Insight

I need to get back into the rhythm of writing blog posts again. It’s been too long. Anyway, we continue the story of Ben, a bastard prince trying to find his Hero father. He’s at the most logical place to begin his search, the last place Trenton the Hero was seen. Now to introduce a character and a terrible twist. To the story!
*********
It was still raining when he left the inn the next morning. He had quickly grabbed a bite to eat and hurried out of the inn before the innkeeper sought him out. He was in no mood to deal with women who wanted to catch him with his pants down.

He wandered the streets of the town, trying to remember who exactly was considered the expert on his father. There were several experts of the war twenty years before. Several on the battles, a few on Sarries, others who dibbled in every subject, but there was a surprising small amount dedicated to his father. Ben eventually entered one of the other scholar’s offices and asked which scholar was currently the expert on his father.

About midmorning, Ben finally found the shop which housed the scholar. The man he had asked laughed in his face after he had asked. Apparently the expert who studied his father also had an interesting hobby of flying kites, and when he hadn’t found a decent shop for kites, he merely set up his own and sold kites when he wasn’t studying the Hero.

“I’ve come this far,” Ben muttered and walked inside the shop. Inside was filled with color, a stark contrast with the dull rainy day. Kites of all sizes and shapes covered the walls and ceiling, constructed in all sorts of colors. Ben stared at the kites, not realizing just how different each kite actually was. There were kites that looked like boxes, several with long tails, some had no sticks, and there was even one kite that reminded him of a large bowl. He stared with amazement at the color and mastery of these kites.

“A customer?” asked an airy voice.

Ben jumped and spun around. Behind him was a middle age man with a large stomach and thinning hair on top. About the same as every other scholar Ben knew.

“Professor Ferrell?” Ben asked hesitantly.

The man grinned, his eyes lighting with excitement. “That would be me!” He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Do I know you?”

“No,” Ben quickly said, lightly fingering his nose. Grandfather was wise enough to give some protection for his wandering grandsons. It was a small medallion he wore around his neck, the same that his three cousins also wore. It was infused with magic, and while it did not disguise the princes’ features, it did encourage people to not notice the more distinguishing features of the princes. In his case, it hid his nose quite well.

“Huh,” Ferrell said, rubbing his upper lip in thought as he tried to see past the magic. “It seems that I should…” He shook his head, the magic of the medallion urging him to forget the prince’s familiar features. “What can I do for you?”

“My name is Ben,” the prince started off. “I’m here to do some research…”

“A university student?” Ferrell asked excitedly, his expression giddy.

“Yes,” Ben quickly lied. “I’m doing a project with several other students about the war against Sarries. My focus is on Trenton the Hero and I’ve been told you’re the man to talk to about him.”

“That I am,” Ferrell said with mock modesty. “Please, come back to my office and we’ll talk.”

Ferrell’s office was much like the prince had been expecting. Every available space was covered in books. The bookshelves, chairs, the desk, even the floor had stacks of books. The only space where there weren’t books was the professor’s own chair, a foot and a half square on the desk, though that was covered in papers, and a path leading from the door to the chair.

“Forgive the mess,” Ferrell said, not sounding the least sorry for the state of his office. “I’ve been meaning to move some of my books into storage, but I never know when I might need one of them.” He sighed, sitting down and fondly caressing the nearest book stack. “There is a comfort of having so many books though, so I shouldn’t complain.”

Ben decided not to mention that he didn’t have a place to sit. “About Trenton the Hero?” he prompted.

“What would you like to know?” Ferrell asked in return, sinking down in his chair. “The man was nearly twenty five when he finally managed to kill Sarries. Would you like to talk about his childhood? His encounter with the Thief, the four Great King Spirits that answer only to him? Or do you wish to talk of his life as a general? The battles he fought? His war inventions?”

“Um!” Ben rudely interrupted before the old scholar went on all day. “I know all those. I’ve read the books about him. But…” He paused, quickly thinking up an excuse that would fit in with his story as a university student. “But I want something different in my report. Something my teacher hasn’t seen before.”

“Ah,” Ferrell chuckled, leaning forward in the chair. “You want to know what happened to the Hero after his final battle. You are not the first, and I seriously doubt that you’ll be the last.”

“I understand,” Ben said, flashing a grin. “And I doubt that I can come up with something that others haven’t been able to discover anyway. But idle speculation might help my grade. Especially if I have an expert’s opinion about what happened to Trenton the Hero.” He had spent his childhood in court; he knew how to manipulate people.

“Smooth,” Ferrell said, returning the grin. “You could charm a swindler from his money, couldn’t you?” Apparently the scholar had come across other charmers.

Ben grinned again. “I haven’t tired that yet, but I wouldn’t be surprised if I could.”

“I wouldn’t be either.”

“Is my charm working on you?”

Ferrell eyed him, once again trying to look past the magic. “You remind me of someone…” he muttered. “You related to anyone associated with the war?”

Ben shrugged. “Yeah, but you’d be hard pressed to find someone who isn’t.”

“True,” Ferrell sighed, giving up with his prodding. “Very well, your charm has indeed worked. Rumors of the whereabouts of the Hero.” The professor’s voice dropped into a dull, low tone, adapted for telling a story. Ben carefully leaned against a bookcase, listening carefully to the details the professor went on.

“It is hard to say what had become of Trenton the Hero,” Ferrell confessed. “Trenton was a private man, not much to reveal his inner thoughts to anyone. Not even his beloved Marie. It is my speculation, my speculation mind, that one of the reasons he was a great general was because he did not reveal his plans until the last moment. Hard to counter a man if you don’t know what he’s going to do, now isn’t it?

“However, it also was a disadvantage. He never revealed his thoughts to others, when he desperately needed other ideas, and no one could really call him friend.”

Ben stood straight at that. “He didn’t have friends?” he asked, a bit shocked. The history books never mentioned that! Everything he heard about his father was about how popular and loved he was. A year wouldn’t go by without some mention of Trenton in the courts.

“No close friends,” Ferrell confirmed. “When Princess Marie first met him, she described him as a closed mouth monster of a man, with the vocabulary of an invalid and an expression of stone. It took well over five years for them to finally admit their feelings.” Ben tried not to squirm. Everyone knew that story as well. Their last meeting before Marie’s death was when those feelings were finally confessed. Once confessed, they didn’t hold back their passion and nine months later he arrived.

“So,” Ben coughed, trying to rid the thought of what made his parents his parents, “you don’t think he disappeared to friends?”

“Nor family,” Ferrell added, holding a finger up. “Remember, his entire family had been killed by the Tyrant shortly after the Great Kings vowed themselves to him. Everything of importance to him was the war and Marie.”

“And both of them are now gone,” Ben said softly. He wished he could have known his mother.

“Yes,” the professor said sadly. “In truth, there was nothing left for Trenton. His love gone, the war ended, he didn’t know he had a son. There was nothing.”

“He must have known there would be something,” Ben argued. “The kings always talked of peace. He must have known any one of them would gladly accept him into their courts.”

“Ah,” Ferrell chuckled. “You don’t know everything about the Hero. He didn’t like courts. He didn’t like parties, or nobles, or the easy life. People often forget what it means to grow up as a farmer. He was used to working with his hands, with the land, and reaping the benefits of his work. Government never had an appeal to him. All he saw were pompous nobles who sat around all day, got served on, and reaped the benefits of the works of others. It was against his farmers’ ethics.

“So I stand by what I said. When the war was over, there was literally nothing left for him.”

He has a point. Ben didn’t like the court himself, though for different reasons. He didn’t like the backstabbing, the insults, the every-man-for-himself attitude. At least I share one thing in common with my father.

“Alright,” Ben finally agreed. “Trenton didn’t see anything worth staying for. So… What did he do?”

“That’s the mystery, now isn’t it?” Ferrell said shrewdly. “And since Trenton was a private man, no one can say for certain that they know what he’d do. Not even me.”

“But you have suspicions,” Ben guessed.

The professor snorted. “What sort of scholar would you think I’d be if I didn’t? I suspect, suspect mind, that he did not commit suicide. That’s a coward’s way out and he was no coward. Nor do I think the Great Kings made him the ‘Fifth King.’ Trenton had no noble blood and he didn’t like nobles, so I don’t think he would take up such an offer. And I don’t think that the enemy captured him and killed him for his actions. That’s something they would have advertised. No, my thoughts on the matter are that he just ran away. ”

Ben shook. “Ran away?” he repeated, not sure if he heard right. “Trenton the Hero ran away?”

Ferrell shrugged. “He had nothing to hold him in society, he didn’t want to be part of the war in the first place, and he had just lost the love of his life. What was he to do? Now perhaps if he knew about his son, he would have stayed, but he didn’t know. He had fulfilled his destiny, he did what the prophecy said. His work was done. Why should he stay?”

Ben leaned back against the doorframe, feeling a bit numb. It made sense. Oh, how it made sense!

“And no one saw him leave,” he whispered. “He just disappeared.”

“One of the gifts from the Great Kings was the ability to be unnoticed,” Ferrell quoted noted history. “Not invisible, but unnoticed. A rather useful form of invisibility, in my opinion.”

“And no clues as to where he might run away to.”

“A private man with private thoughts.” Ferrell stroked the books piled on his desk. “I myself have searched out for the Hero. I went searching in his home town. Nothing. I went searching in all the places he had seen ravaged by war. Nothing. I went searching in all the places were war hadn’t ravaged. Nothing. I must have crossed the kingdoms three times over searching for him. North, South, East, West. Nothing.”

Ben had already felt that his quest was pointless, this just made it seem worthless. If an expert couldn’t find his father, what could a prince with limited funds and orders to not go by his title do? Though his title would probably push others away anyway. Ben froze.

My title… Everyone knew Trenton the Hero had a bastard prince for a son. But what if there was one who didn’t?

“He still doesn’t know about me,” Ben whispered, suddenly understanding. Ferrell said he thought that Trenton would have stayed for his son.

“Prince Benjamin of Caanom, I presume” Ferrell suddenly said. Ben flushed. He had been caught.

“I thought I recognized you,” the professor went on, smug that he finally pieced it together. “I’ve heard about your quest. And I’m glad to see the old king knows how to use that unnoticed trick. You do have your father’s nose.” Ben immediately fingered his nose. “So, your quest is to find your father.”

“Or his grave,” Ben sighed. If the man knew who he was, then there wasn’t any more point to lying. “Grandfather wants me to find some peace about my father.”

“A difficult task.”

“And a near impossible one,” Ben grumbled. “If you can’t find him, how am I supposed to?”

Ferrell shrugged. “You never know.” He leaned forward eagerly, grinning with near insanity. “And you did bring up a point I’ve never thought of. Trenton disappeared because there wasn’t anything for him. He would have come forward for his son. Your father probably doesn’t know about you. There are just a few places where one can live without having any news from the outside world.” He leaned back again, looking excited.

“I always thought that he would want to know what’s happening in the world… but to disappear completely, he would need a place where no news would go out…”

“Or in,” Ben finished.

“Exactly!” Ferrell clapped his hands. “Oh good! I’ve been thumping my head against this problem for years! I should have guessed!” He stood up and shook Ben’s hand with excitement. “You should have come to my shop long before this! Together, we can find your father!”

“I’m supposed to do this alone,” Ben tried to say.

“Pah!” the professor said, waving the restriction aside. “I’m the expert on Trenton the Hero! I should at least lend a hand in finding him!” He let go of his hand and began rummaging through his papers. “Now, let’s see, I’ll need to cross reference all the sort of places where news is unlikely to go with places of his past…. Oh, and I’ll need someone to mind my store while I’m gone… Your Highness?”

Ben blinked. “Yes?”

“I’m likely to be at this all day,” Ferrell apologized, looking too eager to be sorry. “I don’t think you want to be bored with the details. How about you go out and enjoy the rest of the day while I come up with a plan. Meet me tomorrow morning and we’ll head out. Alright?”

Ben leaned out the door and looked at the front of the store, where the rain was still pouring outside. “Sure,” he sighed. “I prefer the rain than dusty books any day.”
***********
Ben’s head pounded as the light from outside woke him up. Groaning, the prince rolled over, trying to forget the sunshine and his head. Why did he drink that much? The night before, after he had explored the town, he relented and visited his mother’s grave. It was as depressing as he remembered. There were no individual grave markers, just a large slab of stone with the names of those who died engraved on it. So many lives had been lost, so many lives destroyed. Ben wasn’t the only one to loose a parent that battle. It had lasted three days before Trenton finally killed the Tyrant. There were too many bodies for the survivors to bury each one individually, so one hole was dug and the bodies piled in. Even then, the mound over the dead was now a hill.

When he returned to the inn, one of the patrons noticed his long face. Acutely guessing that he had just visited the Grave, the man offered to give him something to drown his sorrows in. Ben jumped on the chance. While Ben never said who he was, he did start talking. He talked about how his mother was the one who died and his father had run away. It was a more common story than it should have been. Many of the other patrons felt sorry for him and kept giving him more to drink. By the time he stumbled his way to bed, he was thoroughly drunk and his worries forgotten.

But now it was morning and his head pounded with his hangover. Grumbling, he sat up. He was supposed to do something today? What was it? Cameron wanted him to do something… Then he remembered his conversation with Professor Ferrell and the quest he was on.

“Great,” he muttered, quickly changing out of his clothes for fresh ones. Judging from the sunlight, it was at least an hour past when he was supposed to meet up with the professor. Ben hoped he hadn’t left without him.

He packed quickly, paid the innkeeper her fee, blushed furiously as she flirted with him again, saddled his horse, and rode off for the kite shop, wishing he wasn’t too late. But he was too late.

But not to leave.

Ben reached the kite shop, thinking nothing was out of the ordinary. He sighed with relief to see a horse outside, all saddled and packed. So Ferrell hadn’t left without him. He dismounted, opened the door to the shop, and froze.

The kites which had been hung with care lay scattered on the floor. The delicate creations were broken and tossed aside, as if a wild storm passed through and tore them down. Ben carefully walked through the mess, suddenly worried.

“Ferrell?” he called out. watching his footing. “Are you alright?”

His answer was a low moan toward the professor’s office. As quickly as he could, Ben rushed to the office, only to find the most horrible sight he had ever seen. The carefully staked books were in the same condition as the kites. But his eyes were fixed on the professor, who was laying face down in a pool of blood.

“Professor?” he breathed, dropping to his knees. He had never seen so much blood. Unsure what to do, he reached over and rolled the old man over. “Professor Ferrell?” he asked. He gasped in shock, scrambling back and his stomach rolling at the sight.

The professor was beaten to the point of almost being unrecognizable. His face was bruised and bleeding in a dozen places, his nose broken, and his mouth twisted in a gruesome swollen sneer. In a single glance, Ben knew that Ferrell wasn’t going to last.

“Your…” Ferrell said weakly, opening one eye and coughing. “Your Highness?”

“Professor?” Ben asked, hoping he wasn’t about to heave.

“Here,” Ferrell somehow managed to hold up a sheet of paper, spotted with blood. “They tried to take it. Stop you…”

Ben took the paper, still sickened. “What?” he asked, not able to comprehend what the professor was saying. “Who’s trying to stop me?”

“Find the Hero,” Ferrell sighed, closing his one eye. “My legacy… My greatest achievement. On the paper. Find him. Go…” He coughed pitifully and fell limp.

“Professor?” Ben asked, frozen to the spot. “Professor Ferrell?”

However, the old man didn’t answer. Ben knew he wouldn’t. Someone had made sure of that.
*************
Interrogation rooms are the same the world over, Ben thought, slumping in his chair, adjusting his wrists chained behind his back to a more comfortable position. How many times over the years had he been the one on the other side of the table? At first it was to watch experts ply their craft of getting the answers out of the assassins sent to kill his grandfather. As he grew older, he and his cousins took over, using their own skills to get the answers.

The room was bare of everything except the table and the two chairs, the dull grey stone walls sucking out anything that seemed interesting. The chair Ben sat in faced the door, the other chair currently empty.

They’re trying to make me sweat out my fate, he knew, wishing that someone would just come in and talk with him. He had told them the truth when they came to the shop. He had found Professor Ferrell attacked and that was the end of it. But no… a murder of this extent, involving an important professor, it had to be investigated thoroughly.

It doesn’t help that I can’t tell them who I am, Ben thought with a sigh. It would cut through a lot of crap if he could just explain that he was one of the Caanom princes and that the professor was only trying to help him in his quest. But no, he wasn’t supposed to go by his title. That left him with the story of being a university student doing research for one of his classes.

That small simple lie had the authorities questioning his motives. Oh, they didn’t know what exactly he was hiding, but they knew it was something. The problem was that they thought the thing he was hiding was the murder of the professor.

They’ve waited too long, Ben thought, calculating the time he had stayed in this room without someone coming in. They’re amateurs in this sort of work.

The door opened.

Glancing up, Ben noted that it was the head commissioner for the area, a man he had the brief pleasure of meeting the day he had been captured three days before. He wasn’t much, just an older man with a large gut and short beard. Years spent behind a desk had dulled his senses and he was now merely a paper pusher.

Great, Ben thought, watching as the man sat in the other chair. They think I’ll be intimidated by this guy? One thing he learned about interrogations was that sometimes, power did not intimidate people. Sometimes it made them angry, or stubborn, or even belligerent. For Ben, it only made him roll his eyes. These people had no idea who they were trying to accuse of murder.

“So,” the commissioner said, putting a stack of papers on the table. He glanced at it, as if trying to remember something on it. “Ben.”

Ben rolled his eyes. A stupid tactic. This man wouldn’t have come in here without knowing who he was. Trying to make it seem as if he were too unimportant to remember was a façade of the worst kind.

“Yes?” he groaned, again adjusting his wrists tied behind him. It was impossible to escape these chains, but they were starting to chaff his skin.

“According to the report,” the commissioner said, looking again at the paper, “your relationship with the professor was a short one. You came into town just a few days ago.”

“Correct,” he sighed. “And as I told your officers, he and I were going to go out researching. When I got to his shop, he had already been attacked.”

“So you say,” the man said, rubbing his beard. “Are you sure there isn’t anything else you’d like to tell us?”

Ben snorted. “Like what?” he asked. “I had no grudge against Ferrell. By the Great Kings, I only met him a few days ago! He said he’d help me with my school work, that’s all.”

This time the man snorted. “A continent lie. Ferrell always liked helping with school work. Anyone could say that of him.”

“Because it’s the truth,” Ben huffed.

“We’re starting to talk with the other professors,” the man went on, ignoring him. “They say you’ve been asking after an expert on Trenton the Hero. Is this true?”

“Yes,” Ben nearly snapped. “My project is on Trenton.”

“Interesting,” the man said, though not showing any interest. “According to the patrons of the inn you were staying at, you got drunk the night before. Can you be certain that you didn’t just loose your cool and went to Ferrell, got into an argument, and killed him?”

“I stayed at the inn all night,” Ben said as slowly and carefully as possible to make sure he was heard correctly. “I rushed to Ferrell’s shop when I overslept. I was afraid that he was going to leave me.”

“Ferrell would have gone searching for you,” the commissioner snorted. “Stop lying to me.”

“I’m not lying!” Ben protested. “That’s how it happened! I have no idea about who would do anything like this to Ferrell. In the short time I’ve known him, he was the harmless type that no one could hate!”

“Someone must have hated him,” the commissioner said softly, darkly. “Enough to kill him.”

Ben flinched. That was far too true.

Who would kill him though? He wondered. The professor’s last words were that someone was trying to stop him. That led to an uncomfortable thought.

Was the professor killed because of his association with me? Ben wanted to believe that wasn’t the case, but he had been in politics for too long. There were always people who were trying to get ahead, those who would do anything for power.

But no one knows that I’m here, he had to tell himself. I can’t go by my title and no one knows what my quest is about. There’s no way that anyone could know that the professor was helping me.

Then perhaps, it was someone who didn’t want the Hero found?

“What’s with that look?” the commissioner asked, frowning at him.

“I was just thinking,” he said softly. “The professor and I were going to look for clues about the Hero. What if someone didn’t want that?”

The commissioner snorted. “Be serious. The war has been over for nearly two decades now. There’s no way that bitter feelings still remain.”

Ben rolled his eyes. “Now you’re just trying to fool yourself. You know as well as I do that there are still Sarries loyalists.”

For a long moment the commissioner didn’t answer. It was a problem a lot of people ignored, unfortunately. Even his grandfather turned aside on some cases because of the bitterness that still plagued their land.

Without saying anything, the man left, leaving Ben again alone in the room. He sighed, again adjusting his shackled hands. He couldn’t wait for an explanation about this.
************
Yet, you’re going to have to wait for that explanation. Until next week! Enjoy the journey!