by Dave Duncan
"I suppose I... I should have done so. I believe that he can keep his mouth shut, sire. I know he usually has it open, but he can be discreet when necessary."
The king's expression did not thaw very far. "Don't ever make that mistake again! Now, he tells a remarkable story. I want to hear your version of it."
Toby was not going to enjoy reciting his litany of failure. "Lady Valda sent a creature to summon me. It hexed me into following it to a house on the edge of the burgh. Then she bound me to complete obedience, hanging a bottled demon around my neck." He pointed to the silver chain he still wore there. "Hamish had followed me. I caught him and . . . and I handed him over." He shuddered at the odious memory.
"We all know the evil of gramarye," Fergan said sympathetically. "How did you break free of it?"
"Hamish released me. He smashed the jewel with a poker. The demon turned on Valda and killed her."
"What about the other one, though, the creature? How did that one die?"
"Hamish again," Toby admitted. "He stabbed it through the heart with Valda's dagger. He was the hero of the whole affair, and I was just a dupe, worse than useless."
"I see!"
All eyes were on Hamish, who looked more startled than flattered. He stared oddly at Toby.
"My apologies for doubting you, Master Campbell," the king said, and now his ice was melting. "Modesty and discretion are both noble virtues, but when you report to your king, you must tell the truth, and the whole truth."
Hamish muttered, "Yes, Your Majesty," and frowned again at Toby. "But Toby rescued me from the burning house, sire. And then he went off into another, chasing the demon, even though he knew the crowd would recognize him from the wanted poster and—"
"Yes!" the king snapped. He turned to Toby. "And what happened then? The fire is still burning. The town is in an uproar."
"I killed it." Toby produced the dagger. "Father, you said you had never seen a demon sword. See one now. It works."
At the sight of a naked blade in the presence of their king, both Kennedy and MacLeod reached for their swords. Then they stilled and fell silent, all eyes fixed on the legendary weapon.
Footsteps drummed on the ceiling as sailors went about their business. The light was growing brighter, and faint sounds of bustle on the pier revealed that the fog must be lifting. Men were getting ready to set sail and catch the tide.
Father Lachlan broke the hush. "Praise to the tutelary! It has guarded you well, my son."
Hog swill! "With all respect to the spirit," said Toby, "I don't think it did anything, except perhaps send the fog. I sensed it last night, when we arrived. I can sense it now. It returned a short while ago. But it wasn't there when I was battling Oswood. What did it tell you, Father?"
The little man pushed his glasses up his nose, glanced unhappily at the king, and said, "Nothing. It is not responding to prayers. The acolytes are very disturbed, for they have no record of this ever happening before." Then he blinked. "You can sense the tutelary? Like you saw the specter in the hills? From here, even?"
Toby nodded.
Lachlan stared. "Ah! You have solved the mystery?"
Again, Toby nodded. Obviously Hamish had not mentioned the amethyst, any more than he had yet told Toby how he had known about it. But now was the time to confess the alarming truth.
"Your Majesty, in Inverary, I swore to be your man, and I had no reservations when I made that oath. But when Valda hexed me, I betrayed you and swore to be hers."
The king scowled. "I am well aware that a man's honor can be perverted by gramarye. I do not hold that against you."
No. King Fergan couldn't, for he had once betrayed his country by doing homage to King Nevil.
"But it now seems that I was not free to swear allegiance to you in the first place, sire. I am another's man and have been ever since I left Strath Fillan."
The king broke the deadly, accusing silence. "Whose?"
"No mortal's. Years ago, Valda and King Nevil conjured a demon named Rhym, which turned on them. Did Hamish tell you? The demon took possession of the king and banished him to the jewel on this dagger. In Castle Lochy, Valda moved him from there to me, so that I would become Nevil, or Nevil's man at the least—Nevil's creature."
Hands were creeping to sword hilts again.
"But I swear to you, sire, that I am not aware of him at all. I am Toby Strangerson, not the rightful king of England. She said I suppress him. I suppose I must, for her demons could see signs of possession on me. I don't know how I manage to do this. For what it is worth, though, you must know these things, because if the Nevil soul ever manages to emerge in me, then I shall betray you."
Father Lachlan said, "That does not explain your superhuman powers, my son."
"No, Father. There is more. The powers do not come from me at all, but from this." Toby pulled on the silver chain. While waiting for a response to his message, he had fixed the amethyst into the wires that had once held the Oswood sapphire. He had tucked the gem under the shoulder of his plaid, and now he pulled it out for all to see. It twinkled purple fire as it spun.
"A demon?" snapped the king, easing away from him.
"Not quite, sire. This is Fillan, the hob from my village. Granny Nan gave me the gem as a farewell gift. Somehow she had talked the hob into it. It must have bottled itself voluntarily, for certainly she knew no gramarye."
They all reacted to some extent, but Father Lachlan reared back in horror. His head cracked against the wall and his glasses fell into his lap. He fumbled for them without taking his eyes from the jewel.
"A bottled hob? I never heard of such an abomination!"
Toby sighed and put the jewel away, out of sight. "Neither had Valda. But that's what's been protecting me."
"My son!" The old man was practically squealing. "I told you! A hob is like a child, a terribly powerful, innocent child. It has almost no concept of right or wrong, of good or evil! It can be mischievous, spiteful—unpredictable! You cannot walk around with a pet hob on a string! Spirits know what it may do!"
"It hasn't hurt me so far."
"That doesn't mean it won't! It may take it into its head ... I mean, it may decide to ... Oh, anything! It may drive you insane, or turn you into a monster! You must bring it to the sanctuary right away and ..."
"And what?" Toby asked quietly. "Do you have adepts who will conduct it back to its home and restore it?"
Father Lachlan shook his head, looking frightened. The other men were leaving the metaphysics to him.
"I cannot," Toby said. "If I could, I doubt it would let me. I don't know if it can reverse what it did, or why it should even try. It wanted to know where all the young men are going. I think it wants to see the world! Maybe that is childlike, but I can sympathize." His feeble effort at humor won no smiles.
The little man moaned and wrung his hands. "It has never been taught! It may go mad itself in there and turn into a demon. At least a hexer can control his creatures by conjuration, but that hob is a free elemental! You can't control it, you don't know what it may decide to do next. My son, it is dangerous!"
"It has saved me many times from danger," Toby said stubbornly. "Already I owe it my life, over and over. I will resist any effort to take it from me, and I believe it will do the same." He turned to the king, who was regarding him with dark suspicion. "You see, sire? I did not know I had a hob in my sporran, or another man's soul in my heart. I swore to you in good faith, but even if you give me a direct order to dispose of the jewel, I either cannot or will not obey. And I can do nothing about Nevil."
Fergan drummed fingers on the arm of his chair. He glanced at the impassive Captain MacLeod and frowned at what he learned from his face.
"I was hoping that your mysterious powers might be used to further the cause of liberty and help free Scotland of its oppressors."
"I cannot control them, Your Majesty. In a battle, the hob would probably go berserk, as it does in thunderstorms."
Sunshine poured in throu
gh the window now. Outside, the pier was bustling. Blocks squealed as sails were raised. The captain had begun to fidget.
"So," Fergan said. He leaned back and crossed his legs. He had probably guessed what was coming, and a faint smile touched his lips. "So, what are you proposing, Master Strangerson? If it will make things easier for you, I will admit that our relationship is proving troublesome. Loyalty is a two-sided sword. A vassal is due protection from his liege, but I am perplexed to know how to protect you this morning in Dumbarton."
It was going to be all right. "I am a danger to you," Toby said. "I may lead the Sassenachs to you. Baron Oreste is on his way here—searching for me, Valda said, because he knows about Nevil. He has also districted the tutelary from its duties, which include your defense. I bear the soul of your foe. I carry an elemental. I am loyal, sire, but you would be well rid of me. I am trouble."
"And Captain MacLeod has agreed to take a passenger to Portugal, I presume?"
Toby had not dreamed of escape on that scale. "I was hoping he might take me south and let me off at his next port of call."
The sailor chuckled. "We'll take on water in Dublin— but why not come to Lisbon, lad? I can always use an extra hand."
Demons! Why not? "But hands are the problem, sir." Toby held out his swollen fists. "I can't haul on ropes for you yet! I'll gladly pay my fare if you have room for a passenger."
MacLeod snorted. "Bilge! I saw how you earned that silver, lad, and I won't take it from you. Och, that was a braw fight! Come along, and welcome. I'll book you in as ballast!"
A strange lump constricted Toby's throat. This was friendship!—friendship he had done nothing to deserve. "That's incredibly generous of you, sir. I'll try to be of use... if His Majesty agrees?"
The king was looking at the dagger on Toby's lap.
"It is yours, sire," he said quickly, "if you want it. I swore to defend you against all foes, and I happily give you this to defend you against Oreste and others like him." He began to move and then laughed. "I don't think there's room for me to kneel!" He proffered the dagger.
Fergan stared at it covetously. "It is a princely gift! The jewel alone is beyond price. You are sure?"
"Quite sure, sire. Take it with my thanks for befriending me when all men were against me."
The king took the dagger. "Then I accept it, with gratitude. I free you from your oath, Longdirk. Tush, Father! If he is happy to live with a hob in his shirt, then let him be! Spirits go with you, Toby." He offered a hand, and he did not seem to want it kissed.
Toby shook it with a feeling of a great weight being lifted from his shoulders. He had never been happy being the king's man, and now he had been honorably relieved of his oath.
"Captain MacLeod is anxious to weigh anchor," the king said, preparing to rise.
"I wanna come too!"
Everyone turned to Hamish, who was staring at Toby with total dismay.
"Boy, that isn't—" Father Lachlan said.
"Wait!" the king barked. The cabin stilled. "I don't care how discreet he is, that might not be such a bad idea!" He glanced inquiringly at the captain, whose obvious impatience melted for a moment. He shrugged.
"Could use a cabin boy, Your Majesty."
Hamish grinned widely.
"Longdirk?" said the king. "Will you take him with you?"
"I won't take him, Your Majesty—"
Hamish wailed. "But you promised—"
Toby had been joking then, as he was joking now, but he didn't want to have to explain all that. He was not good at gratitude, never having had much practice. He hadn't had much experience with friendship, either, yet he had discovered today how invaluable it was. He had learned that no man was strong enough to survive without friends. He had learned it from Captain MacLeod, almost a stranger. He had learned it from Hamish. The gawky young scholar had saved his life and his soul—not once but three times. He had brought the amethyst to the apothecary's, he had smashed the sapphire, he had stabbed Krygon. How much more friendship could a man display? Toby would have to learn gratitude, and soon.
He couldn't say all that. He was no good at speeches. "No, I won't take him! Being responsible for Meg Campbell was a real pain, and I'm not going to fall into that trap again. The last thing I want is a snivelly child trailing after me, expecting me to wipe his nose and see he eats his vegetables and washes his socks every week."
King Fergan's eyes twinkled. "Quite understandable."
"Toby! I'm not a—"
"Shut up, brat! Your Majesty, I refuse to be saddled with a wet-eared kid—wondering all the time if he's gotten into a bar, or a brothel, or a fight. ... Of course, I could use a man at my side who can be counted on in the bars and the brothels and the fights, because I'm going to get myself into all those sorts of troubles, and I'll need a friend beside me. I promised Meg I'd never fight for money again, but I'm sure there will be fights, so I'll need a good second, someone whose courage I can rely on. If anyone here knows of a man who could handle that, then I'd be glad to have him with me—equals, shoulder to shoulder. No, I won't take a boy. But if a man like that chose to come along ... I could certainly use a trusty friend."
Hamish had swelled like a pigeon on the bunk, almost filling his oversized doublet. He managed to force his voice into an adult range, but it sounded forced. "Happens I'm thinking of heading south myself."
"Would you mind if we traveled together?" Toby asked.
"I can put up with you, if you promise to stay away from hexers."
The whole cabin burst into laughter, Toby louder than any. "Think you can handle the brothels yet?" He wondered if he could.
Hamish glanced around in alarm, then straightened his shoulders manfully and grinned as wide as a pike. "Well, certainly! Er ... are there any books on that?"
9
The royal parry had gone. The sun was shining. The Maid of Arran leaned into the breeze as she edged away from the pier. Her departure came none too soon, for the mob of townsfolk rampaging through the streets in search of the giant Highlander who burned houses and conjured demons had now reached the harbor. Toby had been ordered to stay out of sight, and Hamish had remained with him.
The kid was so excited that he barely glanced at the captain's bookshelf, although he peered carefully at a chart on the wall and jumped at every new noise. Mostly he knelt on the bunk with his head out the side window. The rest of the time he just squirmed around.
Toby sat uncomfortably on the chest and felt like a herring in a barrel. He should be feeling like a falcon loosed. He was no longer the laird's man, or Valda's man, or the king's man. What he had never dared admit, even to himself, was that he wanted to be his own man, however absurd that idea was for a landless orphan. At the moment he was bound only to work for Captain MacLeod, and that service would not last long.
Perhaps he was really the hob's man, but he had not found that situation too troublesome so far. Despite Father Lachlan's forebodings, the hob seemed content to view the world. Apart from its attack on Crazy Colin, which had been a unique revenge, it had interfered only when he was in danger from demons. It had been unpleasantly attracted by the broadsword that Annie had provided, but it had let him dispose of it when he insisted. It had not interfered in his fight with Randal because he had not had it with him then. A well-intentioned hob would be a valuable friend.
He had learned a lot about friendship. Friends were where you found them, or they found you. He would never have chosen the hob, or even Hamish. Hamish had chosen him, but he had learned to enjoy the kid's company. His chatter didn't seem so bad anymore—a man got used to it—and he had more than proved his worth this morning. His brains and book learning were exactly what a dumb lunk like Toby Strangerson needed around.
Of course, Teacher Neal Campbell of Tyndrum was going to have a dozen simultaneous fits when he received Father Lachlan's letter and learned that his son had gone off adventuring to foreign lands with the terrible bastard. That realization had been one of the brightest spots
in a very eventful day, but it had had nothing to do with Toby's decision to take the lad. At least, he hoped it hadn't. He was just obeying the king's orders!
Hamish plopped his seat down on the bunk. "Toby, this is exciting, isn't it?"
"More exciting than fighting demons?"
"Well... no. I prefer this, though."
"We've had an exciting couple of weeks. A quiet cruise is exactly what we need."
"Just think," Hamish said dreamily, "Meg Tanner as the next countess of Argyll! Me and you off to explore the world, and you've got the hob round your neck!" He frowned. "You don't suppose we'll find Portugal dull after this, do you?"
"Where is Portugal? South?"
"Everywhere's south from Scotland." Hamish went back to the window. "It'll be hot. They grow grapes and olives and oranges."
Whatever they were.
He pulled his head back in for a moment. "And after we've seen Portugal, we can go on to Castile! Granada or Aragon, maybe? Or Savoy?"
Wherever they were.
"Anywhere you like," Toby agreed. They would probably get rounded up into somebody's army, of course, fighting for or against the Tartars.
As the ship turned into the firth, the burgh was coming into view through the larger rear window. Vast clouds of smoke were still rising from the western end. Rory would sneer and repeat that Toby was a walking disaster. Suddenly Hamish pulled his head in and aimed a glum look at Toby.
"What's wrong?"
The kid pulled a face like an owl that had swallowed a bad mouse. "The fire! I almost wish I hadn't released you from the hex."
"I hope you don't mean that! The fire's not your fault. The tutelary's back and can deal with it. You couldn't have known what would happen. Valda was the one who played dangerous games with demons. The guilt is hers."
Hamish scowled. "I'm surprised the captain lets you stay, now that he knows you've got the hob with you."
Toby pulled out the amethyst on its chain and dangled it, winking flashes of purple light. "He'll just throw it overboard if it causes any trouble." And Toby with it! He doubted he could ever bring himself to part with it. It was still Granny Nan's farewell gift to him, and he would cherish it for that reason alone. Then he looked at his guilt-ridden young companion and remembered that one duty of friends was comfort in times of trouble.
