The Royal Ranger: The Missing Prince

by John F. Flanagan

  “And when might that be, sir?” Will asked.

  “Tomorrow night. The King dines his court on six-day evening. It’ll be in the royal banquet hall.” He paused, then added meaningfully, “If you’re good enough.”

  “And as for payment, Sir Guillaume?” Will let the question hang.

  The marshal nodded. It was a natural-enough question. “Tonight you can collect from the audience as you normally might. For tomorrow, a fee will be agreed in advance.” He took a breath and was about to add more but Will forestalled him.

  “If we’re good enough,” he said.

  A trace of a smile touched the marshal’s lips, then was gone. “If you’re good enough,” he agreed.

  18

  Gilan and Horace were pacing the battlements of Castle Araluen, deep in conversation. Horace was planning to exercise his cavalry with the castle’s archers, in a combined operation.

  “I was thinking about when we were being pursued by the Red Foxes, at that river crossing,” Horace said.

  “The archers and cavalry worked pretty well together, as I recall,” Gilan said.

  Horace nodded. “Granted. But we had a select bunch of both with us at the time—the best archers and the best troopers. And we were improvising, making it up as we went along. I’d like to formalize the whole thing so that all our archers and all our troopers are able to train for an operation like that.”

  While Gilan was nominally the Commandant of the Ranger Corps, he also oversaw the training of the castle’s force of archers. That was only sensible, as he was one of the best shots in the kingdom, along with Halt and Will.

  He nodded now as he considered what Horace had said. “That makes good sense,” he said.

  Horace, encouraged by his reaction, expanded on his idea. “And I’d like to do it in reverse,” he said.

  Gilan smiled. “You want them to ride backward?”

  Horace gave him a weary look. “No. I’d like to practice with our troopers attacking across a river, and the archers shooting over their heads in support.”

  “That would require a bit of practice,” Gilan admitted. “It’d be a little riskier than holding off a pursuing force.”

  They passed through one of the corner towers and emerged on the far side, out onto the battlements once more. A sentry on duty, surprised to see the two senior officers, stiffened to attention.

  “Relax,” said Horace, and the man reverted to an at-ease position. The two friends had started to resume their walk and conversation when Gilan stopped and indicated a tall figure leaning on the battlements halfway along the wall.

  “Who’s that?” he said, although he was reasonably sure he knew.

  The sentry, who wasn’t familiar with the idea of a rhetorical question, answered immediately. “It’s the King, sir,” he said. “He’s been there these past forty minutes or so.”

  “Odd,” said Horace, lengthening his stride to approach Duncan, who was staring out over the grassy parkland below, looking to the east. Gilan had to hurry to catch up with the tall knight’s long strides.

  Duncan heard them coming and turned, a smile creasing his face as he recognized two of his most trusted, and capable, officers. “Good morning, Gilan. Morning, Horace,” he said.

  The two returned his greetings. Gilan studied the King shrewdly. Behind the smile of greeting, he could see the lines of worry on the King’s face. Something was bothering him.

  “Is there a problem, sir?” he asked. Gilan was never one to beat around the bush, which was one of the many reasons Duncan valued him as an adviser.

  The King gestured vaguely to the east. “I was thinking, Will and Maddie should be well on their way by now,” he said. “They’re due to reach Chateau La Lumiere any day.”

  “And you’re worried about them?” Gilan said.

  Duncan nodded slowly. “And I’m worried about them.”

  “Any particular reason, sir?” Horace asked.

  Duncan hesitated before answering. “Nothing specific. Just an uncomfortable feeling. I don’t like sending two of my Rangers out to take care of someone else’s problem.”

  “I can’t say I’m keen about it myself, sir,” Gilan agreed. “It does make them seem a little like mercenaries.”

  “I agree.” Duncan nodded. “Although I think Anthony’s point about keeping Philippe on the throne is a good one.”

  “Better the devil we know,” Horace said.

  Once again, Duncan nodded. “Exactly.”

  “But you don’t entirely trust Philippe,” Gilan put in. It was a statement, not a question.

  “That’s right. He’s never been a particularly trustworthy person. And if things go wrong for Will and Maddie, he’s liable to leave them twisting in the wind.”

  “Do you have something in mind, sir?” Horace asked.

  Duncan paused before committing himself to an answer. “I’d feel better to know they had a little backup standing by in case they need it,” he said. “Just a couple of good people—and I don’t think I want Philippe to know about them.”

  “Anyone in particular, sir?” Horace asked.

  Duncan met his gaze for a long moment and Horace sensed that he might well be one of the “good people” to whom Duncan referred. But instead of saying so, Duncan turned to Gilan.

  “Is Halt due to visit us anytime soon?” he asked.

  Gilan allowed the ghost of a smile to cross his face. “I’m sure that could be arranged, sir,” he said.

  Duncan looked away to the east again, as if he could see his two Rangers, far away in Gallica.

  “Good,” he said at length. Then he repeated it. “Good.”

  19

  Will and Maddie performed that night for the lower ranks of the castle’s population—the garrison and staff members—in a large dining hall on the ground floor of the keep.

  They were well received. Life in a castle, after all, tended to be boring and uneventful, so any diversion or form of entertainment was usually welcomed. That said, Will and Maddie provided excellent entertainment. Will’s singing and playing were well above average and he had a good repertoire of songs.

  And Maddie’s knife throwing was an exciting act as well, with the added spice of implicit danger from the razor-sharp throwing knives she handled with such apparent nonchalance and unerring accuracy. With Will’s suggestion in mind, she left out the deliberate mistake at the beginning of her act. But she was still unable to cajole any member of her audience to allow themselves to be strapped to the rotating target wheel. The suggestion, when she made it, was greeted by good-natured ribaldry and absolute refusal.

  They had an established order to the program now. Will would open proceedings with a twenty-minute set of songs. Then he would introduce Maddie. In the vast dining hall there was plenty of room for her to perform. When she was done, he would resume, inviting the audience to sing along with him, while Maddie circled the room with a large sack, offering it to the audience so they could put their coins into it.

  She was gratified by the growing weight of the sack as she moved through the long tables, and the preponderance of silver and gold coins that went into it—there were few of the less valuable coppers, she noticed.

  She also noticed the marshal standing at the back of the hall, watching Will perform. Sir Guillaume caught her eye and gave her an approving nod. He beckoned her over to him. She bowed politely as she reached him and he gave her a quick smile.

  “Very good work,” he said. “Tell your father you’ll be performing for the King and his nobles tomorrow night. I’ll speak to him about a fee in the morning.”

  She bowed again, a quick nod of her head. “Thank you, Sir Guillaume,” she said. “I’ll let him know.”

  He nodded several times. There was a nervous energy about him that infused all his movements. “Good. Good. Your quarters are satisfactory, I trust?” />
  They had been assigned a small suite of rooms on the third floor of the keep—where the senior servants and staff members were accommodated.

  “Very comfortable, sir. Much better than our cart.”

  The smile flashed quickly again and was gone. “I’m sure,” he said. “Well, I shall talk to your father tomorrow.”

  He turned away and left, threading his way through the crowded tables to the door. Maddie turned around and saw Will had been watching them. She headed back to the front of the room, collecting more payment as she went. As she passed by him, she said in a low voice, “We’re performing for the King tomorrow.”

  He nodded acknowledgment and began another song while she went back to the small table reserved for them at the side of the dining hall. It was a nonsense song with a repeating chorus about a bucket with a hole in it, the audience joining in with gusto. She knew that it was the antepenultimate song of his set. She sat at their table and poured herself a cup of coffee from the jug there. She yawned discreetly—it wouldn’t do for the audience to think she was bored by Will’s singing and in truth she wasn’t. She was simply tired. The nervous energy that filled her when she was performing had left her, and she felt flat and exhausted as the adrenaline drained away from her system. Ten more minutes, she thought, and she could head for her warm and comfortable bed on the third floor.

  * * *

  • • •

  The following day around noon, they were summoned to Sir Guillaume’s room on the ground floor of the massive gatehouse structure.

  “His Majesty will be pleased to see you perform this evening, for him and his knights and nobles,” he told Will, who nodded.

  “And the fee?”

  Guillaume leaned back in his high-backed wooden chair. Will and Maddie were standing in front of his desk.

  “Some might consider the honor of performing before royalty to be sufficient reward,” he said.

  Will sensed that his protest wasn’t genuine. Rather, it was part of a haggling process. “Some might,” he replied, his tone leaving no doubt that he was not one of the aforementioned “some.”

  Guillaume nodded briefly. He hadn’t expected Will to agree to the idea. “Then a fee of forty eagles will be paid,” he said.

  Will pursed his lips. An eagle was the Gallic unit of currency, a gold coin worth about one and a quarter Araluen royals. It was a reasonable offer, he thought. But on the low side and definitely not overgenerous.

  “We made nearly that much from the common folk last night,” he said.

  Guillaume shrugged. “Then you were most fortunate,” he said. But, seeing Will’s determined expression, he hastily amended the offer. “Very well, the fee will be fifty eagles.” He paused and added meaningfully, “And that is the final offer.”

  Will nodded. “Agreed,” he said immediately.

  Guillaume made a quick note on a piece of parchment on the desk before him. “You’ll be paid after the performance,” he said. “I assume that you’ll be moving on tomorrow?”

  And don’t let the door hit you in the backside on your way out, Maddie thought, concealing a grin.

  “Unless His Majesty insists that we stay over and perform again,” Will said.

  Guillaume raised his left eyebrow and tapped the figure he had written on the parchment. “At this price, don’t bank on that happening,” he said, and they took their leave.

  As they made their way across the cobbles to the keep tower once more, Will grinned down at his companion. “Well, now you can tell your grandchildren that you’ve performed for royalty,” he told her.

  Maddie smiled back. “And for fifty eagles,” she said.

  He looked at her in surprise. “Who said you were getting any of that? You’re doing it for the honor.”

  * * *

  • • •

  The royal dining hall was on the second floor of the keep. It was a more lavish affair than the hall where they had performed the previous night. It was smaller, as was the audience. And it was furnished more opulently than the rough-and-ready trestle tables of the general hall. Richly woven tapestries and paintings—presumably of the King’s ancestors—hung from the walls. The room was lit by dozens of candles in candelabra, with a massive chandelier holding at least fifty candles hanging over the center of the room. There were approximately forty knights and nobles, seated at eight tables in front of a raised dais, where the royal table was set. A space had been left between the tables and the dais. This was where Will and Maddie would perform.

  On the dais, a table was set for the King and his senior court members: his wife and her lady companion, his brother, his chamberlain and three other high-ranking nobles. Whereas the common folk the night before had sat on uncushioned wooden benches, the King and his party, and the knights and nobles in the lower part of the hall, sat on carved chairs, with high backs, comfortable cushions and carved armrests. At the far end of the room from the royal table, a huge fireplace dominated the wall. A hearty fire was blazing in it as Will and Maddie made their way unobtrusively into the room, standing to one side.

  A noisy buzz of conversation filled the air as servants made their way among the tables, carrying roast meats and fowls, and platters of steaming vegetables. They placed them on the tables and the diners helped themselves, carving and spearing pieces of meat with the long daggers that had been set on the table before them. They used wooden platters and forks as well, loading the platters with food and then eating. Nobody seemed to feel that they should stop talking while they ate, and a hubbub of voices, each raised so its owner could be heard over his neighbors, filled the room.

  At the royal table, the King ate little, Maddie noticed. His gaze wandered over the throng assembled before him, studying them, assessing them. There was no sign of affection in his eyes. They were as cold and unblinking as a basilisk’s. She shivered briefly at the sight of them. King Philippe was not a man you would want to antagonize, she thought.

  From time to time, he would lean to one side and say a word or two to his brother, seated on his right—Louis, Maddie knew from Gilan’s briefing. He was an interesting character as well. A sardonic, superior smile was fixed on his face and he would respond to the King’s comments with loud guffaws of laughter. But the laughter never reached his eyes, she noticed, and they had the same cold intensity that his brother’s had.

  Philippe didn’t speak to his wife, a haughty, tall and strikingly beautiful woman sitting on his left, whose jet black hair was worn long and marked with a white streak on the right-hand side. Maddie assumed it was a cosmetic effect and not a sign of aging. From time to time, the queen would utter an aside to her lady-in-waiting. The two would then laugh briefly. Maddie had the distinct impression that the queen’s comments were barbs aimed at the diners at the lower tables. She sniffed disdainfully, thinking of the cheery, convivial banquets she had attended at her father’s court in Araluen, or the more informal, boisterous affairs at Baron Arald’s Redmont.

  The Gallic court, by contrast, would appear to be one where snide comments and thinly veiled snobbery were the order of the day.

  It had been agreed that the performance would not begin until the main meal had been eaten. Now, as servants carried away the ravaged carcasses of ducks and geese and the dismembered joints of beef and pork, the King nodded to the majordomo, a white-bearded, straight-backed man who carried a metal-shod black rod as his staff of office. He, in turn, made a signal toward the side door of the dining room and two servants hurried in, carrying the target wheel for Maddie’s performance, draped in a heavy linen cover. Some of those present noticed and stopped talking, eyeing the draped apparatus with interest. Others, farther away, continued to talk and laugh, until the majordomo, resplendent in his uniform of gold and silver—Philippe’s court colors—slammed his staff down on the floor three times. Three resounding reports echoed through the room, and the diners’ conversations less
ened, then died away as the majordomo thundered in a stentorian voice:

  “My lords and ladies, knights and nobles, pray silence for the King’s entertainment!”

  Will looked sidelong at Maddie and grinned. “Tense up,” he whispered. “We’re about to go on.”

  20

  Philippe, looking somewhat disinterested, waved a languid hand for the entertainment to begin. Will stepped forward and launched into his opening song, a stirring tale of chivalry and valor, describing the courageous battle of a knight in white armor against a trio of evil trolls. It was a popular song, he knew, and one well suited to this type of audience. When he sounded the final ringing chord, he received an enthusiastic round of applause from the lower tables. The King and his party, he noticed, as he glanced quickly in their direction, allowed themselves a few bored handclaps. He shrugged and continued with his set list of songs.

  By the end of the set, he had the audience clapping enthusiastically and calling for more. Not the royal table, of course. Taking their lead from the King, they maintained an aloof, disinterested air. They clapped perfunctorily and even carried on conversations while Will was performing.

  “Tough crowd,” he muttered to Maddie as she moved into the open performance space beside him. She grinned at him, knowing he was referring to the royal party, not the wider audience, who were obviously enjoying themselves. Politely waving aside the audience’s cries for an encore, Will introduced Maddie, referring to her this time as the Mistress of the Blades of Peril. She smiled to herself. Some nights it was the blades of death, others the blades of danger.

  Will moved quickly to where the target wheel stood and stripped away the linen cover. A murmur of interest ran through the room. The assembled crowd had been wondering about the apparatus concealed under the cover.