The Tudor Secret - C. W. Gortner [28]
I pulled on my boots. “Are you going to explain why you were about to steal from me, or shall I summon your Master of Horses?”
“I wasn’t going to steal! I only wanted…” The boy’s protest faded. I could see on his face that he’d not stopped to concoct a believable excuse in the remote chance he was caught.
I repressed a smile. “You were saying?”
He thrust out his chin. “You owe me money. You paid me to feed your horse, didn’t you? Well, if you want it fed and brushed again this morning, you need to pay again. By the looks of it, you’re not noble. And only nobles have the right to board their animals for free here.”
“Indeed?” I opened up my pouch, taking great delight in the fact that I now had the ability to actually toss out a coin, never mind it might be the last trove I ever saw.
The boy caught it. His curious green-flecked eyes narrowed. “Is this a real gold angel?”
“I think so.” I retrieved my rumpled doublet. “I certainly hope so, after all the trouble I went through last night to earn it.”
As I slid my arms into the sleeves, I watched the boy bite the coin. With a satisfied nod that would do a moneylender justice, he pocketed it. I had the suspicion I’d just paid for an entire month of boarding and feed. It didn’t matter. I knew how it felt to labor without financial reward. Besides, I had an idea. I’d been a boy like this not too long ago, canny as a street cur and as careful to keep from being trampled. Boys like us, we saw and heard more than we realized.
“There’s no need for anyone to know about this,” I said. “Oh, I’m Brendan. Brendan Prescott. And you are…?”
“The name’s Peregrine.” He perched on a nearby barrel, removing two crabapples from his jerkin. He pitched one at me. “Like the hunting bird.”
“Interesting name. Do you have another to go with it?” I grimaced as I bit into the apple. I was famished, seeing as I hadn’t eaten since yesterday morning, but the apple was terribly sour.
“No,” he retorted, defensively. “Why would I need a surname?”
“No reason. At least, it’s simple to remember. How old are you, Peregrine?”
“Twelve. You?”
“I’m twenty,” I said, and I almost added, or so, I think.
“Oh.” He tossed the apple core into Cinnabar’s stall. My roan snorted and began to munch. “You look younger,” he added, echoing my thoughts. “I thought you were closer to Edward’s age. He’s fifteen.”
“Edward.” I paused. “Do you mean, Edward as in His Majesty the king?”
Peregrine frowned. “You’re strange. You’re not from here, are you?”
This time, I had to grin. Oh, he was an orphan all right. Only someone who’d spent the majority of their life fending for themselves had that quick a reflex. Deflect the question with another. I hadn’t thought to encounter such an unvarnished soul in Whitehall.
And, of course, the fact that he had not answered me meant I was right. He knew the king.
“No, I’m not,” I said. “I’m from Worcestershire.”
“Never been there. Never been anywhere outside Temple Bar.”
I nodded, brushing sprigs of straw from my hose. “Do you know His Majesty well?”
He shrugged. “As well as you can know any prince. He used to come here a lot. He loves his animals and hates being stuck indoors all day. His lordship the duke always had him—” He stopped, scowling. “That’s not fair.”
“I only asked you a question.” I smiled. “Besides, who am I going to tell? I’m not anyone important, remember? I’m just curious as to how a stable boy got to meet the king.”
“I’m not just a stable boy. I can do other things.” He pursed his lips, regarding me as if he wasn’t sure if I was worth the effort. But underneath the stance I could see he was also eager to share; like me, he had grown up lonely.