"I might ha' know," said Mabel disgustedly. There was the sharp odor of whisky. Kraki had left Baron Barthold with a flask of Moothlayan single-malt, but without a glass; alone and bored, Barthold had removed the stopper and had tried to sip whisky through the flask's narrow neck. Unfortunately, his coordination was not up to the task, and he had splashed nearly as much of the whisky on his neck and clothes as he had managed to get into his mouth. Even so, he gave them a loopy smile; Sidney judged he was well potted.
"My lord," said Sidney, "Mistress Mabel has prepared a potation that, we believe, will cure your illness."
"Nnnn-nnnn!" said Barthold, waving a liver-spotted
hand that, unfortunately, held the flask of whisky, sloshing more of the liquid onto his armchair. There was the glint of panic in his eyes.
"Naow, naow," said Mabel. "Settle doon. Not that stooff that Brodick hath been feeding ye; he's been piesoning ye by degrees, ye ken."
Barthold's face lit up, and he nodded his head rapidly. "Nnn-nnn-nnn!" he said emphatically.
"You knew that?" said Sidney. "Why didn't you let Bertram know?"
Barthold rolled his eyes.
"Never mind," said Sidney, chuckling. "Here. Mistress Mabel says it's good for what ails you." She held the jug up to his lips, and the baron greedily swallowed.
When his teeth began to rattle against the jug, Sidney decided he'd had enough. She pulled away. The old man was sitting bolt upright in the armchair, vibrating like a tuning fork, his face as red as a beet, the knuckles of his hand white around the neck of the whisky flask. Sidney tried to take it from him, but his grip was too tight.
He shook this way for a minute or two—Mabel began to look concerned, and took a wrist to measure his pulse.
But at last, he slumped back into the chair.
There was a long moment of silence, while Barthold rested.
Then, a rusty, aged voice sang,
"John o' dell hath run awayand I am full of sorrow.my heart left with him on the dayand shan't come back tomorrow."
Barthold sat upright and opened his eyes. "By Dion," he said, "I can speak."
VI
Timaeus, Nick, and Kraki sat with bound arms. Timaeus was red with anger at the indignity. Nick looked preoccupied, as indeed he was; he was busy pulling a strip of sharpened metal out of his left sleeve with the fingers of his right hand. He kept it there for just such eventualities, and was reasonably confident of severing his bonds within minutes. Kraki looked unruffled; he, too, was reasonably confident he could free himself in short order, albeit through brute strength rather than any such clever stratagem.
"Firefies cooming oot wi' the end of the rain," said a bandit, shooing Jasper's green light away with the swat of a hand. Jasper dodged quickly enough to avoid contact.
Bertram lay, unbound, at the center of an attentive group of bandits, Beatrice with them. A fat friar felt all over Bertram's leg, his hands glowing faintly blue. "Compound fracture," the friar said cheerily. "Have you right as rain in half a tick." He chanted a bit, and poured some wine ontothe ground as an offering, then bent his tonsured head over Bertram's leg again. "Shan't hurt a bit," he said, placing one hand on each side of the break and giving the leg a sudden, vicious twist.
"Aaaaaaaaaaah!" screamed Bertram.
Kraki scowled. "Get hold of yourself," he said sternly. "Are you a voman?" Beatrice turned to smile faintly at the barbarian.
"If that's your idea of not hurting—" said Bertram.
"Now, now, chin up," said the friar. "Here, have a swallow of this." And he gave the young noble a wineskin.
Bertram squirted a bit into his mouth, grimaced, and swallowed. "It has medicinal qualities, I suppose?" he said dubiously.
"Oh, aye, aye, medicinal qualities," chuckled the friar. "Drink enough of that, and you'll feel no pain, I'll warrant. Drink too much, and you'll be dancing up the trees, busted gam or no." He took up a chant again, moving his hands up and down Bertram's leg. "Bed rest for a week, me lad," he said. "Keep that leg immobile; I'll rig up a splint for you. And you'll need a cane for a week after that."
"Thank you, Brother," said Bertram.
"Not at all," said the friar.
"What do you in the greenwood, Sir Bertram?" asked Beatrice coolly.
"Looking for you, actually," said Bertram, almost apologetically.
"Indeed?" said Beatrice, slightly surprised.
"Well," said Bertram. "Actually, I came because ... Well. In springtime, a young man's fancy—No, that's not how to put it. How shall I begin?"
"At the beginning," suggested Beatrice, slightly testily.
"Err—yes," said Bertram. "Um—Look here, Beatrice. You were marvelous at the fair, you know. First-rate marksmanship—"
Oh, stop babbling, you idiot, said a voice in Bertram's skull.
"Who said that?" said Bertram.
"Who said what?" said Beatrice. "Speak up, Sir Bertram, and yarely. Our Band has many tasks to which we must attend, foremost among them the evasion of our pursuers. We have not the time for persiflage. Spit it out."
I said that, said Jasper. Jasper de Mobray. Telepathically, to belabor the point.
"Do I have to talk back?" said Bertram.
No, thinking will do, said Jasper.
"Sir Bertram," said Beatrice coolly, "my patience is sore pressed. We must choose between taking you hostage and abandoning you here; I am inclined to keep you as our captive, perhaps to bait a trap for the usurper. But I demand to know your reason for pursuing us. Are you in truth in your uncle's pay, as many claim?"
Ask to speak to her alone, said Jasper.
"Ah—may we speak privately?" said Bertram.
"Wherefore?" demanded Beatrice.
You have a message for her ears alone, said Jasper.
"I have a message for your ears alone," said Bertram. I do? he thought.
"Oh, well enow," said Beatrice, turning to the bandits. "Good my fellows, Sir Bertram and I shall talk en privé; I bid you, give us space in which to converse."
"But mistress," protested a bandit. "He may intend ye harm—"
"Am I some silly wench, to require your protection?" demanded Beatrice. "Move off, an I command ye." "Bertram, what the devil are you up to?" asked Timaeus worriedly.
"Don't worry," said Bertram uncertainly.
"Don't worry?" grumbled Timaeus to Nick as they were led away. "There's no telling what the twit will do."
Now then, said Jasper.
"Now then," said Bertram.
Don't parrot me, damn it, said Jasper. I was just saying—
"Now what?" said Beatrice. "See, here are my ears; where is your message for them?"
Look here, said Jasper. Bring up some fond remembrance. "Remember that beauteous May, when we wove garlands out of the new-blossomed buds, " something like that.
"Beatrice," said Bertram, looking a little desperate. "Remember the time we climbed Mount Arsna, and picked blueberries together?"
"Yes," said Beatrice, leaning against a tree, strung bow in one hand but no arrow nocked. "You put a spider down my dress, as I recall."
You did that? said Jasper.
"Yes, but ... Oh, it's no use. Look here, Beatrice. I'm hopelessly in love with you. I know it's useless, but—"
"You're what?" said Beatrice incredulously, pushing away from the tree.
"Yes, I know, dash it all, not very romantic to put it like that, but there it is, you know. I can't imagine why I didn't see it years ago. I—"
"Well, I like that," said Beatrice. "You disappear off to school, never a letter; your uncle tortures my da to death, systematically loots the barony, and dispossesses widows and orphans while you look benevolently on—"
"Well, ah, I know there's been an increase in taxes," said Bertram apologetically, "but Pater did let the roads get into terrible repair, and—"
"Have you seen anyone fixing the roads?" demanded Beatrice, face reddening, her freckles becoming even more prominent. "And be quiet until I'm done! 'Struth, you h
aven't the brains of a newt, Sir Bertram de Biddleburg. If anyone had a duty to interest himself in the barony and see that justice was done after your father fell ill, it was you; and yet there you sit in that damned castle, lapping up Broderick's lies and taking your ease, while—"
"Well—"
"Be silent!" shouted Beatrice, chest heaving with emotion. "You love me, you say? Pah! I'd sooner have a greep for a lover!" And she turned sharply away and strode for the bandits, who looked quite interested, having caught at least the end of this exchange.
Bertram groaned. "That's it then," he said miserably. "Could you lend me a dagger or something, Jasper? So I can kill myself now and save everybody the trouble?"
A chuckle came from the "firefly." "Buck up, old son," said Jasper. "You did rather well, I thought. At least you got it out."
"But she despises me," moaned Bertram.
"Opposites live side by side in the human heart," said Jasper.
"What is that supposed to mean?" said Bertram.
"And how are you, my dear lady?" asked the Right Honorable, the Lord Barthold, Baron Biddleburg, as he tottered unsteadily from his chair.
"Sit ye doon, ye owd foor," said Mabel. "Ye'rr be weak yet."
"And thank you too, Miss—?" said Barthold, sinking back into the armchair.
"Stollitt," said Sidney. "Sidney Stollitt."
"Where is that weasel Broderick?" asked Barthold weakly.
"Oot wi' his men, hoonting poor Beatrice doon, I warrant," said Mabel, peering into Barthold's eyes and thumping his chest.
"He won't have taken the whole guard," said Barthold. "I must rouse them against him, bar the castle gate, send word to the folk in the town below—"
"Werr, ye're fit enow," said Mabel. "Ye ought tee be in bed, me boy."
"I'm not your boy, madam," said Barthold, reaching out and giving Mabel a resounding slap on the flank. "Though there was a time when I wouldn't have minded being."
"Nar a' that," said Mabel, grabbing his wrist but sounding more pleased than scandalized.
"Do I have your gracious permission to hobble to the armory?" asked Barthold.
"Nar, ye dee not," said Mabel. "Ye're tee weak stirr." Sidney sighed; her arms still ached from carrying Mabel. "I'll have to carry him," she said resignedly.
Mabel chuckled. "Gee on apace, then," she said. "I sharr coome a'ter."
Luckily, thought Sidney, Barthold was not too great a burden; the stress of the poison had reduced him to skin and bones, and he had not been a large man to begin with. Still, Sidney walked as quickly as she was able, more because she wished to rid herself of the weight than because she felt a need for speed. With Barthold to direct her, it did not take long to find the armory.
Within, a half dozen soldiers lounged about, some snoozing, a few dicing. Weapons were scattered here and there, but none of the lot wore armor.
Sidney set Barthold down in the doorway, letting his feet drop before standing him up. The baron peered about at the men.
"Hallo," said one of the soldiers, spying the two in the doorway. "Who's that?"
"It's the old man," said another. "And that wench with Bertie's friends."
The first elbowed the second in the ribs. "Where's your manners, Gaston?" he demanded. "With Sir Bertram's friends. How do you do, miss? May we help you?"
"Now, you louts," said Barthold, his thin voice giving hint of former power, "on your feet! I want the portcullis down and the watchtower manned. And I—"
"He's talking!" said one of the soldiers.
" 'Sblood, Marek," said Gaston. "You do have a talent for stating the obvious."
"That's bad," said Marek, worriedly. "Sir Broderick won't like it."
"By all the gods, I gave you an order!" shouted Barthold. "I'm the head of this household, and I demand that you prepare to defend this castle against my damnable brother!"
The soldiers looked worriedly at one another. "Meaning no offense, my lord," said one at last, "but Sir Broderick's the one who issues our pay."
"I—I never . . . ," sputtered Barthold.
"In fact, we'd better hold him until Sir Broderick returns," said Gaston worriedly.
"Are you sure?" said Marek. "I mean, he is the baron; if we do the wrong thing, we could wind up—"
While the soldiers debated, Barthold turned and began to march away. Sidney backed away from the door with him.
Several soldiers grabbed weapons and headed for the door. Cursing, Sidney snatched at the knife in her thigh sheath. She had not thought it necessary to wear weapons to the Feast of Grimaeus, and had not been back to her room since the morning; only a reluctance to go wholly unarmed had made her wear this unobtrusive blade.
"Now, ma'am," said Gaston, "that's really not necessary. We're just going to hold you until Sir Broderick returns. There's no need for violence."
Looking at six swords, Sidney sighed. "I'm sorry, Lord Barthold," she said. "I think we'd better do as they say."
Barthold's mouth was a thin line above his weak chin. "I agree, my dear," he said.
Down the corridor, Mabel slipped around the corner;Sidney saw her out the side of her eye. With relief, Sidney realized that the witch knew of their predicament.
Bertram lay in a makeshift stretcher, the poles trimmed saplings, a torn blanket slung between them. The bandits were evidently ready to move.
Beatrice surveyed Timaeus, Kraki, and Nick. "What shall we do with you?" she said.
"Och, Beatrice," said one of the bandits. "We hae nar choice but tee kirr them. We canna leave hostires behind oor back."
Kraki looked up at this and smiled. "Good," he said. He bounded to his feet, wrenched his hands free of his bonds with a grunt, and charged into the bandits, knocking them asprawl. There were shouts of anger, and soon Kraki was in a tangle of men, arms and fists flying, quarterstaves thumping uselessly at such close quarters. Beatrice danced about, shouting orders.
There was a sudden bang and a flash of light. Beatrice turned toward it—Timaeus stood there, freed of his bonds, urbanely tamping his pipe, while Nick, likewise free, had grabbed a quarterstaff and was swinging it experimentally. He was familiar with urban stick fighting, but such a large stick was beyond his experience.
"Really, Lady Beatrice, there is no need for this," said Timaeus.
"It was not in my mind to order you slain," she said irritably. "The barbarian acted in hasty wise—"
"Yes, yes," said Timaeus. There was another explosion—Beatrice ducked as flames enveloped Timaeus's head, but soon realized this was not an attack. The wizard puffed contentedly on his pipe, smoke curling out into pine-scented air. "He's having a ball, I have no doubt. Call them off, and we shall discuss the matter."
"Gervais!" shouted Beatrice, turning toward the struggling knot of men. "Egbert! William! Enough! Break off, I charge ye!"
Gradually, the fighters untangled themselves, leaving a panting, grinning, black-eyed Kraki standing at the center, on the balls of his feet and ready for a renewed struggle. The bandits looked considerably more battered than he. "What is problem?" said Kraki. "I have not yet even broken any bones!"
"You see, my lady," said Timaeus, "you make a mistake in believing that we are your enemies."
"Even so?" said Beatrice skeptically. "We have robbed you; you sup at the usurper's table; you accompany this fool." She gestured toward Bertram, who winced at being so described. "What should I take you for but foes?"
"My good lady," said Timaeus, "on the contrary, we have come to join your band."
"I beg your pardon?" she said, arching a skeptical eyebrow.
"I can't imagine why you should think elsewise," said Timaeus, pausing for another puff. "Our good friend, Sir Bertram, has broken with his uncle, recognizing at last the evil he has wrought within the barony. In companionship, we join with him, as he comes to plead his love for the beauteous Beatrice."
There were jeers and hoots from her men at this.
"You've broken with Broderick?" Beatrice demanded of Bertram.
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"Well, ah, that is—" said Bertram. The light that was Jasper darted down from the trees and gave Bertram's leg a sharp jostle. "Ouch! Yes, I've broken with Uncle Brod."
"Well, why didn't you say so, Bertie," said Beatrice, shaking her head, "instead of going on about the need to fix up the roads? I mean, really."
One Quest, Hold the Dragons Page 9
