Rise of a Merchant Prince Read Online Free PDF Page A

known—uncontestedly the strongest boy in Ravensburg—Erik had pitched a guardsman through a window just before another broke a wine jar over his head. Roo couldn’t tell if he had taken more damage from the blow or from the large amounts of wine he had been drinking before the fight started; Erik had never been much of a drinker.
    â€œSome important men would like a word with you. It wouldn’t do to have you in court looking as you do. Now,” he said, pushing open a door, “strip off!”
    Hot tubs of soapy water waited and the men did as they were bidden. Two years of following de Loungville’s orders without question had formed a habit too hard to break, and soon the five men were sitting in tubs, letting palace pages sponge them down.
    Pitchers of cold water were provided and the men all drank their fill. Between the very hot bath and the large amounts of cold water he drank, Roo began to feel again that life might be worth living.
    When clean, they discovered their clothing had been removed. De Loungville pointed to two black tunics with a familiar mark upon the breast. Erik picked one up and said, “The Crimson Eagle.”
    De Loungville said, “Nicholas thought it fitting and Calis didn’t object. It’s the banner of our newarmy, Erik. You and Jadow are my first two corporals, so put those on.” To the others he said, “There’s some clean clothing over there.”
    Nakor and Sho Pi both looked odd in the clean tunic and trousers instead of the usual robes they affected, but Roo found his own appearance improved dramatically. The tunic might be a little large for his diminutive frame, but it was certainly the finest weave he had ever worn, and the trousers fit perfectly. He was still barefoot, but months at sea had toughened his feet to the point he didn’t think twice about it.
    Erik retained his worn boots, but Jadow, like the others, went barefoot.
    After they dressed, the men followed de Loungville into a familiar hall; here the men of Calis’s desperate company had stood trial before the Prince of Krondor—at the time, Nicholas. The hall hadn’t changed much, Roo thought, but he realized that his mind had been so numb from terror the last time he had been there he had barely noticed his surroundings.
    Ancient banners hung from every ceiling beam, casting the hall into shadow as they cut the light from windows high in the vaulted ceiling. Torches burned in sconces along the wall to provide illumination, for despite the large windows in the far wall, the hall was immense enough the light did not reach far enough. Roo considered he would have the banners removed, were he the Prince.
    Along the walls stood courtiers and pages ready to do the royal bidding at a moment’s notice, and a formally attired Master of Ceremony struck the floor with an iron-shod staff of office, announcing Robertde Loungville, Baron of the Court and Special Agent of the Prince. Roo shook his head slightly in amusement, for de Loungville was the company’s sergeant, and to think of him as a court baron was too alien a task.
    Members of the court watched as the squad came to stand before the throne. Roo calculated as best he could the worth of the gold used to decorate the candle holders along the near wall, and decided the Prince could better use his wealth by replacing them with brass—highly decorative, but far less costly, freeing up wealth to invest in the proper enterprise. Then he wondered if he might be allowed to speak to the Prince on just such a subject.
    Thinking of the Prince returned Roo’s attention to the man who had once pronounced the death sentence upon him. Nicholas, now his nephew’s Admiral of the Western Fleet, stood to one side of the throne beside his successor, Prince Patrick. To the other side stood Calis and the man Roo knew to be James, Duke of Krondor, speaking to the man they had seen on the docks, Patrick’s uncle