by Robert Evert
More sweat clung to his armpits.
He didn’t know how much more he could take. Sooner or later, he’d bolt out of the hall screaming. He just hoped he wouldn’t trip on his cloak as he fled.
He was hyperventilating.
Keep calm! Everything is fine. In a few minutes you can sneak out without anybody noticing. Just keep calm!
Coming upon an alcove where an antique vase stood on a pedestal, Edmund stopped again, hoping to kill a few more tedious seconds.
He glanced around a third time.
Still no water.
Cursing, he tried to appear interested in the vase.
“Well, th-th-that, that must be over five hundred years old,” he said, aiming to sound educated, only to realize he was talking to himself.
He rolled his eye at his own stupidity then leaned in to inspect the fine blue lines etched along the vase’s rim, soft candlelight reflecting off its polished porcelain. Lifting it, he searched the bottom for the name of its creator.
Something slid around his elbow.
Edmund cried out with a jump, bobbling the priceless vase several times before slamming it back down on its pedestal with a loud thump. Conversations faltered. Everybody stared at him.
“Master Edmund!” Baroness Melody had wrapped her arm around his, preventing him from running away. “So good of you to attend. It would not be the same without you here.”
Hurry, say something dignified!
“Thank you. It’s … it’s g-g-good to be here,” Edmund stammered.
That’s dignified? Focus. Nice … smooth … speech.
“But, but, but …” he added, pinpoints of sweat pricking his forehead, “I won’t be able to stay for—”
“You know, I have heard wonderful things about you,” Baroness Melody interrupted, walking Edmund deeper into the crowd. She nodded to her guests as she passed. “Simply wonderful! You’re an inspiration to us all! Everybody in town is talking about you.”
Everybody’s talking about me? What could she possibly have heard, wonderful or otherwise?
Who cares? Just try not to stutter like an idiot. Focus. Nice … smooth … speech. Breathe …
“Thank you, your … your highness. However, I’m afraid, that I—”
“In fact,” she went on, “just the other day, a man came to see me about you. He was rather rude. Boorish, in fact.”
“A man?”
“Yes, yes. But not to worry. I sent him on his way. As I told you before”—she gave Edmund a knowing wink—“I am very discreet. He won’t bother you while you recuperate.”
Who would be looking for me?
Probably officers of the law. You’re lucky they haven’t arrested you for threatening the constable.
Another reason we need to leave …
“Now, I have taken the liberty of inviting some young ladies of exceptional standing whom I think would be perfect for you. There is no better cure for a broken heart than a little companionship. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Say something, you idiot! And don’t stutter.
“Okay.”
Ugh!
“However,” Edmund added, trying to sound more urbane, “I … I have to say, I’m, I’m really not in the position to meet any young—”
“Of course you are, my dear.” Baroness Melody patted Edmund’s forearm.
Make an excuse, any excuse. Get out of here! Pretend you have to use the bathroom or that you’re ill!
“Oh, Amelia!” Baroness Melody beckoned to an elegant blonde in her late teens. “Oh, Amelia, dear!”
Amelia smiled politely at the Baroness and, inclining her head, returned her attention to the young nobleman around whom she and a flock of other young women had gathered. She produced a cascading laugh in response to something he said.
“Come, come, Amelia!” Baroness Melody called to her. “I wish to introduce you to an extraordinarily interesting gentleman.”
A wave of annoyance washed over Amelia’s flawless face. She pouted apologetically at the nobleman, curtsied, and approached the Baroness with the grace of a swan gliding across a still lake.
“This is Master Edmund.” Baroness Melody again patted Edmund’s arm, which was still linked awkwardly with her own. “He is an adventurer of great renown and importance. And terribly wealthy, you understand.”
At the phrase ‘terribly wealthy,’ Amelia’s blue eyes twinkled. Smiling, she extended a gloved hand.
Kiss it, you idiot! Pretend you belong here.
Bowing, Edmund kissed the white elbow-length glove.
“It is a pleasure, Master Edmund,” Amelia said, showing the hint of a playful grin. “Tell me, to where have you journeyed?”
“Yes, indeed,” the Baroness prodded. “Please tell us of some of your heroic exploits!”
Before Edmund could respond, the Baroness rapped the tip of her cane against the floor.
“Everybody!” she called out. “Everybody, may I have your attention?”
Oh no! No!
The surrounding babble of laughter and conversation died as the crowd turned to its hostess.
“P-p-please …” Edmund whispered to her, heart hammering the inside of his ribs. “Please don’t—”
“Master Edmund, renowned traveler, adventurer, and aider of people less fortunate than himself …”
This isn’t happening!
“… would like to share a tale of one of his many heroic exploits! Please, everybody, gather around and lend him your ears!”
Everybody turned toward Edmund, whose face flushed hot.
There was a scattering of light applause.
“A-a-act, actually—” Edmund looked around for a servant with anything he could drink.
Think fast, Master Storyteller!
He raised a pleading hand. “I … I … I …”
Maybe you should tell the story of how you held your dying brother in your arms during the Battle of Bloody Hills, just like that storyteller did back in Rood!
Sweat dampened his eye patch. His lungs fought to take in air. He tugged at his collar. Everybody was staring at him.
“Well.” He coughed. “Th-th-thank you … thank you, Baroness M-M-Mel, Melody. Thank you v-very much.”
One of the wealthy gentlemen at the rear of the room mentioned something to a stunning redhead standing nearby. She covered her mouth and snickered.
“But I … I don’t, I don’t want to … to interrupt the m-m-merriment with my boring st-stories.”
“Oh, such modesty,” the Baroness said. “Please, go on. Dazzle us with your heroics!”
Yes, dazzle them! Ha! Now everybody will see that you’re nothing more than a stuttering fool.
I could make something up. Or tell them one of the tales from my old books!
Go ahead, but you’d better hope that one of these educated people hasn’t read the same stories growing up.
“Well,” Edmund began, staring at the ground.
He lifted his head. Many of the women were now chatting with the other men. Most of them were giggling. The beautiful blonde, Amelia, had already drifted back to her small group.
“I, I … I originally came fr-fr-from, from the f-far north … the Highlands, we call the region.”
This didn’t appear to impress anybody.
“One day, you see … I, I left home to s-seek, to seek my fortune as an adventurer.”
A gathering of women laughed at something another gentleman had said.
“So m-m-me and my trusty companion, who went by the name of Thorax …”
“Thorax?” somebody muttered. “Is this a joke?”
Icy sweat trickled from Edmund’s armpits. He tucked his arms to his sides so nobody would notice.
“So we explored a tower called Tol Helen.”
Come on! You’re boring even me! Spice it up. Give them something to listen to.
“N-now … now Tol Helen was the site of a massacre … many ages ago.”
At the word ‘massacre,’ many of the side c
onversations wavered.
“A horrible … bloody massacre,” Edmund went on.
More people looked at him.
Good. Keep going.
“Where a band of men … and women … were held up in the tower, surrounded by bloodthirsty bandits.”
Better. But ease up on the bloody this and bloody that. Tell them about the troll and how you killed him.
They’d never believe me.
“This band of travelers was slaughtered by the bandits, you see. N-n-not, not a s-single man, woman, or child survived. They were all hacked to pieces. Some were burned alive.”
Somebody gasped.
“The attack was so brutal, in fact, it is … it is said that to this very day the t-t-tower … the tower and its surrounding desolate hillsides are haunted by the victims’ tortured spirits.”
Nice touch.
Everybody was watching Edmund now; even some of the men seemed at least mildly interested in what he had to say.
“So my companion, Thorax, and I found the tower. It was now a hulking ruin, over, overgrown with trees and ivies and infested with black rats the size of cats!”
Edmund bent his fingers, claw-like, and turned so the entire crowd could see. He tried to snarl.
Several women shrank back. Male guests put their arms around them in comfort.
“Crawling through, crawling through a … a tunnel in the rubble, we pushed our way into the ruins … fighting off rats as they grabbed and bit us.”
Edmund pointed to a scar on his right hand where, in fact, a rat had bitten him when he was trapped in the mines of the Hiisi.
A few women leaned forward to look at it.
“Oh my!” said one of them.
A murmur grew; the crowd was evidently starting to believe Edmund’s story.
“But why did you and your companion go there?” asked a young woman with chestnut hair all done up in a fancy do.
Yes, why? And don’t mention Iliandor or the diary.
“Because, young lady …” Edmund paused dramatically to buy himself time to think.
Where’s that glass of water?
“Because … legends, legends claimed that in the tower … in the tower was a secret vault where untold riches could still be found. Many others before me had attempted to find it, but nobody had ever come back alive.”
Excitement rippled through the audience.
“So you were looking for somebody else’s hard-earned possessions,” one of the men said with more than a hint of disdain.
“No,” Edmund replied.
No? What do you mean ‘no’? Why else would you have been in the tower? Think!
“It was n-n-not … it was not the haunted treasure that I sought,” he said to the crowd.
Then what were you seeking? Hurry up and make it believable!
“I wanted something … something … special.”
You’re ruining it! What were you looking for?
An idea came.
Edmund frowned sadly at a woman in front of him. “You see …” He put his hands over his heart. “I was in love. In love with the most beautiful, the most radiant woman in all of the Highlands. And I had dreamt about marrying her since we were both children.”
Many of the women’s eyes moistened. Lips turned into slight smiles.
Oh, this is brilliant! Keep going.
“So I sought to find the Ring of … the Ring of … Hildegard, which was said to be locked away in the secret vault.”
Hildegard? Wasn’t that one of old lady Mercer’s cats back in Rood?
It’s all that I could think of.
“Now … now, the Ring … the Ring of Hildegard—in case tales of it have not reached you here in the Kingdom of Havendor—was an exquisite wedding ring, wrought long ago out of the purest silver. It was made by a lowly blacksmith’s apprentice who fell m-m-madly in love with a young princess. Upon seeing the ring, the princess fell in love with the apprentice.” He paused and shrugged. “I suppose I’d hoped that its magic would work for me.”
Perfect!
Women dabbed at their eyes with handkerchiefs borrowed from the men standing forgotten by their sides. The men examined their drinks in boredom.
Edmund continued. “The likes of the ring had never been seen before … or since.”
Tell them what it looked like. They want details.
“It … it had a … a, a flawless white diamond the size of my thumbnail. And on its silver band were inscribed the words: ‘True love never dies’!”
Several women sobbed.
Turning to make eye contact with as many of them as possible, Edmund added, “My love deserved something as beautiful as she.”
More sobs erupted. Nearly all the women were now crying, their makeup running with their tears.
End this while things are going well. You’re going to blow it if you keep talking. Just think of a good ending and excuse yourself for the evening. Then get the hell out of this town before Kravel shows up!
Edmund thrust his hands into his pockets. “It’s probably a b-b-boring tale. I don’t mean to take up so much of your time.”
“Wait,” a woman called out from the middle of the crowd. “Did you … did you find the ring?”
Looking down at his feet, Edmund gave a pronounced sigh. “Yes, I … I found the ring, though it cost me my eye.”
He pointed to the black patch.
“And did you give it to your love?” somebody else asked.
“Yes,” another added, “what happened?”
The circle of women drew a step closer.
Make it good, and then get out of here.
“I gave it to her,” Edmund muttered, head bowed. “But by the time I had returned, alas … she … she had already married my best friend.”
There was a collective gasp. Gloved hands covered mouths. Many women surged forward to comfort the clearly despondent Edmund.
“Oh, you poor man!” one of them said.
Edmund put on a stoic face.
“I’ve detained all of you long enough with my tale of woe,” he said. “It was a pleasure meeting you all, but I must return now to my quarters provided so graciously by our wonderful host.”
Terrific! Now get the hell out of here.
Edmund made his way to the door, past numerous outstretched hands touching and trying to console him.
“Wait,” called one last woman from the back of the crowd. “Was that the ring you gave as payment to free Fatty Moron?”
Edmund paused, shoulders hunched. Without facing her, he nodded.
Every woman in the room sucked in air.
“It doesn’t mean anything to me now.” Edmund opened the doors to the hall. “Nothing does.”
Chapter Twelve
“And then I just walked out,” Edmund said, his ever-broadening grin hurting his face. “I was wonderful! I had them eating out of my hand. Some were even crying!”
“I told you!” Pond said, grinning nearly as much as Edmund. “You’re a fantastic storyteller. I love hearing your tales. You should have more confidence in yourself. Maybe you should even write a book or—”
There was a knock at the door of their suite.
Barking, Becky raced across the parlor but skidded to a stop when Fatty Moron snapped his fingers. Looking over her shoulder at the door, she trotted to Edmund and sat down.
“Maybe that’s Baroness Melody coming to congratulate you,” Pond suggested in a whisper. “She probably wants you to return to the party.”
“Probably. Or she wants to introduce me to somebody else.”
You need to forget about all of this and get out of here. You need to find someplace safe before Kravel and Gurding show up in the middle of the night and drag you back to the wet cells.
“Quick, hide the backpacks,” Edmund said.
Pond and Fatty dragged the three overflowing packs into the other room.
There was another knock at the door, firmer and more insistent than the first.
Bec
ky stayed in the parlor next to Edmund, eyes ablaze with manic energy. She glared at the door.
“Who’s there?” Edmund asked when the backpacks were out of view.
“Nobody you know,” a woman’s voice replied.
Pond and Fatty reentered the parlor. Becky sprang to her feet and raced to the door, barking. But Fatty snapped his fingers again and, with an eager whine, Becky returned to where she had been sitting.
“Who is it?” Pond whispered to Edmund.
“Nobody of consequence, I can assure you,” the woman answered from the other side of the door. “However, I do have exceptional hearing. May I come in?”
“She doesn’t sound dangerous,” Pond whispered, even softer. “Go ahead.”
Edmund opened the door.
Standing in the dimly lit hallway was a short young woman in a white gown, her long, raven black hair interwoven with small yellow roses and draped elegantly over one shoulder.
My word, she’s pretty!
“Are you going to invite me in?” she asked.
Pretty? She’s gorgeous! But somebody her age shouldn’t be here unescorted.
“I … I’m, I’m sorry,” Edmund said. “It w-wouldn’t … it wouldn’t be proper. People would talk.”
She scoffed, an expression that seemed to come naturally to her. “I’m twenty-three years old and unmarried. Believe me, Master Edmund, they already talk.”
Standing five feet tall in her heels, she barely had to duck under Edmund’s arm as he held open the door.
Becky raced at the woman, barking, but quicker than a flash, Fatty scooped the dog up in his portly arms. Becky wrung and twisted, trying to get away, while Fatty gently stroked her head.
“Wh-why, why don’t you take Becky outside for a bit,” Edmund told him, unable to wrench his gaze away from the woman inspecting the parlor. “We’ll be with you in a few m-m-moments.”
Nodding, Fatty lumbered to the door. He smiled at the visitor.
She smiled back, touching his arm as he passed. “It’s nice to see you again. Cute puppy.”
