He heard a latch scraping on the far side of the doors, and the wicket door opened. A slim man with lank hair hanging down to his shoulders—less well dressed than Val would have expected for a house such as this—filled the breach. He regarded Val with a hostile stare.
“What do you want?”
“I’ve a letter here for the master of the house.” Val held it up, but out of reach.
The man scrutinised the address, written in Gill’s neat hand, and frowned. Val wasn’t convinced he was able to read, but he certainly wanted to give the impression that he could. Val couldn’t manage more than a few words himself, so he didn’t condemn the inability, only the desire to mislead.
“Hand it over. I’ll see that he gets it.”
“It’s to be delivered in person,” Val said.
The man took a moment to consider. “Wait here.” He shut the door behind him, leaving Val standing on the cobbled street to further consider the neighbourhood. It was quiet, and the day was heading into early evening. Val hadn’t given any thought to where he would stay for the night. On some level, he expected to be whisked straight to the Academy and shown to his dormitory, but he realised that wasn’t very likely.
He waited there for some time, like the unwelcome caller he was beginning to suspect he was, before the latch scraped again and another man appeared at the door—this one bespectacled and better dressed, but with an equally hard face.
“I understand you have a letter for Maestro dal Volenne?” the man said.
“I do,” Val said, once again showing the letter. It was all he had to prove his credentials, and there was no way he was handing it to anyone but the master of the Academy.
“My name is Burgess Prenneau, Crown Solicitor. I represent the Crown in the matter of Maestro dal Volenne’s estate, and am officially authorised to receive all correspondence addressed to him.”
“I don’t understand,” Val said.
“Are you claiming relation, blood or otherwise?” Prenneau said, ignoring Val’s question.
“No, I … What’s going on here? May I see Maestro dal Volenne? I was instructed to hand this letter to him personally.”
Prenneau seemed to relax when Val said he wasn’t a relative. “I apologise,” he said. “Maestro dal Volenne is deceased. He died intestate, with no known successors, so his estate is reverting to the Crown. I was appointed to deal with the matter. I can accept the letter and add it to his documents, but I’m afraid there will be no reply.”
Val’s heart sank. He had no idea what to do or say.
“If you knew the Maestro,” Prenneau said, “I commiserate for your loss, but I’m afraid I’m extremely busy. The Maestro was not the most fastidious in managing his affairs and there’s a great deal to do.”
The awkward silence that followed made it clear that it was time to go. Val doffed his hat and turned to lead his horse back the way he had come. Only moments before, he had been on his way to fulfilling a lifelong dream. Now he was alone and adrift in a great city, with no idea of where to turn.
CHAPTER 2
Trelain might have only been a town, not a great city like Mirabay, but it was big enough to teach Val many important lessons about life, and how dangerous people could be when you were at the bottom of the food chain. Though he had no idea where to go next, he knew better than to start asking passers-by for suggestions of places to stay. Before he knew it, he’d be lying in the gutter with a cracked head, an empty purse, and no horse. Probably no boots, either.
He’d seen it happen, and pitied the unfortunate victims, but felt a measure of contempt for them too—as often as not, they had invited their misfortune on themselves. People could be vicious, and for many, an easy target was hard to pass up. There was no way he was going to make that mistake. Gill had sent him here to start his journey to becoming a banneret, and Val was damned if he was going to fall at the first obstacle.
He had a decent amount of coin in his purse, given he’d been a mere stable boy until a couple of weeks earlier. He’d always been a saver, and at an establishment like the Black Drake, clients tipped well, not to mention the tidy sum he’d made charging a penny a peek to see the head of the first dragon Gill had killed. When it came time to fly the nest, he’d had enough for travelling clothes and a horse. How many lads his age could say the same? He’d be damned if he let someone take a single stitch of it from him.
Coin he might have, but in a city like Mirabay, and an area like the one he was currently in, it wouldn’t last long. He needed a day or two to think through his options, and didn’t need anywhere fancy. He ambled through the city in as casual and familiar a fashion as he could muster, carefully surveying his surroundings without, he hoped, looking like he was lost.
The amount of gilt work on the signs of shops, taverns, and inns gradually decreased as he wandered; clearly he was reaching more affordable areas. He’d been working his way along a great limestone block wall when he came to the gate and archway and stopped.
The carved lettering atop the arch read, ACADEMY OF BANNERETS.
Val allowed himself a wry smile at this long-dreamed-of sight. He was finally there, but he wouldn’t be passing through the gates as a student. Perhaps it had been too great a dream. The opportunity to throw himself on Gill’s good nature had been too good to pass up, but he had expected too much to come from it. Still, how many of those who would pass into those hallowed halls could say they had hunted and slain dragons? Nothing and no one could ever take that away from him.
He urged his horse on. There was nothing to be gained by tarrying there, and he wanted to find a bed for the night before it got dark. He’d spent long enough on the road, and after his disappointment, reckoned he deserved a little comfort. He took the next bridge over to the island in the centre of the river. The street led along the side of the cathedral and out onto a square. There was an inn directly opposite, called “the Little Palace,” that had all the earthy charm of the type of place he liked, and had least expected to find in the centre of a great city like Mirabay.
He rode across the square, where market vendors were packing up their stalls for the evening, through the small archway at the side of the inn, and into its stable yard. He whistled for attendance, then felt awkward when a lad around his own age appeared.
“I plan on taking a room for the night. See to my horse, if you would,” Val said, realising he’d put on a deeper voice than his usual one. He tossed the stable hand a penny and took his bags from the saddle before heading inside, feeling like an idiot with every step for attempting to sound older than he was.
The interior met his expectations; he could only hope that the price did likewise. A group of men were gathered around a table in the centre of the taproom. There were enough of them to have claimed every stool in the place, leaving all other tables without seats. The bar was empty but for the keeper, who leaned against the shelving behind it, his arms crossed.
“A room, if you’ve any,” Val said, doing his best not to slip into a deep voice again, but only partially succeeding.