[maikafanawen]

After Astronomy, an enervated Devon took lunch with Tutor Pearlle in the kitchens. Thinly sliced vegetables and meat marinated in vinegar between two pieces of crispy toast were devoured greedily by the always-hungry youth. He drank his tumbler of water slowly, hoping to postpone his return to the classroom. Pearlle was just as fatigued as his student and sprawled exhaustedly in the high backed chair, a plate of bare fowl bones in front of him.

"I'm feeling a little unwell," Pearlle declared spuriously. "Why don't you run along and we'll make up for it tomorrow, hey?" With a great deal of effort, Devon retained his composure of delight and donned a mask of mock concern.

"Do you require assistance Master Pearlle?" The fat man shook his head deliberately and made a shooing gesture.

"No, no thank you. That won't be necessary you just go on." Standing and nodding respectfully, Devon left the kitchens, resisting the urge to leap in the air and click his heals. He thought of going to the stables for Callath, but decided against it. The stable boy most likely had enough on his hands than to be jeered at by Devon and his newly earned freedom. And Calnan was undoubtedly up to his ears in politics so the youth decided to visit Pollc, the gardener.

Devon picked his way through the wild overgrowth that led to the unkempt parts of the garden where Pollc was supposed to be working to tame the wild flora. The overhanging tree branches and vines that tangled over the brick pathway broke away gradually to reveal an organized section of the gardens where newly planted flowers were revealing their first round of colors.

Devon found the seventy-four year old man perched precariously atop a ladder that leaved against an oak, holding what looked very much like a bird's nest in his hands. Careful not to startle him, the youth kept very quiet as Pollc worked. With the tenderness of a mother with her child, the grey bearded old man placed the nest in the crook of two branches and climbed down carefully. After he'd stepped off the last rung, he sighed and stepped backwards once, and wiped his hands on his leather apron, smiling approvingly up at the secured nest.

"Very nice," Devon whispered cautiously. Pollc turned and squinted his eyes, damaged since childhood, leaving the grounds keeper near blind.

"Oh, Devon," he acknowledge dropping his apron. "Just in time really." Pollc was a rather short old man with a bit of a paunch. He had a kind round face and bright, almost youthful—despite his blindness—blue eyes. His close cut grey beard and chin length grey-white hair gave him a loving, grandfather look. The embassy gardener was easily one of Devon's favorite people. The old man moved to a collapsible wooden table atop which set his toolbox. He reached into the green painted box and withdrew a spade and pair of gloves, handing them to Devon.

"I've been given three score pots of geraniums and marigolds that the ladies have asked the Ambassador to put in the garden. It'll take us the better part of the week to get them all in." Pollc hooked one of his gloved fingers under his grey bearded chin and looked critically around at the newly cleared garden area. "We'll start over there," he said pointing, "and plant them with the geraniums in the back first." Devon rolled up his sleeves and picked up a crate of flowers, moving to where the old man had pointed.

They worked hard but peacefully in the garden until late afternoon, past the time when the sun had begun its evening descent. Devon and Pollc straightened and massaged their sore knee joints and lower back from bending and kneeling. The two looked around approvingly at the progress they'd made and the empty pots stacked up in the wheelbarrow.

"A few more days like this," Pollc said, rubbing the tip of his aquiline nose with a dirty glove, "and we'll have them all in by Thursday at the latest." He stopped then and wrinkled his brow staring in thought. "It is Monday isn't it?" he asked Devon. The youth nodded and peeled his own leather gloves from his sweaty and calloused hands.

"Well, I've got to be back at the house, Pollc," he said, stacking his spade and other things in the toolbox. "I'll try to make it out here again tomorrow if I can." The old man nodded, still looking at his flower arrangements.

"Okay Devon, thanks for your help. See you tomorrow then." The brown-haired boy smiled and shook his head, leaving the old gardener to his red and orange flowers.

Back in his room at the embassy, Devon changed into a clean white shirt with billowy sleeves, pulled on a pair of soft black leather trousers and his favorite pair of broken in boots. "Going somewhere Master Devon?" Adolfe inquired peevishly as the youth buckled on his sword and draped a cloak over his shoulders. The servant stepped into the bedroom, blocking the doorway, and grinned spitefully at his young master. He glanced at the pile of clothes by the tub in the washroom and noticed the dirt stains. "Were you shoveling in dirt in Language classes today?" Devon narrowed his eyes and glared at the pesky man in his slick black hair that was plastered to his head to exaggerate his widow's peak. Then the young man straightened his shoulders and looked at Adolfe levelly.

"I'm going to meet Master Calnan and Master Callath for dinner. Father's given his consent." The servant looked dubious, but stood aside for Devon to walk past him. Once he turned the corner, out of sight of the dark haired man, Thrann quickened his pace and jumped down the stairs as fast as he could without making much noise and fled the embassy. Once in the cool air of that Monday evening, Devon slowed a little and moved at a leisurely pace to meet his friends at the Snifter and Song.

* * *

"Where's Callath and Adeline?" Devon asked when he arrived and seeing only Calnan waiting for him. The attaché shrugged.

"Our young stable hand friend looked very busy when I walked by today," Calnan said taking the two tumblers of ale from the waitress. "He was mucking stalls." Devon winced and took his seat.

"What about Adeline?" The bell at the top of the inn door rang then and the two young men turned as their female friend walked in. They stood as she joined them and took her seat.

"I'll start with a cup of tea please," she told the waitress who had hustled over to get her request. The three enjoyed a good meal even if they were talking mostly of Doran.

"I still say you need to be careful," Calnan stressed to his carefree friend. "Doran is a clever man and he'll stop at nothing. Let's not forget: he is, after all, a pirate." Devon scoffed his friend's insistent warnings and tried unsuccessfully to lighten the conversation. In the end, Adeline was agreeing with Calnan and Devon's mood soured.

"Don't be so glum, Devon," Adeline said, placing a comforting hand on his arm.

"You're both treating me like I'm a little boy! Let's not forget I bested you I a fencing bout just last week Calnan!" His tone was agitated and the attaché shifted in his seat.

"I am not Devon, just be careful." Deciding that now might be a good time to leave, Calnan stood. He reached for his money pouch but Devon stopped him.

"I've got it," he said. "I’m going to be staying a little longer anyways."

"All right, Devon. I'll see you tomorrow." Adeline stayed a little longer and talked of less serious things with Devon to lighten his spirits. It helped a little, but in the end, the young man was still upset about the whole situation with Doran. Adeline sighed wistfully.

"It'll be okay Devon, you'll see." She laid her hand again on his arm. Devon looked at her. She had an unreadable expression on her face and her soft grey eyes sparkled. "It will," she repeated. The youth shrugged slightly.

"I hope so. I really do." Adeline had to go then. She wasn't supposed to be out too late, especially in Umbar.

The inn was clearing out. It was all ready past ten and many of the usual patrons who attended had early jobs in the morning they had to be prepared for. Only a few older men, caught in a heated discussion of politics, were left in the fading of the oil lamps hanging intermittently from rusty iron hooks in the ceiling. Devon lingered still, drinking idly from his fourth tumbler, until Mr. Rheels suggested lightly that he go home and get some sleep. Rising reluctantly and bit dizzily, the youth paid his bill and left the inn.

It all happened rather fast and Devon hadn't even the time to fumble for his sword. There was a thud and a man's grunt as he opened the door and hit somebody. Mumbling earnest apologies, the youth moved to help the person up. That's when the two other men came out from the shadows and attacked. When the ambassador's son caught the face of the shorter man in the light he let a startled shout. It was Agdar! He looked closer at the man he'd hit. He looked familiar and not the friendly sort of familiar either. Realizing what was happening, he took off, running down the street away from the Snifter and Song.

Devon just couldn't believe it. Calnan had been right! Those blasted pirates knew about him and that he had overheard Doran in the alley that night. An attempt on his life! The youth didn't know exactly what their intentions had been but they weren't good. Shaking with fright, he ran on.

He had all ready gone four blocks when he realized that the embassy lay in the other direction. Muttering awful maledictions under his breath, Devon slowed a bit to figure out what he should do. As he looked down the road he caught sight of the long wooden building lighted here and there with oil lamps and torches. It was the stables. Callath! He picked up the pace again and ran, hoping to the gods his friend was still there.

After what seemed like an eternity, Devon reached the stables. He was panting from the run, and he banged desperately on the door. Reaching down, he slid back the rusty latch and opened the door, letting himself in. The shaking youth closed it behind him and leaned against it, trying ineffectively to catch his breath. Callath had slid down the stairs at the sound of the banging and helped his terrified friend over to sit on a ladder rung.

"Gods, Devon, but you gave me a shock there," said the stable hand, nervous himself, at seeing his friend's unsteady condition. "What on earth's wrong with you?" Devon stumbled over himself a few times before he finally got his sentences strung together properly. Carefully and slowly, he told Callath exactly what had happened. His friend let out a low whistle, his face visibly pale.

"You better stay here tonight Devon," he said, climbing back up to the loft. "I'll put out the lights and lock everything up, but it may not be too swell of an idea to head home. They might be waiting for you." Devon nodded and watched as Callath jogged down the hall to lock the doors and extinguish the lighting. Then he climbed up to the loft and sat cross-legged on a hay pile staring into the vacancy of an empty stall below him. He was terrified. No one had ever tried to kill him before. The event had left a terrible feeling in his stomach. Once, even, Devon was sick and had to clean up the mess before Callath got back.

The stable hand returned with two blankets from the tack room and handed one to Devon. "Try to get some sleep mate," he said encouragingly. Devon didn't acknowledge him and his wide frightened eyes stared up at the ceiling from where he lay wrapped rigidly in his tartan blanket. Callath furrowed his brow, unsure of what to do to help his friend. "I’m going to keep watch," he declared, setting up a small lamp on a hook. Devon said nothing but he closed his eyes.

The elder of the two smiled painfully and leaned up against an oak beam. He hummed quietly and watched as the features in the molested youth's faces relaxed and his breathing evened. Finally Devon slept, but only to be plagued by the insalubrious nightmares of ruthless pirates and Agdar's horrible, jeering face.

[ November 04, 2003: Message edited by: maikafanawen ]

[ November 04, 2003: Message edited by: maikafanawen ]