by Moore, John
“I’ll bet he gets a great view on clear days.”
“They say he sees everything, clear day or no,” said the coachman. “There’s a cask of cider up top, Miss, if you’re thirsty.”
“Thank you.” Gloria dismissed the castle from her mind and drank a cup of cider. A few hours later they began the descent into the valley. It was early evening, and already dark when her trunks were unloaded at the coach station. A cold wind kept people off the streets. Gloria congratulated herself on her timing. No one was around to watch when a cart arrived to take her to the estate of Baron Wayless.
An hour later the cart turned into the drive to the Wayless estate. It traveled in the shadows of waving pine trees and emerged onto a lawn of short brown grass. In front of her was a large, country-style house, with a gray slate roof, wide chimneys, and shuttered windows, almost all of which were dark. The Baron himself, wrapped in an old bearskin coat, came out to greet her. He watched with a good deal of amusement, and a little discomfiture, as trunk after trunk was handed down. “Are you planning to throw a dinner party, my dear? How much clothing did you bring?”
“You can’t wear them if you don’t bring them,” Gloria said cheerfully. “It may be a week before I’m rescued. I have to have something to occupy my time.”
“I should have suggested bringing a book.” The Baron looked sadly at the windows to his library. “I had to sell all mine, I’m afraid.”
“I brought one of those, too.” She remained until the last trunk was thrown down, and the cart rattled away, making sure it was out of sight before she threw back her hood. Several footmen carried away her luggage. The Baron was coughing into a handkerchief. She pretended not to notice this, waited until he had recovered, and said, “You’ve managed to hold on to the staff, I see. They must have faith in you.”
Baron Wayless shook his head. “I haven’t paid them all year. They’ve mostly taken jobs in the village. They help me out part-time, and in exchange they’re allowed to live in their old quarters.” Gloria followed him into the manor house. She could understand the seriousness of his position. Most of the rooms were closed off. Their fireplaces were cold. The walls were bare of pictures, and almost all of the furniture was gone. Everything was swept and dusted, and anything that could be polished was gleaming, but the sills needed paint, and the flower gardens had not been replanted. The Baron’s coat had been carefully mended, but was still worn at the elbows. And the cuffs. And the collar. Without money, hard work can only take you so far.
Wayless led her to the dining room, where her correspondence was spread across the walnut table. “We’ll destroy your own letters tonight.” He lit a candle and directed its light to a neatly written confession and a handful of incriminating letters, carefully composed in his own hand. “Are you hungry, Princess? Would you care to dine before we review these?” He hardly got the words out before he doubled over in another fit of consumptive coughing. He straightened up and waved away her concern. “I’m fine, my dear. The knowledge that I will be giving Count Bussard a final shot in the eye has been like a tonic to me. And trust me, I would rather die on my feet, with a noose around my neck, than wither away in bed.”
“It will be quick,” Gloria admitted. This was the part of the deal that made her the most uncomfortable.
“I will wear full evening dress to my hanging,” said the Baron. “I will make a speech. I will admit to the kidnapping, of course, but then I will make cryptic allusions that will have the entire country trying to find out my true motives. There will be conspiracy theories floating around for the next decade. Oh, and this is the really good part. I’ll drop hints that I buried valuable family heirlooms on the estate. Even if Bussard gets control of this property again, he’ll forever have to contend with fortune hunters sneaking in and digging up his gardens.”
“You are a vengeful man, Baron Wayless.”
“I am pleased to hear you say that, my dear.” Wayless sank into a chair. “If you only knew the misery that he has caused us. And for what? He already owns most of this valley. The richest land, the clearest streams, the most valuable timber are his. But no, he has to have it all, and he uses any means, fair or foul, to get it.”
Gloria was relieved. Her biggest fear during the trip to Bornewald was that the Baron would get cold feet and renege on his agreement. Instead, he was downright cheerful as he showed her the evidence against himself, then folded the letters neatly into a file folder and left it in plain sight on the sideboard. “You can direct their attention to it if they fail to look at it, my dear. You would be surprised how many investigators will tell you that it is ungentlemanly to read another man’s mail, even in the line of duty.”
The Princess nodded. Fortunately, women were not subject to this compunction. “I don’t want to dissuade you, Baron Wayless, but I must be perfectly honest. When you are arrested for the kidnapping, of course your property will be forfeit to the king.”
“Of course.”
“You realize that if other people hold liens on your land, and my father seizes it, they may go to court and demand compensation. Depending on how influential they are, and what sort of mood my father is in, he may grant it.”
“Ha!” The Baron was gleeful. “Yes! The king might pay compensation, but it will be on the taxable value. And Bussard has the tax office under his thumb. He’s made sure that the assessed value is a fraction of what it is really worth. He won’t get spit in compensation. Hoist by his own petard. Oh, the poetic justice of it all. Too bad I won’t be around to see it.” He darted away into the next room. Gloria heard an extended fit of coughing, but when he came back the Baron was smiling. He had a fresh handkerchief in one hand and a dusty bottle in the other. “Port wine,” he said. “The last bottle in the cellar. My wife and I got a case of it as a gift when I inherited this estate. Now we will bring it all to a finish. Will you do me the honor of having a glass with me, Princess Gloria?”
“Thank you, Baron Wayless. I’d love a glass.”
“I’m not opposed to sliced bread, myself,” Terry said. “I like sliced bread. It’s just that I think it ought to be clearly labeled as sliced, so the consumer can make an informed choice.”
“But sliced bread is exactly the same as broken bread,” objected Roland. “It’s just been sliced.”
“Then there’s no reason it shouldn’t be labeled as such.” said Terry. “Stop.” They had come to a place where the road forked. Both trails narrowed past the fork, and wound into deep woods, where the bare branches of thin black trees whipped in the cool breeze. They had not seen another traveler all day. They were a long way from the city, several days hard ride, and this part of Medulla did not get a lot of commerce, at least not at this time of year. Terry got off his horse. He was a big man, but he rode a big, stolid warhorse, easily a full hand taller than Roland’s spirited racer. He waited while Roland settled his horse, then got down on one knee.
“Check the hoof marks,” he said, pointing to the hard-packed dirt. “They’re faint, I know, but you can see that this horseshoe has three nails with round heads and two nails with square heads. That’s one of the horses we’ve been following. It went left. So we can take the left fork.”
Roland studied the ground where Terry pointed, but he couldn’t see any difference between it and the adjoining patches of ground, because there wasn’t any. While he was looking down, Terry pulled a scrap of lace from his pocket and let it flutter away in the breeze.
Roland stood up and brushed the dirt from his stylish new riding clothes. “Amazing. I’ll have to take your word for it, Terry. My tracking skills are no match for yours.”
“It just takes practice,” Terry assured him. They mounted up again and turned their horses down the left fork. But Terry stopped his horse after only a few paces. “There!” A cluster of thornbushes grew beside the road. He swung down, darted to one of them, and plucked a small piece of white cloth from its branches. He showed it to Roland.
“What is it?”
Roland looked at the thornbush with concern. “Is she injured, do you think?”
Terry shook his head and pocketed the square again before Roland could look at it too closely. “No, I think she tore it off herself. This is not the first piece I’ve seen. I thought that piece might have torn off by accident. But now I think she is dropping them on purpose, to leave a trail for us.”
Roland nodded. “A brave girl,” he said, as Terry mounted his horse. “And clever, too. If it is from her dress, it verifies that we’re on the right trail. But what makes you think it’s from Princess Gloria’s dress?”
“Because it’s lace.” Terry got his horse started down the road. “Gloria loves lace. I know, they’re all wearing lace now—it’s the fashionable thing—but with the Princess Gloria it’s kind of a signature look.”
“I didn’t know that. Was she wearing a dress with lace that day? I’m afraid I don’t move in court circles.”
“Gloria? Of course she was. She wears lace all the time. I don’t know how you could miss it.”
“I’ve never seen her.”
“What?” Terry was astonished. “You’re engaged to a girl you’ve never seen?”
“That’s correct. It will be an arranged marriage.”
“Sure, but didn’t you at least try to get a look at her? Demand an introduction from her family, or cadge an invitation to one of her parties? Aren’t you curious? What if you don’t like her?”
“What’s the point? I have a responsibility to my family. I’m going to marry her, no matter what. If not her, someone else of their choosing. I’ve got things to do. I can’t go around meeting every girl in town. If she is attractive, it will be a pleasant surprise. If she is unattractive, why torture myself with the knowledge? I don’t even want to know what she is like. It’s better just to go into this with an open mind.”
“I guess,” Terry conceded reluctantly.
“She’s never met me either.”
“Huh. You can bet she knows everything about you.”
“Oh.”
They rode in silence for another mile. Then Roland said, “Um, so what does she look like?”
She is a vision of beauty, Terry thought. The words came to mind, immediate and unbidden. She moves like a ripple on a summer lake. Her hair floats about her in a soft golden cloud, gently blown by hidden winds. The light of her smile will dispel the darkness in your heart, and the warmth of her touch will kindle the fire in your soul. She looks totally killer in high heels and stockings. He knew, however, that this was not the kind of description a smart man gave to a potential rival, so he just said, “She looks okay.”
Roland reflected on this. They climbed through a narrow pass, where a cold wind took their breath away. Conversation stopped. Terry kept one hand near his sword, since any narrow pass is a good place for road agents. There were not supposed to be bandits in this part of the country, but it had been several years since he had last been this way, and things might have changed. They didn’t see anyone, however, and once they were through the pass, the wind dropped off, and a pleasant, cultivated valley spread out before them. The fields were bare, because it was after the harvest, but cattle grazed at hay bales, and horses nosed around the base of apple and pear trees, looking for windfalls. It made a surprising change from the rough, rocky hills, and the unsettled forests that they had been riding through. The small village of Bornewald, with its cluster of thatched buildings, lay in their path. “She’s beautiful.”
“Hmm?” Terry looked around. “Who?”
“The Princess Gloria. She must be beautiful. A princess in the Twenty Kingdoms is always beautiful. There’s nothing to worry about. And she’s probably a very nice person, too. Right?”
“Sure,” said Terry.
“She isn’t a redhead, is she?”
“No.”
Roland looked at him suspiciously. “She doesn’t do anything like, say, talk to smoked hams?”
“Not that I’ve heard.” They were close enough to the village that Terry could point to an inn. “But while we’re on the subject of food, I suggest we stop to eat there.”
“You don’t want to keep on? We can’t be too far behind them.”
“This is the end of the coach road. From here on it’s just horse trail and footpaths. It’s too easy to lose them in the dark. Besides, this part of the country is rarely visited. They’ll probably consider themselves safe here. I suspect they will also settle in for the night. But the important thing is that I’ve got some connections in this village. I want to talk with them and hear if they have any information about a bandit hideout.”
For a small place in a small village in a rural, barely accessible valley, the inn did a pretty good business, for it had the advantage of being the only public place on the road, as well as the end of the line for the monthly coach. The dining room was cheerily lit by a crackling fire, and full of the smell of roasting meat, baking pies, and woodsmoke. Two young girls in aprons tended the tables and bar. When they weren’t busy they cast their eyes toward Roland and whispered to each other. Terry caught a glimpse of another girl through the kitchen door, one who was slim and pretty, with her hair tucked under a chef’s toque. The menu was posted on a large piece of black slate. Both men were surprised at how elaborate it was. They were expecting the usual country fare of stews, soups, sausage, and perhaps mutton, but it also had a selection of fish, local game, and baked goods.
“The wine is also good,” said Roland. He sipped his glass approvingly. “It’s not often you find good wine from these local vineyards. And these girls know how to serve it properly. Will you try it?”
“I prefer cider,” said Terry, who did not. He did like good wine, in fact, but usually he couldn’t afford it.
“Jam tarts and jam rolls,” murmured Roland, half to himself. “Always happens this time of year. The local farms put up too much jam, and they can’t get rid of it. Hmm, poached cod.”
“Surely you’re not going to order cod this far inland? It’s going to be dried.”
“Dried fish can actually be quite tasty if poached properly and served with a béchamel sauce,” said Roland, although he eventually ordered the pheasant pie. Terry ordered sausage. It was the cheapest thing on the menu. The dragon-slaying expedition had cut seriously into his finances, and this trip wasn’t improving them.
It was an age before travel for recreation had become popular, and strangers in small towns were often greeted with suspicion. Had Roland been on his own, he might even have been jailed as a fugitive, a miscreant, or worse, a traveling salesman. He knew this. That was why he had sought assistance from the Captain of the Royal Guard. Terry’s coat of arms made sure that doors stayed open for them.
Terry was traveling with Roland as a companion in arms. Roland had first offered to hire him as an assistant and guide. When Terry declined payment, Roland offered to pay his expenses. Terry respectfully declined that also, explaining to Roland that he could not possibly accept compensation for doing his duty to his king and country.
The truth was that he couldn’t take Roland’s coin. If he did, he would be working for Roland, everything he did would be on Roland’s behalf, and that included rescuing Gloria. He would have to maintain strict independence if he wanted to marry Gloria. It would still be dishonorable to take his companion’s girl, but there was no way around that. He told himself that he was doing Gloria’s bidding. That certainly outweighed any obligation he had to Roland. Gloria was, after all, a princess of Medulla, while Roland, although wealthy, was still merely the son of a merchant. It was simply a question of social rank.
Terry became aware that Roland was asking him a question. “Hmm?”
“I was wondering what made you decide to become a knight?”
“Oh well, you know how it goes. When you’re the biggest kid around, the adults give you all the responsibility. They want you to look after the other kids and keep them
out of danger. And I just sort of fell naturally into knighthood. I guess I grew up to think of myself as someone who went around defending the weak, protecting the poor, and upholding the king’s law.”
“That sounds very noble, Terry.”
“Thank you.”
“Also totally unbelievable. What’s the real reason?”
“To score with girls. The babes go wild for a man in shining armor.”
“That I can believe.”
“And how about yourself? I take it you’re following along in the family footsteps?”
“Pretty much. It all began with my great-grandfather. He invented a process for making microchips.”
“That must have been difficult.”
“Well, you have to start with very small potatoes. And the family has been into cookery ever since.”
Terry slid his chair away from the table. “Excuse me. I need to meet my informants. I won’t be long.”
Roland nodded. “I’ll go with you.”
“Ah, that’s not a good idea. They don’t know you. They won’t talk in front of you. It’s better if you stay here and watch the door.” He looked around the room, indicating the other diners with his eyes. “Tell me if anyone seems to follow me out.”
“Right.” Roland pulled out his money pouch. “Take some silver. Tell them we’re willing to pay for information.”
It was tempting, but Terry waved it away. “No need. The crown will reimburse me for the expense if we are successful.” Roland shrugged and put his money away. Terry rose, and, with feigned casualness, left through the front door. Taking care that he could not be seen through the dining room windows, he walked around to the back of the inn, where he found a fenced in yard with an unlatched gate. He let himself in and settled on a stack of firewood for a moderately long wait. The night was clear, so the temperature was already dropping. The fence helped to block the wind. Through the trees, he noted the position of the crescent moon. He made a mental vow not to go back inside until it rose above a certain branch, so he wouldn’t return too soon.
