Read Online The Master of Heathcrest Hall by Galen Beckett - Free Book Online Page B

ruffled black robe he wore despite the sweltering heat in the Hall. Unlike all the other Magisters, he did not wear gloves. Instead, his hands were bare except for, on the right, a ring set with red gems, which even at that moment he was turning around and around on his finger. Other than Rafferdy, he was the only man in the Hall who wore a House ring openly.
    “Poor old Farrolbrook,” Coulten murmured in Rafferdy’s ear, having noticed the object of his attention. “I’m surprised the Magisters still let him sit with them. Though I suppose it would be an embarrassment for them to cast out one of their own, especially the man who had once been their leader.
They
could never publicly admit to a mistake. And I suppose he doesn’t seem quite as mad as he did a few months ago. At least these days he has the sense to sit there and say nothing.”
    It seemed impossible, as Coulten’s whisper had been very low, but just then Lord Farrolbrook looked up and turned his head in their direction, as if he had heard his name uttered. His blue eyes seemed overly bright, but they were otherwise clear.
    Suddenly, the High Speaker’s hammer clattered down three times, signaling the end of the session.
    “Thank goodness, I thought this would never end,” Coulten said, leaping to his feet, a hand on his wig to keep it steady. “Come on, Rafferdy, let’s get to the Silver Branch before all the benches are gone.”
    “That’s a capital idea,” Rafferdy said, rising. “My throat is wretchedly dry after all that speaking. I am sure I will expire if I don’t have a whiskey soon.”
    “Well, we can’t have that,” Coulten said cheerfully. “For if you expire, how can I win back the twenty gold regals I lost to you last night?”
    And he seized Rafferdy’s arm, towing him from the Hall.
    T HE TWO FOUND THEMSELVES in a great crush upon leaving, as the Hall of Citizens was letting out at the same time. Also, there was a sizable throng of people on Marble Street, as was usually the case these days. The people gathered near the foot of the steps that swept down from Assembly. The majority of them were ill clad and poorly washed, and they shouted and shook their fists as the members of Assembly came down the steps.
    The particulars of their declarations were lost amid the cacophony of calls and yells, but from what snippets could be understood, their complaints mostly pertained to the exorbitant cost of food and candles, or the lack of decent work for men seeking employment in the city. Easier to make out were the insults, though the presence of a line of stern-faced soldiers made certain it was only words that were hurled toward those departing Assembly, and nothing more substantial.
    Rafferdy and Coulten jostled their way down the steps, then climbed into one of the waiting carriages as the redcrests brandished rifles fitted with bayonets and kept the crowd at bay.
    “They seem to grow more numerous and indignant each day,” Coulten said as the driver shut the door. He took off his wig,which otherwise would have scraped the ceiling, and dabbed at his brow with a handkerchief. The carriage was like an oven inside, for the lumenal continued to stretch on. “I wonder why they keep letting such people into the city.”
    “They’re fleeing the troubles in the Outlands,” Rafferdy said, gazing out the window as the carriage started to roll down the street. “Where else can they go?”
    “To Torland, I suppose.”
    Rafferdy gave him a sharp look. “And be conscripted to fight for Huntley Morden?”
    “Better than to fight for him here, I should say.”
    Rafferdy looked again out the carriage window and noticed, for the first time, how a few of the men in the crowd wore green ribbons tied around the white sleeves of their shirts. The Morden crest, of course, was a green hawk set against a white field.
    He shook his head. “I would think they risk attracting the notice of the Gray Conclave by wearing an infamous symbol so