Shadowmen

Chapter 15

The minstrels were playing violins and harps as Drake strode into the gigantic banquet hall. Tables were arranged in careful disarray skirting the dance floor. Couples adept in ballroom dancing were swaying to the music that filled the hall from the minstrels in the far corner of the hall. Many people were sat at the tables, talking and milling from table to table.

'Ah, Master Eveor!'

Drake spun on his heels, wondering who had called him.

A small servant Drake didn't recognise walked over toward him from the doors Drake had just walked through.

'Lord Eveor requests that you sit at his table, right over there,' the servant said, and he pointed across the dancers toward the main table, a gigantic rectangular oak monstrosity that was almost the whole width of the hall, a good fifty feet.

'How'd he manage to get a place on the main table?' muttered Drake, and smirked.

'There's a place for you too, Master,' said the servant, carefully avoiding getting involved in a conversation.

'I'm afraid I'll have to decline. I'll be eating at another table.'

The servant blinked, then quickly nodded and stepped back.

'I shall report it to his Lordship,' he said, and hurried off.

Drake sniggered. Part of him wanted to say it to his father directly, just to see his face.

Drake realised he was standing precariously close to the dance floor, close enough to risk some Baron's lonely wife grabbing him and pulled him out for a dance.

He jumped at the thought and hastily stepped back.

Scalworth scaled the stairs two steps at a time, heading straight for his fathers quarters. Two servants had already stopped him, saying his father was looking for him. He knew there'd be trouble if his father saw him in anything less than the highest quality suit.

Using the key his father had only recently entrusted to him, Scalworth opened the door and ducked into the dim interior of his father's quarters.

There was a faint smell of whiskey, mixed with tobacco smoke.

And to think you forbid me from drinking, Malcom... thought Scalworth, shaking his head at his father's hypocrisy. The room was square, and had only a desk, bed and wardrobe. The room was for times when the castle affairs were busiest, when his father wouldn't have time to return home to the Steps.

For the last five weeks though, his father hadn't been home once. Scalworth sighed. His mother spent most of her time waiting around for his father to come home.

He'd always found it strange that, though his parents had been married for years, his mother was still completely and totally head-over-heels for his father Malcom. Malcom however, didn't seem to realise just how smitten his mother still was.

How blind can he be?  muttered Scalworth as he dug through the clothes in Malcom's wardrobe.

'Aha!' exclaimed Scalworth, finding a stiff-collared shirt he particularly liked and pulling it out of the wardrobe, along with his spare suit.

He rolled his eyes as he looked in the mirror on the wardrobe door. Most of the noble-born his age would be wearing shirts, but not suits. Gritting his teeth, he stepped out of the room, gathering his confidence as he walked back to the wedding.

Drake's stomach rumbled. He'd sat down in his seat earlier than most, doing his best to steer clear of the dancing. Pungent scents were drifting into the room from the gigantic castle kitchens to his left. Scalworth appeared from behind two chubby noblemen standing amidst the tables, deep in argument.