Copycat

[annarti.livejournal.com]

AUTHOR Annarti
DISCLAIMER All mine
NOTES Nol again, cos everyone luffs Nol. I was proud of this when I wrote it, too. Now it's just old~

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Five rings, alternating in black and white, with a red circle marking the centre, formed the target on the opposite wall. The Middle Red, as it was known, was a good deal bigger than the fingerprint-sized red dot of the palace archery range, but in a place like the Golden Thrai, those aiming at the target generally needed all the help they could get. A red thumbprint would be lost amongst the black and white rings.

Nolryn stared openly at the target, his wide eyes easily betraying the shock he felt. “How in Lin’s name did you manage that?” he demanded, gesturing at the dagger hilt protruding from the Middle Red.

Melraan shrugged and leant back against the bar with exaggerated casualness. “I’m drunk,” he slurred, draining his glass of the last remnants of beer.

“You don’t say.” The prince rested his own tankard on the bar bench and drew his dagger.

“Excuse me, Highness?” One of the ‘Thrai’s serving girls tapped at his elbow to gain his attention.

Nolryn took the tip of his blade between his fingers, taking careful aim at the Middle Red. “Mhmm?”

The serving girl cleared her throat delicately before continuing. “I have been instructed to let you know that the Desert Thirst, Aeia’s Relief and the Waterhole are all expecting coin from you by tomorrow evening, or their proprietors will inform his Majesty of the lack of payment.”

The prince raised an eyebrow before letting his dagger loose at the target. The tip of the blade hit home with a ring that told him it had grazed by Melraan’s own. He paused to grin triumphantly at his comrade before addressing the problem at hand.

“Would these proprietors have given any reason for the expected coin?” He took his glass up and washed a swig of Venom down his throat.

The young serving girl nodded vaguely, her curly ponytail swishing with the movement. Nol could see the slightly embarrassed look in her dark eyes as she leant forward to whisper to him. “They say you’ve taken drinks there in the last few nights and promised payment at a later date.”

Nol snorted with amusement. “The entire city knows I only take drinks at the ‘Thrai. Occasionally palace brew, but otherwise the ‘Thrai.” He shook his head, taking another swig of the Venom. “What makes these proprietors believe they can swindle money out of me without me even having set foot in their taverns? If I’d sat down and they made some ridiculous attempt to sell me imitation river water for a gold piece or three, then I might be slightly more understanding.”

“I’d doubt it,” Melraan interjected, handing his empty glass to the serving girl.

Nolryn frowned in thought, waving the girl away with one hand. “No, probably not. But it still stands that these pubs are trying to steal money from me without me having ever been there.” He paused, recalling the names of the taverns the girl had given. “Those three pubs… they’re all down by the docks, aren’t they?”

Melraan shook his head and slapped a heavy hand on the prince’s shoulder. “I would not have the faintest idea, Nol. Deal with it tomorrow; it’s your shot.”

Nol shrugged, then grinned at Melraan’s dagger hilt, jutting proudly from the furthest edge of the outer ring.

The next afternoon, Nolryn decided to forgo target practice and instead decided to pursue the more pressing issue. He felt it may be best to go incognito to avoid possible attack; he’d only ever once been in the district by the docks, and had been threatened because of the blue and red royal insignia on his shoulder. Nothing had come of it, but the prince wasn’t in the mood for being unnecessarily delayed.

He quickly slid on a pair of sandals and made his way down to the stables, somehow managing to convince the nearest available stable hand that he wished to ride to the docks on camelback rather than horseback. Any of the Own’s fifteen horses would stand out in Ni-Yana, Mongrel even more so.

It had been many years since Nol had ridden in a camel’s saddle, and apart from the beast’s awkward way of standing up and siting down, he found it a much smoother ride than Mongrel had ever provided him. But then, Mongrel tended to try acquainting his teeth with his rider’s skin whenever he got the chance.

He reached the docks an hour or so before the taverns were due to begin filling up, and he dismounted in the same awkward fashion before leading the camel around in search of the offending pubs.

As with the upper district, where the Golden Thrai was situated, it seemed that every fourth building was a pub. Their golden-orange canvas doors were all embroidered finely with the name of the tavern and a simple picture depicting the name for the illiterate residents of the city.

Soon enough, the prince gave up on his search of the winding roads and stopped a middle-aged woman who seemed to have a better idea where she was going.

“Excuse me, would you be so kind as to direct me to the Waterhole?”

“Certainly, young man,” she told him, then happily proceeded to give the prince the most complicated directions he’d ever had to follow. Finally, her ramble came to an end, and Nol thanked her, though he was left in the same position he was in before she had started talking.

“Aeia,” he swore briefly, then recommenced his semi-aimless wander.

After another few minutes of going nowhere, his brow furrowed in thought. ‘I’ve been here before.’

“Aeia, why isn’t this part of town designed like the rest?” he muttered, casting his eyes up and down the road. The camel snorted its irritation behind him.

“You’re looking a little lost there, young man.” The old man grinned kindly at him, showing gappy teeth, but Nol spotted the daggers in his belt. He wondered vaguely if he would have been quite so helpful had there been more evidence of Nol’s status.

“Very close to it,” he answered. “I’m looking for the Waterhole, would you be able to show me where it is?”

“I can, I can indeed,” the old man chuckled, “Did you know, his Highness took a tankard or five there a few nights ago.”

“Is that so?” Nolryn tried to keep the dryness out of his voice.

“Oh yes. I caught a glimpse of him with my own two eyes,” the man told him airily, “He’s not too dissimilar from yourself, actually. Shorter by half a head though.”

“How many drinks did you say he took?”

The old man shrugged. “I couldn’t say exactly, quite a number though. You’ve surely heard the rumours yourself. I believe he bought a round of drinks for those who sat with him, too. Very kind young man, is the prince.”

Nolryn was beginning to feel sick to the stomach. If this impostor had decided to buy a round of drinks for half the suburb. “Blood of the goddesses,” he swore again under his breath.

His escort chucked again, misinterpreting the curse. “You can ask the barkeeper yourself,” he said, gesturing to a faded golden-orange canvas door, embroidered with a simple picture of a desert oasis.

The prince pressed his hands together to thank the man, then flapped the canvas door aside.

As far as the pubs in Ni-Yana went, the Waterhole was a small cut above the average. Being the seasoned drinker he was, Nolryn was hardly acquainted with the average. The dirt floor was splashed with a number of different liquids that mingled with the ever present smell of stale beer. Unpolished tables were engraved with images gouged by many a frustrated dagger.

Two patrons already sat at the bar, and judging by the fishy smell that wafted by Nol’s nose, they had just knocked off from a day at the docks.

The bearded barman grinned broadly when he saw his newest patron enter the bar. Evidently he hadn’t noticed the somewhat displeased look on the prince’s face.

“I can’t say I’ve seen you around here before,” he noted, setting down the glass he was polishing.

Nolryn shrugged and swung a stool from under the bar bench. “There are reasons for that. I’ve heard rumours the prince took a drink here a few nights ago.”

The barman instantly lost his grin, then began vigorously drying glasses again. “That he did, ungrateful little swine.” He cast a glance in the direction of the other two patrons, but they apparently hadn’t heard. “Don’t tell him I said that though,” he whispered, then spoke normally again. “He took seven tankards of my best brew for himself, plus a round of drinks for every man and woman in the bar, but did he hand over a single copper?” The barman shook his head ruefully. “Oh no. He said he’d left all his coin back at the palace and would pay me tomorrow. “‘Tomorrow’ came and went two days past.”

“How much did he—”

“Twenty-three gold, four silver and three coppers, he cost me.”

Nolryn could feel the blood drain from his face. Swearing profusely, he dug his hand into his pocket for his coin pouch and began counting the pieces, not daring to look in the barman’s face. He could pretty much picture the shock he would see there anyway.

“That Aeia-damned bastard owes me,” he muttered to himself, still counting.

“Who are you, to be paying his Highness’ debts?” The barman appeared to have found his voice.

Nolryn didn’t answer. Instead frowned at the small fortune he was handing over, then slid another gold piece across the counter. “Twenty-four gold,” he announced. “Sorry, I don’t tend to carry smaller change.”

“Are you the prince’s messenger?”

“The man that took drinks here three nights past was not the prince,” Nolryn said clearly, shoving the coin pouch back into his pocket. “The Own rides for Kazin in a week. Perhaps you would care to note who rides at the General’s right hand before you offer that fraud another free round of drinks.”

The barman blinked, and Nolryn could almost see the cogs turning in his mind.

“Could you possibly direct me to the Desert Thirst and Aeia’s Relief?” Nolryn interrupted before he had opened his mouth. “Lovely girl at the ‘Thrai told me I owe them considerable coin as well.”

“Of course… um… Sir.” Nol raised an amused eyebrow at the confused form of address. The barkeep didn’t appear to be quite so willing to trust a man’s claims as he had been four nights ago. “The Desert Thirst is one street over, and Aeia’s Relief is just next door to it.”

The prince nodded then turned for the door, then paused and rapped his fingers on the frame as he thought for a moment. “Would you happen to have any idea where the bastard plans on taking drinks tonight?”

The barkeep shook his head. “He asked for my recommendations for other taverns in the area, and I don’t mind admitting that the two you enquired about are the best here, so I told him those two. He may have asked the recommendations of those barkeepers as well.”

Nolryn grinned his thanks and left, towing the camel behind him.

The Desert Thirst was beginning to fill up for the evening, and the barkeep and his serving girls were already quite busy. Nol had to wait for a while before the short, dumpy man had time to talk to him.

“It’s not my mind to waste too much of your time, so I’ll make this as brief as possible.” He dug into his pocket and emptied the coin pouch’s contents onto the counter. “How much did the prince owe you?”

The balding barman stared at the pile of gold coins on the bar bench. It appeared he didn’t know which question to ask first. “His Highness doesn’t care to deal out the coin by his own hand?”

“Far from it. The supposed prince who took drinks here a few nights ago wouldn’t dare show his face.” The barkeeper frowned and folded his arms. “The real prince, on the other hand, is more than willing to pay the charlatan’s debts. Now, how much does he owe you?”

The barkeeper was silent for a moment before he said incredulously, “You’re the prince?”

Nolryn sighed. “Yes. I’ll wave to you when the Own leaves next week if you so wish. I’m sure you’re a busy man; how much?”

The short man obviously still didn’t believe him, but told him the relevant coin anyway.

Nol began counting out another twenty-seven pieces. “It’s up to you whether you take my account for truth, so long as you don’t allow that impostor another credit line in my name.” He smiled ironically and slid the coins cross the counter. “I don’t feel like forking out half the treasury for him.”

The final barman whom the imitation prince owed money was considerably more accepting than the proprietor of the Desert Thirst had been, particularly when one of his patrons recognised Nolryn as Raykin’s heir.

“The man posing as your Highness is working his way down the street,” the barkeeper told him when the incredible thirty-two gold pieces had been handed over. “He’ll be in the Palm Desert tonight, I believe.”

Nol dropped the remaining four gold pieces in his coin pouch, thanked the barman and made for the pub next door.

He blinked a few times to adjust to the firelight, which was by now the primary source of light indoors, then cast his eyes over the room. It was much like the others, with stained, earth floors, unpolished tables and the ever present reek of stale beer that seemed to physically hit him as he entered. It was busy, with near every chair occupied, but it was plain that the table in the corner to Nol’s left was the one occupied by the imitation prince.

As his eyes became more used to the dim golden glow emanating from the back wall of the tavern, he spotted the royal insignia on one man’s shoulder. He’d always wondered how he would feel if he ever saw anyone with the blue swirls and red dots embroidered on his shirt. Now he knew.

His eyes narrowed at the pompous young man, oozing bravado so much that he dripped with it. Nol’s blood began to boil as he focused on the blue swirls and red dots—his blue swirls and red dots. Nobody else in the kingdom was permitted to wear them, least of all use them to spend treasury coin with no second thought.

Regardless of what the old man had told him, the impostor bore no more resemblance to the prince than any other male Raykinian with shoulder-length hair. How he had managed to convince the numerous barmen, serving girls and patrons that his wimpy arms could pull a bowstring, Nol would never know.

It was all the prince could do to walk up to the table where his ‘Highness’ sat, and rest one shoulder casually against the wall as he folded his arms, waiting with strained patience for the imitator to notice him.

Finally the man gave him a puzzled look. “Can I help you?” he asked.

“Perhaps,” the prince answered. “I’m just curious as to why his Highness would take a drink this far across town, when he has the best liquor money can buy no more than a five minute walk from the palace.”

The fake prince shrugged. “I felt like a change.” He had obviously been asked this before. “The Golden Thrai can be so stuffy sometimes, what with all the upper-class. It’s nice to mingle with the more common folk on occasion.”

Nol was proud of himself for keeping a straight face. He wouldn’t drink with the ‘common folk’ unless a whole slither of thrais was on his heels. He cleared his throat and looked down at the floor, preventing himself from laughing out loud.

The fake prince misinterpreted the gesture and laughed. “If you wish to take a drink with me, all you need do is ask.”

Nolryn smiled wryly at the floor and shook his head slowly. He was about to answer, but the impostor interrupted.

“I’m serious, good man. Take a seat. I’ll call a serving girl and you can order a tankard of the best this place has to offer. Father will pay for it.”

A sharp intake of breath hissed through Nol’s teeth. Never had he heard King Mithé referred to as anything but Majesty, least of all by himself, and here this man was, naming him Father!

He shook his head ruefully. “I’ll concede that you’re a noble,” he told the man, “But I will call my steed ‘Highness’ before yourself.”

The impostor’s eyes widened in shock, then narrowed with suppressed anger. “You dare to challenge my authority?”

“What authority might that be? You’re not the prince.”

The fake leaned back in his chair, arms folded as he cast a look to his companions that told them quite plainly, ‘I’ll show this little upstart.’

“What makes you say that?”

Nol cast the same look over the fake’s companions. “Number one,” he began, holding out his thumb to count the reasons. “Your arms are two weak to pull a bowstring, let alone wield one in a battle with the Own. Number two: There is no way his rightful Highness would drink with the ‘common people’, as you so affably refer to them. Number three: His rightful Highness does not waste thirty gold pieces a night by offering drinks to these ‘common people’. Number four: His Majesty is only ever referred to as such, never as Father, certainly not by one not of his own blood. Number five: not a single scar marks your body, and yet you claim to have been to Kazin with the Own on several occasions. Finally, and quite possibly most telling, number six.” He grinned broadly. “My name is Nolryn.”

The men exchanged glances, then burst into raucous laughter that attracted the attention of the other patrons.

Nolryn, for his part, merely raised an eyebrow. He was going to enjoy this.

Finally, the fake prince wiped tears from his eyes and managed to spit out a sentence in between sniggers. “You’re trying to convince me, Crown Prince Nolryn of Raykin, that you’re the next to take my father’s throne?”

Nolryn twitched again. “Did I not just tell you,” he said, aware that the whole room was listening now, “that not even I refer to his Majesty as Father?”

The fake snorted again. “Well of course you don’t; you’re not his son.”

Nol tipped his head back so it hit the wall. “Goddess’ blood,” he swore quietly, then looked the man hard in the eyes. “You owe me eighty-two gold pieces.”

The fraud raised an amused eyebrow. “Why in Lin’s name do I owe you eighty-two gold pieces?”

“Well, you would owe them to the three respective bars you’ve been cheating free beers out of for the past few nights, but I’ve been kind enough to repay those debts for you. Strangely enough, I’d like my coin returned.” He frowned critically at the man’s shoulder. “My shirt, too. Whoever stole it for you will be thrown out of the palace as soon as I find who they are.”

“I owe you nothing.”

“Oh for the love of… Your charade is weakening by the second. Would you like to prove yourself in combat? Would that make you happy?”

The impostor grinned and stood, seizing the opportunity by yanking his dagger from its sheath. The old man was right about one thing at least; the top of his head barely levelled with Nol’s nose. “Do you think it wise to cross blades with one of the King’s Own?”

“I was thinking more along the lines of a drinking competition, but blades work. And of course I think it wise; I cross blades with them on a regular basis. It’s called training.” He frowned at the noble’s dagger. “Something you might wish to take note of: I’m right-handed.”

“Fascinating,” the man said blandly, then lunged forward.

Nol had expected this, and instantly gripped his own hilt, thrusting it up to catch on his opponent’s blade and flicking it easily from his grip. The offending dagger fell to the earthen floor, whereupon Nol placed his foot on its blade.

“You’re ruining my reputation,” Nolryn said dryly, kicking the dagger back to its owner, who picked it up with considerably less bravado than he had shown unsheathing it.

Murmurs ran through the tavern, and from the few Nol could pick the individual words of, the murmurs were in his favour.

“Tell me your name, repay me what you owe, and I won’t be forced to draw blood.”

The impostor muttered something under his breath that sounded like a curse. “I’ve done your reputation a favour,” he said hotly. At least he was admitting defeat now. Evidently he had heard the murmurs as well.

“But of course.” Nolryn’s voice was ice to combat his imitation’s fire. “How can I ever thank you for giving me the reputation that I don’t pay for my drinks?”

“The reputation that you are willing to spend your own coin on your fellow man.”

“Ah, but you didn’t spend your own coin on your fellow man. You spent my coin.” He frowned as a thought came to him. “You haven’t lost any drinking contests or target games under my name, have you?”

The impostor shook his head.

Nolryn nodded grimly. “At least that aspect of my reputation hasn’t been marred.” He held one hand out. “I’d like my possessions returned, whether it’s of your mind or not.”

The man glanced over his shoulder at the Palm Desert’s patrons, possibly hoping for support of some description. To Nolryn’s surprise and amusement, he gained some from the men he had been in immediate company with. Then again, he reflected, royalty had never been particularly popular by the docks.

“At least he’ll take drinks with people who can’t spend a small fortune on himself every night.”

Nol rolled his eyes in disdain. “Blood of the goddesses,” he muttered, running his fingers through his hair. “This is ridiculous. Return what you owe, now.” He didn’t have to use his ‘Princely’ voice often, but right now the occasion seemed to call for it.

The fake lowered his eyes, then made for the door. Nol had to almost struggle to keep the grin from his face. It was amusing how his words seemed to have more of an effect than his blade, even though that could undoubtedly do more damage. People always assumed he could do more than he was actually allowed. He wasn’t about to tell them that though.

Instead, he shrugged and followed the man out the door, where he was already halfway down the street. Quickly, the prince mounted his camel, eased it to its feet and made after his imitator, not saying a word when he caught up. He’d learnt from Nimay how effective a silent interrogation could be.

Sure enough, the man answered Nolryn’s primary question before they were out of the district. “My name’s Pathan,” he said stiffly, plainly not wishing to shed any more light on the matter.

Nolryn smirked, but still said nothing.

“Highness?” The voice came from somewhere to Nol’s right, and a middle-aged man came out of the shadows, grinning at Pathan. Nolryn pulled the camel to a halt, wondering how his escort would take care of this.

“I just wanted to thank you again for the drinks last night.” He frowned up at Nolryn, as though noticing him for the first time, then looked back to Pathan. “Why do you walk on foot while your escort rides?”

Even though Nol could only see the man’s back, he could tell that Pathan was uncomfortable. It wouldn’t do to damage his own reputation, but damaging that of the prince would prove to be far more devastating. He shifted his weight to the other foot and began wringing his hands behind his back. Finally, when it was apparent that Nol wasn’t about to say anything, he mumbled a response the prince couldn’t decipher.

The middle-aged man glanced back up at Nol, his eyes betraying his shocked confusion. Nol grinned and waved lazily back down at him.

“He’s the prince?”

“I am. Now if it’s of your mind, I’m missing precious leisure time with the ‘pompous upper-class’ at the ‘Thrai.” He smiled pleasantly and poked Pathan in the shoulder blades with his toe before urging the camel forward, leaving the man standing bemused in the middle of the road.

The journey to Pathan’s villa was made in silence, where Nolryn was told to wait while the imitation prince fetched his coin.

Nol was just about to enter the villa himself when Pathan eventually emerged with a coin pouch. He threw it angrily at the prince, along with his shirt, then made to storm back inside.

“One more question,” Nol remarked, peering into the coin pouch to make certain the pieces were in fact gold, “Who did you bribe to steal this?” He held up the shirt, casting an enquiring glance at the man.

He could almost hear the growl from the back of Pathan’s throat before his question was answered. “I don’t know his name,” the impersonator snapped, “I just caught him at the market, gave him the coin and sent him on his way.”

Nol nodded and stuffed the coin pouch into his pocket. That was enough information to narrow it down to maybe five people on the palace staff, then it was simply a matter of finding which of them had bought something shiny in the past few days.

He waved cheerily to Pathan then made his way back to the palace, where he left the camel and half his recovered coin before finally setting off for the ‘Thrai. He definitely felt he’d earnt himself a drink tonight.