I rapidly caught up with him and discovered young Lord Kent, blocking the narrow passage, speaking confidentially to another young royal boy. His left hand held carelessly in front of his crotch as if placed there by accident. My initial reaction was to increase the size of the wet spot, but Princess Elizabeth had ordered me not to embarrass him.
In private and in thought, Kendra and I called her Elizabeth, more friends than servant-master. We’d been assigned to her, at her request, when we were all perhaps about ten years old. That had been years earlier, probably a dozen or more because we were all over twenty, the natural age of consent. Elizabeth now approached the age where she was considered an old maid for an influential and wealthy princess, but she certainly didn’t lack suitors.
Her intelligence, beauty, and rank had young men lined up to attempt to win her hand. Princes from other lands flocked to our kingdom to meet her. Her marriage would seal power and prosperity to another princedom for generations to come if they could convince her to wed. However, she deflected all of them, searching for something in a man unknown to me, and most likely to her as well.
Lord Kent continued speaking to the young royal who had his back turned to me. After retracing a few steps and rounding a corner, with my back pressed against the wall, I waited patiently and listened with my large ears. From there I could hear everything, and my presence would go unobserved. The conversation was about nothing but choosing which girls would receive personal invitations to an upcoming party—and which girls would be slighted.
“Spying again?” A friendly whisper asked in my other ear.
One of the older third-floor maids stood at my side, a gnarled old woman who had done me more than a few favors, and I’d returned them as often. Cooks and maids know all the best dirt. One of my rules is to treat them better than my master, and always arrange things, so they are indebted to me. Favors owed can be more valuable than gold. “Yes. Be quiet.”
“Anything good?” She leaned closer, trying to hear the conversation for herself.
“If you’re interested, Mary, the Earl of Brighton’s youngest, is going to be invited to the Spring Ball, but nobody is supposed to know. And her cousin, Susan will not.”
The maid’s eyes came alive. “Do you mind me passing that along to a few select friends?”
“Why would I prevent you? But thank you for asking.” My response was given with a conspiratorial grin. She would take it and trade that rumor for others, and hopefully, an interesting one would find its way back to me. She owed me for the information, and one day it would be there for me to collect.
She hurried off. The boys talked about more silly dance plans until they went their separate ways. After waiting a short time, I casually followed Lord Kent down the narrow passage, thinking the wet spot must be nearly dry by now. It really shouldn’t become wet again despite my dislike of the boy. I tried to talk myself out of it. He went directly to his apartment. A few steps past his door, down the hallway, stood the kitchen. Another doorway beckoned, and I settled myself to stand under an archway where people often stood and leaned on the wall. From there, anyone could keep an eye on his door.
“Damon, don’t even look like you’re going to try and snatch something.” The speaker was a grumpy fat woman who must have done a lot of snatching of food to put on all that weight. Another good rule in life is to never piss off a cook. I shrugged as if not caring as my eyes went to the nearby tray of small baked loaves. They were so fine they must have been baked with the king in mind, a little sprinkle of sugar coated the tops. “Those look good.”
“No, you don’t.” She placed the bulk of her rotund body in front of the tray to protect it from me. Not to be dissuaded, my mental powers nudged a pear resting on another table just enough, it rolled off the edge and hit the stone floor with a dull thud. Her eyes went to the pear as if the fall had hurt her instead of bruising the pear.
I waited. No magic powers were needed to prompt her.
She sighed heavily. “Want a pear?”
I leaped forward and grabbed it. She turned her back to me and snarled at a younger cook who had failed to meet her extraordinary culinary expectations in some trivial manner. I leaned a shoulder against the cold granite wall and ate my ill-gotten pear.
Elizabeth hadn’t assigned me to follow Lord Kent for nothing. The twerp of a lord was up to something, and he must have given her a hint, perhaps even by accident. Nobody is better at palace intrigue than her.
Heavy footsteps approaching behind warned me of another intrusion. An educated and pretentious voice snarled, “What are you doing here, Damon?”
I turned. As expected from the tone of the voice, it was a snotty, thin, well-dressed man of thirty named Avery. He was the personal servant of Timor, the firstborn son of the king, and therefore Heir Apparent. While we were technically equal in our positions of personal servants for high-ranking royals, his royal outranked mine—therefore he believed he did, too. His master would rule the kingdom one day, and probably sooner than later if other rumors were true.
He exuded both power and scorn—all aimed in my direction. And rightfully so. I’d embarrassed him in public more than once when younger and less savvy. He’d figured out my responsibility for a few of his ills, a stupid series of acts on my part. I could effortlessly forget those times and let bygones be bygones. He couldn’t.
“I’m just taking time to eat a pear that fell to the floor, Avery. Princess Elizabeth is keeping my sister and me so busy running her errands we don’t have time for proper meals.”
“Odd place for you to stand while eating. There are tables free to sit at for one who has been running so much and must have tired feet. They are right around this very corner—out of sight to those doors lining the hallway.”
He was on to something about Lord Kent. A warm glow filled me. I’d never seen Avery around this smaller kitchen before. The royal master he served lived near the elaborate central kitchens at the far end of the ground floor, a considerable distance away, nearer the king and his quarters where the most important people resided and ate. So, the question was not why was I here, but why was he?
I pointedly said, “It’s nice to see you visiting the shabby part of the palace where I live and eat.”
That stalled his sneer. He probably anticipated my next question would be to inquire about his presence, where he could also conveniently stand and observe Lord Kent’s door. I chewed another bite of the pear, then wiped the juice off my chin with the back of my sleeve basically to disgust him. He couldn’t help himself. If I remained quiet, he would talk again. It was the way his mind worked.
“Damon, my considerable duties take me everywhere in the palace at one time or another, even this far from the better residences. I do come to this dilapidated portion a few times a year and suggest to Timor, my master the Heir Apparent. He may soon wish to destroy it and replace this eyesore with a wing of the palace with one more fitting to his position.” His nose went higher into the air, and he crossed his arms over his chest as if he’d won our verbal sparring—but he hadn’t.
“Then it must be something unusual to bring someone as important as you to watch Lord Kent’s door like a common street urchin lurking to steal a loaf of bread from a bakery. I wonder what that might be since I’ve heard nothing about him these past few days. Care to share?”
I tossed him the last as a lifeline and as a gesture of good will, although he’d take it as a slip of my tongue. As expected, he grabbed hold of it. “Many significant things happen in this palace, and you’ll never know about most of them. Not you, nor your low-ranking slip of a princess.”