Lars said, scratching Gerald’s wide gray forehead before opening his stall door. “I’ll take Gerald. I want Trumble on Eth.” He checked Gerald’s girth strap and bit, and adjusted the stirrups to his usual length.
“Which one do you want me to ride?” Otlee asked.
“Whichever you want.”
Otlee walked down the aisle, peering into stalls. “I think I’ll ride Sov.”
Lars finished with his stirrups and asked, “Know your stirrup length?”
“Of course I do,” Otlee said, leading the big brown gelding from his stall.
Leading Hannah, Flavin followed Otlee down the aisle. “Why Master Lars, you’ve been promoted! Congratulations!”
Lars blushed. “Thanks Flavin,” he said, opening Eth’s stall. “Let’s get these horses outside and get my men ready to ride.” Eth tossed his head as Lars grabbed the reins and led him out, handing him to Trumble.
“So what’s the errand we’re running?” Trumble asked, tying Eth’s reins to a post.
Lars tried not show his nervousness as he checked Gerald’s tack. “I’ll brief you on the mission after we’re on the road.”
Serian snickered. “Brief us on the mission?” he laughed. “Sounds like you think you’re in charge, Hargrove.”
“He is in charge and he didn’t borrow the uniform,” Otlee said, leading Sov beside the fence. “He earned it.” Otlee climbed the fence and strapped the birdcage behind his saddle.
“My ass,” Serian muttered, taking a set of reins from Flavin’s hands.
Trumble finished adjusting his stirrups and threw his bedroll and pack over Eth’s rump. “He’s got a gold marker on his collar. Or are you too dense to have noticed? Congratulations, Lars!”
Serian reddened. “It’s brass, not gold. No way Hargrove got promoted. Peg, he’s just fourteen.”
Lars shook his head and finished readying his horse. “Sorry to disappoint you, Serian, but I outrank you now. Saddle up. We need to get on the road.”
Moergan flashed a grin and climbed on his horse. Grumbling all the while, Serian did the same.
Dien contemplated the half-charred rubble of the west wing and assessed the progress made by the stonemasons and engineers. He smiled. The weather had cooperated and construction ran smoother than expected. He passed a quick nod with the foremen and scribbled a few notes in his book. Most of the stones could be re-used, and plenty of timbers were available in the forest north of the castle. With luck, carpenters could begin interior restructuring in a couple of phases.
He chuckled. Sarea was already planning how to decorate their new suite. Women, he thought. More interested in fabric and paint and furniture than how much work it took to pay for it all. The girls will be coming home later today and they’ll leap on the chance to choose draperies or coverlets or fixtures. Maybe I’d better hit Dubric up for a raise before my women drag me into financial ruin.