Urchin, Spy, Ghost, Prince

What an interesting week. I’m glad that I got the chance to go home for the weekend. It was very refreshing.

But I’m not interested in telling anyone about it, so we’ll go instead to my meandering thoughts. One interesting thing I’ve found when I write is that sometimes I don’t have events planned, thinking that I’ll write something wonderful when I get there. But then I get there and realize its just filler to my story. I used to be bothered by this, thinking that I need to write it, but it isn’t critical… only filler that needs to be there… Then somewhere along my writing, I realize this is my story, my book. I can write it any way that I want. Including skipping four months of battles just because I want to. It’s very refreshing to know that I can do that and still have a good story.

Let’s get to the interesting parts, shall we?
****************
“Sir! I didn’t do it!”

Martin rubbed his temple. That always seemed to be Markson’s excuse whenever he was brought to him for punishment.

“This is the fifth time you’ve been brought to me for harassing farmers in the last four months,” Martin pointed out. He sat at his temporary desk of boxes in his command tent. “Why do you feel the need to bother them?”

Markson looked down at his boots, refusing to answer. Martin sighed. Why was this man so difficult?

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to transfer you,” Martin said, gesturing at the report the soldier’s officer had presented him along with the man.

“I understand,” Markson said dully, not even looking him in the eye. “I make a terrible soldier, don’t I?”

“That couldn’t be farther from the truth,” Martin said sternly. “In all the reports, you’ve been a good soldier. You keep your weapons in good condition, you follow orders, you even show courage and loyalty on the battlefield when others run. It’s just your vendetta against farmers that’s causing this problem.”

“Alright,” he grumbled. “You’ve caught me. I don’t like farmers.” There was a story behind that tone. A story Martin really didn’t want to know.

“Then it’s time you get transferred away from them,” Martin concluded. “Tomorrow morning, I’m transferring you to Evan’s Stand. You’ll be reporting to Commander Gillian.”

Markson actually glanced up, surprise flickering. “The prison commander?”

Martin nodded. “I know the man. He’s good commander. I believe you’ll do well there. And there are no famers at the Stand. The entire island is a city.” He paused. “I just hope you don’t mind sailors.”

Markson suddenly smiled. “I can deal with sailors. My grandpa was one. I wanted to be a sailor but…” His smile disappeared. “My dad wanted me to join the army. He was probably right. A sailor’s life isn’t for me, and I’ve enjoyed my time in the army…”

“But the Stand will be better for you,” Martin finished. He let out another sigh, though this one was relieved. “You should get packing. You leave tomorrow.”

Markson saluted, barely concealing his joy. “Yes sir!” He turned on his heel and left.

Martin shook his head at the soldier. That was one problem fixed. He glanced down at his desk, flinching at the papers that littered it. If he had known commanding an army involved this much paperwork, he would have thought twice before agreeing to join the Ghosts.

But it couldn’t be helped. Martin started working through the stack, thinking wistfully of evening. It had been five months since he last saw Fred and the Ghost General decided it was time to come check on them.

Five months since he finally left that mansion.

It had been a long five months. It seemed they were in a battle at least once every month. There was one summer month that they had one every week! Martin knew his men were getting tired of this war. He could even tell it from the other side that the war was starting to drag.

A cool fall breeze tickled across his face. Glancing up, he saw the Ghost assistant, Sargent Randell enter his tent. He saluted.

“Sir,” he said, “the camp is ready for General Chief’s inspection.”

“Good,” Martin said, looking back down at his work. “He should be here in a couple of hours.” The men had gotten used to the fact that their commanding captain knew when people were going to arrive. In truth, they had gotten used to a lot of quirks about their captain.

“You also have some mail,” Randell said, putting a small stack of letters tied with a string on his desk. “Is there anything else that needs to be done?”

“Yes,” Martin said, grabbing the letters and untying them. “I need transfer papers drawn up for Markson. He’s to go to the Stand and serve under Commander Gillian.”

“I will take care of it.”

“Dismissed.”

Randell saluted and left, the breeze fluttering in after him. Martin was glad that fall was coming. That meant winter and winter meant a standstill in the war. Everyone needed a break.

As he sorted through the letters, he came across a familiar handwriting.

“Now what does Suit want,” Martin muttered, opening the letter. Inside was another envelope, unmarked, and a note. The note was short.

You know the drill. Give this to Fred.

Martin snorted softly. He knew a lot of people didn’t like how the Spy Master could get a letter to someone without a mark on the envelope. They just didn’t know how he could get away with it. Martin, however, knew how Suit managed it. It was simple really. The Spy Master knew the mail system well and the person who had the letter before his intended receiver. All Suit did was address the letter to the person who handled the letter right before the receiver, with a message to deliver the letter, unmarked, to the receiver. Along with that note usually came a good bribe.

The queen’s assistant, Shay, had a nice sum with his bribes.

There was no bribe in his letter though. Suit was probably frustrated that he couldn’t get away with the unmarked letter with him, since Martin had delivered several of the Spy Master’s unmarked letters before.

Martin put the letter aside, flipping through the other letters. However, there wasn’t anything too pressing. Sighing at the lack of a distraction, Martin focused on his paperwork.

With that letter in the corner of his eye.

Martin had tried to resist reading other people’s letters, and for the most part he managed it quite well, but this letter kept drawing his attention. He stopped on his paperwork, picking up the letter, turning it over.

A little peek, Martin reasoned, taking out a knife and sliding the blade under the wax seal to keep from breaking it. That’s all.

His little peek made him cold.

He dropped the letter, his world suddenly frozen.

He wasn’t expecting that!
*********
Jon was a bit surprised when Dixon, not Martin, greeted him. The large Ghost stood at attention as he rode up. He seemed to be in good health. From Martin’s reports, their battles have all gone well and they suffered little in the way of casualties. As he glanced around at the camp, he knew it was well organized and ready for inspection.

“Where’s Martin?” he asked, dismounting.

Dixon rolled his eyes. “He’s in the command tent. He refuses to come out.”

Jon frowned. “Why?”

Dixon shrugged. The large man may not like nobles, but he started picking up on the prince’s annoying habit of shrugging. “He won’t tell us. He just said that he’ll only talk to you.”

“It’s not like him to hole up,” Jon muttered. “I should check on this.”

“Better you than me,” Dixon said. “When I looked in on him, he looked as pale as a sheet. Whatever it is, it’s scared him.”

That really made Jon worry.

Rushing to the command tent, he didn’t even bother announcing his presence and walked right in. Martin stood behind his desk, his back to him.

“Martin?” Jon asked, concerned. “What is it? Dixon told me that something was the matter.”

“You got a letter from Suit,” Martin said softly, his tone too even to be normal. “I read it.”

Jon groaned, slapping his forehead. “You’ve been reading my mail?” he asked, more annoyed than worried. Suit knew well enough to not reveal his king’s identity in a letter, especially if it was going to pass through the prince’s hands.

“That’s a small crime when compared with what’s in the letter,” Martin whispered, finally turning around. Dixon was right. He was as pale as a sheet. “Terk’s been ordered to retreat. Go home.”

Jon blinked. “That should be good news,” he argued. “We should be celebrating!”

“Those orders,” Martin said softly, “were given six months ago.”

The king froze. “Six months?” he asked, sure he had heard wrong.

Martin nodded. “Terk’s after me, Fred. He’s even ignoring orders from his king!” He slammed his fist onto the desk, sending papers flying. “He’ll stop at nothing to get me!” He then sobbed, dropping into his chair. “He’s trying to make Aeterna suffer to pull me out.”

“Oh, Martin,” Jon breathed, his shoulders slumping. “I’m so sorry.”

The prince was right in what he said. Terk would have known that Martin would fight for Aeterna. It was just who Martin was. So the general came up with the worst thing he could contrive to pull the prince out into the open. Declaring war on not just on the nation and its government, but on the people themselves. Terk was going to ravage the people.

“What am I to do, Fred?” Martin whispered, his head bowed, his hands running through his hair. “I know the people want this war to end. I can feel it! I can’t ignore their demands anymore, Fred. I have to do something.”

It was serious. The king had read just how powerful the pull the Spirit put on Santers when it wanted something done. Martin had experienced it first hand several times. It was more than compulsion. It was a literal need to do what the Spirit demanded. If they didn’t act soon, Martin was bound to do something all of them would regret.

“Then we’ll do something,” Jon said.

“What?” Martin asked, lifting his head. “What can we do?”

“We can capture Terk.”
************
Art and the other Ghosts were ordered to come to the command tent as soon as possible. He wasn’t surprised by the orders. Whatever had upset Martin was going to be solved by them. Not that the prince would like the help, but that was why they were in the army; to teach the prince how to delegate responsibility and accept help.

He was the last one to arrive at the command tent. One look inside, he knew that whatever news had upset Martin also affected the Ghost General. He flinched, seeing the two sitting at the desk, both looking pale. Irvin, Clary, and Dixon stood around the desk, turning as he entered.

“About time you showed up,” Clary snorted. “Where were you? Sleeping?”

“I was enjoying a nap, yes,” Art said dismissively. “What’s going on?”

“Martin?” Fred asked, turning to the prince. “Mind…?”

The prince took a deep breath. During the summer he finally broke his habit of closing his eyes to use his powers. “No one can hear,” he said, sighing.

“Then it’s time,” Chief sighed. Suddenly he donned on the air of responsibility; he was the only man Art knew who could pull of looming over someone while sitting down. “Suit sent us intelligence today about General Terk. Six months ago, he got orders to go home.”

“What?” Irvin asked, frowning.

“But,” Dixon said, rubbing his temple, “wouldn’t that mean the war is over?”

“General Terk,” Martin whispered, “had ignored those orders. He’s trying to pull me out by prolonging this war.”

The tent went silent.

“Hiethery,” Clary breathed, running a hand over his head.

“We’ve come to a difficult decision,” Chief said, looking at each of them, meeting each of their gazes. “General Terk is here without the support of his king. It’s now his war. He’s going to get desperate when his supplies start running out this winter.”

“He’ll get those supplies from the people,” Dixon growled. “He’ll tear Aeterna apart trying to get Martin out in the open!”

“Then there’s only one choice we have,” Chief concluded for them. “We’ve got to trap Terk and send him back to Venter.”

“But haven’t you been having problems trapping him?” Irvin asked. “We’ve all read the reports. Terk never steps into a trap.”

“That’s why I’m hoping one of you have an idea,” Chief sighed.

Art rubbed his forehead. Trapping the Mad General? Was it even possible?

“There’s always been something wrong with your traps,” Martin said softly, staring at his desk. “I could see it right away.”

“What could have been wrong with them?” Art asked. “From what I’ve read, they were pretty good.” But somehow, the Mad General knew it was a trap and got around it. It was frustrating for everyone.

“A good trap requires two things,” Martin said dully. “The trap itself.” He stopped with a tired sigh, slumping in his chair.

“And?” Dixon asked when the prince didn’t continue.

“Bait.”

“No!”

Everyone jumped. Fred was on his feet, looking down at Martin with fear. “No, Martin!” he repeated, shaking his head. “You can’t be serious!”

“Terk won’t attack me head on,” Martin said harshly. “He’s heard from his generals about this army. He knows he can’t touch me as long as I’m with this army. That’s why he keeps sending assassins with Nightmare Dust to capture me.”

Art and the others shivered. Nightmare Dust. It was hard to imagine that their side developed the poison. Art quickly banished the thought when he was poisoned with it during the summer. For twelve hours of enchanted sleep, he was forced to relive his worst memories.

No one should relive their worst memories.

“It’s crazy!” Chief exclaimed, sitting back down with a grimace. His knee must have been hurting badly for him to sit down when he wanted to stand. “You can’t be bait, Martin! You’ve been through too much already.”

The prince snorted softly. “I need to do something now. Aeterna is not going to wait for Terk to get desperate to finally come after me. I have to do something.” The way he said it made the Ghosts glance at each other uneasily. It was easy to forget that Martin was linked to the land and its people. He hardly ever used his powers openly, or even talked about it. But when he did something or talked of it, they were reminded just how powerful their prince really was.

“We’ll find another way,” Chief insisted.

“Actually,” Irvin said, flinching, “I think he’s right.” The bald man wilted under Chief’s glare.

“I have to agree,” Clary added, quickly hiding behind Dixon to hide from the general’s wrath. “If Terk is determined to get Martin, he’ll follow our prince to the ends of the world. If we do it now, before he gets desperate enough to tear Aeterna apart and attack our army, we have a chance to end this war quickly.”

“And we can set up a trap,” Martin said softly. “If it goes right, it’ll snap on Terk before he gets to me.”

Chief sat stiff in his chair, glaring at the prince. While most men would cower in fear under such a stern and unforgiving gaze, Martin kept eye contact, never flinching. Art shifted uneasily, feeling the tension in the tent. It was almost like watching a power of wills trying to force the other down. He was glad he wasn’t one in the competition.

“You’re not backing down?” Chief finally asked, narrowing his eyes.

“It has to be done, Fred,” Martin said softly. “I can’t keep running forever.”

“You’ll have to become our prince,” Chief pointed out. “Are you ready for that?”

Martin finally flinched. “No,” he whispered, still not breaking eye contact. “But that’s never stopped me from preforming my duties. If Aeterna needs me to be the prince now, before I’m ready, then so be it.”

Chief carefully watched the prince’s expression, searching for something. Whatever he found, he slumped in his chair, sighing.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said softly. “You have been through a lot. We’ll understand if you don’t.”

Martin shook his head. “Aeterna demands action now. I have to.”

Chief groaned softly, finally submitting to the younger man. “Then so be it.” He looked up to the Ghosts. Art never had seen such sorrow in the general’s expression before. “We’ll spend the rest of today planning the trap…” He gulped. “With Martin as bait.

“We better come up with a trap that works,” the general said bitterly. “Because if we fail, we loose our prince.”
**********
It was late at night and Dixon really wanted to be playing cards with the other Ghosts. However, Martin had summoned him to the command tent. Normally, the large Ghost would have told his captain to wait until morning, but he thought he knew what this meeting was about. He was looking forward to it.

Martin was where they had left him just an hour before, when they finished planning the trap for the Mad General. The prince still sat at his desk, working on the endless pile of paperwork.

“You wanted to see me?” Dixon asked.

“Yes,” Martin sighed, looking up. He pointed to the one other chair. “Sit down.”

“Thank you, sir,” Dixon said, trying hard not to get excited.

“You can show your excitement,” Martin said, smiling a bit. “You’re going to burst something if you don’t.”

Dixon chuckled, grinning. It didn’t matter that Martin was the height of nobility. What was coming was what he had been looking forward to.

“It was pretty obvious, wasn’t it?” he said, beaming. “Once you’re gone, someone has to be promoted.”

“And your promotion is long overdue,” Martin agreed. Overdue was true. Dixon was supposed to be promoted to captain, but the prince needed a reputation and got the promotion instead. “Tomorrow morning, we’ll have the official promotion and I’ll hand the army to you. I just wanted to confirm it with you tonight, so it’s not so big a surprise tomorrow when it happens.”

“I don’t think any of us are going to be surprised,” Dixon chuckled. “I’m the second in command. Of course I’ll take your place.”

Martin chuckled weakly. “I envy you,” he said, sighing. “I wish I wasn’t going to Nacre just yet.”

Dixon’s jovial mood was dampened. It was very obvious during their planning that the prince was not excited about what he was going to have to do. It was almost as if he were terrified of returning to Nacre. As if he was terrified of being the prince.

The large Ghost sighed. “I don’t say this often,” he said slowly, “but I think you’ll do great.” He paused. He actually meant it. Martin was a good Ghost, a great leader. Even for a noble. “I just hope you don’t loose who you are,” he went on. How many times over the years had he been treated badly by nobles? “Don’t get stuck on yourself and forget who you’re supposed to serve.”

Martin half smiled, snorting softly. “Stuck on myself? Forget who I serve? Did Fred ever tell you where he found me?”

Dixon blinked, confused. “No,” he said, wondering where the prince was going with this conversation. “Wasn’t it the spying network?”

Martin chuckled, glancing down at his desk. “No, that’s where he first put me. Actually, he found me in the Aeternan Embassy at Loman when I was ten.”

The large Ghost shook. “The Aeternan Embassy at Loman?” he repeated, making sure he heard right. “What were you doing there?”

“At the time?” Martin chuckled softly. “Stealing food.”

Dixon felt his jaw drop. “Stealing food?” he repeated again.

The prince sighed, sinking into his chair. “I hadn’t eaten in three days,” he whispered, his eyes unfocused. “I was a street urchin, sleeping under a bridge and scrounging for whatever food I could find. But I was so hungry… There are no guards at the embassy in Loman. I just went in… And Fred caught me. Then he brought me here to Aeterna.”

Martin then sat up, looking him directly in the eye. “I would be dead right now if Fred hadn’t caught me. Street urchins who steal are beaten to death. I know it was Fred who brought me here, but it was Aeterna pulling me back. I owe Aeterna my life, Dixon. I owe this nation everything that I am or ever will be. I can’t forget who I serve. I have a debt to repay that can never fully be repaid.”

Dixon stared at the prince, too shocked to say anything. He had always envisioned the prince growing up in some small Aeternan town, a loved orphan who somehow found his way into the spying network. Dixon actually worried that the prince’s dedication to the Aeternan people would wear away once he started living a noble’s life.

But this… He had no idea how much Martin truly loved Aeterna. The prince literally owed his life to his nation. It was so deeply ingrained in him, the prince would never loose sight of who he served.

“I must admit,” he finally said, shaking his head. “I had you wrong. You’re not a noble, Martin. You are a servant of the people, what a noble should be.” He suddenly stood up and saluted, pride swelling his chest. “I am honored to call you ours.”

Martin slowly stood up then salute back. “And I am honored to serve.”
************
The entire army was called into formation. Martin and the other Ghosts sat on a raised stage, waiting for the formation to finish. The prince tried to keep from squirming. Fred had gone over with them what was going to be said to the army. He really wished they would forget one part.

“Relax, Marty,” Art whispered at him. “You’ll be fine.”

“Oh yes,” he grumbled sarcastically. “Let’s tell this entire army that you’re actually the Spy Master’s son. Let’s see how calm you’ll be.”

That got Art to shut up.

The army finally settled down. Fred pushed himself out of his chair at the end of the row and walked towards the center of the stage. He paused as he passed by, noticing the prince’s nervousness. It wasn’t hard to spot. He kept shrinking in his seat.

“Calm, Martin,” he advised. “It’ll be over soon.”

Martin somehow managed a nod.

Fred walked to the center front of the stage. A hush spread over the army as they looked towards the Ghost General.

“I know all of you are surprised by this sudden formation,” Fred said, his voice carrying over the army thanks to magic. “But a decision had been made last night. Captain Martin will no longer be leading this army.” He turned towards the seated Ghosts. “Ghost Dixon, join me, would you?”

The large Ghost stood up and joined the general, unable to conceal his grin. It seemed permanently fixed to his face.

“Dixon is now promoted to captain and will be your commanding leader,” Fred announced. “I want everyone to treat him as such. Dixon? Would you like to say anything?”

Whatever Dixon told the men, Martin didn’t hear it. He was too nervous about what was going to happen next. The large Ghost finished his speech and sat back down, still grinning. Martin closed his eyes. The time had come.

“I know many of your are surprised by this sudden change in leadership,” Fred said, speaking over the whispers. “There is a reason for it, a reason we’ve kept secret from you. Martin is needed at his home in Nacre.”

Martin could feel the men’s confusion. Stop dragging this out, Fred! he silently pled. His nerves were about shot just sitting there!

“It is now my honor,” Fred said, ignoring the whispers, “to introduce to you who you’ve been honored to serve under.” He paused and turned back towards them. Martin cringed. It was coming. Fred held up his hand towards him.

“Martin Henry Alex Santer,” he announced loudly and slowly so everyone would hear him. “The Crown Prince of Aeterna!”

Martin slowly stood up in the frozen world. The entire army seemed frozen in time, looks of shock and awe mixed throughout the ranks. He took a deep breath. It was out. There was no more hiding. No more lies. No more running. It was time to step up and take his rightful place. He took slow steps to join Fred at the front of the stage.

“For his safety and political reasons,” Fred went on, “he was assigned to this army and given the title captain. But the time has now come for him to return to Nacre and take on the responsibilities of being a Santer.” He paused, the silence just as profound as when he made the announcement. “Your Highness?” he then asked. “Would you like to say something?”

No. Martin had discovered that he hated public speaking.

But it had to be done. It was his world now.

“I would like to thank all of you,” he said, glad his voice was steady and not quivering. “I have never been more honored to serve with such sacrificing and loyal men such as yourselves.” He paused. What else cold he say?

“I am sorry that we didn’t tell you who I was,” he said, hoping he was saying the right things. Their emotions were still too much in shock for him to get a good reading of what they felt. “But as General Chief said, it was a political move that I was in this army.

“The people need a hero,” he went on, the butterflies in his stomach still rolling. “Someone who will do what they can to protect them. As a Ghost, I vowed to do those things, never knowing I was the prince. When it was discovered that I was the prince, it was decided that I should do more than be just a Ghost to be that hero the people deserve.

“I don’t know if I deserve to be the hero this people needs. But I will do everything in my power and abilities to protect our nation.” He stopped, unsure what he could say more. He glanced at Fred, hoping for some help.

Clap.

The applause started slowly in the back. It then grew louder, cheers exploding the quiet still. The shocked emotions suddenly turned into intense pride. Martin slowly smiled.

“You see?” Fred asked, clapping him on the shoulder. “You can be a prince, Martin. They accept you.”
*************
Randell and four others from the army approached the command tent, growing nervous. After the announcement that morning, when General Chief revealed that their captain was actually their crown prince, he and several other soldiers decided that they needed to thank the prince for his service. After all, he had led them through several battles. The least they could do was give him something.

When they arrived at the command tent, they found only General Chief and Dixon studying a map. They were muttering in quite tones, arguing about a point on the map. It was probably their next battle.

“Sirs!” Randell saluted, trying to keep in his excitement. How many times over the last four months had he been serving the crown prince? It would be an honor to do so one more time knowing the truth. “Where is Prince Martin?”

“Martin?” Chief asked, frowning. “He’s already left.” Randell couldn’t speak, frozen to the spot. How could the prince already be gone? The formation was just that morning! How could he already be gone?

“What?” exclaimed one of the others. “He’s left?”

“Doesn’t he need an escort?” another asked.

Dixon snorted. “You’ve been to one of his hand-to-hand combat lessons. Do you think that someone will have a chance against him?”

Randell wasn’t the only one to flinch at the rebuke. Shortly after the prince had taken command, it was obvious that he was superior in fist fights, especially after stopping countless of assassin attacks. It got to the point that he had to give out lessons to teach them how to fight like he did.

“Still,” Randell said slowly, finally finding his voice. “Isn’t it proper for a prince to have an escort?”

“Martin will never be a proper prince,” Chief said quietly, his eyes distant. “He has always walked his own path…” He tapered off, concern etched in his face. Sighing, he looked at them. “This is a journey Martin should take alone,” he said. “He is preparing himself for a new life, one he never expected to have. He needs this time alone to come to grips with it.”

“But in the mean time,” Dixon said, quickly cutting off any questions about the general’s words, “we do have something else to plan. It will involve the prince’s safety, so we will need the best plan possible.”

“A plan for the prince’s safety?” Randell asked, frowning. “What do we need to plan?”

“A trap.”
************
A trap indeed. The time has now come for Martin to be openly the prince and return to Nacre. Next week’s post is very entertaining! Until then, enjoy the journey!