"That's for sure," said Sidney. "Listen, we can't leave, you see?"
"Ye-e-es," said Jasper slowly. "Well, that is, we could, but it would be a risk. Maybe more of a risk than we ought to take."
"Definitely more of a risk than we ought to take," said Sidney, a little irritated. "I don't fancy a battle with scores of hardened veterans, when there's a chance of getting away without one."
"Fair enough," said Jasper.
"Will you tell the others?" asked Sidney. "Or rather, not-tell them?"
"What? Oh, yes. I see. Certainly, my dear."
A buffet breakfast had been laid out on the sideboard in the great hall: sausages, cold roast greep, pastries, pies, and oat cakes, while a servant stood by to take orders for fresh eggs. Kraki sprawled at one end of the table, with a small keg of beer and an enormous platter of sausages-a silver serving platter, Sidney saw. Apparently, he'd simply taken the whole thing from the sideboard. He was halfway through the mass of sausages and wrapping himself outside the remainder with alarming rapidity. Sidney shuddered, loaded a plate of her own, sat down, and motioned one of the servants over for tea.
Just as the servant began to fill her cup, a tremendous bang propelled Sidney out of her chair, jostling his arm and spilling tea all over her tunic. She cursed, grabbed a napkin, and began to swab at the stain; Timaeus walked in, puffing contentedly on his pipe. He came over to sit down next to her.
"I wish you'd figure out a quieter way to light that thing," Sidney complained.
"Hmm? Never fear, Sidney; I have a plan," Timaeus said cheerily, patting her on the shoulder.
Sidney looked at him mistrustfully. "If it's like your usual—" But Timaeus was bouncing up again. Bertram had appeared at the door.
"I say, Bertie, old bean," said Timaeus, bounding over and throwing an arm about Bertram. "Come to see us off?"
"Ye gods, man," groused Bertram, "a little less chipper, please! Consider the hour."
"Mmm?" said Timaeus. "Eight, by the clock, and a fine time to be alive."
"Oh, shut up," said Bertram, moodily picking up a plate and scraping some of the cold greep onto it. "A fine trick, I call it, to give a chap hope for some entertainment, then to disappear virtually before one may finish saying `Hail fellow and well met.' Here I'd hoped you'd stay at least a fortnight—"
"Well," said Sidney. "Actually—"
Timaeus waved an insistent hand at her. "Sorry, you know, the way of the world; rush, rush, rush, insistent business, dashing about hither and yon ... But I say, why don't you come with us as far as the border? We can at least chat along the way."
A light dawned as Sidney appreciated Timaeus's idea; if Bertram came along, Captain Blentz wouldn't dare kill the young heir's friends. Unless—he killed Bertram, too. They could always blame it on the bandits—maybe this wasn't such a good idea.
Bertram looked almost cheerful as he considered the proposal, then sighed. "Sorry, Timaeus. I'm afraid I'll have to give you a nolle prosequi on that. Uncle would never allow me to go with you."
"Whyever not?" Timaeus demanded.
"He wouldn't trust me to turn back at the border," Bertram said apologetically. "He'd be afraid I'd just keep on going with you. And he might be right; I'd be tempted. But, well, my duty is here, dash it. Must try to keep things together during Pater's illness, you know . . ."
Timaeus was chewing his lip. "Well-but —"
"We go today," said Kraki with finality. "It vill be glorious." He smiled and belched, obviously enjoying the prospect of combat.
Bertram sat down at the table with his plate, looking askance at the barbarian. "Glorious?" he said.
Somebody had to do something, Sidney saw. She said, "Timaeus, dear, why don't we stay on for a few days? I can't imagine our contacts in Hamsterburg will worry about a day or two spent on the road, and we are, if anything, ahead of schedule. And this festival they're having tomorrow does sound grand." She gave Bertram a winning smile, which he returned. Jasper whizzed into the room in time to catch the last of this.
Timaeus merely goggled at Sidney; this was not what he expected to hear from her. Barked orders and curses were more in her line.
"I say, yes," Jasper said. "Nothing like a few nights in a feather bed after camping out on the road for weeks."
"Yes, do stay, Timaeus," said Bertram. "You've no idea how tedious it gets out here in the provinces, far from the city lights."
"You make it sound very attractive," complained Timaeus. "Oh, very well. I suppose it's inevitable."
Kraki snorted, looking faintly disgruntled.
"Hurrah!" said Bertram as Broderick entered. The older man made a beeline for the tea. "Oh, Uncle," said Bertram, "good news! Timaeus and his crew have consented to stay on for a few days."
Broderick's head whipped around. He studied Timaeus with narrowed eyes, then broke into an ersatz grin. "Yes, yes, wonderful news, glad you've seen the light. Well, well, well. We shall have fun. Tea, dammit, milk and two sugars."
Kraki, Nick, and Broderick had ridden off hunting; Jasper had gone with them, at Sidney's insistence. "Hunting accidents," she had said. "Too easy. Keep an eye on them." So the old adventurer had sighed and agreed to go. Timaeus and Bertram were off in another wing of the castle, playing billiards and drinking port. And no one knew where Vincianus was; snoozing away someplace, in all probability. This, as Sidney had hoped, gave her the opportunity to go into town.
She doubted two hundred people lived in Biddleburg. The streets were cobblestone, for the most part, with the houses quite close together. Except for the main road, which ran from the eastern gate to the western, through what passed for a market square, the streets were too narrow for wheeled traffic. Eyes followed Sidney wherever she went; her Durfalian street clothes were evidently startling to the Biddlebourgeois, whose women were clad mainly in multiply layered homespun. And no one had taught them not to gawk. Sidney felt quite out of place.
Still, half an hour of wandering the village's byways had taught her nothing, except that carpenters were building a platform in the market square, presumably for use in tomorrow's festivities. She had failed to find any sign of an alchemist. Sighing, she approached a butcher in the marketplace. He held a squawking chicken by the legs.
"Excuse me," said Sidney. The man looked at her briefly, then laid the chicken's neck on a block of wood. "I'm looking for an alchemist's. Could you tell me—" The butcher raised a cleaver and—thwack!—severed the creature's neck. The head hit the floor and blood spurted. "—where I might find one?"
The butcher laid the cleaver aside and scratched his chin with one hand while the other still held the chicken's legs, its wings flapping wildly in its death throes. "Warr, marss," he said. "Eeant un in toon, y'ear. Mebbe ee Owd Warch'rr hep ye." He stuck the chicken's feet in a hook, shifted his grip to its body, and yanked down; the feet were pulled off the legs, leaving tendrils of fat and gristle.
Sidney was beginning to feel faintly nauseated, and hadn't the slightest idea what he had said. "Yes, thank you," she said, turning away, and began to wander off.
"Nar, nar!" said the butcher, tossing the chicken into a pot of boiling water. "Eer, marss; up t'Arpers Ane." He pointed off to the left, across the square to the opening of an alley. Sidney blinked; this was something, at least. "Thank you," she said, with somewhat more feeling. The butcher took the chicken out of the water with a pair of tongs and began to pluck it.
Up the alley only a few feet was a storefront. Across the window was painted the name "Mistress Mabel," and under that, "Knows All • Sees All." Nothing was visible through the grimy glass except for a haphazard display of bottles, red plush hearts, and arrows, obviously intended to imply that love potions were for sale, and a fat gray cat that lay just inside the glass, staring malevolently at Sidney.
On the door was a small coat of arms, with a scroll held in a wyverns claws. On the scroll were the words "International Amalgamated Sisterhood of Witches & Allied Trades."
It wasn't quite what she
had in mind, Sidney thought, but perhaps it would do. She turned the bat-shaped knob and entered.
The gloomy shop was filled with choking smoke. It was lit only by dim sunlight, filtering in through the grimy window, and a low fire in a hearth at the rear. Before the hearth, an old woman sat in a ragged platform rocker, her feet up on an ottoman in the shape of a man on his hands and knees, his back bearing up the cushion, an expression of despair on his face. In her mouth was a corncob pipe, smoke curling out from her lips above her wispy beard. The gray cat leapt from the window, puffed up its fur, and hissed at Sidney.
"Beewzy," shouted the old woman in a high-pitched voice. "Behave, now. Coostomer."
The cat gave the woman an astonished glare and slunk off into the shadows.
Sidney took a glance about the shop. Bundled herbs hung from the ceiling. Against the brick wall were shelves, held up by cast-iron braces nailed directly into the mortar. The shelves held an assortment of bottles and boxes, half of them knocked sideways and most covered with dust. At the center of the room was a rickety table, on which lay an assortment of fortune-tellers' cards. On either side of the hearth, in the brick, were ovens, and over the fire was a kettle, bubbling away. Mistress Mabel pulled herself painfully to her feet, picked up a snake-knobbed cane that had lain between her legs, and hobbled arthritically toward Sidney. "Wha' can owd Mabel dee for ye, larss?" she said. "Loove potion, mayhap? Terr ye foortune? Soomething tee pertect ye from gettin' wi' chird?"
"No, Mistress," said Sidney. "Actually, I was looking for an alchemist, but there doesn't seem to be one in Biddleburg."
"Nar, nar," said Mabel, peering nearsightedly at Sidney in the dimness. "Too smarr a toon, Bidderburg be . . ." She gave a sudden start, backed away a bit, and made a warding gesture. "Worf!" she said. "Ye'rr nar be payin' ye're tricks on me, y' unhoory bint."
Sidney blinked; it took her a moment to untangle this, but when she had, she gained a measure of respect for the old woman's talent. "Not a wolf," she said. "A cat. And the taint of chaos need not mean a desire to do anyone harm. I wish your help, and I'm willing to pay for it."
The old woman stood for a long moment, hunched over with both hands on the knob of her cane, puffing on her corncob pipe. "Arright," she said at last. "If nar harm's to coome to any at Bidderburg, I'rr hep ye."
Sidney produced the twist of paper from her purse. "This paper," she said, "recently held a white powder. I saw someone pour it into a glass of wine, in which it dissolved. I was told it was a medicine. I'd like to know what it is."
The old woman stood unmoving. She puffed smoke for a moment. "Why?" she said at last.
"I fear an old man is being poisoned."
The old woman reached out a hand, the forgers twisted with arthritis. "Gie it here," she said. Sidney handed over the twist. The old woman took it, sniffed the paper, and muttered a few Words, then token on her pipe and blew smoke onto the paper. The smoke glowed faintly green. "Aye," she said. "Poison, o' ooh kind ar anither. If ye want tee knoow what kind, ye sharr have to coome back tommorrer."
Sidney let out a long breath; she hadn't realized until that moment that she had been holding it. "Tomorrow? But I—"
"Sayin' it's poison be easy enow," said the old woman irritably. "Five shirring for that oon. Assayin' it, that be far more difficult; take me soome time. If ye want ter know, it'rr cost ye a poond, and ye moost coome back tomorrer."
"All right," said Sidney, and began to count the money out onto Mabel's table.
"Keep yer coin," snapped the old woman. "I'rr take the five shirring, but the rest coomes when the job be doone." Sidney nodded, and began to retrieve her change. Mabel
set the twist of paper carefully down on the table, levered herself gratefully into a chair, and said, in a low voice, "Froom the castle, I suppooes?"
Sidney studied her before carefully responding, "Yes."
The old woman sighed. "Not soorprised," she said. "See ye tommorrer."
IV
Dinner that night was cold roast greep, bread, cheese, and ale; by custom, the baron's household provided the food for the Feast of Grimaeus; the castle kitchen was in a frenzy of preparation. The guests were left to dine on leftovers and put themselves to bed, while work continued belowstairs.
The morning dawned gray and curiously warm. The clouds were a solid bank, high above; there was no immediate rain, but many in Biddleburg eyed them uneasily, hoping nothing would spoil the celebration. At eight, a procession left the castle, bearing platters of food, cartloads of bread, enormous casks of beer, roast pigs, pastries, chickens by the score. The chef de cuisine accompanied them, fussing about and ensuring that the food was properly set out on boards in the market square; he was exhausted, but would not sleep until the feast had ended.
By ten, virtually the entire town was in the square, gossiping and eating. Farmers, woodsmen, charcoal-burners came from all over the baron's demesne for the celebration.
At eleven, with a fanfare, the baron's party-including Timaeus and the others, as honored guests-left the castle. It was the custom to walk, but Baron Barthold was led down to the village on a palfrey, in respect for his infirmity.
Sidney walked through the narrow streets of the village with Bertram, trailing the rest of the party. "Dreadful town," said the young heir. "Beastly dull."
Gingerbread loomed above cobblestone streets. "I don't know," said Sidney. "I think it's charming. Quaint."
"Quaint," said Bertram, goggling at her. "Yes, that's the word, by Fithold. Quaint indeed. Well, we must put a good face on it; the people will expect a degree of gaiety, today. Anyhow, I am looking forward to the needlepoint competition."
It was Sidney's turn to goggle. "Needlepoint . . . ?"
"Yes," said Bertram, puffing up a bit, "took it up at university, very soothing. I have a piece in here, the Lonely Tower at Hamsterburg, all in cross-stitch; I have high hopes for it. At least a third prize, or perhaps a second."
"I see," said Sidney.
"No hope for a first, of course," said Bertram. "Mistress Mabel will have that one sewn up." He giggled, adding, "As it were."
"Mistress Mabel?" said Sidney. "The witch? She does needle—"
"Tch tch tch," said Bertram, mildly censoriously. "We don't say `witch,' you know. They're very sensitive. `Wise woman' is the preferred locution."
Sidney snorted, but forbore from comment. After all, Mabel's damned door proclaimed her a witch, so what was the—
"The young heir," said a voice, in a slightly contemptuous tone. They turned; a young man stood at the corner ofan alley, in forest green, a bow slung over his shoulder. A hood covered his head, which, along with the dimness of the alleyway, made it impossible to make out the lad's features.
"Good morrow, lad," said Bertram with good humor. "Come for the archery competition?"
"I have," said the boy. "Will your uncle be in it?"
"I believe so," said Bertram. "He sets great store by his skill with the bow."
"Good," said the boy. "Then one of us will be man enough to stand up to him, at least."
"What do you mean?" asked Bertram.
The boy leaned forward, speaking quickly and urgently. "Can you truly be insensible to the plight of the folk?" he said. "Bainbridge looted, villages pillaged, good men broken on the wheel for no more crime than questioning Broderick's fitness to rule—"
"This, this is treason," said Bertram, shocked and uncertain.
"Treason, or love of truth," said the youth, then turned and fled down the alley.
Bertram frowned after him. "There's something familiar... ," he muttered, then shook his head. "Insolent pup, what? Come along, Sidney." He strode after the rest of the party, toward the market square.
Sidney hesitated long enough to take a brief look down the alley; it ended in a wall, not ten cubits in, but there was no sign of the youngster. A puzzle; but no doubt he was spry enough to climb a wall. She shrugged and followed Bertram.
They entered the market. Cheers rang out; Capta
in Blentz and a few of his men went on ahead, to clear the way. The cheers for the baron seemed genuine, while the townsfolk seemed to treat Sir Broderick with fearful deference and Sir Bertram with genial, and slightly contemptuous, good humor. Both Broderick and Bertram spoke easily with the townsfolk as they strolled across the square, telling a joke or asking after someone's health.
The party from the castle took their seats on the wood platform, Sidney next to Timaeus. She peered both left and right; there was no obvious way to sneak off, not without attracting undue attention. She was in plain view of the entire crowd below. How, then, was she to meet with Mistress Mabel?
Sir Broderick rose and made a brief speech, welcoming the folk in the name of his brother, the baron (who waved, somewhat shakily), and thanking them for their loyalty over the year (there were faint jeers at this). Sir Bertram donned ermine robes, which the butler had brought from the castle, and made a brief invocation imploring the goodwill of Grimaeus, who evidently was some regional spirit or deity.
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