Raised By Wolves 3 - Treasure by W A Hoffman Read Free Book Online

behind to weather our absence, and packing all we wished to take. Gaston and I discussed whether we should dig up our small chest of gold or leave it hidden here. On the one hand, due to some unforeseen circumstance – a thing our lives were often plagued by – we might have need of the money, and it would be difficult to quickly return here and fetch it. But on the other, we knew not where we could safely hide such a princely sum in Port Royal if any were to become aware of it – and it was heavy.
    We at last decided to take it with us, but not in the chest with the Sable family crest upon it. We dug up that chest and placed the coins in the bottom of Gaston’s medicine chest in neat layers that would not rattle.
    We would have to remove the gold, and either leave it in someone’s keeping or hide it elsewhere, before we went roving.
    Striker was not pleased that we wished to bring the dogs. Pete was elated. Striker grumbled a great deal. And thus we said goodbye to the goats and chickens, called the dogs to us, and made our way to the boat laden with all the weapons we owned, two bags of personal items, and Gaston’s now extremely heavy medicine chest – not that it had ever been particularly light. We were under way with the evening breezes, sailing quickly about the Point and then east along the southern coast. The sun made its magnificent descent in our wake. I thought it poetically appropriate that we sailed into looming darkness.
    While we had been engaged in packing, our visitors had left us alone and attempted to recover from their night’s excesses. Now that we were all aboard the small flyboat, and there was little to do other than change the sail for each tack, an awkward silence settled over us with the deepening twilight. Striker and Theodore contemplated the sea, the deck, and the sails with frowns and sighs and avoided meeting my eye.
    I wearied of it quickly. I would have been concerned for its affect upon Gaston, if my matelot had not been deeply lost in his own thoughts, which appeared to be of a distressing nature, enough to cause him to fidget endlessly. This, of course, was not lost upon the others, and even Pete eyed him with concern. I did not think addressing any of their concerns would put anyone at ease; however, I did feel that perhaps addressing the matter from a different angle might be in order: there were things I was curious about. And so I sat before Gaston and took his hands in mine. He appeared both relieved and embarrassed by my attention.
    “From what does your father’s wealth derive?” I asked. In two and a half years, we had rarely discussed his father or his birthplace, and never in regards to matters mundane. “My father’s wealth stems from tariffs he manages for the king, and rents on the family estate.”
    Gaston regarded me blankly for several moments and then frowned in troubled thought.
    Striker spoke into the silence. “Just that? Your father’s not some merchant? You always speak of your damn cousin being involved with his business.”
    I smiled. “Aye, but the business at hand is being a noble and all that entails. Noblemen, whether French or English, are not allowed to engage in anything so base as commerce or practice a trade. In France it is law.
    If they engage in business not in keeping with their heritage, they suffer dérogeance – they are stripped of their titles. That is why dallying about at court, and maintaining good relations, if not the favor of one’s king or emperor, is important. Without being granted position by the king, or being in his favor to enhance their status and lands, nobles often become poor.”
    “So they can’t work?” Striker asked incredulously. “Even if they want to.”
    “Even if they need to,” I chuckled. “Aye, but if you feel that engaging in the politics of court is not exhausting, time-consuming, and fraught with peril, you are sadly mistaken.”
    “My father does none of that,” Gaston spat. “He is a