HONOR BOUND (The Spare Heir) (16 page)

Jorem was rather taken back by all that Biorne had said.  He had never even thought of there being danger in carrying money.  Then again, he had never needed to pay for anything before.  Whenever he had gone into town or to a festival, if he had seen something he wanted it was simply delivered to his room at the castle.  That there were bandits, he was aware.  He also knew that people were occasionally robbed in the town near the castle.  That was why there was a town guard, to deal with those problems.  That he himself could be the victim of such a crime was something new to him.

As Jorem stood and began gathering up the pouches the innkeeper waved him off.  “Leave those, I’ll put them in your room. Tie one to your belt and tuck it inside your pants.”

Jorem did as Biorne had suggested and started for the door.  He detoured to the counter where he found a scrap of paper with some hastily written directions on it.  He read through the directions once to make sure that he understood them.  Folding the paper, he slid it into his pocket then walked over to the door.

“Keep an eye on the weather,” Biorne said from across the room. “It’s not bad right now, just a bit of snow.  If the wind picks up it could get bad out there in a hurry.”

When Jorem opened the door he found that the world had been transformed.  Everything was covered with a layer of white, fluffy snow.  Big, fluffy flakes drifted lazily out of the sky to land on the ground.  About a finger length of snow lay in a narrow mound along the railing that ran the length of the inn’s porch.  The bows of the pine trees glistened with the snow that covered them.  The tracks of the horses and wagons that had left earlier were nearly obscured by the snow that had fallen since the travelers had left.  Inhaling deeply of the crisp, cold air, Jorem set off on his way.

Chapter XVII

By the time Jorem reached the shop Linda had spoken of, his hair was soaked and his clothes weren’t much drier.  As he stepped through the door of the shop, he ran a hand through his hair to get it out of his face.  When he let go of his hair he felt it slap damply against his back.  He almost yelped as a cold rivulet of water ran down his neck.  It hadn’t taken much more than a quarter of a mark to walk to the shop.  In that time a fair amount of snow had landed on him.  His shoes were soaked through and his feet were cold.

The room he stood in was warm and smelled of fragrant spices.  Several racks of coats, sweaters and cloaks were hung in rows across the room.  Along the walls were shelves that held scarves, hats and a variety of other items all neatly folded and stacked.  When Jorem closed the door a small bell attached to the top of the door jingled.  He hadn’t taken more than a few steps into the shop when a short, elderly woman with gray hair came scurrying into the room from a doorway at the back of the shop.

The woman’s expression was bright and cheerful until she rounded the last rack of coats and could see Jorem clearly.  Instantly her expression of friendliness was gone. She looked almost angry as she approached.  Her face was stern and her lips were tight.   Elderly and short she might be, but Jorem could see that she was not one to cower in a corner.

“Young man, if you are looking for a handout you came to the wrong place.”   She spoke with such forcefulness that Jorem nearly turned to leave.  “I have little enough for myself and I’m not about to hand what I do have over to the likes of you.”

Jorem wiped the moisture from his face with the coarse fabric of his shirt.  He supposed he did look a bit bedraggled.  He certainly felt that way.  If he were a thief or a vagabond with no place to go, a nice warm shop like this would definitely be attractive with this weather.  He definitely had no desire to go back out in the cold, even though he knew he still had to return to the inn.

“I was hoping to purchase a cloak.”  Jorem kept his voice low and calm so as not to agitate the woman further.  “Linda at the Broken Arms told me this was the best place to find what I need.”

At the mention of Linda’s name and the prospect of a potential sale the old woman’s expression returned to smiles of welcome.  She apologized for being so discourteous and explained that some of the local ruffians had invaded other shops in the city on foul weather days.  Often they seize the opportunity to rob the shops’ owners of their money and merchandise.  Jorem felt pity for anyone who crossed this lady.  Small and old she might be but she was definitely not docile.

The old woman proceeded to show Jorem a number of cloaks she had in his size.  The styles and colors of cloaks ranged from vibrant and flashy to plain and simple.  Although the fancier cloaks were tempting, Jorem chose a more ordinary style.  The shopkeeper seemed pleased with his choice.  While he tried it on she explained that it was made of tightly woven wool.  Before the wool had been spun into thread it had been soaked in a special solution that kept water from soaking into it.  The cloak was a bit large for him but with the extra clothing he had on it didn’t show.

In addition to the cloak, the woman talked Jorem into purchasing a scarf and a strange type of gloves that only covered half the length of his fingers.  The gloves had a flap that folded over the fingers turning the gloves into mittens.  The gloves seemed a bit extravagant to him but he couldn’t resist their unique design.  Besides, as long as he kept the flap folded over his fingers they looked like any other pair of mittens.

The woman walked to a counter at the back of the shop, picked up a pad and pencil, and started writing.

“Is there anything else that I can interest you in?” She asked.

As Jorem moved to the counter his shoes squelched with each step.  Although his clothing had begun to dry while he had been in the shop, his shoes were still soaked.  The woman’s gaze was drawn down to the sound coming from his shoes.  Her brow wrinkled when she saw the state of his footwear.  When he had left the inn they had been in fairly good condition.  Soft supple leather custom fit to his feet.  Now they were soggy, limp rags sagging at his ankles.

“There is a shoemaker just a few doors down from here,” the old woman informed Jorem.  “He closes his shop for Firstday, but I could ask him to make an exception for you.  If you’re going to be walking through the snow you really need a good pair of boots.”

“That would be very kind of you,” Jorem said with sincerity.  “I didn’t even think about my shoes when I set out this morning and I could certainly use a good pair of boots.”

It only took a few moments to pay for the cloak, gloves and scarf.   Jorem had no idea what they should have cost, but the price he paid didn’t seem to be too much to him.  Linda had told him that the prices here were good and he decided that he would trust her judgment.  Besides, if the snow kept falling he would know how good the cloak was by the time he got back to the inn.

The woman had Jorem wait while she went to see if the shoemaker was home.  She returned in a few moments and escorted him to the door of the shoemaker’s shop.  It was actually in the same building, just a few doors down the walkway from the woman’s shop.  The door opened and a slender man with short dark hair motioned them in.  Jorem was a little surprised when the woman came in with him.  She seemed to have taken an interest in him.  Apparently she wasn’t going to leave him on his own until she was satisfied he was taken care of.

The room they entered had an odd, musty smell to it.  The rich smell of leather permeated the air.  Mingled with the smell of the leather were a variety of odors, some pleasant, some not so pleasant.  A varied assortment of shoes and boots lined one wall of the shop. The other walls were a clutter of leather, tools and odd contraptions.  A number of partially finished shoes were scattered about the room as though the shoemaker couldn’t decide which pair to finish first.

“Jessie tells me you are in need of shoes.”  The man’s voice was soft and mild and he puttered about the shop as he spoke.  “You look a bit young to be on your own.  Where might you be from?”

“I’m staying at the Broken Arms. ” Jorem replied.  If possible he’d rather everyone didn’t know who he was.  Drawing attention to himself in a place where his brothers had made the royal family so unpopular didn’t sound like a good idea.

The shoemaker scratched his head and muttered to himself for a moment.  “With as much snow as this storm’s putting down it won’t take but a wiff of a breeze to close all of the roads out of here for weeks.  I’d have thought those that had come for the knighting would have been long gone by now.”

“I’ll be staying for a while,” Jorem said as casually as he could.

The shoemaker sat down on a stool and gestured to a chair in front of him.  “Have a seat and we’ll see if I’ve anything that will fit you.”

Jorem sat down in the stiff-backed chair a little uncertainly.  Without any hesitation the shoemaker reached down, grasped Jorem’s ankle and lifted his foot up.  Deftly the man stripped off Jorem’s shoe, gave it a cursory inspection and dropped it on the floor.  The shoe struck the floor with a wet, plopping sound that was followed by a disapproving tsk’ing sound from Jessie.  The shoemaker made no comment, but went on with his work.

Then the shoemaker held a board against the bottom of Jorem’s foot and made some marks on the board.   Just when Jorem thought he was done the man repeated the process with his other foot.  He was about to ask the shoemaker why he was measuring both feet when the man began explaining.  It was as if he knew Jorem’s question before it was asked.

“People always think their feet are the same,” the shoemaker said as he peered at the marks he’d made on the board.  “Fact is no two feet are the same.  I learned this craft at my father’s side.  He always said that a man needs a good foundation to stand on.  Let’s see if I have anything ready made that will be a close enough match.”

The shoemaker stood up and walked over to the row of shoes that lined the wall behind Jorem.  He pulled three pairs of boots down and inspected them.  Several times he referred back to the board he still held in his hand.  After contemplating for a moment he placed one pair of boots back where it had been. The other two pair he brought back to Jorem and set them down on the floor.  He then sat down and began unlacing one of the boots.

“I’ve two pair here that should do,” he said softly.  “One’s a bit large, but that would give room for an extra pair of thick socks.  Both pair should be comfortable and wear well.  Let’s try the smaller size first.”

Reaching over to a nearby rack the shoemaker retrieved a pair of socks to replace the damp ones Jorem had on.  After Jorem had put on the dry socks the shoemaker slipped a boot onto his foot and laced it up.  The boot felt as though it were knitted onto his foot it fit so well.  The bottoms were flexible yet stiff enough that they supported his foot evenly.  These would be excellent for hiking, but Jorem was doubtful they would keep his feet warm if it got as cold here as he’d been told it would.

“These would be wonderful,” Jorem said.  “But will they be warm enough for the winter season?”

“If you’re not out for too long they’d be fine,” replied the shoemaker.  “Let’s try this other pair.”

Before he put on the second pair the shoemaker handed Jorem another pair of socks.  This pair of socks were made of a thicker material than the first pair.  The man told Jorem to put the second pair of socks on over the first pair for added warmth and a better fit.  The moment the boot was slipped onto his foot Jorem could tell these boots were much heavier than the first pair.  The fit wasn’t nearly as snug as the first pair, even with two pair of socks. They were comfortable but bulky.  The bottoms were quite thick and very stiff.  Without asking, the shoemaker slipped the other boot on Jorem’s other foot and began lacing them up.  When the boots were laced Jorem stood up and began walking around to get the feel of the boots.

“Might you be the boy the king left to help the blacksmith?” the shoemaker asked.

The question was so sudden and unexpected that Jorem nearly stumbled.  He should have expected something like this, but for some reason it just hadn’t occurred to him.  Turning slowly to face the shoemaker he found that the older lady, Jessie, was at the man’s side.  Both of them were looking at him expectantly.  ‘
Great,’
Jorem thought,
and to think Biorne had me worried about bandits.’
Resisting the urge to bolt for the door Jorem took a deep breath.

Smiling at the two shopkeepers, Jorem replied somewhat nervously. “I am the one paying the debt of honor owed to the blacksmith.”

“You don’t look like a prince.”  The tone of his voice made it obvious that Vern thought the King had left a servant instead of a member of the family.

“Vern!”  Jessie gasped out, although the look on her face showed agreement with what the man had said.

Jorem casually walked back to the chair and sat down.  Inside he was so nervous he thought he might faint.  Clasping his hands in his lap, Jorem looked at the two shopkeepers.  Jessie stood at Vern’s side, one hand clasping the man’s shirtsleeve.  Vern stood with his arms folded across his chest.  Neither of them looked very friendly at the moment.  It was very likely that these two were acting on the opinions of a large number of the local people.  Looking them each in the eyes in turn, Jorem decided that blunt honesty was his best course of action.

“My name is Jorem, fifth son of King Halden and Queen Tervena.  Although I am not my father’s favored son, his blood flows through my veins.  Pertheron, son of Duke Rodney, objected to any of my brothers paying the debt that is owed to the blacksmith.  It fell to me to stand in their place.  As to whether or not I look like a prince, there is little that I can do about that.  While I am here I am an apprentice to the blacksmith, not a prince.  I will remain with the blacksmith until his son is able to return to his work.”

“So you’re the spare...” Vern stopped himself as he realized what he was about to say. “You’re the youngest of the King’s sons,” he amended.

Jorem sat up straight and glared at the two adults in front of him.  “I am the one so many refer to as the ‘spare heir.’  As if I need the constant reminder that the Queen gave her life giving birth to me.”  The anger in his voice cut the air like a knife.