“No,” Aidan answered. “It’s just one feechie, a scrawny rat of a fellow, acts like he doesn’t have good sense half the time.”
A man in the far corner shouted across the room, “If you Aidanites think a Wilderking is any different from a King Darrow or a Pyrthen king-or a feechie king, for that matter-then you Aidanites is a pack of fools.”
His opinion was met with hoots of agreement and support from across the crowded room.
Ma Pearl, the innkeeper, finally arrived at the table. She was a stout, jolly-faced woman, and she wiped her hands on her apron as she said, “Fools or no, them Aidanites has sure been good for business. You want lunch, sugar?”
Aidan and Dobro both nodded their heads.
“I got bacon, collard greens, and sweet potatoes.”
“Bring us two,” Aidan said. “And some water if you don’t mind. And could you tell me where I could find a horse trader?”
Ma Pearl directed him to a stable on the other side of the dusty street, and Aidan, eager to keep their visit to Ryelan as short as possible, left Dobro waiting at the table while he went out to buy their horses.
“Remember,” he whispered in Dobro’s ear before he left, “no talking. No fighting. No grinning.”
It wasn’t long at all before Ma Pearl brought the plates to Dobro’s table. And Dobro, figuring that Aidan probably wouldn’t want him to wait, dug in. Like tooth brushing, eating with utensils was one of those civilizer niceties Dobro hadn’t yet embraced. He had just shoved a fistful of collard greens into his mouth when a big farmhand sat down across from him in Aidan’s chair. “Say, stranger,” he said, “where you come from anyway?”
Remembering what Aidan had said, Dobro just looked blankly at the man. He didn’t speak. He didn’t smile. A drop of green pot liquor dripped from his chin and back onto the pile of collard greens from which it had come.
“What’s a matter with you, boy?” the big Ryelanite asked. “Cat got your tongue?”
“Get after him, Lumley,” one of the diners urged.
“Come on, Lum,” yelled another.
Dobro just shrugged and thumbed a glob of sweet potato into his mouth.
“You stuck up or what?” Lumley leaned across the table and put his face just inches from Dobro’s. Dobro remembered Aidan’s warning about breathing on the locals, so he put up a hand to shield his mouth and nose.
“Oh, so my breath stinks, does it?” Lumley was yelling now, and everybody in the place was watching intently to see what would happen next.
“Well, stranger,” Lumley continued, “I ’bout had it with outsiders coming here and looking down their noses at us Ryelan folks.”
Dobro looked down at his plate. There was no stopping the big field hand now. “I may not be from Tambluff or Middenmarsh or whatever fancy place you come from, stranger, but I mean for you to know that Ryelanites is as good as anybody. You gonna howdy me and be neighborly, or I’m gonna find out why.”
Lumley was off his chair now, looming over Dobro with a fist drawn back. “Am I gonna have to learn you manners the hard way?”
Dobro’s shrug and close-lipped little smile was more than Lumley could tolerate. He roared like a bear as his left fist rocketed toward Dobro’s right ear. But Dobro was much quicker than any big field hand’s fist. He easily ducked under it, and Lumley’s knuckles cracked against the timber that held up the roof above them. He screamed with pain and lunged at Dobro with a sweeping right. Dobro dodged that, too, and Lumley’s momentum sent the table crashing to the ground.
Dobro leaped onto the nearest table and headed for the door, dodging from tabletop to tabletop as the diners dove for him and grabbed at his ankles. Food, crockery, forks, and knives tumbled to the floor with a crash and a clatter. Tables tipped, and people slipped on the smashed sweet potatoes and greasy collard greens that littered the floor.
When Dobro reached the door, he found it to be guarded by three very large Ryelanites. Dobro felt confident he could whip them, but he had orders not to fight, so he jumped from a tabletop to one of the exposed rafters above. He pulled himself up and ran from rafter to rafter, dodging broken plates and mugs the diners were hurling at him.
By this time, Ma Pearl had waded into the fray, swinging her black iron skillet like a battle ax, trying to subdue the rowdies who were tearing her public house apart. Big men fell like mown wheat under Pearl’s skillet; their thick heads rang like gongs.
Dobro, meanwhile, found a way out onto the thatched roof. Aidan was coming around from the stable leading two horses. His face was a mask of horror when he heard the uproar coming from Ma Pearl’s inn. The very walls were shaking.
“Aidan!” Dobro shouted. “Time to leave these neighborhoods!” Aidan led the horses across to the eave where Dobro was waiting for him. Dobro dropped onto the horse’s haunches, and they took off at a mad gallop as angry Ryelanites came boiling out the front door of Ma Pearl’s.
Aidan rode easy in the saddle as his horse weaved through the villagers who came into the street to see what the ruckus was. His horsemanship returned naturally after so many years. Dobro, on the other hand, rode standing up like a circus rider. As the village receded in the distance, he waved his thanks to Ma Pearl, who was still brandishing her black skillet.
“I told you not to get into any fights,” Aidan yelled when they were out of immediate danger.
“I wasn’t fighting,” Dobro said. “I was just running away from the fight. But that only seemed to make them more angrified.”
“What did you say to those people?” Aidan asked hotly.
“I didn’t say a word the whole time I was there,” Dobro insisted. Then he confessed, “But, Aidan, when them old boys was chasin’ me acrost the tabletops, I did grin a little bit. I just couldn’t help it.”
Chapter Seventeen
South Gate
Aidan still knew the River Road bend for bend. “Over this next rise,” he called to Dobro behind him, “we’ll get our first glimpse of Tambluff Castle.” He turned around in the saddle to look at his feechie friend. “Dobro!” he shouted, exasperation in his voice. “You have to sit down in the saddle. I mean it!” Dobro had ridden most of the way from Ryelan, standing up on his horse’s back.
“I can see more this way,” Dobro said.
“We’re trying not to draw attention to ourselves,” Aidan said.
“Ain’t that what these hoods is for? To keep folks from recognizin’ us?”
“Yes, Dobro, but if you’re carrying on like a trick rider…”
“It just don’t seem right to me, settin’ on a critter’s back,” said Dobro. “Don’t seem respectful to the critter.”
“Dobro, sit down!”
Dobro flopped into his horse’s saddle, slumping like a petulant child. “Yes, Your Majesty,” he said. Sarcasm was one of the civilizer habits he was starting to get the hang of.
“In an hour we’re going to be in Tambluff,” Aidan said. “It’s not like any place you’ve ever seen before. Busy streets, fine carriages. Guards everywhere. Soldiers. People whose job is to pay attention to who comes in and who goes out. If you don’t try a little harder to blend in with the civilizers, we’re going to be in a whole world of trouble, Dobro.”
“I’ll try harder, Aidan,” said Dobro. “But you folks is got such peculiar ways, it ain’t easy to blend in.”
“Just try to do what everybody else is doing.”
***
They approached the city at the south gate and merged with the steady flow of people threading under the teeth of the portcullis. Dobro pulled his hood further over his face, suddenly self-conscious among so many civilizers, aware of how different he was from them.
Before they reached the gate, the door to the gate-house swung open, and a round old man leaped in front of them holding a pikestaff across his body to block their way. “You!” he shouted. “You hooded horsemen. You’ll identify yourselves before you pass through my gate.”
The old man was Southporter, keeper of t
his gate since well before Aidan was born. How many times had Southporter welcomed Aidan to Tambluff when he was younger? King Darrow never had a more faithful servant. Perhaps he would not look so kindly on Aidan anymore. The armed guards at the gate looked alert, watching the confrontation, ready to get involved if need be.
Aidan had no choice but to identify himself and pray for the best. He could run if he had to; he knew every nook and cranny of Tambluff. And he had no cause to fear on Dobro’s account. The wily feechie could take care of himself. Aidan leaned down toward Southporter so the old gatekeeper could see his face under the hood. “I am Aidan Errolson,” he whispered.
Southporter’s face paled, and he staggered back a step. “Aidan,” he whispered. Then, after a quick glance at the armed guards, he opened his arms in a gesture of welcome to Aidan and Dobro. “Simon!” he said heartily. “Thurston! What took you so long? Come in! Come in!”
He turned back to the gate guards. “Can you keep an eye on things until I get my friends settled? It will only take a minute.” He herded Aidan and Dobro into the gatehouse and sat them down on a bench he used for questioning suspicious strangers (and sometimes used for taking afternoon naps).
“Aidan, what are you doing in Tambluff?” he whispered, his voice full of genuine concern. “This is the most dangerous place you could possibly be!”
“I’ve come to-” Aidan began, but Southporter was at it again.
“And who is this with you?” Southporter threw back Dobro’s hood and squinted at him, trying to remember if he had ever seen him, or even anybody like him, before.
“Southporter, this is Dobro Turtlebane,” Aidan began.
Southporter nodded his head and pointed at Dobro. “I know what you are,” he said. “Yes.” He kept looking at Dobro, kept nodding. Then he looked back at Aidan. “So it’s true. I thought it was just another wild rumor, you traipsing around the countryside with a feechie, but here he is, setting right here in my gate-house.” He stared another moment at Dobro. “He is a feechie, ain’t he?”
Aidan nodded.
“You’ve brung some astonishing things to this gatehouse,” Southporter said. “Six years ago, you brung the biggest alligator I ever seen before or since. And today, you have brung a feechie in the flesh.” He slapped his thighs. “I don’t know how you gonna top this one, Aidan!”
Dobro gave Southporter a greenish grin. Southporter shook his head in amazement. Then he grew suddenly serious. “Aidan, there’s another rumor about you, and every time I hear it I tell folks it’s a filthy lie.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Folks say you and your pap’s training a rebel army down in Sinking Canyons. And I tell them, ‘That’s a filthy lie, and I don’t care who knows it! Ain’t nobody,’ I tell them, ‘ain’t nobody truer to the House of Darrow than Lord Errol and his boys.’ I still call him ‘lord,’ even if King Darrow don’t. And I tell them, ‘Anybody cares to contradict me can have my pikestaff right across his skull bone.’”
Southporter had plenty more to say on that subject, and he meant to go on at some length, but he noticed a strange expression on Aidan’s face. Southporter tried to soldier on. “It’s like I tell them
…” He broke off. “Aidan, why ain’t you looking at my eyes? Aidan? Oh, dear me, no! Aidan? You are training a army in Sinking Canyons!”
“Southporter, it’s not what you think!”
Southporter’s face crumpled and tears stood in his eyes. “Traitor?” His tone of voice was halfway between an accusation and a question. “Aidan Errolson a traitor?” He put his hand on the bell pull that would summon the armed guards.
“No! Never!” Aidan looked into Southporter’s eyes, resisting the temptation to look at his hand on the bell pull. “Believe me, Southporter. Errol and his sons are no traitors. Yes, we are training an army, an army to place at the service of the House of Darrow. These men insist on following me, Southporter. I will lead them in service to Corenwald.”
Southporter was silent for a moment. He looked at his hand on the bell pull, then back at Aidan. “Why should I believe you?”
Aidan blinked slowly and said, “Do you even have to ask that?”
Southporter took his hand off the bell pull. He looked a little ashamed of himself. He also looked relieved. “No, Aidan, of course I don’t. But you have to admit it looks suspicious. The king outlaws a nobleman and his sons. The nobleman and his sons train an army of malcontents.”
“Father says we may be the only army Corenwald has.”
Southporter nodded his head. “He may be right. Darrow’s army was in terrible shape even before he tried to invade the Feechiefen. Since then, it’s been even worse. When the Pyrthens come…” Southporter broke off. He shook all over, as if from a sudden chill.
“So you think the Pyrthens are coming too?”
“How could they not be? The question isn’t if they’ll come; it’s when. And why they haven’t already is a mystery to me. I figured the two of you were Pyrthen spies or assassins when you rode up hooded. What are you doing in Tambluff anyway?”
“Seeing the sights,” said Dobro with admirable candor. “I ain’t never been to the city before, and I made Aidan bring me.”
“And I’m here,” Aidan began, “to meet with Lynwood Wertenson.”
A flicker of suspicion returned to Southporter’s eyes. “The rabble-rouser?”
Aidan raised an eyebrow.
“I got no use for that man,” said Southporter, “and I don’t care who knows it. What business do you have with him?”
“I’ve come to tell him that I don’t intend to lead his rebellion, Southporter.”
“That’s my boy,” whooped Southporter. “That’s my boy!”
Aidan wrote a quick note to Lynwood expressing his wish to see the Chair of the Committee at his earliest convenience. Southporter sent the note with his most trusted messenger, then settled in to give Aidan the news from Tambluff. He said he hadn’t seen King Darrow since the day he galloped home from Last Camp, after the aborted invasion of the Feechiefen.
“He come thundering through my gate on that beautiful black horse of his,” Southporter said, “face like a wild man.” He turned to Dobro. “No offense intended, of course.”
The wild man nodded and smiled greenly. “None taken.”
“Galloping so hard his mounted bodyguard couldn’t keep up with him. Galloped into the castle, and so far as anybody knows, he ain’t come out since. Hasn’t met with the Four and Twenty Nobles, hasn’t seen anybody besides his personal servants and Prince Steren.
“The servants say he raves and rages for whole days at a time. Goes back and forth between wanting to pardon you and wanting to hunt you down and kill you. So he ends up not doing anything.” Southporter shook his head. “I think your act of mercy-choosing not to kill him when you had the chance-got inside his mind and busted it up. He’s been hating so long he can’t make sense out of mercy. Sounds like he can’t make sense of nothing else either. He done the same thing in the days after you brought home the frog orchid. Tore up with guilt for hating a feller who always answers good for bad, but still hating you all the more for it.”
Aidan’s heart went out to his friend the prince. “What about Steren?” he asked. “What has he been doing?”
“He’s been away for three weeks. His father sent him out looking for you.”
Aidan thought on this. “It wouldn’t take three weeks to hunt me down. Doesn’t everybody in Corenwald know we’re in Sinking Canyons?”
Southporter laughed. “The children playing in the street out there know you’re in Sinking Canyons. Of course, they also think you’re in Sinking Canyons with an army of ten thousand feechiefolk, all foaming at the mouth and ready to tear down Tambluff brick by brick.”
Dobro managed to stifle a little smile, but he did sit up a little straighter.
“So Steren must not be trying very hard to find me,” said Aidan.
“Doesn’t sound like it,” said Southporter. “Sounds like he’s prot
ecting his old friend. Or maybe,” he added after a brief reflection, “he’s afraid of what he might find if he does track you down.”
“When Steren comes back, Southporter, would you make sure he knows what I told you? That army in Sinking Canyons is his army-Corenwald’s army-not mine.”
Southporter smiled. “I’ll make sure he knows.”
By that time the messenger was back with Lynwood’s reply. He requested the honor of Aidan’s and Dobro’s presence at his supper table that evening. The supper hour was fast approaching, so Southporter loaded Aidan and Dobro into his pony cart and covered them with a blanket. It wouldn’t do for Southporter to be seen with these hooded strangers. Nor would it do for him to be seen at Lynwood’s house. So when he reached the street corner where Lynwood’s house stood, he stopped for a passing wagon and made a low whistle. Aidan and Dobro tumbled out the back of the cart, and Southporter rolled on without a backward look or a wave.
Chapter Eighteen
Lynwood’s House
Try to blend in,” Aidan whispered as they mounted the marble steps to Lynwood’s house. Somehow he knew Dobro wouldn’t blend in. They were in the finest neighborhood in all of Tambluff. A gleaming carriage rattled by, pulled by a horse whose carefully groomed flanks shone in the afternoon sun. Lynwood’s massive front door was polished walnut. The brass of its great alligator-head knocker was so bright Aidan hated to touch it at all.
“Everything’s so shiny!” Dobro marveled.
The servant who answered Lynwood’s door was dressed as finely as a Pyrthen lord, in tailored silks and white hose and gold buckles on his shoes. Dobro whistled when he saw him and nudged Aidan. “Even the folks is shiny!”
The man hurried the two dusty travelers into the entry hall, peering out into the street to see if anyone had noticed them. “Follow me… gentlemen,” he said. There was that tiny pause, barely perceptible, before he said the word gentlemen. Ebbe used to do the same thing when ushering people he considered to be beneath the dignity of Errol’s house. Dobro, of course, didn’t notice.
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