Rise of a Merchant Prince

• Chapter Two • Homecoming

Roo yawned.

The body next to him stirred under white sheets and he realized where he was. He smiled, remembering the night before, and ran his hand under the sheet and across the back of the young woman next to him. He didn’t think of her as a whore; the term was fit for the women who followed soldiers around camp, or who leaned over the balconies in the Poor Quarter of Krondor shouting ribald suggestions and insults at the workers and sailors below, but these ladies, he decided, were unlike anything he had imagined as a boy.

They were flirtatious, seemed well educated, were impeccable in their manners, and, as Roo had discovered the night before, creative and enthusiastic. The young woman next to him had taught Roo more things about pleasing a woman and himself in one night than he had learned from every woman he had been with in his young life. And they smelled wonderful, like flowers and spices. He found himself becoming aroused and with a grin continued to caress the body next to him.

The girl awoke, and if she had any problem with being awakened thus, she masked it with incredible skill; she actually seemed pleased to discover Roo lying next to her.

‘Good morning,’ she said with a wide smile. Running her fingers along his stomach, she said, ‘What a nice way to wake up.’

As he gathered the girl into his arms, Roo considered himself fortunate. He had no illusions about his looks; he was easily the homeliest boy from Ravensburg, but he had managed to bed two of the local girls in town before he and Erik had been forced to flee. He knew, given enough time, he could charm most anyone, though he rarely tried. But now he was alive, with gold in his belt, and a woman willing to make him feel handsome. It was the start of a wonderful day.

Later he bid the girl good-bye, realizing that he couldn’t remember if her name was Mary or Marie. He found Erik already dressed and waiting in the antechamber, speaking with a particularly pretty young blonde.

Erik looked up. ‘Ready to leave?’

Roo nodded. ‘The others?’

‘We’ll see them when we get back from Ravensburg, or at least I will.’ He rose and was still holding on to the girl’s hand.

There was something about his manner that struck Roo as odd, and as they left the brothel, he remarked, ‘You seemed smitten with that pretty girl.’

Erik blushed. ‘Nothing of the kind. She’s …’

After a silent moment, Roo supplied, ‘A whore?’

The city was busy at that hour of the morning, and they were forced to wend their way through the press. Erik said, ‘I guess. Something more like a lady, I think.’

Roo shrugged, the gesture lost on Erik. ‘They get paid well, that’s for certain.’ He was now considering the diminishment of his purse as he weighed the cost versus the reward. He decided he needed to husband his capital a bit more carefully. There were far less expensive whores to be found.

‘Where to next?’ asked Roo.

‘I need to talk to Sebastian Lender.’

Roo brightened. Barret’s Coffee House was one of the places he wished to visit, and having a social call to make upon one of the solicitors who plied their business there was an eminently acceptable reason.

They headed to the area of the city known locally as the Merchants’ Quarter, even though it held only a slightly higher percentage of businesses than elsewhere in the city. What marked the Merchants’ Quarter was a high number of very costly homes, many erected behind or above the stores that generated their wealth, the highest concentration of influential men who were not nobility.

The craftsmen had their guilds – the thieves, too: the Mockers – and the nobility had their rank from birth, but men who pursued their fortune through commerce and trade had only their wits. While a few of them had banded together to create trade associations from time to time, more were independent businessmen without allies but with many competitors.

So those who survived and became successful had few peers with whom to share their pride of accomplishment, few fellows with whom to boast of their good fortune and perspicacity. A few, like a merchant Roo had met named Helmut Grindle, kept their appearance modest, as if to call attention to themselves might bring ruin. But others chose to shout their success to the world by building huge town houses, rivaling those owned by the nobility, throughout the city. And over the years the nature of the Merchants’ Quarter had changed.

As more and more rich merchants purchased property in the area, the cost of land rose so high that now few businesses in the Merchants’ Quarter were owned by those who lived there; the price of housing was too dear. There were a few modest storefront enterprises, established by the fathers or grandfathers of those tending them now, that continued to provide conventional goods and services to those in the area – a bakery on one street, a cobbler on another – but they were quickly being replaced by shops specializing in luxurious items for these very wealthy merchants: jewelers, tailors of the finest clothing, and traders in rare goods. And those who lived in the Merchants’ Quarter were now almost exclusively these very wealthy businessmen, those with far-flung financial empires elsewhere in the province or in distant cities. In time the last of the modest merchants would sell their property, as the offers to buy became too good to refuse, and relocate to more distant quarters in the foulburg, that expanding portion of the city beyond the old wall.

Barret’s Coffee House stood at the corner of a street now known as Arutha’s Way, in honor of the late Prince of Krondor, father to the King – but still called by most locals Sandy Beach Walk – and Miller’s Road, a route that had once led from a mill no longer extant to a farmer’s gate long torn down. Barret’s was a tall building, three stories, with two open doors at the corner, one on each street. Standing in each door was a waiter: a man with a white tunic, black trousers, black boots, and a blue-and-white-striped apron.

The three other street corners were occupied by a tavern, a ship’s broker, and, diagonally across the street from Barret’s, an abandoned home. It had once been splendid, perhaps one of the finest in Krondor, but misfortune had cost its owner dearly from all appearances. It had been neglected long before it was abandoned, and its past glory was now faded by peeling paint, boarded-up windows, missing tiles from the roof, and dirt everywhere.

Roo glanced at that building. ‘Maybe someday I’ll buy that house and fix it up.’

Erik smiled. ‘I don’t doubt it, Roo.’

Roo and Erik walked past the waiter standing at the door on Miller’s Road, and entered. The two outside doors opened on a simple receiving area, offering several well-upholstered chairs, but otherwise closed off from the main floor of the coffee house by a wooden railing. There was one opening in the railing blocked by a man attired in a manner similar to the two waiters at the door. The main difference was that his apron was black.

A tall man, he looked eye to eye at Erik, then down at Roo as he said, ‘Yes?’

Erik said, ‘We’ve come to see Sebastian Lender.’

The man nodded. ‘Follow me, please.’ He turned and walked onto the main floor of the coffee house.

Roo and Erik followed and were led through a large area of small tables, several occupied by men drinking coffee, while waiters hurried from table to table. To the left as they reached the center of the room a broad flight of stairs led up to a balcony rather than a true second floor, leaving the center of the room open to the high vaulted ceiling. Looking up, Roo saw there was no third floor, but rather a double set of high windows above the second-floor balcony. Barret’s was a very open, well-lit building as a result. They reached another waist-high railing, which cut off the rear third of the room, and there the waiter said, ‘Please wait here.’

The waiter moved a small section of the rail that was on hinges, and stepped through and toward a table at the far side of the house. Roo motioned upward and Erik’s eyes went to where he pointed.

Above them, on the second-floor landing, men sat at tables. Roo said, ‘The brokers.’

‘How do you know?’

‘I’ve heard a thing or two,’ said Roo.

Erik laughed and shook his head. Most likely he had heard it from Helmut Grindle, the trader they had traveled with for a while when coming to Krondor. Roo and Grindle had spoken of many things commercial, and while Erik had found some of the conversation diverting, as often as not it put him to sleep.

A moment later, a dignified-looking man wearing an unadorned but expensive tunic with an overvest and cravat approached. He studied the two young men before him for a moment, then said, ‘My word! Young von Darkmoor and Mr Avery, if I’m not mistaken.’

Roo nodded as Erik said, ‘Yes, Mr Lender. We gained our pardon.’

‘Most unusual,’ said Lender. He motioned for the waiter to open the railing for him to step through. ‘Only members are permitted behind this second railing.’ He indicated with a wave of his hand that Roo and Erik should sit at an empty table a few feet away.

He motioned for the waiter and said, ‘Three coffees.’ Looking at Roo and Erik, he asked, ‘Have you broken fast today?’ When they answered in the negative, he said to the waiter, ‘Some rolls, jams and honey, and a platter of cheese and sausage.’

As the waiter hurried off, Lender said, ‘As you are pardoned, you obviously do not need my services as a solicitor, so perhaps you need them as a litigator?’

Erik said, ‘Not really. I came to pay you your fee.’

Lender began to object, but Erik said, ‘I know you refused to take gold before, but despite your having lost the pleading, we are here and alive, so I think you’re entitled to your fee.’ He produced his money pouch and put it upon the table. It clinked with the heavy sound of gold coins.

Lender said, ‘You’ve prospered, young gentlemen.’

‘It’s a payment for services from the Prince,’ said Roo.

Shrugging, Lender opened the purse, counted out fifteen golden sovereigns, then closed the purse, pushing it back toward Erik. He pocketed the coins.

‘Is that enough?’ asked Erik.

‘Had I won, I would have charged you fifty,’ said Lender as the coffee arrived.

Roo had never cared for coffee, so he sipped at it, expecting to put aside the cup and ignore it. But to his surprise, instead of the bitter brew he had tasted before, this was a rich complex taste. ‘This is good!’ he blurted.

Erik laughed and tried his, then said, ‘It is.’

‘Keshian,’ said Lender. ‘Far superior to what is grown in the Kingdom. More flavor, less bitterness.’ He waved his hand around the room. ‘Barret’s is the first establishment in Krondor to specialize exclusively in fine coffees, and as a sign of his wisdom, the founder placed his first shop here in the heart of the Merchants’ Quarter, rather than trying to sell to the nobility.’

Roo instantly came alert; stories of success appealed to him. ‘Why is that?’ he asked.

‘Because the nobility are difficult to approach, expect extreme discounts, and rarely pay in a timely fashion.’

Roo laughed. ‘I’ve heard that from the wine merchants at home.’

Lender continued. ‘Mr Barret knew that the local businessmen often needed a place away from their homes or offices where they could discuss business over a meal, without the distractions of an inn’s taproom.’

Erik again nodded, having spent a fair part of his life in the taproom of the inn where he had worked as a child.

‘So was born Barret’s Coffee House, which prospered from the first week it was opened. Originally a more modest enterprise, it has existed for nearly seventy-five years, in this location for close to sixty.’

‘What about the brokers, and syndicates, and … you?’ asked Roo.

Lender smiled as a tray of hot rolls, breakfast meats, cheeses, and fruits, along with pots of jam, honey, and butter, was brought to the table.

Suddenly hungry, Roo took a roll and slathered butter and honey on it while Lender answered him. ‘Some of those without offices of their own used to conduct business all day long and, to keep Barret happy, would buy coffee, tea, and food in a steady stream. Seeing this as a pleasant alternative to hours of empty tables between meals, Mr Barret ensured certain tables would remain reserved for those businessmen.

‘They formed the first syndicates and brokerage alliances. And they needed representation’ – he put his hand upon his chest and bowed slightly – ‘hence litigators and solicitors became habitués of the establishment. When things became crowded, the son of the founder moved to this inn, tore out the third floor, and created the exclusive members’ area above, and things have continued that way since.’ He motioned at the second rail. ‘Some members were forced to use this end of the ground floor, hence the newer railing. Now one must purchase a location in the hall for one’s syndicate or brokerage, or risk not having a table at which to sit when arriving to conduct business.’

Glancing around, he added, ‘You now are in the heart of one of the most important trading centers in the Kingdom, certainly the most important in the Western Realm, and rivaled only by those in Rillanon, Kesh, and Queg.’

‘How does one become a broker?’ asked Roo.

‘First you need money,’ answered the litigator, not in the least put off by the youngster seeking instruction. ‘A great deal of money. This is why there are so many syndicates, because of the great cost of underwriting many of the projects that are conceived of here at Barret’s or brought to us from the outside.’

‘How does one start?’ asked Roo. ‘I mean, I have some money, but I’m not sure if I want to invest it here or try my own hand.’

‘No partnership will admit an investor without good cause,’ said Lender. He sipped his coffee, then continued. ‘Over the years a complex set of rules has evolved. Noble-men often come to Barret’s seeking either to invest wealth or to borrow it, and as a result, the interests of those here who are commoners need to be closely protected. So, to join a syndicate, one needs a great deal of money – though not as much as to become an independent broker – and one also needs a sponsor.’

‘What’s that?’ asked Roo.

‘One who is already a member of Barret’s or who has close ties to one of the members who can vouch for you. If you have the capital, then you need the introduction.’

‘Can’t you do that?’ asked Roo, obviously eager.

‘No,’ said Lender with a slightly sad smile. ‘For all my influence and position, here I am but a guest. My office has been here for nearly twenty-five years, but only because I work on behalf of nearly thirty different brokers and syndicates, and I have never placed a copper piece of my own capital at risk through any offering.’

‘What’s an offering?’ asked Erik.

Lender put up his hand. ‘There are more questions than time, young von Darkmoor.’ He signaled to one of the ever-present waiters. ‘In my property box you’ll find a long blue velvet bag. Please bring it here.’ To Erik and Roo he said, ‘I enjoy the break from the routine, but time doesn’t permit a leisurely discourse on the business at Barret’s.’

Roo said, ‘I plan on being a broker.’

‘Do you?’ said Lender, and his face lit up with delight. His expression wasn’t mocking, but he seemed to find the pronouncement entertaining. ‘What is this venture, then, that you spoke of?’

Roo leaned back. ‘It’s a plan I have that would take too long to speak of, I’m sorry to say.’

Lender laughed while Erik blushed at his friend’s bold freshness. ‘Well said,’ answered Lender.

‘Besides, added Roo, ‘I think discretion is in order.’

‘Often that is the case,’ agreed Lender as the waiter returned with the requested item. Lender took the velvet bag and opened it, removing a dagger. It was a deftly fashioned thing, with a sheath of ivory set with a small ruby and bound at the top and tip with gold. He handed it to Erik. ‘It was the other part of your legacy from your father.’

Erik took the dagger and pulled the blade from the sheath. ‘Impressive,’ he said. ‘I may not be as well practiced with weapons at the forge as I am with horseshoes, but this is fine work.’

‘From Rodez, I believe,’ said Lender.

‘Best steel in the Kingdom,’ agreed Erik. The blade was embossed with the von Darkmoor family crest, finely cut into the steel, and yet it was well balanced, both decorative and deadly. The hilt was carved bone, perhaps from the antler of an elk or moose, and capped with gold to match the sheath.

Lender pushed back his chair. ‘Young sirs, I must be back to my business, but please feel free to linger awhile and refresh yourselves. If you ever have need of a solicitor or a litigator, you know where to find me.’ He waved vaguely at the place from which he had appeared and added, ‘Goodbye. It was good seeing you well.’

Erik rose, as did Roo, and they bade their host farewell, then looked at each other. As old friends do, they shared a single thought between them, and Roo said, ‘Home.’

They moved through the crowded common room of Barret’s, a place both strange and exciting to Roo, and exited. At the door, Erik turned to one of the waiters and asked, ‘Where can a man buy a good horse?’

‘Cheaply!’ injected Roo.

The waiter didn’t hesitate. ‘At the Merchants’ Gate,’ he said, pointing along Arutha’s Way, ‘you’ll find several dealers. Most are thieves, but there’s a man named Morgan there who can be trusted. Tell him Jason at Barret’s sent you and he’ll treat you fairly.’

Roo studied the young man’s face. Brown hair and light freckles marked him and Roo said, ‘I’ll remember you if he doesn’t.’

The young man frowned, ever so slightly, but said only, ‘He’s honest, sir.’

‘What about new clothing?’ ask Erik.

Jason said, ‘The tailor at New Gate Road and Broad Street is a cousin of mine, sir. Tell him I sent you and he’ll see you right for a reasonable sum.’

Roo didn’t look convinced, but Erik said thanks and led his friend away. They remained silent as they wended their way through the crowded city streets. It took them the better part of an hour to reach the tailor’s and an hour to select clothing for travel that fit. Erik chose a riding cloak to cover his uniform tunic, and Roo purchased an inexpensive tunic and trousers, a cloak, and a slouch hat. Erik also found a cobbler who provided him with a pair of boots to wear while those left him by his father were mended. Roo had gotten used to going barefoot while aboard ship, but purchased a pair of boots for riding.

Soon after they were at the Merchants’ Gate and spent another hour haggling for a pair of horses, but the waiter had been truthful with them and Morgan was an honest trader. Erik picked out two sturdy geldings, a bay for himself and a grey for Roo. Leading the horses away with rope halters, they found a saddler, a half-block away and quickly had the horses tacked up and ready to ride.

Roo settled into the saddle and said, ‘I don’t care how much I do it, I’ll never get to like riding.’

Erik laughed. ‘You’ve become a better than average horseman, Roo, despite your objections. And this time you can ride without much worry about having to fight while on that creature’s back.’

Roo’s expression darkened.

Erik said, ‘What?’

‘What’s this “much” business?’

Erik laughed even louder. ‘There are no guarantees in this life, my friend.’ So saying, he put heels to sides, and the horse moved out briskly toward the Merchants’ Gate and the road eastward. ‘On to Ravensburg!’ he shouted.

Roo could only laugh at his friend’s merriment, and he followed suit, discovering that this horse was inclined to argue with every command. Taking a firm hand, and knowing that the sooner the battle was fought the sooner it was won, Roo slammed his heels hard against the horse’s sides and drove him after Erik’s mount. Quickly they were outside the city wall, on their way home.

Rain pelted them, its insistent beat a physical assault. Night was rapidly approaching and the only traffic on the road was local businessmen and farmers hurrying home. A resigned wagon driver barely looked over at Roo and Erik passing as he urged his slowly plodding horses to continue through the mud. The King’s Highway might be the artery that carried the lifeblood of commerce from one border to the other, but when the rains came to the Barony of Darkmoor, the blood didn’t flow, it oozed.

Erik shouted, ‘Lights.’

Roo looked out from under the sodden brim of his once handsome slouch hat. ‘Wilhelmsburg?’

‘I think,’ said Erik. ‘We’ll be home by tomorrow afternoon.’

‘I don’t suppose I could convince you to sleep in some stranger’s barn, could I?’ said Roo, having spent more money on this journey than he had planned.

‘No,’ answered Erik without humor. ‘I’m for a dry bed and a hot meal.’

That image overcame Roo’s reluctance to spend another coin, and he followed his friend toward the lights of the town. They found a modest inn, with a sign of a plowshare swinging in the wind, and rode through the side gate to the stable. Erik shouted, and a lackey came out, bundled against the weather, to take the horses. He listened politely to Erik’s instructions and nodded, and Erik assumed he would be wise to return after supper to see the boy cared for the animals as he ordered.

They hurried into the taproom and, once inside, shook off the water from their cloaks.

‘Evening, sirs,’ said a young girl, pleasant-looking, with brown hair and eyes. ‘Will you be needing rooms for the night?’

‘Yes,’ said Roo, obviously displeased at the cost, but now that warmth was returning to his bones glad they were not returning to the weather outside.

‘Fit to be blowing up a rare storm tonight,’ said the innkeeper as he came and took their cloaks and hats. ‘Will you be dining?’ He handed the cloaks and hats to the girl, who took them somewhere warm to hang and dry.

‘Yes,’ said Erik. ‘What wine have you?’

‘Fit for a lord,’ said the man with a smile.

‘Any from Ravensburg?’ asked Erik as he made his way to an empty table.

Save for a solitary man with a sword in the far corner and two merchants obviously taking their ease before the fireplace, the inn was deserted. The innkeeper followed them, ‘We do, sir. It’s the next town over, then one more, and on to Ravensburg.’

‘So we are in Wilhelmsburg,’ said Roo.

‘Yes,’ answered the innkeeper. ‘Are you familiar with the area?’

‘We’re from Ravensburg,’ answered Erik. ‘It’s just been a while since we’ve been there and in the darkness we weren’t sure which town this was.’

‘Bring us some wine, please,’ asked Roo, ‘then supper.’

The meal was filling, if not memorable, and the wine better than expected; it clearly had a style and finish familiar to both Roo and Erik. It was the common wine of Ravens-burg, but compared to what they had been drinking the last year and more, this seemed a bottle fit for the King’s table. Both young men fell into a quiet mood, anticipating the homecoming the next day.

For Roo it was nothing much to do with his past; his immediate family was his father, Tom Avery, a drunken teamster whose only legacy to Roo had been beatings and teaching him to drive a team of horses. Roo was much more interested in seeking out some minor wine merchants he knew and arranging what he hoped would be the start of his rise to riches.

For Erik it was coming home to his mother and the shattered dream of his youth: a blacksmith’s forge and a family. He had served old Tyndal the smith for years before Tyndal’s death, then a year and more with Nathan, who had been the closest thing to a father he had known. But life took its own course, and nothing seemed to be as he had hoped it would, when he was a child in Ravensburg.

‘What are you thinking?’ asked Roo. ‘You’ve been quiet a long time.’

‘You haven’t exactly been bending my ear,’ replied Erik, a smile on his face. ‘Just about home and what it was like before.’

He didn’t have to say before what. Roo knew: before a struggle with Erik’s half brother Stefan ended up with Roo’s dagger driven into Stefan’s chest as Erik held him. After that they had fled Ravensburg and had not seen friend or family since.

Roo said, ‘I wonder if anyone told them we live?’

Erik laughed. ‘If they didn’t, our arrival tomorrow will be something of a surprise.’

The door opened and the howl of the wind caused the two young men to turn. Four soldiers in the garb of the barony entered, cursing the night’s foul weather.

‘Innkeeper!’ shouted the corporal as he removed his sopping great cloak. ‘Hot food and mulled wine!’ He glanced around the room, then his gaze returned to Roo and Erik. His eyes widened.

‘Von Darkmoor!’ he blurted. The other three soldiers fanned out, not quite sure why their corporal had called out their Baron’s name, but clearly alerted to trouble by his tone.

Erik and Roo stood, and the two merchants moved away from their chairs before the fireplace, hugging the wall. The only other person in the room, the swordsman, looked on with interest, but didn’t move.

The corporal had his sword out, and as Roo made to draw his own, Erik motioned for him to return it to its scabbard. ‘We’re not looking for trouble, Corporal.’

The corporal said, ‘We heard you’d been hung. I don’t know how you and your scrawny friend escaped, but we’ll soon put that right. Seize them.’

Roo said, ‘Wait a minute –’

The men moved quickly, but Erik and Roo were both quicker, and the first two soldiers who laid hands upon them found themselves on the floor, their heads ringing from swift blows. The two merchants spied a pathway past the trouble and beat a hasty exit from the room, running outside into the rain without their hats or coats. The man at the table laughed. ‘Well done!’ he shouted.

The corporal leveled his sword and thrust, but Erik slipped aside and had him by the wrist before he could react. One of the strongest men Roo had ever seen, Erik also had been trained in barehanded combat, and his iron grip wrung the corporal’s sword from his fingers as he gasped in pain.

Roo simply thrust with his hand, palm out, fingers extended, and delivered a sharp blow with the heel of his hand upward to the chin of the other standing soldier, who went down in a stunned heap.

‘Wait a minute!’ commanded Erik in the voice he had developed as Robert de Loungville’s corporal on their return from Novindus. The other two soldiers, who were slowly standing, hesitated, and Erik shouted his command: ‘Hold, damn you!’

He released the corporal’s wrist while kicking aside his sword so he couldn’t reach for it easily, then showed that his hands were empty of weapons. ‘I have a paper.’ He reached slowly inside his tunic, removed the document given him the day before by an officer in the office of the Knight-Marshal of Krondor, and handed it to the corporal.

The man took it and glanced it over. ‘Got the seal of Krondor at the bottom,’ he grudgingly admitted, while still sitting on the floor. Then his eyes lowered as he said, ‘Can’t read.’

The swordsman stood and with a relaxed air moved to Erik’s side. ‘If I may help, Corporal,’ he said, extending his hand.

The corporal handed back the document and the man read aloud: ‘Know you by my hand and seal that Erik von Darkmoor is sworn to my service and …’ His eyes glanced to the bottom of the document. ‘It’s a lot of mumbo-jumbo, Corporal. The short of it is you just tried to arrest one of Prince Nicholas’s personal guards. A corporal, like yourself, it says.’

‘A fact?’ asked the corporal, his eyes widened.

‘Yes, not only is the document signed by the Duke of Krondor’s own Knight-Marshal, the Prince himself signed it.’

‘True?’ was the corporal’s next remark as he slowly rose to his feet.

‘True,’ answered the stranger. ‘And from the way he took your sword from you, I think there’s a reason he’s in the Prince’s personal service.’

The corporal rubbed his wrist. ‘Well, perhaps.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘But we heard nothing about this, and last time Erik’s name was mentioned it was when we heard he was to be hung for killing the young Baron.’

Erik sighed. ‘The Prince pardoned us.’

‘So you say,’ said the corporal. ‘But I think me and the boys will hurry back to Darkmoor and see what Lord Manfred has to say about this.’

He picked up his sword and signaled to his men to depart. One of them shook his head in disgust at forgoing a hot meal and the other threw Erik and Roo a black look as he helped the one Roo had stunned back to his feet.

That man, still trying to focus his eyes, said, ‘We’re leaving? Did we eat? Is it morning?’

The other said, ‘Shut up, Bluey. A bit of that cutting rain will sort you out, quick like.’

The soldiers left the inn and Erik turned to the stranger. ‘Thanks.’

The man shrugged. ‘If I hadn’t read it, the innkeeper or someone else would.’

Erik said, ‘I’m Erik von Darkmoor.’

The man took his hand. ‘Duncan Avery.’

Roo’s eyes widened. Cousin Duncan?’

The eyes of the man who had named himself Avery narrowed as he studied Roo. After a long moment he said, ‘Rupert?’

Suddenly they were laughing, and the man Rupert called cousin gave him a quick hug. ‘I haven’t seen you since you were a tadpole, youngster.’ He stepped back and a wry smile graced his features.

Erik glanced back and forth and couldn’t see even the most remote resemblance. While Roo was short, wiry, and signally unattractive, Duncan Avery was tall, slender, with broad shoulders, and handsome. Moreover, he dressed like a dandy, save for his sword, which was well used and well cared for. He sported a slender mustache, but otherwise was clean-shaven, and his hair hung to his shoulders, where it was cut evenly and curled under.