Darius waddled into his bedroom and stood in the middle of the chamber while his two servant-boys worked around him, removing his hat, his gloves, unclipping his cloak-chain, putting on his house-slippers for him and tugging on his dressing-gown and doing up the loose, cloth belt for him. The prince waddled over to his armchair to sit down and take a load off his feet.

He frowned.

"Bretton", he said. "Why isn't my fire lit?"

"I don't know, master", Bretton said.

"Why isn't my fire LAID?"

"I don't know!"

"Lay one. Xavian, go to Prince Richard's bedchamber and get a flaming twist of paper to light the fire with".

While Bretton knelt on the hearth to build the fire, Xavian left the room. He returned a few minutes later, empty-handed.

"Well?" Darius asked.

"Prince Richard's fire isn't lit either!"

"Well what about Prince Javelin's?"

"No".

"Titan's?"

"No".

"Vulcan?"

"No".

"What about my father's bedroom?"

"No".

"What about Tristan's bedroom?"

"No. None of the fires in the royal family's private wing have been lit!"

"What!?" Darius barked. "It's...Bretton what's the temperature?"

"Minus twenty, your Royal Highness", said Bretton, who was checking a thermometer hanging by the far wall.

"It's FREEZING...it's BELOW freezing! WELL below!" Darius fumed, "Why the hell aren't any of the fires lit!?"

"I-I I don't know, your Royal Highness!" said Xavian, "I guess...I...I don't know!"

"Find a fireboy and get him to get the fires in this part of the palace lit at ONCE! Especially in my grandfather's bedchamber and private sitting-room. At his age it's not safe for him to be in cold rooms".

"Yes sir! No sir!" said Xavian. He left the room at once and went to try and find some fireboys - the servant-boys whose duties it was to light fires, keep them going, clean grates, clean hearths, sweep chimneys, light and replace candles, trim wicks and fill lamps.

Xavian returned several minutes later pulling a boy after him. The boy was black with soot and grey with ash. It was little wonder that the fireboys were ordered to do their duties when everyone else wasn't around - It would never do for one of these filthy servant-boys to appear in the presence of the king!

Or, for that matter, the boy who would be king.

"Boy!" Darius said. He never bothered to learn the names of such lowly servants, "The fires in the family's wing aren't lit. Why not?"

"P-please s-sir", said the boy, shivering, "T-two fireboys were injured this morning. They're in the palace infirmary getting better. But that only leaves four others to light every single fire in the palace and that's taking a long time. We don't have as many hands to do the work as we used to, sir. And Dr. Farrier says that Simon and Peter will be laid up for weeks until their arms heal".

"Who?" Darius asked.

"The two injured fireboys, sir!"

Darius frowned. How inconsiderate that they should choose TODAY of all days, to break their arms...

He grunted.

"Light the fire, boy", Darius commanded.

"Yes sir!"

"Then light every other one".

"Yes sir!"

The boy got on his knees in front of the fireplace. He grabbed a brush and swept away the ashes and collected the charcoal. He brushed down some of the soot and then started building a fire. He pulled tinder and flint from his pocket and started striking the two together to create sparks, puffing and blowing gently to encourage flames. Once the fire was going, the boy pumped a pair of bellows open and shut to get the air flowing into the miniature inferno before him, before he got up, bowed and left the room, wheeling a cart full of ash with him.

Darius sighed. Servants!

"I think I'll just read", Darius said, picking up a book nearby. "Get me some milk and cookies, Bretton".

"Yes master!"

"Thank you".