The captain was still pondering a smart remark when he realised that the Wyrm was no longer among them.
That was amazing, Harmodius said.
They lingered over breakfast.
‘The marmalade is like-’ Mag giggled, her mouth full of warm, crusty bread with rich new butter.
‘Like God-made marmalade?’ asked Ser Alcaeus.
‘I feel like a thief,’ Ranald said. He’d taken one of the swords from over the fireplace.
Tom took down the other. He grinned. ‘God,’ he said, flicking his thumb over the blade. He gave a moan of pleasure as the blade he’d chosen swept through the air.
The Keeper shook his head. He had a box in his lap. ‘I’m afraid to open it.’
Ser Alcaeus rose and took down the sword hanging behind the main roof beam – with a belt and scabbard. It matched his arms – a surprisingly short sword with a heavy wheel pommel. ‘These are things left for us. Indeed, unless I miss my guess, the whole cot is made for us.’
‘I’m not leaving until the marmalade is finished,’ Mag said, and laughed. She picked up her napkin to get the stickiness out of the corners of her mouth, and there was a chatelaine on the table beneath it – gold and silver and enamel, with sharp steel scissors, a needle case full of needles, and a dozen other objects suspended on chains – including a pair of keys.
‘Oh,’ she said, and flushed, her hand to her bosom. ‘Oh, par dieu. It is magnificent.’
Gawin tried some of the marmalade. ‘I had the most remarkable dream,’ he said. ‘I wore a green belt-’ He stumbled to silence. There was a green belt around his hips, worked in green enamel with gold plaques, and from it hung a heavy dagger in green and gold.
The captain stood under the roof beam, looking up at the spear.
‘Just take it, man!’ said Tom.
The captain rubbed his chin. ‘I’m not sure I want it,’ he said.
Take it! Take it! Harmodius couldn’t control himself.
Five feet of ancient blackthorn, knotty and yet straight as an arrow. And at the top, a long, heavy blade gleamed.
‘Someone has taken the magister’s staff, and fitted it like a glaive,’ the captain said.
Take it, you fool.
The captain rubbed his chin. ‘I’m going to see to the horses.’
So much of my power. Please? He wouldn’t have brought it here unless he trusted us to use it.
‘I can’t help but notice that his gifts either bind, are pointed, or are double edged,’ said the captain. ‘Belts and blades.’
Don’t be a fool.
Am I a fool to be slow to make use of tools I do not understand? asked the captain. The stakes are very high. I will probably take it in the end. But not right now-
He took his time currying the horses. They looked fat and happy. It had been a way of hiding from his father when he was young.
When they were all gleaming like the sun on the water of the high loch outside, he went back into the cot – so much bigger on the inside than the outside – and took the spear down from its nails.
It was a heavy blackthorn shaft, but the butt was spiked in bronze and inlaid in gold, and the head was magnificently worked – folded steel, carefully chiselled.
Oh. Empty. Harmodius lost all interest in it. Not mine at all.
The captain hefted it for a long time.
Then he frowned and tucked it under his arm.
One by one they filed out of the cot. Mag left last, and closed the door behind her.
She looked puzzled. ‘I thought it would . . . vanish’ she said.
‘He’s not showy,’ the captain responded.
They all mounted, and rode over the ridges. In two ridges, the cot was gone, hidden in the folds of earth.
‘If I ride back, will there be aught there?’ Tom asked.
The captain shrugged. ‘Does it matter?’
‘You know what?’ Tom said. ‘He reminded me of you. Only – more so.’
He laughed.
The captain raised an eyebrow. ‘I think I’m flattered, Tom,’ he said.
Tom patted the sword at his side. ‘I have a magic sword,’ he said happily. ‘I want to go try it on something.’
Ranald shook his head. ‘Tom, you hate magic.’
Tom grinned. ‘Och. You can teach an old dog a new trick, if ye are patient.’
Gawin shook his head. ‘Why us?’
The captain shook his head.
They rode on.
The woodsmen were gone. There was no pile of bodies, no line of graves, no rusting tools. Merely gone.
Over the Irkill a stone bridge stood on heavy pilings, as wide as two horsemen abreast or a single wagon, and on the other side sat a new keep – a square tower – with a small toll house.
It was solid, and smelled of new masonry. The Keeper sat in the road, looking at it.
‘Open it,’ said the captain.
The Keeper looked at him.
‘The box – open it.’ The captain crossed his arms.
There was an anticlimactic moment as the Keeper rooted in his malle and emerged with his box. He opened it.
The box held a circlet, an arm ring, and a key.
The key fitted the door of the keep.
The circlet fit on his brow. He tried it and then snatched it off.
‘Damn,’ he said.
‘He’s telling you something,’ said Ranald.
‘The arm ring is for the drover,’ said the Keeper. ‘I know it.’
Ranald looked at it. ‘Leave it lie, then,’ he said. ‘I’ll come back in spring, and we’ll see.’
They rode back to the inn.
Toby unpacked his master’s portmanteau and appeared at his elbow. ‘M’lord?’ he asked.
The captain was playing piquet with Maggie. He looked up.
‘What do I do with these?’ he asked. He held up two velvet bags. They all but glowed a deep, dark red.
‘Not mine,’ the captain said.
‘Begging your pardon, m’lord, but they was in your bag.’ Toby held them out again.
The captain looked in one, and laughed. ‘Why, Toby, I’ve just discovered our host was more thoughtful than I had imagined. Come here.’ He gestured to his new squire. ‘I assume these are for you.’ He handed the bag over.
In it was a pair of silver spurs. Rich squires wore such things.
Toby gasped.
The captain shook his head. ‘He knew we were coming, but we sent Toby back.’ He looked in the other bag. And frowned.
A small, and very beautiful ring, gleamed in the bottom of the bag. It said ‘IHS’. ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘This is too much,’ he said quietly, and flung the bag across the room.
It bounced off the wall.
He went back to his cards.
In the morning, when he went to pay the Keeper, he found the ring among his coins.
Give it up said the magister. He wants her, as well. You two are not done with each other, it seems.
He embraced the Keeper. ‘Got anyone going west to Lissen Carak?’ he asked.
The Keeper grinned. ‘In the autumn, maybe, and then only with twenty swords,’ he said.
The captain wrote a brief note on parchment. ‘Send this, then.’ He wrapped the ring in the parchment. It gave him the oddest feeling.
‘Go well, Captain,’ said the Keeper. ‘Stop here when you come west for the tournament.’
The captain raised his eyebrows.
‘You are a famous knight,’ the Keeper said with his child-like delight in knowing news the others didn’t know. ‘The Queen has ordained that there will be a great tournament at Lorica, at Pentecost in the New Year.’
The captain rolled his eyes. ‘Not my kind of fight, Keeper.’
The Keeper shrugged. ‘So you say.’
They spent five days riding over the mountains to Morea. They came down the pass north of Eva and the captain took them south and then east over the hills to Delf. He didn’t seem to be in a hurry. Gawin and Alcaeus were of the same mind, and Tom and Ranald saw the whole trip as an adventure, riding high on the hillsides, searching out caves . . .