In Service Of The King (Book 2) (3 page)

Following after the steward, the chair turner could not help gazing around the ballroom with wide eyes. The room’s rounded shape and large dimensions ballroom rather belied the small front of the manor house, but the high ceiling above made the turner stop and stare. Covered with white stone, it reflected light from a huge dome of colored glass and wrought iron casements. Ornate chandeliers hung down from the curved roof like shining fruit. One such chandelier lay on a blanket upon the ballroom floor. Several servants busily polished its metal surfaces, or replenished the lanterns with new candles. Another newly-shined chandelier was being lifted into place by three men working pulleys and long ropes. Four immense stone pillars extended down from the ceiling to the polished, marble floor. More light poured into the room from the back wall, far across the room. Close to teh Great bay, the wall harbored large windows of wrought iron and glass, interspersed with stone pillars.

Walking to the nearest wall, the carpenter swung the chair carefully off his back and set it down. The merchant stood for a moment, taking in the vast room with wonder.

“It is quite a sight.” A strange voice spoke, from close by. Turning, the chair merchant spied a tall, soldierly man--in his late twenties--standing a few feet away. His clothes looked worn--and heavily stained with soot--but his eyes held a keen look. The man noticed the chair turner’s scrutiny and grinned.

“I am Joseph, the smith of the forge in Dorenvines,” he explained. The carpenter nodded back.

“I thought as much... that, or a chimney sweep,” he said. “I heard there was a new smith in town... one that can actually shoe a horse.”

“The townsfolks tell me the same,” Joseph remarked. “Hard to believe. Shoes are a smith’s mainstay.”

The turner shook his head a little.

“He forgot how at sea, then. He was one was part sailor, one part smith, but for the most part drunk.” The turner sized up Joseph a little and nodded approvingly. “You look sober enough. My name is Jerome. I turn the chairs in Dorenvines. Do a bit o’ carvin’ too, when I gets the time.”

Joseph looked down at the new chair by the wall. Bending down, he studied the ornate vines cut into the back and sides of the wood. It reeked of new varnish still, but Joseph could see it had been applied with care, in layers.

“This is fine work,” he said, glancing up at the turner.

Forester Reeves strode up to them as they spoke. Balking, the Steward’s face changed as he beheld the blacksmith.

“Sir...” he sputtered. Joseph made a quick sign with his hand which the turner could not see; he shook his head. “Ah... sir you are welcome to... please feel free...to look at... the terrace.... outside.” Reeves blurted out, addressing Jerome. Surprised, the turner looked down towards the wall of windows.

“The terrace indeed has a good view,” Joseph said, beginning to walk. “I’ll show you the way.”

“Don’t mind if I do,” the carpenter replied. “My grandfather was once in here, during the old king’s reign.”

Reeves let out a relieved breath and went back to the atrium as Joseph and the carpenter walked through the ballroom.

“My grandfather made the furnishings for the old king,” the turner went on. “I was told this was a summer refuge; diplomats, senators... even our king now has stayed here.”

“I wonder,” Joseph asked his head a little to one side. “It is not so large a castle, but I have never seen such fertile land.”

“It’s one of the largest single estates in the whole province,” the turner said, looking up at the ceiling as he walked. He glanced around them and leaned toward Joseph a little. “Rumors around town say the estate was purchased from the King by this lord. He must have offered a fortune for it. There have been quite a few lords, knights and dukes wanting to buy it over the years, but the king wouldn’t sell it.” Joseph nodded his reply.

As the two men approached the wall of windows the turner saw a host of servants on chairs and ladders, washing and polishing the hundreds of panes of glass embedded in the casements. The windows cleverly hid two sets of hinged doors, made up of glass and iron as well; they opened onto a wide, oval shaped terrace that was home to dozens of potted plants, all bare of foliage. Stepping through one of the glass doors, Jerome saw the Great Bay before him, spreading out from one horizon to the other. He stood on the wide verandafor somemoment, admiring a scene looked upon by kings.

Joseph did not join the turner outside. As he turned to go back, he saw Hezekiah at the atrium door; the older man appeared ot be looking for him.

“I will be an excellent walker by the time this ball arrives,” Joseph said--as he approached Hezekiah--some moments later. “That room could hold the entire Hall of Illumination.”

Holding a stack of fine, gilt-edged envelopes, Hezekiah smiled as Lord Asher sat down on a nearby chest, to catch his breath.

“The invitations are ready to be sent,” the older man reported. “I found the caligraphy work calming.” He watched the final chandelier being lifted into place, across the ballroom floor. “It amuses me, this backward process.”

Joseph let out a snort of laughter.

“Sending the invitations before the hall is ready, you mean?” Hezekiah smiled.

“Indeed. it seems almost... appropos.” He turned back towards his fellow Shamar. “I trust the the structural preparations are on schedule?”

Nodding, Joseph looked around the ballroom. Shined, clean surfaces greeted his eye everywhere it rested. Forester Reeves had done what he could with the minimal staff at his disposal, but it had taken a detachment of soliders and Dunner’s ship crew to renew all the rooms and grounds of the castle in such a short period of time.

“These men have worked hard,” Joseph replied. “The roof is nearly finished. Reeves says we may have a working fountain after all. The kitchen are operating; more servants and cooks hired. The stone masons’s boy told me that the road paving should be complete within a week.” With a short sigh Joseph glanced up at Hezekiah.”I have not seen Dunner--or his men--as of late.”

“He is entrenched in the cellars, beneath our feet,” Hezekiah informed him. “He is no dobut valiantly leading those brave men to cleanse the drains. If his complaints are true, they will all want hot baths before supper.”

He looked past Joseph through the atrium doors, towards the front steps. A horse cantered towards the manor house, with a uniformed rider perched importantly on its back. “The courier has arrived. He and his fellows should have the invitations delivered by nightfall,or early morn.”

At this, Joseph reached into the leather pouch hung from his belt. He brought forth another envelope, like the others in form and shape.

“Send this, with the others,” he said. “Unlike you, I do not find caligraphy calming.”

Taking out his spectacles, Hezekiah affixed them firmly to his nose before taking the offered envelope. A smile spread over his face as he read the name carefully penned upon the smooth surface. Looking over the top of his spectacles at the young lord, Hezekiah turned towards the atrium without another word.

THREE

The fine rooms of General Octavian Hays’ mansion stood in disarray.

Merchant carts fought for position on the front drive. More emerged from the grand manor doors, laden with furniture and all manner of household goods; others were ushered into the great entrance door by Harold, the estate steward. In the spacious parlor the general’s wife stood tall, directing which items were to be taken down from the walls. With the tenacity of a cornered tigress, she haggled with the merchants concerning the worth of each and every piece of furniture and bit of finery.

Away from the melee, General Hayes sat in his study, in the solitary chair left to him. He stared gloomily into the fire. Several parchment messages sat in a pile in his lap; some lay opened, other untouched. The study door opened, slowly. A young woman with sable-colored hair quietly entered the room; she held a mug of steaming tea in her hand. Walking slowly, she stood next to her father’s chair.

“Father...” she said, in a hushed voice. “Please have something to drink.” Octavian Hays looked up at his daughter for a moment before accepting the tea.

“Thank you, my dear,” he said, sighing. He took a small drink and then placed the mug on the floor; with one hand, he lifted up one of the opened missives. “This,” he began, “Is a message from someone I have always regarded as a very good friend.” He tossed the parchment into the fire, with force. “The pompous old baboon gave his deepest sympathies for my current financial instability… but will he grant my request for a small corner of his land to live on? Certainly not!”

Elizabeth watched in silence as her father took the messages--one by one--and flung them into the consuming flames.

“This... is from General Robertson... who still possesses one of the finest horses from my stable, a gift to him only two years ago! And this note... a farce of a communication. It tells me that my dear acquaintance Senator Phillips, whom has often graced our halls and stayed for weeks at a time, directed his steward to write that his grace has no room which to rent to me; no room! The vast cottages on his estate haven’t been lived in for years! Rent indeed! Where are his promises of having us as guests whenever we so desired?!”

“I can answer that question, husband,” came a sharp voice in answer. Mrs. Hays stood in the doorway, all color drained from her face. “Senator Phillips is closely affiliated with the family Von Curtis, whose favored son was rejected for marriage by our child.” She looked coldly at Elizabeth. “The self-same man who suffered a grave injustice through you, by that blacksmith...”

The matron closed her eyes at the thought, her mouth in a firm line. Her husband did not look at her, but stared relentlessly at the messages burning in the crackling fire. Harold, the steward, appeared at the door; the scene before him had played out in similar fashion, many times over the last fort-night.

“It is true,” the general said, at last, “The blacksmith was the beginning of this trouble. But, your flagrant spending--and my lack of restraint on you--is the real cause of our current situation.” He stood up suddenly; the remaining messages fell to the floor. “And now,” he said, turning to face his wife, “we are left but one choice! To sell everything and go live with your widowed sister and the hundreds of cherished felines roaming her town-house as they relieve themselves in the corners, covering every surface with deep drifts of hair and filling the air with acrid smells that adhere to the skin like glue...”

“Father, please,” Elizabeth broke in, appalled.

Picking up the messages on the floor, Harold came across an unopened fine-looking envelope, edged with silver gilt. Engaged in a heated verbal battle the general and his wife appeared to be busy; Harold handed the message to Elizabeth. The young woman nodded at him, opening the parchment carefully; as she read its contents, her expression changed.

“Father,” she called, interrupting the argument between her parents; she held up the open message.

General Hays looked at his daughter; the look of hope on her face waylaid his interest. Striding over to Elizabeth, Hays took the letter from her and read it quickly. Turning back to his wife, the general laid one hand ceremoniously on the back of the chair and stood straight as he read out loud:

“To the honorable General Octavian Hays. You and your family are cordially invited to visit the Estate of Stone Mountain; my estate steward is set to retire, and having none of caliber to take his place I offer the position to you. It would be my honor to discharge any debts and offer you a place of residence at Seaside Cottage on the Great Bay, located on my land near the town of Dorenvines. Feel unrestrained to allow your steward to accompany you; a place has been arranged for him as well. Pray swiftly send communication of your answer; all is prepared for a new chief steward to begin work immediately. My sincere regards for your health and that of your family… it is signed ‘the Lord of Stone Mountain.’”

“The audacity!” Mrs. Hays exclaimed, clutching her handkerchief. “To suggest that a general become a steward? A servant?!”

“On the contrary,” the general returned, contemplating the letter. “This is not an insult... especially not in our sitaution. Chief steward is honorable work, as work goes. Think of it: our debts discharged... a place to stay, and on the Great Bay, too. I have briefly heard of this lord in recent weeks. A man of mystery... favored by the King... allowed to purchase the coveted estate of Stone Mountain where no other offer has succeeded before. If he did not save the king’s life, then he must have paid a fortune for it...”

Mrs. Hays shut her mouth as her husband spoke; she stepped forward a little with each as her husband spoke, appearing somewhat interested.

“Is he yet a bachelor?” she asked, looking over at Elizabeth. Her daughter stood up a bit straighter, nettled at the insinuation.

“I believe the employment offer has merit, Father,” Elizabeth said, looking narrowly at her mother. “Save for the reference to a possible engagement...”

“Yes, well... your mother has her dreams, I suppose,” her father said, waving his hand absently towards his wife. “We are paupers now. Without a dowry for you we would be fortunate to get...” he looked scornfully at his wife, “a blacksmith to agree to marry you.” Mrs. Hays left the room in a huff, closing the door with force behind her.

After a moment, Elizabeth curtsied and left the room as well. Alone in her room, Elizabeth sat at her dressing table. opening the bottom drawerin her writing ddesk, she fetched out a clean sheet of writing paper and spend a few moments mending her quill pen. As she sharpened the tip with a slender knife, Elizabeth glanced at a nearby hat box. The velvet winter cap wihtin had already been sold, but buried within small scraps of fabric sat a bundle of letters--written, but still unsent. Joseph had sent her but one letter through Harold, informing her that he was fulfilling an important task that would help secure their future. He had not, however, said where to send her reply. She hoped he was well, wherever he was.