The Royal Ranger: The Missing Prince

by John F. Flanagan

  Then they mounted and rode out of the little clearing, continuing down the mountain road to Lassigny’s chateau.

  * * *

  • • •

  Chateau des Falaises was named for the steep cliffs that tumbled away below it on all sides—falaise being the Gallic word for “cliff.” It was set on a rocky outcrop rising out of a lake. A raised causeway, some eight meters high and forty meters in length, connected it to the shores of the lake. The causeway was steep-sided and unfenced. It started out wide enough for eight or nine people to walk abreast. But as it snaked toward the castle entrance, it narrowed considerably. By the time it reached the castle, there was barely room for four people to stand side by side.

  The situation for those traversing the causeway was made more precarious by the fact that the edges were unsealed and had crumbled away at several points, so that it looked as if a giant had taken huge bites out of the edge of the path.

  At the base of the cliffs, to the left of the causeway, their attention was taken by a flock of gulls, screaming and wheeling in the sky over a pile of rubbish, obviously dumped from the castle high above.

  Will sniffed disdainfully. “I imagine that gets pretty ripe in hot weather,” he said.

  The castle itself was a fairly standard design. After the graceful beauty of La Lumiere and Araluen castles, it was disappointingly plain. But it was solidly built and would be difficult to assault, even without the awkward approach path formed by the causeway.

  There were four main towers, joined by curtain walls that reached halfway up each, the whole structure forming a square. The towers were surmounted by turrets that jutted out past the width of the tower itself and were enclosed by crenelated walls to form defensive positions. The design allowed defenders to shoot missiles or drop rocks and stones on attackers clustered round the base of the towers.

  A massive gatehouse, containing the operating mechanism for a heavy iron portcullis, guarded the entrance to the castle. It was fitted with a fighting platform that provided room for more defenders, giving them a vantage point from which they could rain missiles down on enemies clustered around the heavy gates.

  Inside the square formed by the towers and the curtain wall stood a fifth building. Wider and lower than the corner towers, it was a squat, solidly built structure that stood several stories higher than the curtain wall. Its roof was flat and the wall running round the roof was also crenelated, providing a further defensive line.

  This was the keep—the central building of the chateau, where the staff and garrison were housed and fed. The higher levels would be devoted to administrative offices for the castle hierarchy, and private apartments for the castle lord and his senior advisers and officers. It was also the refuge of last resort in the event that the outer walls were breached and an enemy gained entry to the chateau.

  A steady stream of traffic moved across the causeway to the chateau’s gates. About half were pedestrians, some pushing handcarts, but there was a fair representation of people on horseback, and carts drawn by horses and donkeys as well. A mixed stream of goods made its way into the castle: sides of beef and sheep carcasses, vegetables, firewood, casks of ale and wine. Some carts were loaded with wooden cages of ducks and chickens. Each cart or traveler would be stopped at the gate, examined and questioned, then allowed to pass through the gate into the courtyard.

  As the carts reached the narrow end of the causeway, they moved with extra caution, the drivers ensuring that the wheels stayed well clear of the crumbling edges of the path. A team of eight or nine soldiers, armed with short swords and long-shafted halberds, conducted the examination of would-be visitors to the chateau. As Will and Maddie watched the steady procession, they saw nobody turned away.

  “That looks promising,” Maddie said.

  Will grunted. “So far, so good.”

  They had drawn rein on a small hill overlooking the start of the causeway. Now they urged their horses forward and found a gap in the stream of traffic moving toward the castle.

  It took them some time to traverse the path, with the constant interruptions to the traffic flow caused by the interrogation and inspection of each person or group looking to enter the castle. Finally, it was their turn. One of the soldiers motioned them inside, leaving room for a cart full of sides of freshly slaughtered beef to be inspected outside the gate.

  They clip-clopped through the dim interior of the gatehouse, then out into the bright sunlight again, where the soldier motioned for them to stop. He eyed Will’s grubby finery, noting the leather mandola case strapped to his saddle bow.

  “Jongleur, are you?” he asked.

  Will smiled. “Yes, sir. I’m a musician, and this is my young daughter who’s traveling with me.”

  The soldier frowned as he noted Will’s accent. “Where from?”

  “Araluen, sir. We’ve been traveling in this country for a month.” Will had dropped the Hibernian accent he had assumed for Michel at the inn.

  “And what do you want here?” the soldier asked. He was only half interested. It was fairly obvious what the down-at-heel performer would be looking for. But he had to go through the motions.

  “I was hoping for food and lodging for a few days, sir. I’ll be happy to perform for the castle staff in return.”

  “Why not stay at the inn in the village?” the soldier demanded. The village protected by the castle was a quarter of a kilometer back along the road. Will hesitated, looking embarrassed.

  “It’s only a small village, sir—not many to entertain. And the inn is rather . . . expensive.”

  The soldier gave a harsh laugh. He knew the local innkeeper’s parsimonious reputation. “I imagine it is.” He glanced at the long leather tube, strapped upright behind Will’s saddle. “What’s in there?” he demanded.

  “Fishing rods and reels, sir,” Will told him.

  The soldier frowned a warning. “All fish in the lake and rivers in this fief are property of the Baron. There’s no fishing for strangers.”

  “Of course, sir.” Will bowed from the waist in acknowledgment. “I understand. No fishing.”

  The soldier eyed them for a few seconds, then shrugged. “Very well,” he said. “You’ll have to get the seneschal’s approval. His office is on the third floor of the keep. Leave your horses at the hitching post there.”

  He indicated a weathered post set into the cobblestones of the courtyard a few meters from the entrance to the keep. Will bowed again and urged Tug forward.

  “Come along, daughter,” he said, and led the way inside the castle yard.

  * * *

  • • •

  The seneschal—the knight responsible for the administration of the castle and its staff—questioned them briefly, then he gave permission for them to take up two sleeping spaces. These were curtained-off recesses set around the walls of the great hall and the other common rooms of the castle. The lower-ranking castle staff—servants, kitchen hands and cleaners—slept there, as did casual visitors.

  “Four coppers a day,” he told them briskly. “That’ll give you two meals a day—a cold breakfast and a hot supper—and a sleeping space each. Fresh straw every two days. How long did you plan on staying?”

  “Perhaps a week, sir,” Will said.

  The man nodded, eyeing Will’s clothing. “I assume you’ll be performing?”

  “Yes, sir. With your permission,” Will told him.

  The seneschal thought for a moment. “Very well. I’ll make it three coppers a day. That’s twenty-one but we’ll round it down to twenty. If you decide to stay longer, come and see me again.”

  Will paid him and received two round leather medallions in return, with numbers burned into the leather.

  “Eighty-two and eighty-three. They’re your sleeping spaces,” the seneschal said. “Your horses can go into the stables. They’re on the eastern wall of the courtyard. But you
’ll look after them yourselves.”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” Will bowed several times. But the seneschal had lost interest in them already. He dismissed them with a brusque wave of his hand as he pulled a stack of invoices toward him.

  32

  They led the horses to the stables, which were in a two-story building set against the curtain wall on the eastern side of the castle bailey. The upper story was clearly a hay loft. There was a hoisting beam and pulley set in a wide double doorway, by which bales of hay could be lifted up and stored. The ground floor was a long, dimly lit building lined with horse stalls on either side. Just over half of them were occupied and the two new arrivals were met by a dozen or so curious noses peering over the stall doors as they clopped inside the building.

  The stablemaster greeted them as they entered. He was a surly-looking man, thin as a rake and with a head cold that had him sniffing constantly. He eyed the two new arrivals and their apparently unimpressive horses.

  “What do you want?” he demanded, although Maddie thought the answer was pretty obvious.

  Will, however, maintained a subservient tone as he replied. There was no need to antagonize the man. He knew from long experience that people like this, with their own little domain and sense of self-importance, could be tyrants if not treated properly.

  “The seneschal said we could stable our horses here, sir,” he said.

  “Did he now? And I suppose he expects me to look after them for you, does he?” the man challenged.

  Will spread his hands in a placating gesture. “No, sir. He said we should look after them ourselves. We’re happy to do that.”

  “So you should be. I don’t have time to be chasing after a pair of shaggy nags like these two,” the stablemaster said. Behind Maddie, Bumper raised his head and snorted indignantly. She quieted him with a quick touch of her hand.

  “Put ’em in two of the stalls at the back there.” The stablemaster waved a vague hand at the row of unoccupied stalls at the rear of the long, low room.

  “They can share one stall,” Will told him. “They’re small horses and they’re used to each other’s company.”

  “How lovely for them. Well, that’s your choice but you’ll still pay for two. There’s water in the trough there, and hay and oats for them. One bin of oats every three days,” he added shrewdly.

  Will shrugged in acknowledgment.

  “And that’ll be six coppers for their feed for the week,” the man said. There was a challenging note in his voice, as if he were waiting for Will to dispute the price.

  Will looked at him for a long moment. He was sure that the cost of the horses’ feed was covered by the fee he was paying the seneschal. But there was no point in arguing.

  “Of course,” he said. He rummaged in his belt purse for the six coppers and handed them over.

  Perversely, the surly stablemaster looked a little disappointed, as if he had expected an argument. He waved a hand toward the stalls, and they led the horses into the long building.

  They settled the horses into a stall, filling the feed bin with hay and the drinking trough with fresh water. Will leaned the bow case against the wall in the shadows at the back of the stall. Tug and Bumper would prevent anyone from looking at it more closely.

  Then, carrying their saddlebags, and their rolled Ranger cloaks and bedding, Will and Maddie headed for the keep. Maddie waved goodbye to the stablemaster, who was repairing a harness. He scowled in reply.

  “Friendly type,” she said to Will as they emerged into the afternoon sunlight in the courtyard.

  He shook his head. “Before we leave, I might take the time to smack him over the ear,” he said.

  Maddie smiled at the thought. “I’d pay you six coppers to see that,” she said.

  * * *

  • • •

  The common room on the ground floor of the keep was where they would eat and sleep while they were here. The vast room, set with tables and benches, could seat between fifty and seventy people—the less important members of the castle staff. The sleeping spaces were set in niches around the walls, each with room for a straw-filled mattress and with hooks set into the wall to hang clothes and belongings. A waist-high wooden platform served as a bed. It was covered with a thinly packed straw mattress and a coarse linen pillow. The spaces were curtained off from the main room to provide a modicum of privacy for the occupants.

  They found their allotted spaces and spread their bedding out on the straw mattresses. Will studied his and sniffed it once or twice.

  “Seems clean enough,” he commented.

  They concealed their saxes under the bedding. Their throwing knives were in concealed sheaths—Will’s strapped to his left forearm and Maddie’s inside the back of her collar.

  Will had shaken his head when she had selected that hiding place. Years ago, he had nearly died as a result of his knife snagging as he tried to draw it from a collar sheath. But there was no such thing as an ideal hiding place for a knife—there was always the possibility that a hidden blade could snag or catch on clothing if the owner tried to draw it too quickly.

  He glanced around the room. There was a low buzz of conversation from the other people seated around the walls. There were about twenty of them in all. The rest were doubtless still on duty in the castle. They’d arrive as the day drew on and the evening mealtime approached.

  “I’ll play a little after we’ve eaten,” Will told Maddie. “Once I’ve got their attention, you slip away and check out the higher floors of the keep. We need to know where Lassigny is holding the prince.”

  “Is there anything specific I should be looking for?” Maddie asked.

  “Look for any rooms where there are guards on duty. Anywhere they seem to want to keep nosy strangers out.”

  “Do you think he’ll be in the keep?”

  He shook his head. “Probably not. But we might as well start here.”

  Some twenty minutes later, the serving staff from the basement kitchen brought the evening meal in. They placed half a dozen big cauldrons on the tables, spacing them out. Other servers brought stacks of wooden bowls and spoons. The numbers of people waiting in the room had doubled as the mealtime grew closer. Will glanced at one of the high-set windows in the wall, above the row of sleeping spaces. It was still daylight outside. Obviously, the staff ate at an earlier hour than the knights and nobles in Lassigny’s dining hall.

  He and Maddie found places at one of the tables and he ladled food from one of the big pots into two of the wooden bowls. He dipped up a spoon and tasted cautiously. The meal, a lamb and vegetable stew, was surprisingly good, although a little over-flavored for his taste.

  “Heavy on the garlic,” he muttered. “Typical Gallic cooking.”

  Maddie had no such reservations, and she ate quickly, dipping a broken-off piece from a long bread loaf into the stew. There was more vegetable than lamb, she noted. But the food was hot and well flavored. The gravy was rich and the bread was light and airy—unlike the flat, heavy loaves she was used to in Araluen. She finished her bowl in quick time and glanced around the room. Seeing other diners helping themselves to additional servings, she spooned more of the stew into her bowl and continued eating.

  “Slow down,” Will cautioned her. “You’ll give yourself a bellyache.” But she noticed that he too had a second helping, then pushed his bench back from the table, a satisfied look on his face.

  “Not bad,” he said contentedly. “Not bad at all.”

  The servers had set out jugs of water, ale, wine and coffee on the tables. Will tasted the wine and pulled a face. It wasn’t to his liking. He poured himself a mug of coffee instead, looking round hopefully for a bowl of honey. But there was none and he shrugged, drinking the coffee unsweetened. He would have preferred to have it sweetened but it was good coffee, with a rich flavor, and eminently drinkable, he thought.

&n
bsp; Gradually, the other diners finished their meals and the servers took the pots and bowls away, leaving the coffee and wine jugs on the tables. The people seated at the tables broke up into smaller groups, placing their stools in circles and leaning forward toward each other as they conversed in lowered tones.

  Will rose and moved to his sleeping space, where his mandola was on his bed. He opened the leather case and removed the instrument, checking its tuning as he did so. Maddie, who had gone with him, noticed several of the people sitting around the room glancing at him curiously.

  “You’re going to perform?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “I’m going to sit quietly to one side and provide a little background music,” he said. “People don’t always want their conversations interrupted. Those who want to listen rather than talk can gather round me.”

  He settled his mandola’s strap around his shoulders and turned toward the tables once more. “You wait here,” he said. “Once I’ve drawn a bit of attention away from you, slip away and see if you can find where they’re holding Prince Giles.”

  Maddie waited by her sleeping niche, pretending to store her clothes on the hanging hooks and shelves provided. Will moved across the room, hooking a stool with his foot, then carrying it to a spot against the far wall.

  He sat down and began quietly strumming a few chords. There was a brief lull in the various conversations around the room as people turned to look at him. Most resumed their conversations, but some turned their stools in his direction as he began to sing quietly. After the first song, half a dozen moved their stools into a small semicircle around him. He smiled at them and struck up another song.

  Maddie glanced around. Nobody seemed to be paying any attention to her. Quietly, she slipped away along the row of sleeping spaces and out the big double doors.

  33

  From the ground floor, there was a wide central stairway leading to the higher levels of the keep. Maddie clung to the walls of the big room, staying out of sight as far as possible. Once she started upward, she would be open to challenge. She had no excuse for being in this part of the castle, other than curiosity—and she didn’t think that would be a particularly valid excuse if she were spotted.