Kendra made as if to stand, but Emma shook her head fiercely. Penna said a few words that included “no,” and Emma said, “No outhouse.”
Penna added, “She says she has already been there.”
Reluctantly, I saw the wisdom of his suggestion about the common words. “Penna, can you write?”
“Very well.”
I sent Flame to get pen and ink. To Penna, I said, “A full copper for a list of everyday things, as we talk. I’ll spell the words as you pronounce them instead of you writing them. That way, I will say them correctly. Now continue with the description of the council that rules Kondor.”
Kendra remained quiet and played a few silent hand games with the girls before taking them for a short walk to the stable to care for the horses. Her intent was to allow the two of us to talk uninterrupted, and for me to glean as much information as possible in the short time we had.
He said, “No need to pay me for the list, after all. I was wrong to ask, and I apologize. I should not try to earn money from the misfortunes of the girls. Since we no longer have a king or royal family, the council rules. We call it the Council of Nine, although we do not know how many are on it, nor who they are.”
“You don’t know who rules?” I asked. “How can that be? I mean, they make laws and tell you what to do, right?”
“Not directly. There are assemblymen who relay the laws and wishes of the Council of Nine, and there are constables who enforce them. Assemblymen also act as judges and assign a punishment to those who disobey. Constables carry out those punishments.”
Like a kingdom ruled by a hermit king or an ill king who has appointees handle the daily business, and the palace guards see that things are kept in order. An uncomfortable idea slipped quietly into my mind, as quiet as a house cat on a morning hunt just before leaping on its prey. The thought came on stealthy little feet, then sprang. Our ill king of Dire. He clung to life, but if he died, the Heir Apparent ruled—unless he too died in an “accident” of some kind or became ill himself.
The next in line for the throne of Dire was a boy of seven, and of course, a Royal Regent would be appointed until the young king came of age to rule on his own. That Regent’s identity hadn’t been decided, of course. But, with four mages living at Crestfallen, could one or more of them influence who would be appointed Regent? The obvious answer was, yes. It seemed so easy. So predictable. And so unpreventable.
Once the Regent ruled, anything could happen. He ruled in place of the king. To ensure the kingdom provided the best for the subjects, a group of regent rulers might eventually be appointed. Perhaps they would call themselves the Council of Nine. Just like Kondor. Exactly like Kondor.
As Penna talked and provided common words and short phrases, my pen scratched and added brief meanings to each. Most were either common actions or the names of everyday things. When the first sheet was filled, there were the names for beds, sleep, food, cold, hot, pain, and more. Twenty words. I turned the parchment over and soon had ten more.
Penna abruptly stood and gave a slight bow. “My ship sails soon. I must go.”
On purpose, I allowed him to almost reach the door before rushing to his side and shaking his hand, as I palmed two coins for him in exchange for his services. I’d offered to pay, but he failed to remind me. It told me more of his character than a hundred words.
Kendra and the girls had returned and remained seated, quietly listening. It was as if the girls had understood the seriousness of our talk. Now they grew restless. I glanced at my sheet and found the right word to say. Food?
The word was Kondor, but no matter. My pronunciation must have been close enough because both nodded their heads rapidly. I said, “Yes?”
“Yes,” they parroted me.
A glance brought another serving girl to our table. After ordering, I glanced at Kendra and continued my instruction with the girls. I held a hard cracker out. “Yes?”
Emma snatched at it, but I was faster. Again, I said, “Yes?”
I broke it in half and handed her one part. Then I held it out the second part near her and said, “No,” as I suddenly pulled it back to me. We played that game until both girls knew and understood the meaning of those two words. We were well on our way to communicating.
Kendra sat and watched, amused when either of the girls outsmarted me. Our games were more learning than play, but that does not mean we didn’t have fun. Kendra finally said, “We should go down to the docks and try to find another sailor from Kondor.”
I looked at her out of the corner of my eye as I said, “So, you’re interested in sailors, now?”
I dodged the swipe of her hand. As we sipped wine and planned, the red-headed serving girl eased up beside Kendra and in a low tone said, “Princess Elizabeth is crossing the causeway from Andover to here. She will be at the City Gate soon.”
We leaped to our feet and started out the door so fast in our excitement that at the door I forgot Emma and Anna. Turning, I found they were not that easy to lose. Both were right on our heels, giggling and laughing at my startled expression in finding them so close.
There are times when my mind works in reverse. I see things differently. Only the day before, the girls had lost their mother, and not long before that, their father. Yet, they were laughing and teasing. Too young to understand.
That might be true, but like Kendra and I, one day in the not too distant future, they would wonder who they were. How they arrived. Did they have brothers, uncles or aunts? They would know a sense of something in their lives that was missing. They would long to search for it.
At that moment, I knew we were going to Kondor.
I also knew that my sword in our small sleeping room was of little use if I didn’t wear it, and I sorely required practice. The bow was with the sword. I’d never used it to shoot a single arrow, not even at a target. Kendra needed practice with her throwing knives. While berating myself for those failings, the truth emerged from the depths of my mind. We simply had not had the time. However, we needed to make time.
The single wide street that wound through town held a myriad of people in the late morning sunshine. Wagons rumbled past with loads destined for the holds of ships, passing others emptying the same holds with cargo from across the Endless Sea. Sailors stumbled down the cobblestones after a night of revelry, trying to walk straight to reach their ships despite their headaches. Other sailors almost skipped with excitement as they departed their ships intent on having at least as good a time as those returning.
Young women leaned from second-floor windows to encourage sailors to spend their coins at the taverns below them. Barkers in front of doors talked up the games, sport, drink, and women within their establishments. There were also carpenters, buyers, sellers, purse cutters, bakers, butchers, and stores selling clothing, trinkets, souvenirs, weapons, and sailcloth. The city was a scene of mad confusion. I loved it.
The road to Andover technically began at the City Gate, an imposing structure made of local stone that spread across the causeway at the point where it joined the mainland. The causeway was a raised roadway from the Port of Mercia to Andover, where goods could travel in both directions along a well-maintained road. The huge wooden gates wouldn’t keep much of an enemy out, but they were more a symbol of the importance of the port.
Before reaching the City Gate, we passed three roads that went down to the river’s edge where the piers had been built, and where the ships loaded and unloaded cargo. Out in the slow-moving current of the wide river, eight more ships were anchored, waiting for their turns. Three were tied to the piers.