Jeco passed the huge city gates and followed the crowd of other travelers along the large street, looking around him with wide-open eyes. The city of Kanavar stunned him. Luxurious mansions, busy streets, all kinds of colorful signboards, beautiful carriages with crests on their sides and richly dressed, pompous drivers who stared down at passersby and often made them step aside without even saying a word; heralds hurrying somewhere on lathery horses, the continuous buzz of the throng, loud circus music…
Jeco made it to the central square and saw the king’s palace right in front of him. The magnificent ancient castle towered proudly over all other buildings that seemed to part and bow before it in reverence. The palace was surrounded by a low, yet stout stone wall. Two stalwart soldiers stood motionless at the gates. They wore uniforms of Meorian state colors, red and blue, long red cloaks and gilded helmets with plumes. Jeco had never seen this kind of a uniform before. He figured these were not mere soldiers, they were warriors of the king’s guard.
The boy came closer and stopped, hesitant, gazing at the guards’ impressive figures.
One of the big men gave him a contemptuous look over.
“What do you want?”
“Good morning, sir,” Jeco greeted him. “I need to get into the palace.”
“Ha!” The soldier grinned. “Really? Is that all you want?”
“Stop it, Elidor,” the other guard said, his tone somewhat weary.
But the first one ignored him and went on, staring down at the boy.
“So you think any tramp can get in here? All you need to do is ask?”
“I said stop it!” the other soldier insisted.
Elidor frowned, annoyed. The second guard turned to Jeco.
“You can’t come into the palace just like that, lad. You need a special pass.”
“I do have it,” Jeco nodded, pulling out his leather tag.
The guards leaned forward to look. As soon as they saw the small silver star they both stepped back and saluted, Elidor turning pale. The second soldier gave him a hard, I-warned-you look and addressed Jeco with a respectful bow.
“I hope the young gentleman has not taken offence at the silly jokes of a bored soldier?”
“I apologize, sir,” Elidor muttered. “If the young gentleman has reasons to dress up as a commoner, uh… I hope he would understand my mistake, and will not hold me responsible for failing to treat him appropriately…”
Jeco was somewhat confused with such a quick change. He studied Elidor’s face, trying to see whether the soldier really meant it or continued to make fun of him. Yes, the big guard appeared to be genuinely scared, and now he almost trembled under Jeco’s firm gaze.
Looks like my silver star means something here, the boy thought.
“Allow me to reassure you: I didn’t dress up as a commoner, I am one. Whether that justifies your behavior or not,” he replied, putting the tag away. “May I pass?”
The guards hurried to step aside. “Certainly, sir.”
Jeco walked through the gates.
“You idiot!” he heard the second soldier lash out at Elidor. “Do you have any idea whom you’ve insulted?!”
“Don’t start,” Elidor moaned. “I’m already shaking in my boots! He must be the king’s page… They love playing tricks. All he needs to do is whisper a word into the king’s ear—and Elidor goes bye-bye!”
“And how many times did I tell you to watch your mouth? What if this was some kind of a secret inspection?!”
Leaving the guards to worry and argue, Jeco entered the inner yard. The yard behind the palace wall turned out to be much larger than it seemed from the outside. In the middle of it lay a parade-ground with several dozens soldiers marching around under the watchful eye of their captain. On the left Jeco saw a beautiful garden with statues and fountains, and on the right stood stables and barns.
But the boy didn’t have time to look at all that. He walked around the parade-ground, approached the wide palace doors with a bronze lion at each side and stopped, feeling slightly intimidated. A short, busy looking gentleman carrying a stack of papers overtook Jeco and entered the doors with confidence, as if there was nothing to it. Jeco drew in a deep breath and followed him.
He found himself in a spacious hall, probably a waiting room, judging by the long row of soft arm chairs at the wall. The boy glanced around, looking for someone he could ask how to find Lord Vargos, but the hall was empty; the gentleman with papers had disappeared. Jeco adjusted his traveling bag on his shoulder and made a few steps that resounded with a loud echo.
“Good morning, sir. What can I do for you?” somebody asked in a very polite tone.
Jeco turned to the voice and saw a man wearing a white wig, a splendid long livery with gold and silver galloons, and white gloves. It took a few seconds to realize that this was a servant, not a nobleman. As if not noticing the boy’s modest clothes, clean, but probably still inappropriate for the royal palace, the servant was looking at him without a hint of disdain, waiting patiently for the answer.
“Good morning,” Jeco replied. “I am looking for Lord Vargos, the court administrator.”
The servant bowed and made an inviting gesture. “Allow me to show you the way to his office.”
The boy felt uncomfortable to take this excellent courtier’s time.
“Thank you, sir. I do not wish to trouble you, I can find it myself if you would kindly tell me where to go.”
But he didn’t yet know how strict the palace rules were, and how thoroughly everyone followed them.
“No trouble at all,” the servant said. “I am only doing my humble duty. Would you please follow me.”
Jeco learned something: no one got here by accident, so if you made it this far, you would be treated with all due respect, no matter how you look.
The man led him through several corridors and handed him over to another servant, just as splendid and just as polite. Standing next to these people, Jeco felt like a small gray mouse.
“To His Lordship Vargos,” the first servant reported.
“How should I introduce you, sir?” bowed the other one.
“Jecosan Tarres,” Jeco said and added, knowing that his name alone would not mean anything, “By recommendation of Lord Agassar Dallin.”
The servant bowed again. “Would you please wait here.” He disappeared behind a door and soon returned. “Come in, please.”
The court administrator Lord Vargos turned out to be a middle-aged man with curly brown hair and serious, thoughtful eyes. Smiling amiably, he offered Jeco a chair.
“Good morning, young man. So you are being recommended by Lord Agassar Dallin?”
“Yes, Your Lordship.” Jeco reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out the letter and the ring, wrapped carefully in a clean piece of cloth. “Here is a letter from Lord Agassar. Also, he has commissioned me to deliver this to you.”
Lord Vargos handed the letter to the servant. “Please, read this, Gams.”
The servant carefully broke the seal and unfolded the paper. Meanwhile, the court administrator unwrapped the cloth and took out the ring with the sparkling gemstone. His eyebrows flew up—he obviously knew the cost of such things.
“Dear Lord Vargos,” Gams started reading. “Allow me to recommend to you Jecosan Tarres, a man of young age but great maturity, keen mind and outstanding integrity—the virtue ever in short supply, as you had once pointed out. Wishing to demonstrate how trustworthy I find this young man, I am asking him to take to you my ring, the value of which he is aware of. I am sending him to the palace alone, with no escort of any kind, knowing that the ring will be safely delivered. Beside the already mentioned qualities, I also would like to note Mr. Tarres’ firm resolve and exceptional diligence. I hope that such a fine combination will find a good use at the king’s service. Sincerely Yours, Agassar Dallin.”
The servant finished reading, folded the letter and returned it to his master.
Jeco silently thanked Lord Agassar—he hadn’t even mentioned his criminal record!
Lord Vargos leaned back in his chair, his keen eyes studying the boy.
“Very well, young man. Recommendation of Agassar Dallin means a lot. I will find you a position at the palace.”
Jeco bowed. “Thank you, Your Lordship.”
“What are you good at, and what kind of service would you prefer to do?”
“I do not shun any physical work, and I can read and write. As to the service, I would leave it up to Your Lordship to see where I am needed the most.”
Lord Vargos smiled; he seemed to like the answer.
“As a rule, we give newcomers some simple tasks at first and see how they manage. Even with good recommendations, such a test is still necessary. What do you say if I offer you a position at the king’s kitchen, for a start?”
“I’ll be honored, Your Lordship. What will my work be like?”
“Chopping wood, keeping the fire going in the ovens, and other things like that. The chief cook will explain your responsibilities to you. The work is rather monotonous, but I hope that the generous pay will help you to cope with it.”
“I guess I can say that I’m used to monotonous work,” Jeco smiled. “I even like it, to some extent, because it gives one time to think.”
“Good,” Lord Vargos concluded. “Gams, take Mr. Tarres to the kitchen and introduce him to the chief cook. I will sign all the papers within the next hour.”
Jeco thanked the court administrator once again and left, followed by the servant.
“Something tells me that this boy will soon show his worth,” Lord Vargos mused, tapping the desk with his fingertips. “I wonder where Agassar finds this kind of people?”
***
Thus Jeco entered the king’s service, and his new life began. He was given a room, small but nice, and issued two different uniforms—working clothes and formal attire. To him, even the working outfit looked luxurious; it was a fine dark-blue suit with the king’s crest embroidered on the chest. Jeco wore it every day and took it each week to the laundry, receiving a clean set in return. The formal attire consisted of a soft velvet jacket and pants of beige color, a snow-white shirt with lacy cuffs, and white leather shoes. The jacket was also decorated with the royal crest, with a fancy monogram added to it—KK, which stood for King’s Kitchen. When Jeco first saw this incredible set, he thought that the delivery boy had made a mistake and gave him the clothes of one of the king’s pages.
“No, sir, there is no mistake,” the delivery boy reassured. “This dress you must wear if you ever have to go into the inner rooms of the palace.”
Jeco did not even dare to try it on. He’d never had such clothes in his life.
After the arduous labor in the mines, the work at the kitchen seemed fun and easy. Jeco’s major responsibility was to keep the fire going in one of the large ovens. In the morning, he would chop and fetch enough firewood to last for the day, and after that all he had to do was to watch the fire and once in a while throw in more wood. Not wishing to be idle, Jeco would start helping other workers or cooks, which soon made him everyone’s friend. The people in the kitchen were simple, but well-mannered and hard-working. Everyone knew their job perfectly well, no one was ever drunk, and, miraculously, nobody ever swore. Jeco now saw why it was so hard, almost impossible to get a job at the palace: only the best of the best were being selected to work here, and, as a rule, stayed in the service for many years. Almost all older cooks and most workers had served the previous king, Alvard the Second. They knew all the palace rules and undoubtedly had many stories to tell, but it wasn’t easy to get them to talk. Jeco figured that workers and servants were not allowed to discuss court affairs.
Day after day Jeco was getting familiar with the palace life, the life that was like a dream to him, or a fairy tale. When he was off duty, the chief cook allowed him to walk in one of the remote park alleys where no high-ranking officials would normally come. From there, Jeco could see the main palace entrance and most of the park, and he would spend hours sitting on a small ivy-twined bench, admiring the beauty around him and watching dozens of gardeners water flowerbeds, cut bushes, and sweep fallen leaves. Once in a while Jeco would catch a glimpse of some noblemen strolling along a path or sitting in an arbor and flipping through papers. A couple of times he happened to see Her Highness Princess Arvelina taking a walk in the park, accompanied by her numerous maids of honor. One day Jeco even saw the king, but only for a second. The large crowd of courtiers standing motionlessly at the main palace doors had suddenly stirred and parted, giving way to a tall, stately man dressed in purple. Having made an impatient gesture, he stormed through the crowd, his long black hair flying away in the wind, and disappeared in the Alley of Fountains. Jeco watched the courtiers stir again and whisper to each other, but none of them dared to follow the king. The boy had found out later that His Majesty was in a very bad mood that day and spent several hours brooding alone in the park.
The king was greatly feared at the palace. People tried not to talk about him, or talked in a reverential whisper. Most kitchen folks dreaded being sent with an errand into the inner rooms, terrified with the possibility of accidentally bumping into the king. From what they said, it had once happened to a young scullion who was carrying a basket of fruit for someone; walking along a corridor, he suddenly saw the king right in front of him, and the piercing gaze of the monarch had scared him so bad that the poor guy dropped the basket and took off running. The king only laughed—but the scullion was immediately kicked out of the palace.
From his very first days at the palace Jeco was hearing stories about some Lord Farizel. This name was being mentioned over and over again, in the connection with all kinds of events and occurrences, big and small. Jeco tried not to be nosy, so he hadn’t yet found out who this man was, except for him being a lord, of course, but his power and influence seemed to be legendary. According to all the talks, Lord Farizel knew and controlled everything that was going on here, and the king himself listened to his opinion. Lord Farizel was being credited for more than once saving hopeless situations, and even more than that—rumors had it that he could stop the king’s judging hand and turn around his orders. Yet Jeco noticed that, unlike the king, the mysterious Farizel was not feared; he was being mentioned with respect and admiration. One of the cooks shared that the king had once become angry at him for some dish he found poorly done, and, true to his character, was about to issue a severe punishment. Lord Farizel saved the cook. He laughed and told the king that he’d accidentally poured some salt into his plate, having mistaken it for his own. “That must be what ruined the taste, Your Majesty,” he carelessly explained. “You know how much the slightest variation from the recipe affects this kind of fine dish…”
“And what did His Majesty do?!” Jeco whispered, stunned.
“Nothing,” the cook replied. “His Majesty only smiled and said, ‘I bet you did it on purpose, Farizel, and I’m going to get you back for it.’ And that was the end of it.”
Incredible stories like that about Lord Farizel were being told repeatedly. Jeco decided that he must be the king’s right-hand man—the prime-minister, or something like that—and hoped to spot him some time at one of the king’s celebrations that often took place in the park.
Among other things, Jeco learned that the palace had a huge library, and from that day on he couldn’t stop thinking about it. He could see bookcases and shelves packed with the best, the most wonderful tomes, many of which would be hard to find anywhere else. All the books his teacher Shaledan had ever mentioned had to be there, plus hundreds more that Jeco never heard about. They were so close, somewhere on the second floor, according to one of the servants, right next to the Nacre Hall… Yet Jeco was well aware that the library doors were closed for a kitchen worker: only noblemen used it, and the king himself.
On the whole, Jeco was getting used to his new life, worrying only about one thing: he wondered when his other service would start—the real one, the one he was sent here for. He hadn’t yet heard a word about the war he was somehow to stop; neither did he find the person whom the elgur who visited him had called the Unarmed Warrior, the Unlit Fire. So far, all that remained a mystery.
***
Jeco woke up and glanced at the clock. The chief cook had told him to come to work early today. The king was giving a big dinner at his hunting castle, and almost all of the kitchen people went there before sunrise. Jeco was assigned to help four remaining scullions.
He quickly got dressed and hurried to the kitchen. They had a lot of work to do. Some of the cooks were coming back in the afternoon to fix supper, and by the time they were to return Jeco and the scullions had to peel several sacks of potatoes, get all the ovens going and boil three large vats of water.
Outside, he saw the four scullions hurrying to work as well. They were good, clever lads; Jeco already knew them well.
“Good morning, Tarres!” one of the boys greeted him. “Ah, what a busy day we’ve got ahead! Do you think we’ll be able to get it all done?”
“I think so,” Jeco replied. “But we’ll have to work hard. I will help you with your potatoes, but I need to chop some firewood first.”
He joined the boys and they headed to the kitchen together.
“I saw you chopping wood,” the scullion went on. “My, are you good at it! We’ve even had a bet with Dirg once, on how much you would chop in two hours.”
“And how did that turn out?” Jeco asked.
The boy laughed. “I lost! I said two stacks, and you did three. So I had to buy Dirg ice-cream because of you.”
“Sorry about that,” Jeco said, smiling. “I had no idea that I was costing you money.”
“Don’t feel sorry for him, Tarres!” protested the short, bright-eyed scullion named Dirg. “Imagine that, he happened not to have any money with when we got to the sweet-shop, so I paid for the ice-cream he claims he’d bought for me!”
Chatting and laughing, the boys came to the kitchen, had a quick breakfast that was left for them yesterday, and got to work. Dirg volunteered to chop wood with Jeco—as it turned out, not so much to help as to see whether he could beat him. Jeco didn’t mind, and because of the scullion’s heroic efforts they got done with the firewood much faster than he would hope. Dirg still lost, but he didn’t get too upset about it; he was the always-happy type.
“Well, if we keep it up like that we’re going to get everything done and even have some time left!” Dirg observed.
“I guess so,” Jeco replied. “Thanks, Dirg, you have helped me a lot. Now let’s go take care of your potatoes. But I don’t think I would compete with you in that field.”
“Ha!” The scullion gave a sly wink. “Now it’s gonna be my turn to have fun!”
Jeco knew how to peel potatoes and was quite good at it, but, just as he thought, it was hard to keep up with the scullions of the king’s kitchen who had been practicing their skills every day. Knives flashed in their quick hands, potato skin was running down in long, thin strips, and peeled potatoes went flying to the pots one after another.
“Ready to give up, Tarres?” Dirg laughed.
“Never!”
“Good! Those who give up don’t serve at the palace!”
In a couple of hours most of the potato sacks were empty. Dirg took an evaluating look at what was left and called for a break.
“We’ve done the main part. The rest will only take about half an hour. We’ll manage now, Tarres. Thanks. You can take a break, and then fill the vats and start boiling water.”
Jeco picked up a bucket, turned the water tap and stepped back, mindful of the powerful stream that had many times splashed all over less careful workers. But today, the stream for some reason was weak and slow.
“What in the world?...” Jeco turned the tap more, but that didn’t help.
He took another bucket and tried a different faucet. The water started dripping lazily, and the flow in the first tap got even weaker.
Dirg looked up from his work. “What is it?”
“Strange thing, the water’s barely going.”
“Open the tap more.”
“I’ve tried, it doesn’t do anything. Maybe the pumps got clogged?”
The scullions put down their knives and came over to take a look. The water streams were getting weaker each moment.
Dirg scratched his head. “That’s not good. If it goes like this, we won’t be able to fill the vats, let alone boil the water… Oh, why did it have to happen today?!”
“I’ll go check the pumps,” Jeco said. “Maybe I’ll be able to clear them. Watch the faucets, I don’t want to flood the kitchen.”
He took a broomstick and hurried to the lake. He knew where the pumps were that supplied water to the palace, and even before he got to them he could feel something was wrong: he didn’t hear that strong gurgling noise the pumps would normally make. The boy ran up the hill. Yes, he wasn’t mistaken: the pumps were silent. Jeco walked around the large mechanism; he didn’t know much about how it worked. What could have happened here?... It didn’t look like the pumps were clogged; when that had happened some time ago, they kept working, even though with difficulty—but now the pumps had completely stopped.
Jeco looked into the large filtering tank where the water would go first, before getting into the pipes. The tank was nearly empty.
“Good heavens…” the boy whispered. “The whole palace is going to be left without water!”
Jeco ran back to the kitchen. They urgently needed mechanics’ help.
“The pumps are broken!” he shouted to Dirg who was looking out of the door. “Go get the mechanics—the filtering tank is almost empty!”
The scullion clutched his head. “Oh, dear! The laundry’s going to stop, the stablemen won’t be able to water the horses! And…” Dirg’s eyes widened in horror. “And His Majesty’s quarters! The king himself will get no water!!”
Jeco grabbed a bucket. “Find the mechanics, and I’ll go fill the tank!”
“Do you think you can do it?”
“There’s no other choice. I’ll do my best. Come to help me as soon as you can!”
In a few minutes Jeco was at the pumps again. The filtering tank was not far from the lake, so the work went easy—at first. Jeco would draw a full bucket of water, run up the hill to the tank as fast as he could, empty the bucket in it and rush back to the lake. Soon two mechanics arrived and started checking the big machine, feeling and touching it here and there as if they were physicians examining a patient. Their deep frowns told Jeco that the damage had to be serious.
“What happened?” he asked, pouring his next bucket of water into the tank.
“Nothing good,” one of the mechanics replied, his face grim. “We’ll have to take the whole thing apart. That’s several hours of work.”
“I wish the damage had been discovered earlier,” the other one sighed, a young fellow who had already gotten his hands and arms dirty with the machine oil up to the elbows. “It must’ve happened at night, after the evening check-up. I’ve got the feeling that we’re the ones who’s going to be blamed for it, even though it is not our fault… I just don’t know what we are going to do.”
“Well, start fixing it, and I’ll be fetching water,” Jeco said, continuing his work. “There seems to be no other option.”
“That’s right,” the first mechanic nodded. “We can’t leave the palace without water. But you won’t be able to keep running like that for long. You need some more people to help.”
Jeco stopped to catch his breath. “I will get help, the scullions should be here soon. It’s all right, I will manage…”
The mechanics exchanged doubtful looks but said nothing and got to work. Jeco grabbed the bucket again. It was getting heavier each time, the thin handle cutting into his palm. The filtering tank seemed to be bottomless; more faucets were being opened at the palace, and the water Jeco poured in would immediately disappear. He was totally out of breath when the scullions arrived, armed with buckets.
“Here we are!” Dirg shouted. “We left Tamerin to watch the vats! How are you doing, Tarres?”
“All right so far,” Jeco replied, wiping his forehead. “But I’ll be ready to put out the white flag soon…”
“Take a break, you deserve it. Come on, guys!” Dirg called, and the scullions hurried to the lake.
Jeco stopped and pulled off his shirt; it was getting hot. His sore palms ached, but the boy saw that he would soon have to get back to work: although the scullions were doing their best, he could tell they wouldn’t last long. They were already slowing down, sweating and breathing hard. Jeco tore two long strips of cloth off his shirt, wrapped them around his hands, picked up the bucket again and rushed to help.
“Bind your palms like this!” he shouted to the scullions. “It’ll be easier that way.”
The scullions followed his advice. That helped for a while, but they were growing weary each minute, stumbling and dropping their buckets.
“I can’t imagine how you’re doing it, Tarres,” Dirg said, panting. “I feel like I’m gonna pass out.”
“Don’t get your buckets that full, carry as much as you can,” Jeco replied. “And don’t try to keep up with me, I’ve carried a lot of heavy stuff…”
The scullions made it for another half hour, then collapsed on the grass, exhausted. Two busily working mechanics kept glancing at Jeco, who alone continued the grueling race, still fetching one bucket after another.
“Hang on, Tarres!” the younger mechanic shouted. “Just a little bit more!”
Jeco was hanging on. Just a little bit more, they said; that’s good. He’s going to make it. He only needs to ignore the pain in his muscles. He shouldn’t let himself think about it, he must keep working as if it’s not there—just like he did in the mines. Here goes another bucket… And another one… so heavy that he can barely hold it… But he is going to carry it all the way up the hill, and he will lift it to the tank, and pour it out… There we go. Now back to the lake. One more bucket…
The pumps suddenly coughed as if waking up, first one, then the other. Something clicked inside of the large machine, and the water gushed down the pipes.
“That’s it, Tarres!” the young mechanic cried out, jumping off the small metal platform on top of the pump where he worked. “You did it!”
“Well done, boy,” the older man smiled.
Jeco dropped the bucket and sunk to the ground. All of a sudden, he felt dizzy, and his legs weakened. The fatigue he’d been fighting for so long had caught up with him.
The scullions gathered around Jeco, alarmed.
“How are you, Tarres? Are you all right? He’s so pale, we should call the physician!”
“I’m fine…” Jeco replied, panting. “I’m just out of breath… Let me rest a little, and I’ll be fine.”
The mechanics came up as well.
“Take him to his room and put him in bed,” the older one told the scullions. “And do get the physician. It’s no joke to have fetched so many buckets of water, running up and down the hill. Not every man would have handled that.”
“There’s no need to bother the physician, really,” Jeco tried to protest. “I’m all right.”
To prove it, he gathered what strength he had left and climbed to his feet. He was still breathing hard, his heart pounded, and dark circles were dancing before his eyes. His arms and legs ached and refused to serve him.
“You’re swaying from side to side,” Dirg observed. “Come. Your working day is over.”
The scullions took Jeco to his room and went back to the kitchen where they still had a lot of work to do. Jeco collapsed on the bed and at once fell asleep. In a while, someone’s soft but confident hand touching his wrist woke him. Jeco opened his eyes and saw a serious looking gentleman who was checking his pulse—one of the court physicians.
“Sleep, sleep, young man,” he spoke in a quick, business-like manner. “That’s what you need now.”
Behind the physician stood Dirg; he must have brought him here. Nervously rubbing his hands still wrapped in the cloth, Dirg watched the doctor’s every move, waiting for his conclusion.
“What’s wrong with him, sir? Has he overstrained himself?”
“Amazingly, no,” the physician replied. “You say he’s been running around with full buckets of water for several hours?”
“That’s right. We just couldn’t believe it. I was done after half an hour or so, but he kept going and going.”
“He must have had some special training.” The physician looked at Jeco. “Is that right, young man?”
Jeco smiled. “Yes, sir, I guess you can say that.”
“Of course. Otherwise, I would have been called to a lifeless body. No unprepared man can endure such pressure.”
“So he’s all right?” Dirg asked, brightening up.
“Absolutely,” the physician confirmed. “He’s just pushed himself to the limit, and now his body needs some good rest. I will write the prescription,” he said, turning to Jeco again. “Hand it to the chief cook. He will have to give you a few days off. What is your name, young man?”
“Jecosan Tarres. Thank you, sir.”
***
The chief cook was more than happy to give Jeco a week off.
“You saved the day, Tarres,” he said, shaking the boy’s hand. “I relayed what had happened to His Lordship Vargos, and got his permission to reward you. You can receive a monetary gift, additional vacation time (not counting the week you are being given to restore your strength), or a personal item, like a knife, with your name and the king’s crest engraved on it. The choice is yours. Or maybe you have some other wish?”
Jeco thought for a moment. He did have a wish, but he was afraid that it would be too much to ask. On the other hand, he probably wouldn’t have another chance like this.
“I don’t know whether such a request will be appropriate,” he started, hesitant. “Or at all possible…”
“Tell me what it is, Tarres,” the chief cook prompted. “I want this reward to be special for you. You have deserved that.”
Jeco drew in a deep breath and said, “I love books, sir, and the greatest reward I could dream of would be to visit the king’s library.”
His boss gave him a surprised look. “The request is, indeed, unusual.”
“If it’s not possible, I understand. Any kind of a reward will be an honor for me.”
“Well, let me see here…” The cook rubbed his chin, thinking. “I have never done anything like this before, and I’ve got no connections with the library… But I guess I could try to arrange that. As an exception… I’ll tell you this, Tarres: I will try, but I can’t promise anything.”
On the next day, when Jeco was sitting on his favorite bench in the park, one of those splendid palace servants approached and solemnly announced that Lord Vargos desired to see him.
Uh-oh, the boy thought, rising from the bench and following the servant. Looks like I’m going to be reminded of where my place is…
But as soon as he stepped through the door of Lord Vargos’ office, Jeco knew that he was mistaken: the court administrator met him with a broad smile.
“Come in, come in, a most extraordinary young man!”
Jeco bowed and smiled in return.
“There’s nothing extraordinary about me, Your Lordship.”
“Is that so? Allow me to disagree. First, you are for several hours replacing two powerful water-pumps. Then you do something even more incredible: instead of a large sum of money or a valuable gift, you’re asking to be allowed into the library! This is not something I get to see every day.”
“I just love books, Your Lordship,” Jeco explained. “I’ve always been a bookworm.”
“Yes, Lord Agassar Dallin was certainly right about you,” the court administrator nodded. “Which doesn’t surprise me; he’s never wrong about people. Everyone he recommends proves to be worthy. By the way, I received a letter from him a couple of days ago. It turns out that his son, young Lord Dalamir, had been captured; but he managed to break free, and safely returned home.”
Jeco was glad to hear that, even though it was not news to him.
“I am very happy for Lord Agassar and his son. If Your Lordship will have a chance, would you please tell him this, and also relay my sincere gratitude for what he has done for me.”
“I will have such a chance.” Lord Vargos nodded again. “Lord Agassar was asking about you. I wrote to him that you’re assigned to the kitchen, and that you work well. Now I’ve got a more interesting update for His Lordship, and I’ll be glad to add to it what you have just asked. I am sure Lord Agassar will be pleased to hear it; gratitude is a rare virtue as well.”
The court administrator picked up a piece of paper, rose from his desk and stepped to the boy. “Now, getting to the main reason why I have called you here. Allow me to congratulate you, Mr. Tarres: your request has been granted. Here is your pass to the library. Unfortunately, you will not be able to take books with you, you are only allowed to study in the reading hall. But believe me, this alone is a great honor.”
“Of course, Your Lordship. I understand.”
Jeco accepted the precious paper and looked at it. There was the king’s crest at the top, then went the text written in a fine, clear handwriting.
“The presenter of this, Mr. Jecosan Tarres, for special diligence he has shown at His Majesty’s service, is being rewarded with permission to attend the reading hall of the king’s library.”
Below stood the date, Lord Vargos’ signature and his personal seal. The cherished dream came true; Jeco was holding it in his hands.
“Thank you, Your Lordship,” he said in a quiet voice. “I only now come to understand how bold my request was… which makes it even more incredible to see it granted to me.”
Lord Vargos looked at him and laughed, obviously having guessed his impatience.
“It would have been cruel of me to hold you any longer. You can go, Mr. Tarres. Thousands of books are waiting for you!”
Jeco almost ran when he left the court administrator’s office, and even jumped high a couple of times in an empty corridor, unable to hold his excitement. Yes, thousands of wonderful books were waiting for him, and now just a few minutes were separating him from seeing those treasures! He only needed to stop at his room and change into the formal attire—he couldn’t go to the library wearing his working uniform.
Jeco opened the wardrobe and took out the velvet suit, the silky white shirt, and the shoes. Careful not to tear anything—the clothes seemed so thin and delicate—he put it on and stepped to the mirror. Each person at the king’s service had a large mirror like that in their room, and exactly for this purpose: before setting their foot in the inner rooms of the palace, everyone had to make sure they looked picture perfect.
Jeco straightened his jacket, pulled the lacy shirt cuffs out of the sleeves, and took a look in the mirror. A young prince was looking back at him, who only lacked a small golden crown. Was that him?! Jeco picked up his comb from the desk; the prince did the same. Jeco combed his hair and smiled. The prince smiled in return.
“Congratulations, Jecosan Tarres,” the boy joked, gallantly bowing to himself. “Against all expectations, you look not too bad in this dress. And now would you excuse me: I am expected in His Majesty’s library!”
The second floor of the king’s palace stunned him with its cold luxury. It was empty and somewhat scary; Jeco’s footsteps resonated with booming echo under the high vaults, making him feel like the whole palace knew about his intrusion, and the walls themselves were staring down at him, stern and suspicious. One of those walls had a huge portrait of the king, as if to remind one more time whose house this was. Jeco stopped in front of the portrait. So this is how he looked, the man who was given the highest power on earth… A proud turn of the head, a firm, serious gaze. The face was attractive—big dark eyes, a straight nose, thin lips, the upper one outlined with a moustache—but cold and distant. The artist obviously tried to portray first of all a monarch, the ruler of a huge country, the fearless warrior, and therefore did his best to make the king’s features especially hard and strong. But, on the other hand, this could be what King Alvard the Third really was—a strong monarch above anything else. It was rather hard to tell by a formal portrait made by a court artist; this genre had its own laws, and breaking them could cost the painter his life.
Jeco went further, hoping to see some of the servants and ask them where the library was. It had to be close, but he didn’t want to wander around here risking to run into some bigshot nobleman and incur their anger before he could explain what he was doing here.
He heard footsteps, and soon saw a dark-haired man in a rich uniform, with a wide general’s ribbon across his chest, striding confidently through the corridor. A general of the King’s Guard! Jeco stepped aside and greeted the officer with a bow, but His Excellency passed by, not deigning to even glance at the boy. Jeco followed him with his eyes. Well, what did he expect. This was a man of high standing, busy with state affairs and probably reporting to the king himself; maybe he was even carrying His Majesty’s personal order in his pocket. Why would he pay his attention to some boy.
Jeco passed through the long gallery without meeting anyone else, except for the guards who stood at each door looking almost like statues, rigid and motionless. Suddenly, something sparkled ahead, something bright and chatoyant, of a soft pink-and-white color. This had to be the famous Nacre Hall. Jeco hesitantly approached. He didn’t know whether it was all right to enter, so he just peered from some distance. The Nacre Hall bore such an elegant name for a good reason: it looked like the inside of a huge seashell. Its walls, floor, and all the interior were deftly embellished with nacre and shimmered with all tints of pink. Jeco stood there, awestruck, until he noticed the guards at the door staring at him.
“Excuse me,” he said, stepping aside. “I am looking for the library.”
One of the soldiers pointed silently at the next door—apparently, they were not allowed to talk.
“Thank you, sir,” Jeco said and headed that way.
He reached for the bronze doorknob shaped as a scroll. Now he was going to see this marvelous place…
What Jeco saw exceeded all his expectations and took away his breath. The walls of the huge round hall, from floor to ceiling, were made out of bookshelves tightly packed with tens of thousands of tomes. There were books in all languages here, gathered from all over the world, big and small, old and new, richly decorated and modestly plain. Arrow-shaped pointers served as guides in this kingdom of books. Starting from the entrance, they silently invited the visitor to go see scientific tractates, works of fiction, historical chronicles, ancient manuscripts, geographical descriptions, collections of old legends…
Unable to move, Jeco shifted his astonished gaze from bookshelf to bookshelf, from one pointer to another.
“Good morning, sir,” he heard someone’s quiet voice.
Jeco turned around and saw a small old librarian with a thin white beard who looked like a kind dwarf from a fairy tale.
“Good morning…” Jeco replied absentmindedly, still overwhelmed with the magnificence he saw around.
The old man was smiling. “The young gentleman seems to have come here for the first time?”
“Yes, this is my first visit. Here’s my permission.”
The librarian took the paper, looked at it, and returned it to the boy.
“It is nice to meet you, Mr. Tarres. So, how can I serve you? What kind of literature are you interested in?”
Jeco shrugged, feeling slightly embarrassed. “I really do not know… There are so many books here.”
“Oh yes!” the old man enthusiastically agreed, beaming with pleasure. He clearly loved his job and was very proud of it. “His Majesty’s library is justly considered to be one of the best in the world. You can find any book here, even the rarest one.”
Jeco looked over countless bookshelves once again.
“What do I start with…”
“Just name your area of interest, and I will be happy to recommend you the best editions on that subject.”
“I like history,” Jeco said.
“Wonderful!” exclaimed the dwarf. “What time period? What countries?”
“Tirgan and ancient Pars, then Bergalia and Kennur. I like our Meorian history, too. As to the time period, the earlier, the better.”
“Good, very good…” The librarian thought for a moment, searching his memory, and then started speaking in a calm, collected manner, without pausing, as if he was reading some invisible list.
“First of all, I would recommend to you The History of Ancient Nations by Barriak and The Formation of the First Kingdoms by Shags—a remarkable work dedicated to the origins of great countries, both now vanished and still existing. Then I would suggest going through the outstanding research titled The Youth of Our World; its author is unfortunately unknown. As to ancient Pars, here, no doubt, the first one to name would be the amazing book by Fargad Pars the Magnificent—as far as I can tell, nothing else has been written on the subject that can be compared to this work. As an addition to it, I can suggest Battles of Ancient Parsians by Kelleor—that is, if you are interested in the details of military operations; you won’t find them in Fargad’s book. Fargad was a poet deep in his heart, he didn’t like battles and wars and wrote about them briefly, with obvious reluctance. On the history of Tirgan, except for the well-known works like monographs of Carl Vanier and Sairos, I can offer you several rare editions, such as Tirganians, their History and Customs…”
The librarian’s quiet voice rustled on and on, naming more books. Jeco was astounded: just like that, from memory, this little man gave him almost two dozen titles, following each one with a short description. Did he keep all the books of the king’s library in his head?!
“Wow, sir!” Jeco breathed out, gazing at the little dwarf with admiration. “You must know all books in the world!”
Flattered, the old man gave a modest smile. “Oh, far from it. It is not possible to know them all. But books are my specialty, I have been working with them for many years. So, what would you like to begin with?”
“I think with The Youth of Our World and Pars the Magnificent. And later on, I would like to read everything you have just named.”
“Would you please wait here for a minute, I will bring those two books,” nodded the old man. “I can write down the rest of the titles for you, if you’d like.”
“Yes, please. I would appreciate that.”
The kind dwarf quickly found the books—he seemed to know each and every shelf in this huge hall. Jeco carefully accepted the two heavy volumes and took a desk near a window. Having flipped the sandglass that was thoughtfully placed on each desk, he opened one of the books and forgot about the rest of the world.
***
From that day on, Jeco spent all his time in the library. He couldn’t have dreamed of a better vacation: peace and quiet, a soft, comfortable chair, and books, with nothing distracting him from traveling through their pages. The reading hall was usually empty. Most courtiers preferred to take books to their rooms, only on a rare occasion someone would sit down and read here for an hour or two. Once in a while someone’s butler would come and hand the librarian a list of books ordered by his master. The butlers’ manners betrayed their masters’ positions in a rather amusing way: the lower was their position, the more proud and pompous the butler looked. Those who served truly high-ranking persons had no need to show off—they were already well known and met everywhere with a special respect. Jeco once saw a quiet, ordinary looking man in a butler’s uniform enter the library; he returned a book and quickly left without so much as glancing around, bothering little about what impression he made. And the impression was grand: the few visitors who happened to be in the library froze in a strange way and wouldn’t get their eyes off that man. “His Majesty’s butler!” hushed whispers flew around as soon as the door closed behind him.
But Jeco did not pay much attention to what was going on in the library. He didn’t come here to watch the courtiers, he was here for books, which he devoured amazingly fast. The old librarian smiled to him as to an old friend. He probably didn’t see such passion for reading very often, and of course it couldn’t leave him unmoved.
“I have found something else for you,” he once said with a sly wink, handing Jeco a thick tome, its leather cover decorated with an imprint of some mysterious flower. “How about this: Kennurian Sagas and Legends, one of the fullest collections.”
Jeco took a closer look at the flower and saw that each petal had a smaller picture in it: there was a rocky ravine in one, a waterfall in another, a ruined castle in the third, and a warrior with a long spear in the last one.
“Do you like it?” the old man asked and laughed. “No need to respond, I can already see it in your hungry eyes. I guess this one will take you longer than just a couple of days!”
“Much longer, I’m afraid.” Jeco sighed, running his finger along the firm book cover. “My vacation is over tomorrow, I won’t be able to spend so much time here anymore.”
“That’s a pity.” The dwarf saddened. “But you will be still coming here once in a while, I hope?”
“Oh, most certainly! Each time when I get a minute.”
“Then I will put this book aside for you.”
“Thank you, sir, you are very kind. As for now, would you please bring me The History of Ancient Nations? I would like to finish it today.”
Jeco got the book and went to his desk, feeling a little sad. His vacation was over so soon, and tomorrow he had to return to the ovens and vats. Oh well. Such a blissful life couldn’t last forever. At least he still had a whole day to spend here today. Besides, his permission to come to this treasury would still be valid after his vacation, the pass was issued to him with no time limit. He will be chopping his wood and watching the oven knowing that as soon as the working hours are over, he can run to the library and read.
Jeco flipped the sandglass—the only thing that reminded him of the existence of time here—and buried himself in the book.
The library door quietly opened, letting in a young man of striking appearance. He wore a fine white suit, a luxurious silvery vest, elaborately ornamented, and a short blue cloak that was fastened on his chest with a small golden clasp and thrown back in a careless manner, probably because of the warm day. Splendid clothes were no rarity here in the palace, but there was something about this man that made him stand out, drawing attention and commanding respect. He had dark-brown hair going down to his shoulders, a calm, intelligent face, and peaceful gray eyes that seemed to have seen too much to get easily excited. Jeco took one look at this man and knew that he wouldn’t forget him for years.
The boy rose from his chair and bowed. To his surprise, the excellent courtier responded with a polite nod. The librarian saw the visitor and rushed to his aid, but the young man stopped him with a gesture, indicating that he would pick his books himself.
Jeco sat down and went back to reading. The nobleman proceeded to the bookshelves, chose several tomes and took a desk right in front the boy. Jeco couldn’t help looking up and met the man’s studying gaze. The courtier smiled, rose and moved his chair closer to Jeco’s desk.
“I apologize for staring and interrupting your studies,” he said, “but I am rather intrigued by the monogram I see on your chest. As far as I know, pages wear monograms saying KP, which stands for King’s Page; but I see KK on your uniform, and I have to admit that my attempts to unriddle it failed. I’ve decided to give up and ask for a clue. Is this some new institution I am not yet aware of?”
“No, sir.” Jeco smiled, amazed at the friendly respect this brilliant nobleman treated him with. “On the contrary, I would think this institution is one of the oldest: KK stands for King’s Kitchen.”
The young man lifted his eyebrows. “Oh? I haven’t thought about that one… May I ask why you were exiled to the kitchen? Of course, you don’t have to answer that, if my question is too indelicate.”
“No, sir, it’s not. I wasn’t exiled, I was just hired to work there.”
The courtier gazed at him, looking puzzled. “I beg your pardon?”
Jeco did not see what could be so unclear about that, and he was somewhat confused. “I was hired to serve at the kitchen… By the order of His Lordship Vargos.”
“But why?!” the man asked, even more surprised. “Titled persons are not being hired as servants or workers. One can be demoted, yes—but how in the world did they place you there to begin with?”
Now Jeco knew what it was about. The courtier had mistaken him for a man of his circle—which must be what explained his graciousness. The boy felt sad; he could just see it: he reveals the truth, and the man’s friendly face instantly turns into a cold, scornful mask…
“I do not have the honor of being a titled person, sir,” Jeco said.
But what he expected did not happen. The young courtier’s face still expressed only utter astonishment. He looked Jeco over, incredulous, then regarded the book that lay in front of the boy.
“Are you joking?”
Jeco smiled. “You are very kind, sir, doubting my words and thus indicating that I can be seriously mistaken for a nobleman. Nevertheless, I have told you the truth: my father was just a soldier and did not hold any title.”
The man pressed his hand to his chest. “Please accept my apology. Now I see how silly my questions were. I had no doubts that I was speaking to a page, and when you told me about the kitchen, I assumed you were sent there for getting in trouble. You have to excuse my mistake: it is highly uncommon to meet a scullion in the king’s library, reading The History of Ancient Nations!”
“No need to apologize, sir,” Jeco said. “Your mistake only honors me. Even more so since I’m not even a scullion, I am just a worker. I chop wood, look after the ovens, and fetch water.”
“And also take pleasure in history and attend the king’s library,” the man added with a smile. “Not bad, I must say!” He glanced at The History of Ancient Nations again. “What do you think about this book?”
“Very interesting, but, to me, somewhat dry… It probably feels this way because I’ve just finished reading Pars the Magnificent by Fargad, whose beautiful writing is hard to compete with.”
“That’s true,” the courtier agreed. “After Fargad, other authors seem rather dull and boring. I see you are also interested in ancient Pars?”
“Yes, sir. I even wanted to learn old Parsian, but I never did.”
The man gave a knowing smile. “The grammar can be very confusing. Is that where you got stuck?”
“No, sir, I didn’t even get that far.”
“What school did you go to?”
“Our local priest taught me, but later I had to stop my studies.”
“Why, if I may ask? Was he charging too much?”
“Oh, no, he didn’t charge me anything. He’s a wonderful person, he was my close friend. I just couldn’t continue the classes because of my circumstances. I had to work.”
The boy was answering the courtier’s questions, still somewhat confused with his friendly manner. Now he knew that Jeco was just a kitchen worker, why would he even talk to him?... But the young man didn’t seem to care about his status.
“Would you mind telling me who recommended you to serve in the palace?” he asked just as politely.
“His Lordship Agassar Dallin.”
“Ah! That explains things. I have known him for a long time, and his knowledge of people has always amazed me. I assume you are new here, going through some kind of probation at the kitchen?”
“Yes, sir. I’ve been working there for almost a month.”
The man thought for a moment. “I would think that’s enough. You can be promoted to a more appropriate place. Such a well educated kitchen worker is too much of a luxury, even for a king. I guess I should have a word about it with Lord Vargos—if you don’t mind, of course. Do you?”
“No, sir, if it’s not going to look like I’m trying to obtain this promotion over his head.”
“Of course not, you didn’t ask me about it. I will talk to Lord Vargos as soon as I have a chance. What is your name?”
“I am Jecosan Tarres. Thank you, sir, you are very kind to me. May I also ask for your name?”
The young man laughed, spreading his hands. “See how much you have dazed me? I have forgotten all manners, I’ve been speaking to you all this time without introducing myself! Allow me to correct this mistake.” He rose and extended his hand to the boy. “Farizel Narr, former teacher of Her Highness the Princess; for inappropriate presentation of history demoted to a jester.”
Speechless, Jeco shook his hand. What stunned him was not so much the fact that he had been talking, as it turned out, with Lord Farizel himself; Jeco could not comprehend something else: this splendid young man, this aristocrat, this brilliant courtier was a jester?!”
“You—you’re a jester?” Jeco could only say, staring at him with wide-open eyes.
The young man smiled, lowering himself in the chair. “I think I understand your confusion. You would probably expect to see a jester wearing motley and a fool’s cap?”
Jeco nodded, confused and embarrassed. “I have to admit I would…”
“Those lovely attributes are out of place here. His Majesty Alvard the Third is too great of a monarch to be entertained by a ridiculously dressed clown.”
“Oh yes, certainly,” Jeco hurried to say.
He still couldn’t get over his shock. What he’d just heard was unthinkable. This highly educated nobleman, the princess’ personal teacher, was turned into a jester?? How was this possible? Why? What for? What did ‘inappropriate presentation of history’ mean?
Jeco felt that the pause was getting too long, and, having forgotten all about etiquette, asked bluntly, “What did you do?”
Lord Farizel tactfully ignored the ingenuous plainness of the question.
“I was not cautious enough in my choice of study materials,” he calmly explained. “I attempted to teach history from the Book of Light.”
“You serve the Light?!” Jeco happily asked.
The lord looked him straight in the eye, his gaze suddenly sharp, intense.
“What a careless question…” He lowered his voice. “If I did serve the Light, I would have to answer ‘yes,’ which is almost equivalent to confessing a crime. I take it you did not know about this?”
Jeco shook his head, totally perplexed. “No, sir… I wouldn’t have asked if I knew. Is the teaching of the Book of Light forbidden here in the palace?”
“Just about so. His Majesty considers this literary work a collection of silly and harmful superstitions. So I would advise you to be more careful when you speak on this subject.”
This was close, Jeco thought. So the Book is out of favor here, not even safe to talk about… He was lucky to have learned that from a man like this, who warned him instead of reporting.
“Thank you for the warning, sir—Your Lordship,” Jeco said, having just realized another mistake: since he now knew the man’s title, calling him simply “sir” was no longer appropriate. “I am glad you are the person who told me this.”
Lord Farizel smiled and gave a slight nod. “I see that we have perfectly understood each other.”
They talked some more. Their conversation flowed just as easily; somehow, Jeco did not feel nervous or intimidated, he was answering the lord’s questions quickly, even with humor, which the lord seemed to like.
“I must go,” Lord Farizel said at last, glancing at the big clock on the wall. “It was my pleasure to meet you, Jecosan Tarres. I hope to see you around.”
He picked up his books—Jeco noticed that one of them was in old Parsian, another one in Bergalian, and the third in some other language he didn’t recognize—and left, having nodded to the old librarian.
The dwarf came running to Jeco as soon as the door closed.
“Congratulations, young man!” he exclaimed, barely holding his excitement. “You have conducted yourself perfectly, and, it seems, made a good impression upon His Lordship!”
“I—I didn’t even think about that,” Jeco said.
“Exactly!” rejoiced the old man. “You were being yourself, you didn’t try to curry his favor—and that’s what Lord Farizel values the most! He can’t stand fawning. He offered his hand to you—that means a lot, trust me!”
Jeco looked at the librarian. “Do you know him well?”
“I do not have the honor of being his close acquaintance, but, having watched this outstanding young man since the day he had first arrived to the palace and having witnessed his tragically brilliant court career, I believe I can say that I’ve gotten to know him fairly well.”
“Would you please tell me, uh…” Jeco thought for a moment, trying to find a more delicate expression, but he saw that he couldn’t avoid the impossible, ridiculous word. “Is he—is he really a jester?”
The old man let out a deep sigh, having instantly lost his excitement.
“Hard to believe, isn’t it?” he said sorrowfully. “But it is true. You probably haven’t been here that long, and do not know this story?”
“No, sir. Of course, I’ve heard all kinds of talks about Lord Farizel as one of the most influential people in the country—but nobody ever mentioned his position.”
“Yes, yes. People try not to talk about it, some because of feeling uneasy, others out of fear.” The old man glanced at the door and offered after some thought, “I can tell you how it happened, if you would like. I believe it will be better for you to hear it all at once rather then listen to bits and pieces, often twisted and incorrect, and try to put them together. Follow me, please.”
The librarian led Jeco through a door with a sign on it that said Scriptorium, and they entered another hall, with no less bookshelves and bookcases than in the first. Jeco saw several dozen men in long, dark-green jackets sitting at their desks and writing busily, with all kinds of papers, books, and scrolls laying in front of them. The librarian called one of the scribes and asked the man to replace him in the reading hall for fifteen minutes or so. After that, he took Jeco to a small room hidden in the labyrinth of bookshelves. Having made sure he closed the door well, the old man offered Jeco a chair and started his story.
“Lord Farizel had arrived to the palace about two years ago, and immediately gotten everyone’s attention. Coming from a well known noble family whose wealth had become legendary, he was a man of outstanding intelligence and flawless reputation, brilliantly educated, speaking fluently six or eight foreign languages and, despite his young age, already holding two academic degrees. With all that, he showed no hint of pride or arrogance. You had the pleasure of speaking to him and saw it for yourself: he still remains that way.”
The librarian cleared his throat and continued, having lowered his voice. “His Majesty the King found all these qualities very appealing. After his first conversation with Lord Farizel that lasted for almost an hour, His Majesty had announced that he couldn’t wish for a better teacher for the princess.
“Soon the studies began. His Lordship Farizel started teaching Princess Arvelina history, literature, geography, calligraphy, mathematics, foreign languages, and many other things. Her Highness admired her teacher and, in spite of, uh… certain willfulness, loved the classes and studied with pleasure. I was lucky to be present at one of those lessons; I had brought some books, and, seeing my great interest, Lord Farizel allowed me to stay for a while and listen. I will tell you this: I have seen many scholars whose knowledge was amazingly broad and deep; but I have never seen another man who would be so skilled, so…” The librarian paused, searching for the right word. “…So talented in sharing his knowledge with others. Even the most difficult subjects, the hardest to understand. Truly, this was Lord Farizel’s special gift. Besides, he had the remarkable ability to always find the right approach to his little student, feeling her mood and the need for a break, choosing just the right tone, alternating the classes with rest and entertainment.
“As I said,” the old man went on, “Her Highness had been studying with diligence and making quick progress, happily following her mentor’s guidance. Not wishing to be confined to the boring classroom, Lord Farizel and the princess would often take their books and go to the park, where they’d use the sand of the walking trails instead of a blackboard, drawing charts and calculations in it with a stick. One day His Majesty the King was taking a walk in the park and noticed those calculations, and, amazed at their complexity, wished to see for himself whether the princess’ knowledge had already advanced that far. Princess Arvelina had easily passed the test. His Majesty was very pleased and, having generously rewarded Lord Farizel, had become even more kind to him.
“Of course, everyone saw that. People started talking about great opportunities opening before the young lord, certain that he would soon leave the honorable, yet not very noticeable position of the princess’ teacher for a much higher post. Jealousy stirred, but there was nothing those jealous ones could do except join the choir of compliments, which, by the way, Lord Farizel never cared for. He did not care for court intrigues, either, nor did he show much interest in obtaining a higher rank. He just continued doing his work and ignored all the hints suggesting that he should ask His Majesty for a promotion. ‘I will serve my king where my king wants me to be,’ he would say… So everything went just fine, until one day His Majesty had found out that Lord Farizel included the Book of Light in his history course.”
The dwarf grew silent for a few moments, looking sad, nodding to his thoughts. “What can I say? As a scholar, I can understand him. Historical accuracy of the Book of Light can be debated, and accepting or rejecting its teaching is one’s personal choice—but in my humble opinion, this book shouldn’t be totally disregarded. There’s no secret that numerous blank spots of history, many mysteries and questionable moments find quite a reasonable explanation on its pages… But His Majesty the King had a different opinion on that, and therefore gotten terribly angry. He had immediately summoned Lord Farizel and asked him in a rather sharp tone how he dared stuffing the princess’ head with silly superstitions.”
“And what did His Lordship say?...” Jeco asked, captivated with the story, his voice almost a whisper.
“Lord Farizel had respectfully tried to explain to His Majesty the very thing I’ve just said. He said that he wasn’t teaching the princess superstitions, only introducing her to the Book of Light as to an interesting and significant ancient work, which, with all its controversy, every educated person should know about. All this was happening in the presence of several high-ranking officials, and my guess is, that’s what had played the disastrous role—His Majesty found it insulting that Lord Farizel was objecting him in front of the courtiers, and in such a critical subject. Everyone was well aware of the king’s overly negative opinion about the Book of Light…
“I wasn’t there, of course. I know all this from an old servant, an honest man whose words I can trust. He told me how darkened the king’s face and his eyes narrowed, emanating cold rage. Everyone caught their breath, frightened, knowing well those signs of the coming storm. And then, staying perfectly calm on the outside, His Majesty said to Lord Farizel, ‘I see that you wish to argue with the king? You call interesting and significant what I have called silly, and instead of apologizing for your audacity you claim that it’s not audacious at all?... Well, I think I will grant your wish. There is a position here in court holding which one can afford such behavior, and that position is presently vacant. It is yours from this day. I am talking about the position of the king’s jester, and I will sign the edict regarding that right away.’”
The old man paused again, looking straight ahead, his gaze absent, detached; he was probably trying to imagine how it all happened. Jeco, too, pictured that. He could see the king’s angry face, the courtiers frozen in fear—and Lord Farizel, who had taken the blow with his shoulders squared and his chin up. Jeco had no doubts that it was so.
“Needless to say, everybody was shocked,” the old man continued in a quiet voice. “Every servant saw that it was impossible, unthinkable, unheard of. Everyone knew what a dishonor, what an indelible disgrace it was for a man of such a noble background, high position and outstanding qualities. Exile or prison would have been a punishment incomparably softer than this one, overthrowing the very life of the young lord… But even more astonishing than the king’s unexpected cruelty was His Lordship’s reaction. Lord Farizel took the devastating news with such a cool expression as if he was ready for it, or did not understand what it meant. Of course, everyone had decided that the latter was true: the poor guy didn’t know that he was crushed. But, as it turned out just a few moments later, they were wrong.
“So, some faces showed pity mixed with contempt, others expressed open joy and satisfaction… Only Lord Vargos, the court administrator, dared to interfere and made a courageous attempt to save Lord Farizel. ‘Forgive me, Your Majesty,’ he said to the king, ‘but I would like to point out the fact that Lord Farizel is a highly unsuitable candidate for the position just named. In light of that, I would humbly ask that Your Majesty reconsiders your decision.’ At that, the king’s angry stare switched to Lord Vargos, but before His Majesty could reply, Lord Farizel spoke up. ‘Please, Lord Vargos,’ he said in a firm and calm voice, ‘do not worry about that. I have said more than once that I will serve my king where His Majesty wants me to be. I am ready to repeat that now as well.’”
“I guess His Majesty was stunned?” Jeco asked, admiring Farizel’s courage.
“Oh yes, no doubt—so much that it took him some time to find words. His Majesty expected quite a different response, he thought he would see fear, paleness, quick apologies and humiliated pleads for mercy… But none of that happened. After saying those words that were later repeated in a hushed whisper all over the palace, Lord Farizel just stood there, cool and composed, looking into the king’s face and waiting for his further orders. ‘Fine,’ His Majesty said at last. ‘Go study your rights and responsibilities, and dress according to your new position. I will see you this evening.’ After that, Lord Farizel left with a gallant bow, followed by astounded looks.”
The librarian suddenly straightened his back, his face taking a solemn, triumphant expression. “And here, Mr. Tarres, starts the most interesting part. The incredible news flew over the palace in a twinkling of an eye. Almost everyone turned their back on Lord Farizel, shunning him as if he was a leper. Recent friends stopped greeting him and averted their eyes when they saw him… Oh, how much they regretted it just in a couple of days!”
“What happened?!”
“Well, first of all, against the expectations of many, no one ever saw Lord Farizel in the humiliating outfit of a jester. Instead, he came to the king at the appointed time wearing garments so elegant and luxurious that even the most famous court fops felt overshadowed. Not looking at anyone, he passed through the crowd of curious courtiers to His Majesty’s study, which he entered without knocking or being announced—against the court etiquette and to the horror of the king’s butler.
“No one knows what His Majesty and Lord Farizel talked about that day, on their first meeting after His Lordship’s demotion. Their conversation lasted longer than half an hour. After that, they came out together, with impenetrable smiles on their faces. ‘I am glad that you’re here, ladies and gentlemen,’ His Majesty said, seeing the courtiers whose number hadn’t decreased during that time. ‘I believe you all have heard the news regarding Lord Farizel, which is therefore no longer news, and there’s no need to keep talking about it. I only wish to remind you that from now on Lord Farizel holds total immunity, as well as other special privileges fully described in the article number two-sixteen of the court regulations. To avoid misunderstandings, I advise you all to refresh your memory and read that article.’ With this, His Majesty had dismissed the courtiers and Lord Farizel… Now, where do you think everyone rushed after that?”
“Here! To the library, looking for the article two-sixteen!”
“Exactly. Many had not read the court regulations for a long time, thinking that they knew their responsibilities well enough and seeing no need to study those of the others. Moreover, no one checked the article dedicated to the position of the king’s jester—the position remained vacant so long that it was simply forgotten.”
“So what was in that article?”
“Ah!” The librarian lifted his finger. “There were things most astonishing. It turned out that the king’s jester had many unique, absolutely special rights that some of the highest ranking officials could not even dream about. The jester can attend—or ignore—any court events including secret military meetings, regardless of His Majesty’s invitation. In other words, he can come without asking for permission or not come when he is invited. The king’s jester has the right to say anything he wants, when he wants, and to whom he wants—without having to worry about any consequences, since he enjoys immunity and cannot be punished. He is allowed to choose any hobbies and any kinds of entertainment, all of it financed from the treasury. If he wishes, the jester can always be at the king’s side and participate in all his affairs, or, on the contrary, he can spend his days without even showing up in His Majesty’s quarters. To make it short, the jester has almost unlimited freedom and is practically relieved from following the court etiquette.”
“Paradise in exchange for disgrace…” Jeco observed.
The old man gave him a studying look.
“Yes, Mr. Tarres. You’ve gotten it just right. And there are different ways one can use this ‘paradise’. His Lordship Farizel proved that there’s no need to turn into a useless idler—or a shameless mocker hated and despised by everyone. He did not let his life to be ruined. Against all odds, he picked up his trampled honor, as a fallen banner, and lifted it high. He became known for his intelligence and integrity, reached incredible power, accomplished remarkable things and forced everyone to respect his courage, his willpower—and his disgrace.”
The dwarf had finished his passionate speech and grew silent, his eyes shining with excitement.
“This is a beautiful story, sir,” Jeco said. “And I am very grateful to you for sharing it. Now I see what kind of a man I had the honor of speaking to today.”
“I am very glad. This honor, I must say, is now sought by many. Now when Lord Farizel has become, in fact, the second man in the country after the king, and when no one except for himself dares to utter the word jester—now many are seeking his favor, catching his every word and doing anything and everything to show their loyalty.”
“Even those who had turned their backs on him?”
“Especially those.”
“And how is Lord Farizel taking it?”
“He never took his revenge on anyone, though he easily could, and many souls trembled expecting that. Neither did he show anyone special favor… Except for Lord Vargos, of course, who for a long time had been the only person Lord Farizel would offer his hand to. As to the others, he is the same with everyone—always well-mannered and exceptionally polite.”
Jeco thanked the old man once again and rose to leave, but then he halted at the door.
“I have one more question, sir. What about Her Highness the Princess?”
That brought a crooked smile to the dwarf’s face.
“Oh? You haven’t yet heard what Her Highness is doing to her teachers who are being replaced one after another?... Trust me, you will, and more than once. Her Highness is very creative and never runs out of ideas, such as splashing ink, loosening chair screws, hiding chalk, or simply running away.”
***
Jeco’s return to the kitchen was met with such a wild excitement of the scullions that the chief cook had to interfere and threaten with a severe punishment if they don’t settle down and get back to work. The scullions rushed to their places and grabbed their knives, but as soon as the chief cook left they circled Jeco again.
“Tell us, tell us everything!” Dirg demanded, happily impatient. “Is it true that there’s a million books in the king’s library, each one in a golden cover?!”
Other scullions were throwing in their questions all together.
“Was it scary to be in there? Did you get to see any noblemen? And the portraits? And the Nacre Hall? Is it true that guards in there are so huge that their shoulders are wider than the doors, so they have to turn sideways when they enter?”
Jeco laughed, not knowing whom to answer.
“I would love to tell you all that,” he said, “but I’ve got work to do, I must chop the wood and get my oven going.”
“Go ahead,” Dirg replied with a sly wink. “We got your firewood ready yesterday, and I’ve just started the oven, so all you need to do is watch the fire—and talk!”
Jeco turned around to look. Indeed, there was a large stack of firewood next to his oven, enough to last all day. The scullions couldn’t wait to hear his stories and prepared for his return, having done most of his work for him so that the story-time wouldn’t be delayed any longer.
Jeco smiled. “All right—listen, then.”
He sat on the low bench at the oven, checked the fire and started his tale, interrupted over and over again with questions and thrilled exclamations. None of the scullions had ever been to the inner rooms of the palace, and therefore every little detail was important to them, bringing a storm of emotions. Jeco told them how he found the library and what was inside, how he’d met a general of the King’s Guard who didn’t pay to him any attention, and how he took a peek into the Nacre Hall. He also shared that he saw His Majesty’s butler in the library, but decided to keep his conversation with Lord Farizel to himself, not wishing to brag about it and thinking that the scullions had enough to hear anyway.
The boys were elated. They gasped, rolled their eyes and made Jeco retell things they were especially impressed with.
“Did you get scared of the general, Tarres?” Dirg asked.
Jeco shrugged. “No. Why would I?”
“I hear they’re all terribly angry. They yell all the time.”
“Corporals yell,” cut in another scullion named Willy. “And captains. Generals don’t, they’ve got to keep their important appearance.”
“How would you know?” Dirg waved him off. “One would think you have seen many generals!”
Willy took no offence. “Not many and not so close as Tarres,” he explained, “but I have, at the parade. Tell me something else, Tarres,” he turned to Jeco, “Did you get to see Mr. Henky-Roo?”
“No,” Jeco shook his head. “Who is that?”
Dirg made a disgusted face and shuddered. “Brr! A creepy looking old fellow!”
“They say he isn’t that old,” someone objected.
“I don’t know what they say, but he looks like he’s a hundred—all wrinkled and yellow… You haven’t missed anything, Tarres. I saw him, and it wasn’t a pleasant experience.”
“What kind of a man is he?” Jeco asked.
“Gravelius Henky-Roo, the king’s new advisor, or something like that. He hasn’t been here that long, only for a couple months. A weird character, with weird name and weird manners… From what I hear, he doesn’t show up that much, rarely speaks to anyone and spends his days locked up in his study. He wears a long gray robe, and always has that black amulet on a chain around his neck.”
“I bet he practices magic and witchcraft!” Willy put in, his eyes wide.
Jeco glanced at him in disbelief, but then, having remembered what he’d recently heard about the king and the Book of Light, he suddenly realized that this was quite possible: where the Light is being rejected, the Darkness always steps in.
“Well, I don’t really believe in witchcraft,” Dirg said, “but from such a shady character as this Henky-Roo anything can be expected. He came here once, to the kitchen, and asked for some dried pepper. You should see his eyes! He stares right at you, and at the same time you’re kind of unsure whether he sees you or not… Brr!”
“Maybe he was just drunk?” someone suggested.
“If so, then he’s always drunk, because he’s always got that crazy look!” Willy cut in again. “I know that from his servant who was here once, too—and you know what he’d come for? To get some bird blood! I’m telling you, he’s a sorcerer. I’d stay away from that guy.”
Jeco’s suspicion grew. This did look like witchcraft: he remembered Shaledan telling him that in some magic rituals fresh blood of birds was being used. And the black amulet pointed in the same direction…
“Are you serious, Willy?” Dirg asked, incredulous.
“I give you my word! Why would I lie?”
“When did it happen?”
“About a month ago. I was outside, carrying baskets of game hunters had brought. Well, and that servant of his comes up to me and asks if he could get some fresh blood! I still get goose bumps each time I think of it.”
The scullions grew quiet, their faces troubled and scared.
“Wow…” Dirg shook his head. “Did he tell you what he needed that blood for?”
“He said Mr. Henky-Roo’s joints were hurting, and he had to prepare some sort of a special mixture to rub in.”
“So what did you tell him?”
“I didn’t want to mess with that stuff, I said I make no decisions here, and sent him to the cooks.”
“Good,” Dirg nodded. “We don’t need no trouble. What do you think about it, Tarres? You’ve read many books, you probably know. Does it look like witchcraft to you?”
“I haven’t read that much about magic,” Jeco said. “But I know it’s a very dangerous thing. My teacher told me that magicians do have some rituals when they use blood… So, I agree with what Willy says—if all this is true, it’s better to stay away from such a man.”
“I just have no idea how he got to the palace! They check each and every one. Unless…” Willy glanced around and lowered his voice to a whisper. “Unless he was hired because of it! As a court magician! What do you think?!”
“Oh, come on, Willy, that can’t be true!” Dirg picked up his knife and started chopping cabbage with remarkable speed. “And I don’t wanna talk about that guy anymore. I don’t care for him. Tell us something from those books you have read, Tarres! Something fun.”
“Yes, yes, tell us some stories!” The scullions all brightened up. “About pirates! Robbers! Knights!”
***