The Prince in Waiting Read Online Free PDF Page A

protected men to give me special care. And now I must dismiss it from my mind, go back to bed, sleep and be refreshed for tomorrow.
    I returned to my bed but I did not sleep. Thoughts ran jumbled through my head, not about the dream but the reality. I imagined the fight, looked at it from every point of view, and from every point of view was driven to the same conclusion: we had no chance at all. It was a standard operation for the three stronger teams to concentrate first on eliminating the weakest. I had worked out plans to counter this but here in the still center of the night I recognized their futility. They would only, as I saw, expose us to greater mockery when they failed.
    I thought of my father’s warning and acknowledged the truth of it. Pride and ambition ran too strongly in me. It would be better to settle for what I had, to be contented with my lot. It was, after all, a good one. I had been born true man, not dwarf nor, God forbid, polymuf. I had been born in this city of a noble father—of no lineage, but noble. I had my health and strength, the use of my wits. Now, by the fortune of another’s falling sick, I was chosen a Junior Captain and, whatever happened in the Contest, would wear a sword tomorrow night at the feast. Even if we were ignominiously defeated, I myself unhorsed in the first charge, the defeat and the derision that went with it, the hissing and the laughter, were a small price to pay for what I gained.
    That was the sensible way to look at it. But as I thought of the mob and its ridicule the sweat was cold again on my back and down my legs. I turned violently in my bed, striking the pillow with my fist, willing my mind to blankness, willing sleep to come. I must rest, to be strong for the day ahead. But the more I demanded, the further sleep drew from me. At last I turned to pleading. I called on the Spirits of my Ancestors to aid me. That, too, did not help. The window’s square had begun to pale before exhaustion succeeded where demands and pleas had failed, and I slept.
    Then the maid, Janet, was shaking my shoulder gently. It was broad day. I looked at her through eyes that would scarcely open, my mind fogged and stupid.
    â€œTime to rise, Master Luke.”
    I asked: “What day is this?”
    She smiled at me. She had no visible deformities but she wore her dresses high up at the neck. A good-looking woman but she was past thirty and had not married; though most polymufs did. The destructive Spirits, one guessed, had done their work cruelly on her.
    â€œContest Day, Master Luke,” she said. “Your day.”
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    It rained all morning but the rain was warm now. Blowing direct from the Burning Lands, it left a coating of gray behind it. I could imagine my Aunt Mary’s lips tightening as she watched the white sills and flags outside her house besmirched. The polymufs would be hard at work as soon as the rain ceased.
    And it did cease around midday. In the early afternoon the Young Captains rode their troops out of the city with leather jackets dry and silver epaulets gleaming in a watery sunlight. We rode in procession across the bridge and through the East Gate. The Prince and his Captains led the way, followed by their ladies. Next came Ezzard and the Acolytes; then the Young Captains in order of lineage. Edmund first, of course, as son of the Prince, followed by Gregory and Henry. I came last. After us the senior burgesses, the Sergeants, farmers in for the day. Then the common people, then the dwarfs. Last of all the polymufs. There was chattering and laughter, and strollers playing instruments and singing songs.
    The city would be almost emptied of people, the walls which Prince Stephen had built so high stood unmanned. It was true that this was the time of the Spring Fair when no war was made throughout the civilized lands. The Spirits forbade it. But if someone broke the truce, I wondered, did that mean the Spirits