The Bastard 2

by Jack Porter

  Which meant that we had to hurry.

  “Okay, Sir George,” I said to my faithful companion. “If you were a merchant’s daughter on the run from the King’s men, where would you be?”

  There was no way to tell. I knew it had to be a systematic search of the grounds. To find her another way would be little more than sheer luck.

  So I raised my hood over my head and crossed the inner courtyard to the first of the buildings I had to search, rubbing my amulet for luck as I went.

  37

  My efforts took me through storage rooms, a small library filled with all sorts of parchments, and rooms that seemed to be designed for seminars. While some were empty, others were not, and I had to back out from these quickly, muttering apologies as I went. I quickly discovered that the monastery was a busy place even during the early evening, and wondered how different the lives of these people were from my own. In a way, it seemed a peaceful existence, largely insulated from normal existence. At the same time, I wondered if these people, the acolytes, the monks, and those who were studying, might have been missing something while hidden away behind walls of their own choosing.

  But mostly, I just gritted my teeth and hoped that I would find Anwen soon.

  Or any of us. It didn’t have to be me.

  I was heading across one of the inner courtyards to what looked to be a stable when Elaine hurried up to me. At first, I thought maybe she had gained some sort of success. But Anwen wasn’t with her, and her expression was full of concern.

  “The Blackcoats are here,” she said quietly to me.

  “What? What do you mean, here?”

  “At the main chapel. There is an entire squad of them. Seven, maybe eight or so. When I left, they were arguing with one from the Order, demanding access.”

  I gritted my teeth. That was all we needed. Yet, really, it changed nothing. It just meant that our timeframe was even shorter than we had thought.

  I nodded, and that was enough. Elaine turned from me and headed onward. “I’m going to tell my father,” she said as she left.

  I cursed under my breath as I made my way to the stables and inside. The smell of straw and horses competed with the odor of wet wool from my robe, and the stables’ occupants made the small noises of their kind, shifting their feet, offering snorts and grumbles as a boy or two groomed and fed them, ignoring me as if I didn’t exist.

  To my surprise, the horses were not the only residents. There was also a flock of ducks taking shelter from the rain, most of them curled up with their heads back as they gathered together.

  Once more, I found myself wondering where I would be if I was Anwen. And then I realized that I wouldn’t be in a stable.

  So I cursed once again and turned about, striding back into the courtyard to look around.

  Within these different buildings, there were a couple of hundred members of the Order of the Penitent. Some of those members were part of a loose group of people with the shared goal of deposing the King.

  And somewhere in these walls, there were half a dozen Blackcoats and more, about to conduct their own search.

  “If you were part of a conspiracy,” I murmured to Sir George, “out to murder the King, would you think to bring someone like Anwen here? And if you would, why would your co-conspirators think it’s a good idea?”

  The rat dragon didn’t care to answer. He had settled himself inside of the baggy hood of my monk’s robe, but didn’t seem to be completely comfortable. He shifted his weight this way and that, a moving lump of scales and length on my shoulder.

  I thought about all the different parts that made up the monastery. Every one of them could be searched by the Blackcoats as easily as they could be searched by us. Which meant that there was nowhere Anwen would be safe. Unless…

  “There is a bolthole somewhere,” I said out loud.

  I knew I was onto something. The question was, where would that bolthole be?

  Where would the monks have built a secret hiding place to protect one of their own—or Anwen—from anyone who wished them harm?

  From the Blackcoats themselves?

  I found myself looking at the various buildings, thinking it through. And my gaze kept going back to the main chapel, where the Blackcoats had entered.

  “Let’s look at it another way. If I was seeking sanctuary, where would I go?”

  I knew I was right. Without any further thought, I made my way to the chapel, but didn’t enter. Instead, I waited. Somewhere within, the Blackcoats were already doing the work. And while I doubted they would know my face, I knew for a fact that the monks within would not. So I waited with my back to the wall, out in the rain.

  “If I had been running from someone and begged the Order for sanctuary, then they would have to be able to hide me pretty damn quick,” I reasoned. “And that means the bolthole is here.”

  I kept waiting.

  After some minutes, to my surprise, Elaine and Galahad approached from the living quarters.

  They approached as casually as possible, just two members of the Order out for a stroll in the rain, and as soon as they were close, Galahad made his report. “Nothing,” he said, the tone of his voice speaking volumes. He was disappointed that he didn’t have better news. And the man’s expression seemed to mirror that disappointment. Yet the fire in Elaine’s eyes still remained. If anything, it had grown even brighter. As if the presence of the Blackcoats added excitement more than anything else.

  “There is one more place I want to try,” I said, indicating the chapel outside of which we were standing.

  “I’ve already checked,” Elaine said.

  “Did you find the bolthole?”

  At first, Elaine seemed puzzled. Then she understood. “I didn’t see any sign of one,” she said.

  I had to grin. “That means it would be a good place for Anwen to hide.”

  It wasn’t much in the way of proof, and we all knew it. Yet none of them disagreed. At the same time, simply waiting for the Blackcoats to leave didn’t sit well with Elaine’s psyche. She stood there for just a few seconds before coming to a decision. “I’ll get Meghan,” she said. “Whether Anwen is here or not, we might want to leave this place smartly. It won’t take the Blackcoats long to smell something is up if they head to the kitchen.”

  It didn’t take Elaine long, and the Blackcoats started spilling out of the chapel as she and Meghan were walking across the yard toward us. For reasons of her own, Meghan now wore the guise of her old self, but Elaine was still Elaine.

  She was stunning. A spectacular bloom in a city made of mud and drizzle. And it didn’t take the Blackcoats long to notice.

  While many had peeled off in the same way we had done to search the other outbuildings, three of the Blackcoats noticed Elaine’s beauty and thought to say something to her.

  Immediately, my hand went to the hilt of my sword, even though it was hidden beneath my monk’s robes and far harder to draw than it normally would have been. But Galahad reached out and placed his hand on my arm to stay any false moves.

  I knew he was right but couldn’t help but glare in anger at the Blackcoats as they said their piece.

  Elaine ignored them completely, but Meghan did not. She turned to them, waving her staff like an old woman might have waved a broom, shooing them off.

  It worked. The Blackcoats laughed, but left them both alone.

  And then we were all back together. The four of us entered the chapel through the door through which the Blackcoats had left.

  38

  We paused just inside and looked all around.

  The inside of the chapel was much the same as the inside of any chapel I’d ever seen. The small church that Galahad and his daughter lived in might have looked much the same before being torn apart by Meghan and Merlin. A wide-open space with vaulted ceiling, a raised dais at the far end, and rows of wooden pews for the worshippers. The walls were made of stone, and there was a large cross suspended at the far end, just in front of the stained-
glass window.

  And there was one elderly monk who was looking at us with a suspicious expression.

  “I don’t know you,” he said.

  I tried a smile. “We are friends of Anwen de Maris. Here to take her away before the Blackcoats return.”

  I spoke with my most charming, disingenuous tone, but knew before I’d even got the words out that this old guy wouldn’t believe me.

  The set of his features, the piercing look to his eye told me all I needed to know. This was a difficult old man, suspicious and immovable. No wonder the Blackcoats had taken so long to get through the chapel.

  The old man shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said flatly, even though I could see that he did.

  I tried to think of a reason for the old curmudgeon to help us, but Elaine chose a more direct route. From somewhere, she conjured a dagger and stepped forward. It was a fast move, much faster than I could have done, and within the blink of an eye, she had the blade pressed to the old man’s throat.

  “We know she is here,” Elaine said. “Whether you believe it or not, we are her friends, and we are here to help her. But we don’t have time to play any games. So why don’t you just tell us where she is, and we will be on our way.”

  I could see the fear in the old man’s eyes as he took in Elaine’s determination, and the way the rest of us simply stood back and watched. Yet my judgment of him was on the mark. Despite his fear, he refused to be moved. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. But feel free to look around, if you so desire. The Blackcoats who were here before did that, and they found nothing. You are free to try your luck as well.”

  With a growl of frustration, Elaine let the old man go. Yet she didn’t leave him with all his freedoms. “Know that should you even think to run or call for help, you will be dead before you know it.”

  I hadn’t known Elaine very long, and while I didn’t think she would go through with her threat, she put enough intensity in it that I couldn’t be sure.

  But much of the fear in the old man’s eyes drained away. “Wouldn’t think of it,” he said.

  I looked to Meghan. “Do you have any way to force him to tell us what we need to know?” I asked.

  The enchantress pursed her lips as if thinking it through, but in the end shook her head. “Not really. I have some things that would work as torture, but no more than that.”

  I considered the option, but quickly dismissed it. “We know she is here. All we need to do is find her.”

  The four of us started to look, focusing mostly on the floor, looking for a trapdoor or something. But the chapel was too simple a structure. Four walls, the vaulted ceiling, and floorboards that showed no sign of any hidden escape.

  After a quick search, I was stumped. I thought maybe I had made a mistake. Even the raised dais offered no clues. There was nothing in the chapel that suggested anywhere anyone could hide.

  I knew that we were taking too long. Knew that we should already be gone, away from there, away from the Blackcoats who were searching for me as well as for Anwen. But it didn’t make sense! This was the most reasonable place for a bolthole of some sort. Anwen had to be there!

  I just needed to figure it out.

  I found myself cursing under my breath as I sought for inspiration. But in the end, it was Meghan le Fay who solved it. She had been watching me and the unhelpful monk closely, and I was wondering if she had decided to resort to torture after all.

  Instead, she had something different in mind.

  Still in the guise of an old woman, she suddenly smiled. “Perhaps I was a little bit hasty before,” she said. “I was thinking along the lines of a truth serum. A way to get what we need from this elderly monk. But there might be another way. Mordie, bring me one of those candles.”

  I didn’t even question her but went to the dais and plucked one of the candles from its spot. Like dozens of others all around it, it was short and fat with a wick that burned brightly, but with significant soot. I brought the candle to her, but she didn’t take it.

  “Hold it for me,” she commanded.

  I did so, and the old woman drew herself up to her full height. She closed her eyes, and with her staff in one hand, used the other to gesture. At the same time, she began to chant in the same strange, unpronounceable language she had used before.

  “Witchcraft!” the elderly monk exclaimed.

  “Yes,” I shot back at him. “Now don’t interrupt, or we will be forced to cut out your tongue!”

  As if to prevent the man from making any further comments, Elaine stepped up beside him with her knife at the ready.

  It proved enough to quiet the monk down.

  Meghan continued to chant and to gesture. And all at once, the flame of the candle grew bigger and brighter. It turned green, to the color I had started to associate with her magic, and as soon as it did, Meghan opened her eyes.

  She smiled at the result of her effort, as if she was satisfied by what she saw.

  “Excellent,” she said. “This is an old spell. Perhaps I should have thought of it sooner. But it isn’t designed for finding people who are hidden so much as for checking to ensure that a patient still lives. And sometimes, that can be surprisingly difficult to tell.”

  I understood. “What do I need to do?”

  “Bring the candle closer to me,” Meghan asked.

  As I drew nearer, the green flame grew even taller and brighter.

  “You see?” Meghan said.

  I nodded. “If she is near, the candle will show that,” I said.

  “Exactly.”

  We no longer needed to figure out where Anwen was. Instead, all I needed to do was walk around and watch the flame.

  And so that was what I did, holding the flame close to the floor to begin with, to make sure she wasn’t in some hidden basement. But when that showed no result, I started to move next to the walls.

  At the same time, I kept half an eye on the old monk and could see him watching me closely. As I drew nearer and nearer to the far end of the chapel, beyond the dais, I could see him start to fret, and I knew I was on the right path.

  And then the flame confirmed it. Right at the far end of the chapel, beneath the stained-glass window where the wooden cross hung above the floor. Somehow, there must have been a hidden room there. The candle confirmed it.

  I turned toward the old man, whose expression had become more than surly.

  “Open it,” I said. “If you do not, we will force our way through, and the result will be the same. Except that we will damage your chapel. And nobody wants that.”

  I still couldn’t see any evidence of the bolthole that I knew had to be there. But I stood aside and waited, and sure enough, the old man smiled and grumbled. The game was up, and he knew it.

  The old man made his way past me and stood facing a wall that to me was no different from any other part of the chapel. Stone and mortar, well made. Solid and unyielding.

  It looked like just another part of the wall, and at first glance didn’t look thick enough to hide much of anything. But on second glance, I could see through the stained-glass windows to the courtyard beyond.

  The ground was higher there than elsewhere. Perhaps to support the chapel’s construction. But perhaps for another reason.

  The old man turned to look at me with a sneer. “It would take you days to dig through the wall,” he said, as if looking for another way to deny me.

  “Perhaps. But Meghan is an enchantress. How long do you think it would take her to get through?”

  That seemed to decide him. The old man turned away from the wall and reached out for the cross that hung suspended in the air. He pushed his weight against it, and I realized that it was a lever. A key to unlock the bolthole.

  Within moments, part of the wall fell away to reveal a small room lit by candles.

  And Anwen, sitting on a low bunk.

  39

  She was as beautiful as I remembered her being, although
perhaps not as well presented as she had been before. Yet this was no delicate maiden. This was the woman who had been part of a plot to poison the King. It was also the woman who had fought tooth and nail against Rolf and his men when she had been kidnapped.

  She held a dagger out toward us, and her expression was fierce.

  “Who are you and what do you want with me?” she demanded. Then she frowned, taking in what we were wearing. “Are you of the Order?”

  I found myself smiling. Anwen didn’t know who I was. That much was clear. But perhaps, for the moment, that was a good thing.

  “We are not of the Order, but we are friends,” I said. “We are here to help you.”

  The beautiful, red-haired woman’s expression didn’t change. “I have no friends. And I don’t need your help.” She tilted her head a little to one side. “You look… familiar. Do I know you from somewhere?”

  “You do, but let’s save that discussion for later. Right now, we have to get you out of here.”

  The merchant’s daughter studied each of us in turn. “You know who I am?” she asked.

  Galahad answered. “You are Anwen de Maris. Until recently, King Arthur himself had you in line to join the ranks of his concubines. Somehow, you managed to smuggle poison into his dining room, and if his personal taster hadn’t fallen ill so quickly, you might have succeeded in poisoning Arthur himself. Does that sum up who you are?”

  Anwen expression remained hard and unyielding. “Not by a long shot,” she said. “But for now, it will do. You know who I am. So why do you think I need your help, or that I would trust you at all?”

  All this time, Anwen had kept her knife up as if she was perfectly willing to face the four of us if need be. And I knew that she was willing to. She had fought with all her strength against Rolf, Bryce, and Durstan, and if I had joined in, she would have fought me as well.