Silverthorn. Raymond E. Feist

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      ‘Were you now, sir? Well, I don’t suppose you’d object to remaining for a few moments longer until we discover what this is all about.’ He signalled to the young watchman to look around.

      Arutha nodded, saying nothing. At that point a red-faced puffball of a man emerged from the house, waving his arms while he shouted, ‘Thieves! They stole into my room, my very room, and took my treasure! What’s to be done when a law-abiding citizen isn’t safe in his bed, his own bed, I ask you?’ Catching sight of Arutha and Laurie, he said, ‘Are these then the thieves, the vicious thieves?’ Mustering what dignity he could while wearing a voluminous nightshirt, he exclaimed, ‘What have you done with my gold, my precious gold?’

      The beefy watchman jerked on the shouting man’s arm, nearly spinning the fuller completely around. ‘Here now, watch your shouting, churl.’

      ‘Churl!’ shouted Trig. ‘Just what, I ask, gives you the right to call a citizen, a law-abiding citizen, a –’ He stopped, and his expression changed to one of disbelief as a company of riders appeared out of the fog. At their head rode a tall, black-skinned man wearing the tabard of the captain of the Prince’s Royal Household Guard. Seeing the gathering in the streets, he signalled for his men to rein in.

      With a shake of his head, Arutha said to Laurie, ‘So much for a quiet return to Krondor.’

      The captain said, ‘Watchman, what is all this?’

      The watchman saluted. ‘That is what I was just undertaking to discover this very minute, Captain. We apprehended these two …’ He indicated Arutha and Laurie.

      The captain rode closer and laughed. The watchman looked sideways at this tall captain, not knowing what to say. Riding up to Arutha, Gardan, former sergeant of the garrison at Crydee, saluted. ‘Welcome to your city, Highness.’ At these words the other guards braced in their saddles, saluting their Prince.

      Arutha returned the salute of the guardsmen, then shook hands with Gardan while the watchmen and the fuller stood speechless. ‘Singer,’ said Gardan, ‘it is good to see you again, as well.’ Laurie acknowledged the greeting with a smile and wave. He had known Gardan for only a brief while before Arutha had dispatched him to Krondor to assume command of the city and palace guards, but he liked the grey-haired soldier.

      Arutha looked to where the watchmen and the fuller waited. The watchmen had their caps off and the seniormost said, ‘Beggin’ Your Highness’s pardon, old Bert didn’t know. Any offence was unintended, Sire.’

      Arutha shook his head, amused despite the late hour and the cold weather. ‘No offence, Bert the Watchman. You were but doing your duty, and rightly so.’ He turned to Gardan. ‘Now, how in heaven’s name did you manage to find me?’

      ‘Duke Caldric sent a full itinerary along with the news that you were returning from Rillanon. You were due in tomorrow, but I said to Earl Volney you’d most likely try to slip in tonight. As you were riding from Salador, there was only one gate you’d enter’ – he pointed down the street towards the eastern gate, unseen in the fog-shrouded night – ‘and here we are. Your Highness arrived even earlier than I had expected. Where is the rest of your party?’

      ‘Half the guards are escorting the Princess Anita towards her mother’s estates. The rest are camped about six hours’ ride from the city. I couldn’t abide one more night on the road. Besides, there’s a great deal to be done.’ Gardan looked quizzically at the Prince, but all Arutha would say was ‘More when I speak to Volney. Now’ – he looked at the fuller – ‘who is this loud fellow?’

      ‘This is Trig the Fuller, Highness,’ answered the senior watchman. ‘He claims someone broke into his room and stole from him. He says he was awakened by the sounds of struggle on his roof.’

      Trig interrupted. ‘They were fighting over my head, over my … very … head …’ His voice trailed off as he realized who he was speaking to. ‘… Your Highness,’ he finished, suddenly embarrassed.

      The heavy-browed watchman threw him a stern look. ‘He says he heard some sort of scream and, like a turtle, pulled his head back in from the window.’

      Trig nodded vigorously. ‘Like someone was doing murder, doing bloody murder, Your Highness. It was horrible.’ The beefy watchman visited Trig with an elbow to the ribs at the interruption.

      The young watchman came from the side alley. ‘This was lying atop some rubbish on the street the other side of the house, Bert.’ He held out the assassin’s sword. ‘There was some blood on the grip, but none on the blade. There’s also a small pool of blood in the alley, but no body, anywhere.’

      Arutha motioned for Gardan to take the sword. The young watchman, observing the guards and the obvious position of command assumed by the newcomers, handed up the sword, then doffed his own cap.

      Arutha received the sword from Gardan, saw nothing significant in it, and returned it to the watchman. ‘Turn your guards around, Gardan. It is late and there’s little sleep left this night.’

      ‘But what of the theft?’ cried the fuller, shaken loose from his silence. ‘It was my savings, my life savings! I’m ruined! What shall I do?’

      The Prince turned his horse and came alongside the watchmen. To Trig he said, ‘I offer my sympathies, good fuller, but rest assured the watch will do their utmost to retrieve your goods.’

      ‘Now,’ said Bert to Trig, ‘I suggest you turn in for what’s left of the night, sir. In the morning you may enter a complaint with the duty sergeant of the watch. He’ll want a description of what was taken.’

      ‘What was taken? Gold, man, that’s what they took! My hoard, my entire hoard!’

      ‘Gold, is it? Then,’ said Bert, with the voice of experience, ‘I suggest you turn in and tomorrow begin to rebuild your treasure, for as sure as there’s fog in Krondor, you’ll not see one coin again. But do not be too disconsolate, good sir. You are a man of means, and gold quickly accrues to those of your station, resources, and enterprise.’

      Arutha stifled a laugh, for despite the man’s personal tragedy, he stood a comic figure in his nightshirt of linen, his nightcap tipping forward to almost touch his nose. ‘Good fuller, I will make amends.’ He pulled his dagger from his belt and handed it down to Bert the watchman. ‘This weapon bears my family crest. The only others like it are worn by my brothers, the King and the Duke of Crydee. Return it to the palace tomorrow and a bag of gold will be placed in its stead. I’ll have no unhappy fullers in Krondor on the day of my homecoming. Now I bid you all good night.’ Arutha spurred his horse and led his companions towards the palace.

      When Arutha and his guards had vanished into the gloom, Bert turned to Trig. ‘Well then, sir, there’s a happy end to it,’ he said, passing the Prince’s dagger over to the fuller. ‘And you may take some added pleasure in knowing you are one of the few of common birth who may claim to have spoken with the Prince of Krondor, albeit under somewhat strange and difficult circumstances.’ To his men he said, ‘Let us back to our rounds. There’ll be more than this one little bit of fun in Krondor on a night like this.’ He signalled for his men to follow and led them off into the white murk.

      Trig stood alone. After a moment his expression brightened and he shouted up to his wife and any others who still looked out of their windows, ‘I’ve spoken to the Prince! I, Trig the Fuller!’ Feeling emotions somewhat akin to elation, the fuller trudged back into the warmth of his home, clutching Arutha’s dagger.

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