Devlin's Luck Read Online Free PDF

Devlin was the Chosen One, the steward’s attitude changed for the worse. He now treated Devlin as if he held a long-standing grudge against him. He tried to refuse payment of the reward, saying that Devlin should leave the coins with him for safekeeping. When Devlin insisted, the steward reluctantly counted out each of the ten gold disks as if they were coming from his own purse. In a pointed lack of courtesy, he summoned a servant to show Devlin to his new quarters, rather than taking him there himself.
    The chamber assigned to the Chosen was located on the second floor of the east tower. It was a spacious chamber, with wide windows that looked over a courtyard where soldiers were drilling. The bed was large enough to sleep an entire family, but there was only a bare mattress.
    “There’s been no need for linens so they’ve all been put away,” the servant explained. “Now that you’re here, I’ll send for the chambermen to put things right.”
    Devlin dropped his pack on the floor, then hung his newly acquired sword from a peg in the wall.
    Across from the bed stood a tall wardrobe. Devlin opened the doors and saw that the wardrobe was filled with dark gray clothing in a variety of sizes and conditions. His gaze lingered on a gray jerkin that was stained with what could only be dried blood.
    Next to the wardrobe was a rack, on which two swords were displayed, while on the wall hung a longbow and quiver. Beneath the weapons were two wooden trunks, each banded with iron. One trunk bore the name Sygfryd. Unlike the rest of the room, which was well kept, a layer of dust covered the trunks and weapons.
    “And these are?” Devlin asked, waving his arm to indicate the wardrobe and weapons.
    The servant flushed. “They, er, they belonged to those that lived here. Before you.”
    “See they are taken away,” Devlin ordered. He needed no such reminders of his own inevitable fate.
    “At once, my lord,” the servant said.
    Devlin looked around, then realized that the servant was speaking to him. “My name is Devlin,” he growled.
    “Of course, my lord Devlin.”
    Devlin turned on his heel and left.
    “Where are we going?” Stephen asked.
    “You are going nowhere.”
    “But I promised you a round of drinks,” Stephen said plaintively.
    Devlin paused. He had no wish for companionship, or for the verbal fencing that conversation with the minstrel would involve. But there was much he needed to know about his new position, and the minstrel was as good a source of information as any.
    “I have a few errands I must attend to,” Devlin explained. “But I will meet you later, if you wish it. Name the place.”
    Stephen immediately brightened. “Of course. How about the Singing Fish, say around sunset?”
    “Fine.”
    “The Singing Fish is in the old city, near the river. It’s not fancy, but they have good food and a very fine cellar. Unless you’d prefer somewhere in the nobles’ quarter?”
    Devlin had no mind to rub elbows with the nobles of Jorsk. “The Singing Fish will do.”
    “It is very easy to find. Just leave the palace by the Queen’s Gate, and then take Victory Lane. Then you need to turn right by the lesser temple of Haakon, and it will be at the third cross street. Of course you could start by the dyers’ guildhouse and then go—”
    “I will find it.”
    With some difficulty Devlin pried himself free of his eager young guide. Since the ceremony he had paid careful attention to his surroundings, and now he was able to find his way out of the palace, through the grounds, and out into the city.
    The city had a somber air, as if the residents were still recovering from the celebrations of the previous three days. Traces of the festivities still remained; a crushed garland lying by the roadside, the smashed remnants of a wine jug a few paces away.
    He walked some ways from the palace, till he was certain that he was not being followed. He did not trust these Jorskians, and from the treatment he