It began to dawn on me that maybe I was in over my head.
The next day I arrived at the palace gate at the appointed time with my possessions in hand and waited for Duke Devareaux to lead me to my quarters.
On either side of the gates stood a soldier of the Royal Guard, sworn to protect Lord Rothchild from harm. As merchants, servants, cooks, and carpenters passed through the gates, the guards made note of who came and went and inspected their wares. Other guards patrolled the outer wall high above, but in general, the atmosphere was relaxed. Lord Rothchild could afford this lax security, because there was not a soul in Jornstad who had not prospered under his reign.
My quarters were located in an area adjoining the royal palace. It was an area that was restricted to most but to which I was to have free access because of my duties. The quarters were comfortable but by no means extravagant. With stone walls and only one window, it tended to be a bit dark most of the day.
I stashed my belongings quickly and made my way to the meeting hall, where I was to convene with Duke Devareaux for a briefing.
"The task before you will not be an easy one," he said sternly. "I hope you're up to it. You were selected because you are the brightest in your class and a quick thinker.
"Things will not always be the way you expect them to be, but your job will be to always put Lord Rothchild first. If he stumbles, you are to make sure he does not fall. If he should make a mistake, you are to see that it is corrected."
He reviewed my duties and his expectations. He stressed the importance of the job I was undertaking. Kjeldor's enemies were forever looking to our borders for a sign of weakness. Our leader was more than a symbol of our freedom; he was the foundation of our freedom.
He explained to me the politics of the court, as well. The king and his wife, Lady Rothchild, were not on the best of terms. He warned me that Lord Rothchild was what the duke referred to as a "free spirit," and that didn't sit too well with Lady Rothchild.
It was a politically motivated marriage: a Kjeldoran king and a Balduvian queen-just the thing to bring peace to the warring factions. It worked for a time, too. The war had moved off the battlefield and onto the domestic front. The sides had, for a while, ceased to be represented by wily generals and battle-scarred troops and instead had been traded for a pair of bickering spouses.
Although the court tried to portray the royal couple as close, the cold, political nature of the marriage was common knowledge. She was unpleasant to look at and not well liked, but even if she'd been the fairest creature in all of Terisiare, all the women of Kjeldor would have hated her for envy.
After the conversation, I set out on my own, armed with Lord Rothchild's official schedule. I headed to the archery range, where I'd been told Lord Rothchild would be practicing until late afternoon. The range was deserted, so I wandered the palace grounds trying to find him. I acquainted myself with my new surroundings as I walked, asking the servants and gardeners I encountered if they'd seen Lord Rothchild.
By late morning, I at last caught up with Lord Rothchild. He was sitting on a box in the royal distillery, sampling the various spirits.
He noticed me immediately. "Come hither, young Finroy," he called. "Sit with me and share the solace of a smooth port wine."
"Yes, Your Highness," I answered, as I pulled up a crate and sat with the most revered man in all Kjeldor. Although my nerves were rattled by the presence of His Majesty, his easy way helped to temper my nervousness.
"I'm sampling a variety of blends for my upcoming meeting with Lord Barsus of Ojum," he said gesturing to four half-empty bottles beside him. "It's so important to have the right beverages at meetings between leaders. The proper drink can lubricate the political machinery. That's the secret of diplomacy.
"The Balduvian's bloodthirsty urges could never have been subdued with a fine wine such as this. A harsh people like that require a harsh drink-a drink with savagery and bite, the kind of drink that hacks at your tongue and leaves you for dead. Once you understand the people, it becomes plain that only cackleberry gin is right for ones such as they. Serve it at negotiations, and you are bound to earn their respect."
I sat with him for hours as he expounded his theories of diplomacy through alcohol. Lord Rothchild could engage a listener on just about any topic.
In the days that followed, I discovered that Lord Rothchild's official schedule was to be interpreted loosely, and he was most often in the place you least expected him to be. Searches would often yield surprising, or occasionally embarrassing, results. He could often be found in the royal gardens deflowering one of Lady Rothchild's many handmaids or rolling in the hay with the stablemaster's daughter.
If he wasn't in either of those two places, a trail of empty bottles usually led the way. I began to wonder that with all of Lord Rothchild's "commitments, " he managed to find time to rule. Devareaux always seemed to be at the events of state, though, to cover for him.
The best course of action seemed to be to leave Lord Rothchild to his own affairs, but my job wasn't any easier because of it. If Lady Rothchild wanted to take a stroll through the gardens at the wrong time, it could inspire a domestic incident. I had to make sure that didn't happen.
The lord was reckless with his reputation, so I learned to be everywhere at once. Lady Rothchild hated it when he drank, and he drank constantly. The best I could do was to try to keep the conflict to a minimum.
But for all his failings, when Lord Rothchild took the podium the magic began. He could spellbind an audience with his smooth and easy ways, whipping them into a patriotic fervor or soothing them to a quiet hush. It was as though he were a conductor leading a symphony orchestra.
For his part, he loved the adulation and would promise them anything just to hear the applause. Sometimes I wondered if he really knew what he was saying, but his words were so sweet that it didn't matter.
His public appearances were always great events, but the people of Jornstad were especially excited about seeing him at the Snow Festival, where he'd promised to joust with Sir Udo, champion of the lance.
Devareaux informed me that there were big plans for Sir Udo. He was to be assigned a regional governorship or a diplomatic position. Devareaux and Lord Rothchild wanted to bolster Udo's popularity, and what better way than public association with the most popular figure in the land? It was his concern for how the masses felt that kept our nation strong and stable, said Devareaux.
The contest was to be the following day, so after my usual duties were completed I headed to the armory to polish Lord Rothchild's armor. I stepped into the room where few were allowed to go and set down the cloth and bottle of whale oil I'd brought with me. I took a moment to gaze upon the contents of the royal armory. I'd never seen so many weapons in my life: rows upon rows of pikes, halberds, hammers, and swords. Every sort of ranged weapon was there, from fine elven bows and javelins to ordinary slings and armor of every sort. Some of it was comprised of tiny links, looking almost like wool sweaters. Other pieces were plated with great sheets of overlapping metal. Still other pieces had scales like dragon skin. These were no mere weapons; they were treasures, and the place was more museum than armory.