Crownsmith Chronicles

On his way back, Key decided to stop by Castor's office. When he arrived, he found him standing outside, taking rapid puffs of his pipe, and staring despondently into the distance.

"Captain, sir," Key saluted as he approached. "Is everything okay?"

Castor's demeanor lifted slightly at the sight of Key. His disgruntled look became more contemplative. "Is everything okay? No. Look at me. I'm smoking outside instead of inside from the comfort of my own chair. Why, you ask? Remember when the King told us he wanted the royal prince to get a taste of the outside world from the perspective of the Office of Investigations? Well, he's here now and apparently very sensitive to smoke."

"The royal prince is in your office?" Key asked, trying to make sense of what the captain was telling him. "And he told you to go outside?"

"That's what I said, isn't it?" Castor resumed his sulking posture as he took several more puffs.

"I am very sorry to hear that," Key stated resolutely and then turned to leave. He had seen enough nobility for one day and was eager not to see any more. He was ready to go somewhere where he could let his guard down. So, when Castor asked him where he was going in such a hurry, he got a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"Don't you want to go inside and say hello?" Castor asked, tapping out his pipe on the bottom of his boot.

"Not particularly."

"Come on, it might be good for your career. Soon enough, you'll be able to look after him all by yourself. Won't that be fun? Yes, it will," Castor insisted. He had a hint of a smile that probably meant he was concocting a plan. Before Key could turn and run for his life, Castor took him by the shoulder and guided him into the office.

Prince Bartholemew sat at Key's old desk, painting a bowl of fruit that sat on Castor's desk. The fruit was likely contributing to Castor's poor mood. Two guards stood behind the prince; they were members of the Guardian Elite, a special class of highly skilled guards distinguished by their royal crests and wolf-like helmets. They stood motionless behind the prince as he painted a canvas and, consequently, everything else around it.

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"Can you be a dear and bring me that apple?" the prince asked, pointing at the fruit bowl on Castor's desk. Key, desiring to avoid conflict, walked straight for the apple, picked it up, and placed it in front of the prince. He immediately moved to stand out of the way. "I've seen you before," the prince announced as he pointed at Key with his paintbrush. "Come here and tell me what you think of this."

In the line of duty, Key marched back around his old desk to look at the painting. It wasn't good. As he stared at the bland colors and simple shapes, he came to the realization that he would need to lie. There just wasn't another way out of it. He cleared his throat.

"It's good," he said, keeping to the plan. "I like it."

"What do you like about it?" Bartholemew asked, looking into Key's eyes for confirmation.

Key searched his imagination for any quality of the painting that he liked and came up short. He couldn't think of a single complement. His gaze fell on Castor, who, across the room, was already loading another pipe. He considered what Castor would say. He had a way of conjuring eloquent words that seemed to come from nowhere. But they didn't come from nowhere, did they? They had to come from somewhere. Wherever it was, Key was going to find it.

He cleared his throat and dug deep into his inner Castor. "The colors. I see that you have different colors representing the different fruits. The colors complement each other better than the colors of the actual fruit. None of the shapes are identical. That's good. There are cracks and grooves on the bowl, but you didn't paint them because you were perfecting them in your art. That's what it is; you've made a better fruit bowl than the one you were painting."

The prince looked at the fruit bowl and then back at the painting. He frowned, squinted, and crossed his arms. Finally, his expression changed. It looked like he was beginning to believe everything Key had said. When he looked back up again, Key was standing by the door.

"Thank you for your time, Captain, but I am expected back at my office," Key said, opening the door before he had turned to look at it. "Thank you for sharing your art, Your Highness. It was truly inspirational. By your leave."

After Key had nearly slammed the door behind himself, the prince decided to gift him with the art he had enjoyed so much. Castor agreed that his office could use some brightening up and suggested they follow him back. So, the prince gathered up his art supplies, took the revered painting off of the easel, and walked outside. He was in time to see Key walking in the distance as a carriage pulled up next to him. Some masked men jumped out of the carriage, put a sack over his head, and pulled him inside. Having witnessed the kidnapping, Castor and the prince stood confounded as the carriage rode off into the sunset.