The King’s Buccaneer. Raymond E. Feist

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      Amos was second off the ship, and said, ‘Your Grace,’ as he clapped Martin roughly on the shoulder.

      All formality evaporated as Martin threw his arms around Amos. ‘You old pirate,’ he said, laughing. ‘It’s been too many years.’ They slapped each other on the back and shook hands. Amos inclined his head toward Nicholas.

      Martin returned his attention to the Prince. ‘Your Highness. May I present my wife, the Duchess Briana.’ Nicholas had not seen her since he was a toddler, and his memories of her were vague. It was like meeting her for the first time. A tall woman inclined her head toward Nicholas. Her hair, grey with a startling white streak at the left temple, flowed back from a high brow. There was nothing pretty about the Duchess, but she was a striking woman. Blue eyes set with lines from weather and age regarded the Prince from a face otherwise free of any mark of aging, though she was past fifty. She wore a very practical-looking outfit of leather vest over a silk shirt and trousers tucked into high boots. ‘M’lady,’ said Nicholas, taking her extended hand and squeezing it slightly in greeting. The grip he received was strong, and Nicholas knew the tales of his uncle’s strange lady were mostly true. From the fallen city of Armengar – where women were soldiers alongside the men – Lady Briana could ride, hunt, and fight better than most men, from all reports. Looking at her, Nicholas didn’t doubt it.

      Martin continued the introductions. ‘This is my son, Marcus.’ Nicholas turned to his cousin and hesitated; there was something vaguely familiar about him. Brown eyes and brown hair: Nicholas judged he must resemble someone back in Krondor. The same height as Nicholas, Marcus wore his hair the same length as the Prince. But Marcus was almost two years senior to Nicholas and slightly heavier in build. Marcus gave Nicholas a stiff bow and stepped back.

      Nicholas said, ‘Cousin,’ and nodded.

      Amos came up to stand behind Nicholas and said to Martin, ‘Remember when I first gleaned that you were Arutha’s brother?’

      Martin said, ‘How could I forget? That was my first voyage, and you almost drowned us all.’

      ‘Saved your worthless skin with my masterful sailing, you mean,’ answered Amos. Waving a hand at Nicholas and Marcus, he said, ‘But if the world ever needed proof of your parentage, there it stands revealed.’ He stroked his chin. ‘I think we’ll have to paint one of them green so we can tell them apart.’

      Nicholas looked at Amos in confusion, but Marcus’s face was an unreadable mask. Amos said, ‘The resemblance.’

      Nicholas said, ‘What resemblance?’

      ‘To each other,’ answered the admiral.

      Nicholas turned to regard his cousin. ‘Do you think …?’

      Marcus shook his head slightly. ‘I don’t see it … Highness.’

      Amos laughed and said, ‘You never will.’

      Martin continued the introductions. ‘Highness, this is my daughter, Margaret.’

      One of the two young girls curtsied. Her hair was dark like her brother’s, but she resembled her mother. Nature had given her a straight nose and high cheekbones, but with a less severe cast than Briana’s. She wore her hair long to her shoulders, like her mother, without any adornment. Dark eyes glanced up at the Prince as he said, ‘A pleasure, cousin.’ She smiled at the greeting, and instantly she was lovely.

      Nicholas’s gaze drifted to the young woman at Margaret’s side, and he felt his chest tighten. Cornflower-blue eyes that seemed the largest he had ever encountered regarded him. Suddenly he felt clumsy and unsure of himself. Margaret said, ‘This is my companion, the Lady Abigail, daughter of Baron Bellamy of Carse.’ The slender girl curtsied and Nicholas was certain he had never seen anyone do it so gracefully. Unlike Margaret, Abigail had her blond hair gathered up in a silver circlet behind her head, where it cascaded in ringlets. Her skin was pale and clear and her features delicate. She smiled as she arose from her curtsy, and Nicholas couldn’t help but smile back. After a moment the smile became a silly grin.

      The sound of a throat clearing behind him brought Nicholas from his trance. He said, ‘M’lady,’ and his voice sounded strained in his own ears. Nicholas turned back toward Martin and said, ‘This is Harry, my Squire,’ as his companion came down the gangway, carrying Nicholas’s and his own travel bags. The boy dropped them on the ground and bowed before the Duke of Crydee. Seeing the Princess and her companion, he grinned broadly.

      Martin indicated that Nicholas should ride in the first carriage with himself and his lady. Harry began to walk after them, when Amos’s hand again descended and gripped him by the shoulder. ‘The first carriage is for the Prince, the Duke, and the Duchess. The second is for myself and the Duke’s children.’

      Harry said, ‘But –’

      Amos pointed to the wagons. ‘You can make sure your Prince’s luggage is in order as it’s unloaded and packed on yon wagons. Then you can ride one of them when you’re done.’

      Nakor and Ghuda came down the gangplank and Harry said, ‘What about them?’

      Nakor grinned. ‘We’ll walk. It’s not that far.’ He pointed to the castle on the hill overlooking the harbor.

      Ghuda said, ‘I could use a little stretch.’

      Harry sighed and took the two bags over to the first wagon. A drover said, ‘Here, boy, what’s this?’

      Harry was in an ill temper and snapped, ‘Prince of Krondor’s baggage! I’m his Squire!’

      The man made a lazy salute as he continued to lean against the wagon and said, ‘Then where will you be wanting that lot, Squire?’ He pointed.

      Harry turned and saw the first load of luggage coming off the ship, as a pair of sailors carried one of Nicholas’s heavy trunks down the gangway. It was followed by three more like it. As the creak of wood and the hum of ropes filled the air, a large cargo net from deep within the ship’s hole rose majestically into view. Another dozen trunks and other assorted baggage was hauled over the side and lowered to the quay. Dock hands jumped to and began unfastening the net.

      The drover said, ‘And I suppose you know where that lot’s to go, Squire?’

      With a sign of resignation, Harry reached back into the wagon and pulled out the two bags that had been his and Nicholas’s source of clothing and personal items for the weeks they had been aboard ship. Obviously, they would be among the last pieces to be loaded. Shaking his head, Harry said, ‘And I’m supposed to supervise?’

      With a knowing wink, the drover pushed himself away from the wagon. ‘It’ll go faster and be easier on us all, Squire, if you do your supervising from over there.’ He pointed to a doorway a dozen yards off. ‘Nice ale, good meat pies, and you can supervise through the window.’

      Harry’s mouth watered at the thought of meat pies after the ship’s plain fare. But he said, ‘No, I have my duty.’

      The drover shook his head. ‘Then do us both a favor, Squire, and supervise real quiet-like, if you catch my drift.’

      Harry nodded and moved out of the way as the first pair of trunks were carried over to the wagon. He found himself a shady patch under the overhanging roof of the customs house and leaned against the wall. Glancing up the hill, he could СКАЧАТЬ