Joe woke with a start. Sunlight was
streaming through the slats of the wooden window-blinds, and his aunt was
bustling back and forth near the stove. The warm smell of oatmeal filled the
air, and in the distance over the city the lonely wail of a trumpet broke the
silence of the morning with its somber notes. Joe rose and rubbed his eyes. Sim
and Lady were already sitting up, looking around the room with weary gazes.
“Why’s that trumpet playing?” asked
Sim.
“I don’t know,” Joe answered, and
he peeked through the blinds to look up at the citadel, awash in the morning
light. The long purple banner of Prince Halbrinnon, which had been flying the
night before, was now gone.
“It’s one of the soldiers in the
keep,” their aunt explained. “He’s playing the grieving-song. One of the
officials must have died last night.”
Just then the front door swung open
and the children’s uncle walked in. His face was pale, his eyes drawn wide with
shock.
“I can’t believe it,” he groaned as
he collapsed into a chair. “They’re saying that Prince Halbrinnon is dead.”
“No!” gasped the aunt.
“Yes, it’s true. The word on the
street is that he was discovered dead in his bed this morning. No one knows
why. The officials are saying that he had a weak heart, and in his excitement
over taking the throne, it failed him.”
“What? No! No, no, no—it can’t be!”
the aunt moaned, her eyes suddenly bright with tears. “No, that can’t be true.
And—and you know what? It can’t have been his heart! No, I’ll bet that old
steward poisoned him!”
“That’s the worst part,” said the
uncle, talking freely to his wife without a second thought for the children,
who were all listening with rapt attention. “Steward Presten has declared a
country-wide state of emergency, and they say that he has taken control of the
government, at least until the Great King can be contacted.”
Joe, Sim, and Lady digested all
this information silently. They were no strangers to their uncle and aunt’s
discussions about the city’s politics. One thing they had learned, above all
else, was that Steward Presten, who had long been out of favor with the royal
house, was not someone to be trusted.
“But what about First Consul Dama?”
asked the aunt. “Shouldn’t he be in charge at a time like this?”
“That’s just it—I think the consul
has given in to the steward’s influence. If anyone ever had a weak heart, it
would be Dama, not Prince Halbrinnon! No, I just can’t believe it! How could
something like this happen?”
The aunt shook her head, and the
children saw tears tracing long trails down her cheeks. “It doesn’t seem
possible. This will change everything, won’t it? Nothing, nothing will be the
same again! All the hope we ever had was set on Prince Hal.”
The uncle stood up again, his jaw
clenched. “I won’t take it. I can’t change what happened to the Prince, but I
can stand together with the good men who will be protesting against Steward
Presten’s takeover.”
The aunt put down her spoon and
locked her gaze on him. “If you go, I’m going too. I am all for the royal
house, and I will not bow to another!”
They seemed to remember suddenly
the three children who were watching them with wide eyes. They looked over at
Joe, Sim, and Lady.
“What about the children, dear?”
asked the uncle softly.
“Joe, love,” the aunt said, locking
gazes with the oldest boy. “We’ll be going out for the morning. You take care
of the others, now—get them their breakfast and see that the chores are done.
We’re going down to the keep for a bit, but we’ll be back soon. If you need any
help with anything, just knock on the door of kind old Mr. Willard across the
street, all right?”
Joe nodded obediently, and then
they were gone. With a sigh, he scratched his head and turned to look at his
brother and sister.
“Well, I guess it’s just us for a
few hours. Who’s hungry for some oatmeal?”
The other two nodded, and Joe set
about ladling the hot, sticky meal into a set of wooden bowls. As he was setting
them out on the table, though, his eye caught something in the center. It lay partially
hidden under a parchment on the table, but its bright gleam was unmistakable.
“A coin,” he murmured, picking it
up. “Uncle must have dropped it.”
Sim looked over his shoulder. “Hey,
that’s not just any coin. That’s one of the new ones, right? I’ve never seen it
before. Didn’t Uncle say that they had just put out a new batch of coins with
Prince Hal’s face on them?”
Sim was right; the inscription
along the edge bore the name of Halbrinnon and the other side showed the seal
of the royal house. But Joe was frozen in place, gripped by the image on the
face of the coin. He had seen a picture of Prince Hal only once before, on a
parchment-painting that had been hanging in a marketplace shop. But now that he
saw it again, he realized with astonishment that he recognized that face. He
didn’t just recognize it from the painting in the shop; no, he had seen that
face with his own eyes. This was the face of the man he had met in the street
last night.
“Joe, what’s wrong?” asked Lady. “Why
are you just standing there?”
But Joe’s mind was whirring too
fast for him to answer. If it was Prince Hal that he had seen in the street,
and if he had been leaving the city by the Shepherd’s Gate like he said, then how
could he have been found dead in his bed this morning?
Joe slipped the coin in his pocket
and turned to face Sim and Lady. His face was a picture of determination.
“Let’s eat quickly, now. We have to
go down to the keep, too.”
“Why?” asked Sim. “Auntie told us
to stay here.”
“Because Prince Hal is still alive,
and someone needs to know it.”