Nameless

By Valerie Gaumont

In Pontuse, the Capitol City of Balosh, noble lords employ assistants to amuse and entertain them as well as to distract others from their shortcomings and intentions. Despite being an orphan without a name, Nameless holds the prize position of Assistant to Prince Roland, heir to the throne of Balosh. While he dances and performs acrobatic feats to distract from Roland's often less than regal nature, things aren't exactly what they seem. The Queen looks at Nameless with anger and hatred and when the Prince is sent to the neighboring Kingdom of Genarai to negotiate a treaty, she arranges for an assassin to eliminate Nameless from the Prince's retinue. The threat sends him down an unexpected path leading him to his past and a possible new future. Can he elude death long enough to reclaim his own long forgotten name, or will he forever be Nameless.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Valerie Gaumont
• Release date: Mar 24, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463093818

Valerie Gaumont

Valerie Gaumont is an evil genius whose mission is to take over the world. Her latest efforts were thwarted when her flying monkey army discovered beer. Currently they are in Rehab because no one likes a drunk flying monkey. (Thank you for your cards and letters of support.) When she is taking a break from villainy she can often be found with a pen in her hand. Yes, sometimes she is doodling, other times writing fiction and discovering new and interesting ways to combine reality with the outré. She has had short stories in the Violet Ampersand Anthology, Poetry, Prose and Other Voyages to the Edge, and the online Journal, Gothic Fairytales for Melancholy Children. In 2007 she was listed as a finalist in the William Faulkner International Writing Competition in the Novel-In-Progress category.

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Nameless

Valerie Gaumont

Copyright 2020 by Valerie Gaumont

License Statement

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Chapter 1

In the city of Pontuse, capitol of the Kingdom of Balosh, the streets were filled with the silence of the in-between time. A few hours earlier the last of the late night drinkers were turned out of the city’s numerous taverns to stumble home or into a dark corner where they hoped they would be well hidden from the patrol of the first watch as they slept off the effects of their night.

Dancing nimble around them were the thieves of Pontuse, relieving the unwary of whatever the tavern keepers left behind. Given recent shortages and escalating prices, what was left behind didn’t amount to much, causing many a dedicated cutpurse to grumble about trade interference as he slunk home to wait out the remainder of the night and compose a formal letter of complaint to the Master of the thieves’ guild.

Such letters became more frequent since the most recent trade embargo took effect and once a week the Master of the thieves’ guild presented the stack of complaints to the Master of the inn keeper and tavern owner’s guild. The Master of the inn keeper and tavern keeper’s guild accepted the papers with due solemnity and took them home where they were sliced into sections and, for a reasonable sum, offered to his inn and tavern guests for use in the outhouse.

While the disappointed thieves slunk off to compose their laments, the city waited. In an hour or two, the bells of Pontuse would call the first of the early risers from their beds. The bells were brass and cast by the Sculptor’s Guild, tuned by the Musician’s Guild, polished by the Metalworker’s Guild, rung by members of the United Temples Guild and guarded by the City Watch. They were the pride and privilege of the city.

It was a privilege for which every citizen of Pontuse was taxed annually to maintain. Once, several citizens complained of the tax, siting the fact that their occupations did not demand such an early wakeup call and the bells were in fact a nuisance, startling them awake in a time when they should be sleeping. They elected a man named Peter to be their representative, partially because he was brave, but mostly because he wasn’t terribly bright and he dutifully took the formal protest to the palace to have it read. The protest was read and the matter was duly scheduled for investigation. Before the investigation could begin, Peter met with a not unexpected accident wherein he stabbed himself in the back no less than eighteen times before plunging off a nearby promontory and into the frothing sea below.

When he failed to report for further questioning, the matter was deemed unworthy of further investigation. It was neatly filed as resolved and Peter’s skull came to reside in a small alcove next to the door of the bell tower. The officials were satisfied and no further protests were ever lodged.

Soon, as the hardworking citizens of Pontuse started their day, the First Watch would patrol, hauling anyone they found to be an unsavory addition to the morning streetscape into the already full holding cells while the street sweepers would take care of any non-human debris clogging the city’s thoroughfares. In Pontuse, capitol city of Balosh, even the gutters would shine at first light.

The castle on the hill also slept, its corridors silent. However, in one small cupboard hidden in the back of an enormous and more or less forgotten closet, a soft plinking sound could be heard. Secreted inside the cupboard behind generations of forgotten and out of date clothing and assorted debris, was a scale. On one side of the scale was balanced a large ceramic pitcher. Its handle was broken and its spout chipped. Suspended above the pitcher by an old fishing net attached to a hook in the top of the cupboard, was a large waterproof bladder with a tiny pin prick of a hole in the bottom. Water dripped slowly from the bladder into the waiting pitcher, one plinking drop at a time.

With each drop the pitcher became heavier and the scale’s balance was affected, the pitcher sinking and the other side, weighted with a stone roughly the same weight as the empty pitcher, rising. While the night started with the bladder full and the pitcher empty, now their positions were reversed. The final drop plinked into the full pitcher and the side with the stone was lifted just high enough to trip a small switch, releasing a polished wooden ball into a long wooden track.

Released from its prison, the ball rolled through the castle on its hidden track. It raced through empty dining halls and chambers where courtiers and royals snored and slumbered peacefully. It sped unnoticed through the empty kitchen and past the great bake ovens where young apprentices slumped, half asleep in front of the fires. Occasionally, the groggy apprentices would lean forward a few inches to add more fuel, keeping the ovens hot enough for the first bake of the morning, but mostly they sat in the stupefied daze of the half asleep.

Here the track descended, leaving the kitchen area and taking the ball into the lower depths of the castle. The steeper angle sped the ball on its way, faster and faster. The little wooden ball flew past a sign that read ‘Warning, Now entering the Assistant’s Quarters, all trespassers will be mauled.’ The warning was ignored as the ball gained momentum, speeding over the beds of the sleeping assistants until it approached its destination.

At the end of the room was a small bed. The blanket, made to fit the bed, was pulled over the occupant’s face, a wild tangle of black hair sticking out of the top. While the bed was small, the assistant occupying the bed was not. Over the bottom edge of the bed bare legs protruded, neither the blanket nor the bed big enough to contain them. On the left ankle, the sleeping assistant had a small crescent shaped birthmark the color of a freckle.

The last section of track sloped steeply downwards. The ball shot out of the end of the track and plonked the sleeping assistant in the head.

He yelled as the pain startled him from slumber. His yell woke the other assistants in their shadowy chamber and another day in the castle of Pontuse began.

I was having such nice dreams, the assistant at the end of the room said to himself as he sat up and rubbed the sore spot on his head. The room grew brighter as the awakening assistants began lighting the lamps in the windowless room.

Morning Nameless, the assistant in the bed beside him said as he stretched.

Morning, Hook, Nameless said as he picked up the small wooden ball that woke him and placed it in the jar beside his bed.

There were several other balls already there and Nameless did a quick count. ‘Friday then,’ he thought.

Friday was presentation day and never something he enjoyed. Today serving Prince Roland would be an extra chore. Nameless allowed himself a soft sigh that was covered up by his movements. Even though the assistant’s quarters were private and they had a code about keeping what went on here to themselves, things sometimes had a way of slipping out. It would not be appropriate for him to look less than enthusiastic about his duties.

‘Just think of Babble,’ he reminded himself.

Always quick with a joke and famed throughout the castle for his amusing and accurate impressions, Babble was a favorite of the courtiers. ‘At least until someone let slip about his impression of Lady Camille as a rampaging cow.’

Nameless was certain Babble only did the impression within the safety of the assistant’s quarters. He had been around long enough to know exactly how far he could take his jokes with the kingdom’s elite without stepping over the line. That impression, while startlingly accurate, and likely to cause many titters among the highborn, would not be deemed suitable as Lady Camille, if not well liked, was too well connected for many to risk offending by being seen to laugh at the joke.

Nameless cast a quick eye over Babble’s replacement, Hook. It was still a shock to see someone besides Babble in the bed next to him. Babble became an assistant only a week after he was promoted to his position.

When still a baby, Nameless, was dropped off at the servant’s entrance. He was found at the gate by the guards in a basket with no identifying papers. The queen ordered the nameless child sent to the kitchen and there he remained, for a while at least. Having no other name, Nameless became what he was called. He was raised by the kitchen staff with the same careless affection they showed for the castle dogs and when he was old enough, given small chores to perform.

When it was decided the young Prince Roland was old enough to have an assistant of his own, someone remembered his existence, judged his age to be about right, and Nameless was given the assistant position. He was still learning protocol when Babble arrived and took him under his wing. He added explanations and reasoning to the list of protocols and was the closest thing to a family Nameless ever had.

Before he left, Babble told him not to take his departure out on his replacement. Nameless agreed, but in truth, it wasn’t Hook that bothered Nameless. Hook was new. When Babble was dismissed, he applied with several other people and, after extended interviews, was ultimately chosen. He appeared in the assistant’s quarters for the first time after he made it through the selection process. Hook couldn’t have known, let alone told, of Babble’s bovine themed impersonation. It was the others Nameless now looked at with a slight suspicion.

As Nameless began to get ready for his day, he surreptitiously watched the others, trying to figure out who betrayed Babble. Across from him, Hunch fastened his false hump on to his back, double checking the strings to make certain they were secure before he pulled on his bright yellow shirt and bent into his daily stoop.

Next to him, Smiley was inserting his false teeth into his mouth. The set he fixed over his more ordinary teeth were far too large for his mouth, stretching his lips into a wide grin. The top row protruded out further than the bottom giving him a massive overbite. When he closed his mouth his front teeth nearly reached his chin. Around the room the others were fastening their clothes and accoutrements, each designed to alter their appearance to suit protocol.

‘An assistant’s job is to provide amusement to his master as a relief to the onerous duties of leadership,’ Nameless repeated to himself. ‘And by his appearance provide contrast so that the regal nature of the master can more clearly shine through.’

In his capacity as Prince Roland’s assistant, Nameless wasn’t certain what sort of amusement he provided the Prince. Nameless was with him through his lessons in geography, economics and history. While he was never asked to provide jokes or do the silly dances other assistants performed, he did most of the prince’s homework and wrote all of his essays.

‘I suppose I was amusing during his horseback riding and sword fighting lessons.’ Neither of those lessons came naturally to Prince Roland and having Nameless cutting capers with his own pony or sword often distracted his tutors from the prince’s poor performance. ‘And they were amusing to the others even if they were just a relief for Roland.’

Nameless always thought his actions obeyed the dictates of protocol, but lately he started questioning himself. Often, he caught Queen Margaret staring at him with dark looks, flashes of anger darting across her face. After much consideration he was fairly certain it was his height that was the issue as recent growth spurts now made him taller than the prince. Since princes were supposed to be tall and regal looking, Nameless immediately tried to correct the situation.

He started slumping and bending his knees, often scuttling crab-like around the room in an effort to appear shorter and more ridiculous than the prince. For the first few weeks, his thigh muscles and back ached terribly and he had to remind himself constantly to assume the necessary position. Now his muscles adapted and he found the pose easier to hold. In fact, his movements often brought a smile to the Prince’s face. Unfortunately, his mother’s dark looks remained and Nameless continued to adjust hoping to please her as he knew she had the power to send him away, regardless of the Prince’s opinion of the matter.

Nameless pulled out his clothes for the day and wondered if he should adjust his wardrobe again. ‘The eye patch seemed to help, but is it enough?’

The eye patch was his outfit’s latest addition. After the first time he wore it, Nameless found it affected his depth perception too much, so he poked a hole in the center and added decorative bits around it so the hole wasn’t too obvious. He expected questions and prepared an elaborate story composed of a string of vaguely amusing mishaps ending in the loss of the eye, but the questions never came. Roland didn’t seem to notice the change, but on the day he wore the eye patch, the queen’s features seemed a little less dark when she looked at him.

As Nameless sorted out his clothing for the day, in the space next to him Hook was fitting a hook over his ordinary looking right hand and beginning to tie down the laces binding it tightly into place.

Wasn’t that on the left hand yesterday? Nameless asked.

Hook looked down at it and sighed. I keep forgetting, he said. He unlaced the hook and began moving it to his left hand. You know in my old post we didn’t have to pretend to be maimed or grotesque. We simply had to be good at our jobs.

Nameless nodded. He heard it all before. Hook, once called Michael, was a servant in the neighboring kingdom of Genarai. He served his master until said master’s death. Deciding to see a bit of the world, Michael came to the capitol city of Pontuse in neighboring Balosh, seeking employment and became Hook.

As Hook talked, Nameless pulled on his socks. One was striped with red and yellow alternating bands and the other was bright blue with green polka dots. The socks reached well above his knees and had drawstrings at the top. He pulled them up and tied the laces at the top tightly. He knew that the ties would leave welts on his thighs, but the welts were better than risking a slip. While his pants were shortened for a comical effect and only reached the middle of his shins, they were also wide. His movements often made the cloth ride up and there was the possibility his knees might show. Showing such skin in public would scandalize the court and possibly call for his dismissal. With the queen somewhat displeased with him already, he knew he couldn’t risk it.

Nameless belted his pants in place and tugged the too large shirt over his head, pushing his arms in the sleeves. He frowned at the length. The cuffs were supposed to dangle over his hands displaying only the barest tips of his fingers when his arms were held to his sides. The extra length as well as the decades out of date froth of lace at the cuffs amused the prince. Now the lace only reached to his knuckles.

‘I must have grown again,’ he thought.

His last growth spurt caused him to add an extra wide cuff to his pants so they would remain a modest length even though shortened. It kept them amusing, but not scandalous. Over the years, he grew adept at basic clothing modification and was quite handy with a needle and thread. Unfortunately, he wasn’t quite certain how to lengthen the sleeves.

‘Maybe I can find an extra row of lace to add onto the end,’ he thought studying the cuffs. ‘If the material’s long enough I could stitch it to the sleeve and just sort of layer it underneath.’

The closet where he stashed his wake-up machine was where his clothing came from in the first place. Somehow it always had what he needed. Every time changes or additions were required for his wardrobe, he managed to find something suitable in its depths.

‘Maybe there is an extra shirt like this one. I could take the cuffs from it and attach them to this,’ Nameless nodded, liking the idea. Unfortunately, it would have to wait. ‘Today is presentation day so there will be no time,’ he thought resigned. ‘I’ll have to wait until Roland releases me to search. Maybe if I use extra hand movements no one will notice it is shorter.’

Nameless tried flopping his hands around using more elaborate hand gestures than usual and the layers of lace swirled around his dancing hands. ‘That should work for now,’ he decided as he moved to grooming his hair.

From the shelf by his bed, Nameless took a small jar. It was a special concoction he made himself. The base was lard, rendered so that it was perfectly white with very little meaty scent left behind, as long as he didn’t stay in the sun too long. The lard was then mixed with beeswax. Both ingredients were given to him by the master cook in exchange for occasionally using his height to help the much shorter man. Nameless scooped a little out of the container and rubbed his hands together before running his hands through his hair. In just a few minutes his dark hair stuck up in all directions making him look a bit like a shocked hedgehog.

Nameless added a little more to ensure his hair would be ready for Presentation and carefully wiped his hands so no trace of the grease remained on his skin. Once Prince Roland released him from his duties, Nameless knew he would have to scrub his hair with his special soap and rinse several times to get the mixture out. If left too long it would start to smell and Prince Roland wouldn’t abide a stinky assistant.

Nameless tugged on his shoes noticing they were no longer oversized and were now on the verge of pinching his toes. Replacing them was another thing he would have to look into and soon. Those he could not fix on his own and replacing them would require a more lengthy search of the closet.

Dismissing the worry for later, Nameless slipped the collection of wooden balls out of his jar and into his voluminous pocket. Tonight before bed he would have to put them back into his contraption and pour the water from the pitcher back to the bladder readying it for the following morning’s wake up call. After setting up the scale, he could rummage around in the closet’s confines for the things he needed.

Nameless looked around and saw everyone completed their dressing and was starting to move towards the kitchen. Nameless fell into step behind the lot of them, still wondering which one of them exposed Babble.

As a group they filed into the kitchen and took their positions against the back wall. Here they would be out of the way as the newly awakened kitchen staff went about their business. Each of them was handed a bowl of thin porridge to eat as they waited. It was the only sign anyone gave that they even noticed the motley assortment of assistants. Nameless ate his breakfast, the porridge at least filling him up and stopping the rumbling in his belly, despite having little taste to it.

He knew the kitchen staff from his time living with them, but it had been a long while since they even admitted to his existence. Even the cook, who he occasionally helped out when no one was around to see, ignored his presence in the mornings. At first it stung, in time he simply accepted that assistants and kitchen staff belonged to two separate worlds that only occasionally brushed together.

He watched the kitchen folk move as though they were actors in a play. They smiled, flirted, worked and complained, all without acknowledging their audience of assistants. Despite their feigned ignorance, Nameless noticed they never came too close to the assistants, as though fearing their grotesque appearances. It was only cook who addressed them directly, and even then only to give or take away their bowls.

By the time the porridge was gone, the bowls collected and washed, the trays the assistants were there to collect for their masters were ready. The breakfast these trays carried was far different from the one they just ate and Nameless found his mouth salivating from the delicious scents managing to sneak out from under the silver cloche covering the array of plates. In truth, breakfast was the only time he truly envied Prince Roland and occasionally fanaticized about running off with the breakfast tray to a dark corner. He was always hungry these days.

Babble told him it was his growth spurts causing the hunger, as his belly tried to add more meat onto his ever growing bones. He said that when Nameless stopped growing, the hunger would dissipate somewhat. Since no one knew where Nameless came from or had any of his relatives to compare him to, no one knew when he would stop growing or when the hunger would stop. Nameless inhaled deeply of the scents, trying to use them to fill the hollows of his cavernous frame. It was only thoughts of the inevitable reprisals that kept him on task in delivering the tray.

Nameless picked up the tray designated for Prince Roland, ignoring his traitorous belly. As the prince was still safely ensconced in his bedchamber and the halls were for the most part empty, Nameless didn’t bother with his bent back crab walk. The assistants dispersed to their master’s chambers. As Hunch served the Prince’s cousin Allister whose chambers were located in the same corridor, Nameless followed the swaying hump of his up the stairs and into the corridor.

As they walked, Nameless tried to think of a reason Hunch would betray Babble, but couldn’t come up with one. The two always got along, occasionally swapping stories of life before they were assistants and sharing jokes that weren’t suitable to repeat in the presence of their masters. Hunch didn’t want Babble’s position. Technically speaking Hunch had the higher position as his master was the Queen’s nephew and Babble’s master was only a third cousin.

‘Hunch didn’t even apply for a transfer,’ Nameless reminded himself as they reached the doors to their respective chambers. From what Nameless could see, Hunch gained nothing from Babble’s dismissal. ‘So it probably wasn’t him.’ The thought brought some relief because he liked Hunch and knew him almost as long as he knew Babble. He even helped perfect his new walk when he saw Nameless practicing his crabbed walk in their quarters.

Psst, Nameless, Hunch whispered. Nameless turned to him. Your eye patch.

Right, Nameless said. Thanks.

He balanced the breakfast tray on one hip and fumbled the eyepatch out of his pocket. He managed to slide the eye patch in place without dropping the tray and looked over to Hunch who nodded in approval.

‘Hunch didn’t betray Babble,’ Nameless decided as he pushed open the door to Prince Roland’s chambers and began his day. ‘It had to be someone else.’

Chapter 2

Nameless pushed aside all thoughts of Babble’s betrayal as he crossed the threshold into Prince Roland’s quarters. Even though the sun crested the horizon, the room was still dark, swaddled with thick curtains to block out the light. Familiar with the routine the prince preferred, Nameless placed the breakfast tray on the small table beside the prince’s favorite chair. He then moved silently to the set of chimes placed across the room. He picked up the small padded hammer and looked to the bed and the blanket covered mound that was Prince Roland. A deep, snorting sort of snore emanated from its depths.

Nameless took a deep breath and hoped the Prince woke up in a good mood. With one eye still on the Prince, Nameless began to tap the different sized pipes lightly with the padded hammer. A delicate tune floated across the darkened room. It was a tune that frequently haunted Nameless’ dreams.

As he played, he wondered where he first heard it. It was like nothing the court minstrels played. As he thought about it, his mind brushed the edge of a memory. All he could glean from it was the scents of mingled mint and jasmine mixing with the tune. Trying to push his memory further only gave him a headache. Still he couldn’t resist trying.

This time was as fruitless as the others and as he reached the end of the tune, all he had was a slight ache in his temple from the effort. Nameless let the memory fragment slide away as he began to play the tune again, this time slightly louder. The tune was still drowned out by the prince’s snoring. Nameless began the tune a third time, hammering the rounded pipes that comprised the chimes a little harder. The snoring stopped and a pig like snorting took its place as Roland started to wake. A low groaning drifted out from under the covers. Nameless continued playing as he watched the movement increase, the Prince edging into true wakefulness.

A hand emerged from under the covers and Nameless watched it groping around, wondering what today’s projectile would be. If the prince was in a good mood, it would be the silk sachet stuffed with lavender designed to encourage pleasant dreams. If not, it would be one of the more solid items. Nameless saw the hand close over a silver candlestick and braced himself, even as he continued playing.

Silence, Roland bellowed, sitting up and throwing the candlestick at Nameless as hard as he could.

Even though he knew it amused the prince when the objects actually hit him, Nameless couldn’t stop his hand from darting up and catching the candlestick before it collided with his face. Roland frowned as the last of the sound from the chimes faded away and Nameless set the small hammer down on the stand holding the chimes.

Quick little toad aren’t you? Roland said grumpily as he slid out of bed.

The prince rubbed his face as he crossed the room and opened the door to the necessary. As the door shut behind him, Nameless walked to the night stand and returned the candlestick to its usual position. While Roland emptied his bladder, Nameless moved around the room, drawing the curtains back and letting the morning light stream into the room.

By the time Roland emerged, his chambers were bright and sunny. The prince moved to his chair and lifted the silver dome from his breakfast tray. The scents drifted up and tickled Nameless’ nose, tempting him. He ignored them as well as he was able.

Today I am going out among the populace, Roland drawled lazily as he studied the offerings of the kitchen.