The Eyes of the Dragon(30)

Flagg knew something else; he knew that people have a deep and instinctive distrust of all Kings and princes, for these are people who may order their deaths with a single nod, and for crimes as petty as dropping a handkerchief in their presence. Great Kings are loved, lesser Kings are tolerated; Kings-to-be represent a scary unknown quantity. They might come to love Peter if given a chance, but Flagg knew they would also condemn him quickly if shown enough evidence.

Flagg thought such evidence would be forthcoming soon. Nothing more than a mouse. Small way to shake a kingdom to its foundations.

34

In Delain there were only three stages of being: childhood, half-manhood or-womanhood, and adulthood. These "half-years" lasted from fourteen to eighteen.

When Peter entered half-manhood, the scolding nannies were replaced with Brandon, his butler, and Dennis, Brandon's son. Brandon would be Peter's butler for years yet, but probably not forever. Peter was very young, and Brandon was nearing fifty. When Brandon was no longer able to buttle, Dennis would take over. Brandon's family had buttled high royalty for nearly eight hundred years, and were justifiably proud of the fact.

Dennis rose each morning at five o'clock, dressed, laid out his father's suit, and shined his father's shoes. Then he wandered blearily into the kitchen and ate breakfast. At quarter to six, he set out from the family's home on the west side of the castle keep and entered the castle proper by the Lesser West Door.

Promptly at six o'clock he would reach Peter's rooms, let himself quietly in, and go about the early chores-building a fire, making half a dozen breakfast muffins, heating water for tea. Then he would quickly circle the three rooms, setting them to rights. This was usually easy, because Peter was not a messy boy. Last of all, he would return to the study and lay out breakfast, for the study was where Peter liked to eat the meals he took in his rooms-usually at his desk by the east windows, with a history book open before him.

Dennis didn't like getting up early, but he liked his job very much, and he liked Peter, who was always patient with him, even when he made a mistake. The only time he had ever raised his voice to Dennis was when Dennis had brought him a light lunch and had neglected to put a napkin on the tray.

"I'm very sorry, y'Highness," Dennis had said on that occasion. "I just never thought-"

"Well next time, do think!" Peter said. He was not shouting, but it was a close thing. Dennis had never neglected to put a napkin on Peter's tray again-and sometimes, just to be safe, he put on two.

Morning chores done, Dennis faded into the background and his father took over. Brandon was every bit the perfect butler, with his cravat neatly knotted, his hair pulled tightly back and rolled in a bun at the nape of his neck, his coat and breeches without a speck, his shoes shined to a mirror gloss (a mirror gloss Dennis was responsible for). But at night, with his shoes off, his coat hung in the closet, his cravat loosened, and a glass of bundle-gin in his hand, he looked to Dennis a much more natural man.

"Tell you something to always be remembrun, Denny," he had said to his son on many occasions while in this comfortable state. "There may be as many's a dozen things in this world which last, but surely no more, and may be less. Passey-o-nut love of a woman don't last, and a runner's wind don't last, nor does a braggart's wind, nor does haytime in the summer or sugartime in spring thaw. But two things that do last is one, royalty, and another, service. If you stick with your young man until he's an old man, and if you take care of him proper, he'll take care of you proper. You serve him an' he'll serve you, if you take the turn o' my mind. Now pour me another glass, and take a drop for yourself, if you like, but no more than a drop or your mother'll skin us both alive."

Undoubtedly, some sons would quickly have grown bored with this catechism, but Dennis did not. He was the rarest of sons, a boy who had reached twenty and still thought his father wiser than himself.

On the morning after the King's death, Dennis hadn't had to force himself blearily out of bed at five o'clock; he had been awakened at three by his father, with the news of the King's death.

"Flagg's rared up a search party," his father said, eyes full of bloodshot distress, "and that's right enough. But my master will be leading it soon enough, I'll warrant, and I'm off to help him hunt for the fiend who done it, if he'll have me."

"Me, too!" Dennis cried, grabbing for his breeches.

"Not at all, not at all," his father said with a hard sternness that made Dennis subside at once. "Things'll go forrad here just as they always have, murder or no-the old ways must be kept to now more than ever. My master and your master will be crowned King at noon, and that's well enough, although he comes to the crown in a bad time. But the death of a King by violence is always an evil thing if it comes not on the field of battle. The old ways will hold, doubt it not, but there may be trouble in the meantime. What's best for you, Dennis, is to go about your work just the same as always."

He was gone before Dennis could protest.

And when five o'clock came, Dennis told his mother what his father had said and told her he should get about his morning round, even though he knew Peter would be gone. Dennis's mother was more than agreeable. She was dying for news. She told him to go, of course... go and then come back to her no later than eight of the clock, and tell her all he heard.