"I’ll head for market first thing sunup." The farmer smiled, adding facetiously, "stranger." He took several more bites of winter melon, tossed the rind, and headed for his cart.
Nightfall picked up the broken melon the farmer had given him. He snapped off chunks, handing the best two to Prince Edward. Keeping two for himself, he mounted one-handed. They headed toward Trillium, Edward chatting about the farmer, Nightfall forcing himself to think like Dyfrin. He needed to earn his fortune quickly, before the prince explored too far. And, for all the times Nightfall had cursed Dyfrin’s impetuous and obsessive eye for nicety and detail, he wished he possessed it. No one could pick a victim or a friend like Dyfrin.
The road widened as Trillium came into sight, a massive cramping of buildings that stretched as far as Nightfall’s vision. Tents crowded the border, belonging to those who could not afford an inn room; and Nightfall knew that night would find many more sleeping on the unprotected ground. Five roads came together at the eastern edge of town, from the southern cities, from Keevain, Shisen and Tylantis, from Ivral and Grifnal, from the north, and from the city itself. Wagons jounced over well-worn pathways, most carrying early spring or perennial crops from local farmers. Merchants from the southern cities brought citrus fruits and hardier vegetables. From the Yortenese Peninsula came meat and fur, and the central countries imported milk, cheese, and woven cloth.
Nightfall knew the slave countries would import to the western side of town, bringing Hartrinian herbs, spices, and crafts in addition to their living wares. The sellers of mood-altering drugs and sexual perversion mostly based themselves directly out of Trillium, though a few sneaked their wares from other places beneath the guise of more legitimate goods. Cure-alls and beautifiers found a brisk market in Trillium as well. Desperation or impatience would lead the sickest and vainest to trust the miracle medicines of swindlers over the slower practicalities of Healers. Most of the panacea salesmen whom Nightfall knew made random, harmless concoctions, occasionally mixing in alcohol or hazing herbs for effect. He still remembered the justification one man had given Dyfrin: "That rash’ll go away anyway. By the Father, why shouldn’t my treatment take the credit?"
Despite the heavy penalties for illegality, the poison trade flourished in the black market; and Nightfall knew all the best places to purchase knives with reservoirs, arrows with painful barbs that did not pull free, and belts and boots with compartments or sheaths for blades. All trades thrived here, and visitors caught up in the glitter and searching for instant wealth fell easy victim to sucker bets and schemers. So long as he kept his tricks reasonably honest, Nightfall suspected he could win or lose big. But three hundred silvers? He shook his head at the enormity of the sum.
The rattle and bounce of the wagons they passed, as well as the shouted greetings between friends meeting at the town edge, sent the white gelding skittering so often its excitement merged into a constant dance. Prince Edward dismounted, which seemed just as well. If he got thrown in the cart traffic, he might suffer injury much more serious than a simple fall. "Sudian, we’ll have to build camp here."
Nightfall sprang from his bay, suspecting that towering over his master looked disrespectful. His mood sank at the prince’s words. No place would serve as a better central point than the Thirsty Dolphin when it came to finding bets and challenges as well as information. The word "build" applied to camp only worsened the situation. He pictured moats, palisades and wooden stake defenses hovering amidst the simple tents and bed rolls, and the image might have seemed humorous had the realization of a night of painstaking labor not accompanied it. "Master, there’s a wonderful inn in town."
“Sudian." Prince Edward glared at his squire. "I didn’t ask for a travelogue, I said we set camp here." A cart jostled by, metal chains in the bed clanking. The gelding lurched, all but tearing free of Edward’s grip.
Nightfall guessed at the reason for Edward’s insistence, and the prince’s pride annoyed as much as it impressed him. "Master, I apologize deeply for my boldness, but I am aware that we’re short of money.”
Edward’s glower deepened enough to almost make the young, friendly innocent look angered. How much of it was inspired by the horse and how much by his squire did not matter. The risk of his master’s disapproval and a tongue-lashing seemed little price to pay for a chance to spend his nights in an inn. And Nightfall already trusted the prince not to harm him physically, at least not without cause far more significant than this.
“I’ve been meaning to return this to you, Master." Nightfall pulled one of the silvers from his pocket. "You gave it to me in Nernix to buy the spade I never found." He met Edward’s displeasure with an expression of hopeful trust. "Master, I can’t stand the thought of you sleeping on hard ground with beds so near. At least you go to the inn. I’ll spare our money by staying here."
The sacrifice, though insincere, softened Prince Edward at once. He accepted the coin, rubbing it between thumb and forefinger. "Of course I’ll stay at the inn and you’ll stay by my side. This should buy us a week’s lodging for both or a half week with three meals included."
Nightfall hesitated, uncertain how far necessity demanded he carry his shallow humility.
The prince saved Nightfall the need. "If I go alone, who’ll taste my food for poison?" He grinned, clearly joking. Nightfall smiled back, pleased to discover the solemn visionary had a sense of humor. He did not know whether to feel glad or endangered that ignorance and lack of experience counted more for the prince’s foolishness than the inherent stupidity he had credited. Eventually, he believed, Edward could learn sarcasm. Then, watch out King Rikard and Alyndar. The idea of even this cunning vengeance seemed sweet, but Nightfall found the thought of educating Prince Edward intriguing as well. Time was telling that, once he gained some insight and abandoned the arbitrary traditions hammered into royalty from birth, Edward might prove a competent leader after all.
"Let’s go." Prince Edward gave an abrupt jerk on the gelding’s lead rope that brooked no nonsense. The animal followed docilely, though its ears remained pricked like sentinels and it rolled its eyes to the whites. Nightfall handled chestnut and bay together, both alert but compliant. He took the lead as swiftly as propriety allowed, choosing a route to the Thirsty Dolphin that would not reveal the nearer and cheaper inn the farmer had mentioned. He kept to the main streets, dodging foot, cart, and horseback traffic, focusing on detail and letting his natural wariness absorb the familiar background bustle of Trillium. Edward trailed without question or complaint, his eyes flickering from sight to sight.
Upon arrival at the stone and mortar inn, Prince Edward headed inside to tend to the room and payment while Nightfall took care of animals and packs. Juggling three horses became a nuisance even for Nightfall. Every slight movement of one caused an excessive opposite reaction of the others, and their pulls unbalanced him twice before he mentally doubled his weight to anchor. At the stable door, he took all three ropes into one hand. Precariously balanced, he raised a fist to knock.
Without warning, the wooden door whipped open from the inside with swift, unnecessary force. A heavy-set, bearded Mitanoan in merchant silks huffed through the entrance, apparently oblivious to squire and horses standing directly in his path. He bashed into Nightfall, the sudden obstacle and all its extra mass staggering him. The gelding reared, ripped free, and charged for the barn entrance, churning road dirt over both men.
The merchant roared at the insult.
Nightfall dropped his weight to normal. "I’m so sorry, sir." You big, clumsy ass. "I didn’t see you."