Smudge and Friends
Chapter One – Smudge and Friends
Stories never really have a start or an end. In the place you choose to begin someone’s story there are suitable endings to many more and death is rarely the end. When Smudge Cordwainer died even his seemingly inconsequential life produced ripples that affected many others. But that death was decades away in the future. So far life had been good, and the modest prosperity of his working-class family had allowed him to dream his childhood away. This made reality’s wakeup call more frightening when it came.
What his dad had thought was a comforting, “I’ll see you right for a good start in life with a job at the Palace,” had always sounded like a threat to Smudge and he was horrified, halfway through his twelfth year, to find himself being packed off this antithesis of the small cosy home he was used to.
Nearly a year on and he still looked for hiding places whenever a court official or recognisable adult Godchosen appeared in the labyrinthine corridors, but as a native born Thomarian, he was not fazed by the scale of the buildings that populated the centre of the capital, nor the fearsome Lizardmen who formed the King’s Guard. No longer a new boy but still finding his place in the patchwork of bullying, indifference, and even rare concern that he received from his superiors in the Palace, which was everybody, he treasured every smile and kindly word.
It was simple bad luck that he happened to be passing one of the servants’ entrances when the monstrous guard called him across to escort the tall, beetle-browed gentleman to see one of the school masters. He thought he had accomplished the task rather well, deciding that the masters’ common room would be the best port of call at this time of day. The man was just one more superior to Smudge, but he, and his would-be nemesis, could be considered as other suitable beginnings in this story of the end of the carefree days of childhood.
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“Hey, Smudge, are you on duty tonight?” Smudge always felt a hint of command in the crisp diction of the Godchosen, even when it was from a youngster and even when it was a friend.
“Not tonight Sterba, why?” he replied.
“We’re planning a rooftop exploration. Want to come?” Before coming to the Palace Smudge could never have imagined calling a Godchosen by their first name never mind considering them a friend.
“Hmm, wouldn’t have something to do with my room having a window that looks out on them?”
“Well, it would be handy,” Sterba’s cheeky smile showed he was completely unabashed at being rumbled but both knew there were plenty of other accesses that could have been chosen and it was a genuine invitation. As the son of a city lord, he would have been equally surprised at this interaction with a servant, but then again Sterba himself had the status of servant while he served the two years Palace education required of all senior nobles’ children when they reached the age of thirteen.
“What if we get caught? You know we’re not allowed out there,” Smudge took his normal, cautious line.
“Well we won’t get caught. See you at seven.”
Sterba Hather Godchosen was the son of the lord of Kardom, a city stuck out on the hot, dry southern tip of the Kingdom with nothing to break the dusty monotony but the occasional camel train arriving from further south. All that was exciting came from the north and that was why Sterba was happy to be sent to the capital. He soon made friends with two other sons of lords who had started at the same time as him, Darryl and Marcus. Smudge and quickly been included for his excellent knowledge of the capital city, which was far more extensive and interesting that the official version the young lords were fed. Although much of the city was off-limits to the trainees, Smudge seemed to know the best bits to head for in those areas allowed to them.
At seven in the evening there was a quite knock on Smudge’s door. The seemingly limitless rooms in the palace meant that that even the servants could expect a room to themselves. There were plenty of inconveniently distant locations with unattractive outlooks. Many of the inwardly facing garrets around smudge were empty or used for storage.
“Come on Smudge,” said the curly haired Darryl, pushing past as the door was opened, “There’s probably only an hour or so of light left. Get that window open!”
“I’m not sure we should be doing this,” replied Smudge but his misgivings were brushed aside by Marcus who was already helping Darryl to lift the sash widow.
“Come on Smudge. We’ll be careful,” encouraged Sterba. Not for the first time Smudge felt that the privileged lads did not appreciate his greater risk. They would get a telling off and few extra duties, he would undoubtedly lose his job. The pull of the gang won out and Smudge was soon caught up in exploring the miniature mountain range of ridges, gullies and broad flat areas pierced by brick chimneys.
The sun had set and they were heading back in the twilight when they heard a man’s angry voice coming from one of the storerooms, with the flicker of candlelight coming from it. They crept closer, carefully taking it in turns to peep in. A barrel-chested nobleman stood there, his black hair and beard clipped short to suppress its curly nature. He was holding onto a young serving boy’s arm and it was obvious the lad would have bruises there by tomorrow.
“You will continue to do it until I say it is enough and if I hear any complaints from you again or so much as a whisper that you have talked to someone else you will be disposed of.” The boy paled and nodded meekly. “Good,” the man continued, “Now take the coins and get back in your room and I will see you in a week’s time for a further report.” The candlelight disappeared and later the sounds of sobbing faded with the closing of a door.
“Who was that?” asked Smudge.
“It was Cornard Vinly-Tuncan of Flisk,” Sterba had replied, “I don’t recognise the servant lad.”
“I think he works in the stables,” supplied Smudge, “Should we follow him and see what’s up?”
“That could be a mistake,” said Darrel, “Cornard sounded pretty serious about keeping it quiet. I think we might do better to do a bit of snooping first.”
“That sounds the safer option to me,” Marcus agreed.
“It also sounds like fun,” added Daryl, “Looks like the perfect opportunity to develop our spying skills!”
Spying on the stable lad and teasing out what he was up to was indeed fun but it did not match the thrill of tailing Lord Cornard. Gradually however, as they pieced together what information he was after and pondered on the use he could have for it, the fun started to vanish. The fear began when the body of the stableboy was discovered in the gardens at the base of the palace walls.
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“We should tell someone,” said Darryl.
“Better be careful,” warned Smudge, “Choose the wrong person and we could be the next off the roof.”
The four friends were gathered in their dormitory a mere hour after seeing the horror of the stableboy, Pavel’s, broken body.
“I’ve got a relative at the Weason headquarters across the square but I don’t know him very well,” Sterba suggested.
“What about Goggy?” Marcus put in, “He seems a nice enough chap.” Pedagogue was their housemaster and one of two Glace tutors working in the Royal Palace. He was very good at putting new boys at ease and they soon looked on him as a cross between an older brother and a parent.
“Maybe,” replied Smudge, “But once it’s out there’s no taking it back. You should sound him out first.”
