Ned sidled up close to Fred and nodded at the area. "They call this the Square. For the life of me I still can't figure out why."
Pat glanced around the crowd, but her short stature meant even on her tiptoes she couldn't see above most heads. "Which way is it to the castle?" she asked Ned.
The old man pulled at his beard, and looked from left to right. "I think perhaps we head up the steepest road and we'll find our way there in good time. For now, let's see what we can get for this boy's clothes."
CHAPTER 10
Ned bought for Fred clothes of an even finer quality than what they'd bought at the last town. Fred felt as fine as a prince, and he noticed Pat stared at him often, and with a glint of admiration in her eyes. A new cloak was also bought for Pat, and then they were off to the castle. Each city steppe was accessed from above and beneath by a single road that wound its way along the streets. Between each steppe was a ramp, and the ramps grew steeper the higher the traveler climbed. By the time the companions stood before the castle they were exhausted.
"Perhaps next time we should hire a cart," Pat conceded.
Ned wheezed and shook his head. "None are allowed in the city during the Festival."
"Festival?" Fred repeated.
Ned nodded back where they'd come, and Fred followed his pointing to the celebrations below. "It's the Festival of the Mountain. Every autumn they celebrate the god of the mountain's birth so he will protect them for another year."
"Superstition..." Pat muttered. "Their well-trained army keeps them safe better than any fabled mountain god."
Ned leaned on his staff and chuckled. "You may think so, but they've been performing the festival for four hundred years and have yet to be taken by an enemy. I'd say that's a better record than any army, and much more fun."
The old man toddled off ahead of the others and glanced at their surroundings. The castle was set back from the road, which created an open area between itself and the lower steppe. The only defense was the high walls around the castle; if the enemies made it that high then the rest of the city was lost and there would be little hope for those within the castle. A pair of tall, wooden doors led into an inner courtyard, and these were wide open. Inside were rows of tables piled high with good food; Fred drooled at the feast and Pat rolled her eyes.
City-folk lined up with plates and took their share from the tables while guards looked on to intercede in fights. A very well-dressed man walked among the people and spoke with everyone he met, shaking hands and smiling at them. The stranger happened to glance through the gates and noticed the three standing outside. His face brightened and he stepped out to greet them.
"Edwin, you old coot!" he greeted Ned. The stranger wrapped his arms around Ned in a bone-crushing hug.
Pat stifled a snort but Fred was confused. Ned separated himself from the other gentleman and put a finger to his lips. "It's Ned now, old friend."
The man caught something in Ned's eyes and the smile slipped from his face; he nodded. "I see, sorry about that, Ned. I guess with all the ale I've drunk it slipped my mind. And speaking of ale-" The man slung an arm around Ned's shoulders and turned them toward the gates. "-how about a gallon or two, for old time's sake?"
Ned smiled. "Have you forgotten again why I'm here? Why we're here?" Ned nodded over his shoulder and the man followed his gaze; his eyes fell on Pat, who bowed.
"Oh!" the man exclaimed. He dropped his arm and hurried over to Pat, where he took her hand and kissed it. "My apologies, my dear lady. You must forgive a drunken old fool and his poor memory."
"There's nothing to forgive," she replied. Fred was glad to see Pat looked as confused over this man as he.
The stranger caught her blank stare. "Ah yes, but where are my manners. I am Lord Tramadore, my lady, and ever at your service."
Pat smiled. "Well, Lord Tramadore, if you're at my service then I demand you call me by my name. It's Pat."
Lord Tramadore glanced up into her face, and nodded. "Very well, Pat. I hope I will make your stay here very comfortable."
"I'm sure you will," she answered him.
Ned stepped over and put his hand on Fred's shoulder. "And this is Fred, a boy we managed to pick up."
Tramadore laughed, and swiveled around. "You don't just pick up-" His eyes settled on Fred and he froze. Tramadore cast a glance at Ned, who grinned and put a finger to his lips again. "I see, well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Fred." Tramadore stepped over and offered his hand, which Fred shook. "I hope we get to know each other very well," the lord added, but his eyes dodged over to Ned.
"Yeah, me, too," Fred replied. He had no idea how to act around lords and ladies, but this one seemed especially strange with the way he cast those glances at Ned.
Fred wondered what silent communication traveled between them, but he would have to keep guessing because Tramadore stepped back from the group and held his arms out toward them. "And now let me invite you into my humble abode, Tramadore Castle. During our Festival I'm sure you'll find your palate well taken care of and the company tolerable, so long as you're drunk through the boring conversations."
Ned chuckled, Pat tried hard not to roll her eyes and Fred stood there with all the confusion of a country boy thrown into a group of eccentric aristocracy. Tramadore led them inside and, much to Fred's regret, skirted the tables, and they traveled through a pair of closed doors open for them by servants. The companions walked into the grand hall, a spacious area with curved stairs on either side of the rear wall, and doors leading off to all parts of the castle. Off to the right side they heard more talking and revelry, and Tramadore guided them to a smaller room with a long table; it was the dining hall.
This table had chairs, and the seats had ladies and gentlemen in fine clothing. There was much talk going on between chewing, but all that was interrupted at the entrance of their host. Many of the men stood and the ladies politely nodded at Tramadore. The lord stepped forward and greeted three gentlemen, who he then guided to the three companions. "Gentlemen, may I introduce my new guests, here for a few days to enjoy our festival." He gestured to each as he introduced them. "Ned, Pat, and Fred, weary travelers all three." Then he turned to the gentlemen. "These are Lord Anthony Brighton." The aforementioned gentleman was short and balding, and had a cheery countenance with too much drink on his face. The middle man was much younger than the first, about twenty-five, and had dark hair with matching eyes. He smiled at Pat, who blushed and looked down at the floor. "Percival Clavier, with his father Lord Henry Clavier, fifth lord of Sturgeon. I'm sure you know Lord Sturgeon is one of our city's finest merchants." The final man was a tall, thin lord about sixty years old and with piercing black eyes.
Percival leaned forward and gallantly took Pat's hand. He gently kissed it and gave her a wink. "Please call me Percy."
The other men nodded at the new guests, who returned the gesture. "A pleasure to meet you all, I'm sure," Lord Sturgeon greeted them. "I'm familiar with Ned. Who in Ralcott wouldn't know the great castor? But these young ones are a mystery to me. Are you all old friends to our Lord Tramadore?"
"Very old," Ned spoke up. He grasped Fred around the shoulders and hugged the boy against himself. "This young man here has known Lord Tramadore for a good twenty-five years."
A laugh went up from the group, and from others at the table who overheard the joke. "Well, you look quite well for that age," Lord Sturgeon complimented Fred.
"Thank you, sir," the boy mumbled.
Lord Tramadore rubbed his hands together and nodded at the table. "Let's say we dig in, shall we? I've been so busy entertaining my people that I've forgotten to entertain my guests."
Lord Brighton chuckled and nodded toward the front of the room. Behind the head of the table where sat Lord Tramadore there was a short, empty pedestal. "We've been waiting for the last day, my lord. When are you going to let us get a chance at the chair?"
The other conversations died down and a murmur of interest went up from the crowd. "Yes, do let us
have a chance at the chair," one of the women, a younger member of the group, pleaded with their lord. Most joined in and the conversations lit up about the chair. Fred had no idea what they were talking about, but Ned and Pat were as interested as the others in the room.
Lord Tramadore held up his hands and silenced them. "I had planned for the chair to be brought out this evening, but if you insist."
"We insist, we insist," Lord Brighton repeated with a jolly laugh.
"Very well then." Lord Tramadore clapped his hands and two servants at the doors behind them left the room. He turned to his three new guests. "Sit where you will and make new friends," he invited them.
Fred was glad when Ned put a hand on his back and led the boy to a pair of empty chairs. Pat, strangely shy, captured a seat nearly opposite them. Fred glanced over all the delicious food and had a fine pile on his plate before the servants returned with four knights in accompaniment. All the attention was on what the knights carried; a large, old chair crafted from wooden beams. It had a low back and thick, short arms with short legs. The knights hefted the piece of furniture around the table and up onto the pedestal.
Lord Tramadore moved his chair so everyone had a good view of the large seat, and he turned to his guests. "All right, who would like to sit in it first?"
The young woman who made the earlier plea jumped from her seat. "Please, if you all would allow me, please let me be the first."
The other guests gave their consent and the young woman gleefully caught up her dress and hurried to the head of the table. Ned leaned in to Fred with a smile on his face. "Watch carefully. This is bound to be very entertaining."
Fred didn't have any idea what the old man meant, but he watched with interest as the girl reached the chair. Lord Tramadore stood close at hand as the young woman stepped up to the chair and turned in front of it to face the audience. She had a nervous smile on her face, and her hands shook when they latched onto the wide, thick arms of the chair. The girl slowly lowered herself onto the seat. Fred couldn't visually tell when she touched the seat because of her bundle of dress, but she soon let out a great yelp and jumped up. The other guests broke out in laughter and many more stood to give the chair a try.
Lord Tramadore laughed at some of them. "Hoping for a different result?" he teased the older ones.
Fred frowned, but Ned was there with an explanation. "The chair has an interesting curse attached to it. No one may sit in it unless they are the one to lead a great change to the land. If they are not the one, then the chair is bewitched to be the most uncomfortable seat in the world. That's why it's called the Uncomfortable Chair, though not so much of doom as of awkward distress."
The scene was repeated for everyone's pleasure until Pat scooted back her chair. Fred and Ned watched with interest as she took her place in the dwindling line, and got her chance at the chair. She stood for a moment beside the seat, and her hand slid over the smooth arm. Her eyes showed their eagerness as they traveled over every speck of wood and nail. The other guests had taken the legend lightly; Pat took it very seriously. She turned around and gently lowered herself onto the seat. Like all the others, she jumped up the moment her derriere touched the wood planks. The crowd laughed; Pat blushed and hurried back to her seat.
When she sat down Ned leaned over the table to her and spoke in a whisper so low Fred could hardly hear him. "Hoping to change your fate?" he asked of the girl.
Pat shrugged. "I thought perhaps they were intertwined."
Then there was nobody left to try but the small young man beside Ned, and nobody paid any attention to him. Fred himself didn't have enough courage to go up there and make a fool of himself in front of all these fine ladies and gentlemen. After the laughter and teasing died down, the guests finished their meal and scurried on their way to other festivities. One of the few to remain behind was Lord Sturgeon, who approached the three companions with Lord Tramadore.
Sturgeon glanced over them with a careful, but friendly eye. "I'm sure these two young ones have never seen the show before. What did you think of it?"
"It was very interesting, my lord," Pat replied.
Sturgeon laughed. "Is that all? Surely you, too, were hoping that the legend would apply to you."
"I don't believe I would make a good leader, sir," she politely answered. Fred thought she would make a perfect leader; she was bossy and reveled in giving orders.
The lord raised his eyebrows. "How strange. I expected you to say the complete opposite."
Pat feigned surprise. "Me? Oh no, I'm not fit to be a leader. Why would you believe such a funny thing?"
Sturgeon shrugged. "Perhaps a strange fancy of my addled brain, or perhaps I believe that is the wish of everyone who tries the chair. To lead the land in a great change would be a marvelous position, fraught with perils and equal, if not greater, rewards."
"I wouldn't know of such things," Pat replied.
"Ah well, I must be wrong then." Sturgeon turned his eyes on Fred, and the boy shrank beneath them. "I don't believe I've seen this face before. Is he a relative of yours, Ned?"
Ned patted the boy on the shoulder. "No, merely an orphan I picked up on some half-rotten estate. I hope to make a good workhorse out of him, provided he lives that long."
Fred paled, but Sturgeon only laughed. "He will have a tough time of that with you, my good sir. You have had more adventures in a day than many of us have in a lifetime, myself included."
The old man smiled, though Fred noticed the expression didn't make it to Ned's eyes. "I'm sure you've had a great many adventures in your long and interesting life, Lord Sturgeon."
Sturgeon nodded. "Perhaps, but as an old man I have very little now to entertain me, which is why I ask a favor of you. May I have the honor of showing you around the city? I don't know as Ned would like to see the old sights, but surely these two young ones would enjoy the beauty of our city."
"I'd be delighted to go," Ned assured him.
Sturgeon's eyes narrowed ever so slightly, but he bowed. "Then if you and your companions are not so tired, what say you to going now? A stroll through the streets will work off the wonderful food our host provided us."
Ned stepped aside and gestured to the room's exit. "Lead the way, kind sir."
CHAPTER 11
The party left the castle and walked down into the city. Though Fred had seen the sights of the road only a few hours before, there was so much to see he wondered if he could ever glimpse it all even if he had a lifetime of leisure to do it. Houses short and tall stood side by side, some with balconies and some without. People hung out windows and leaned over railings, and watched their fellow revelers dance and shop beneath them. Each tier was a city unto itself with several blocks of buildings filled with people. The upper districts housed the residential areas, minus those people who slept above their shops, and the three companions were given the grand tour by their guide.
Lord Sturgeon knew a great deal of the history, and Pat was fascinated by the small stories of nobility. Fred and Ned politely nodded when they needed to, but were generally uninterested. For several hours the group wound their way down the city and came upon the lower two districts. Those were the shopping districts, and to this Lord Sturgeon eagerly led them. Pat made one detour to have her sword placed in the hands of a competent blacksmith; she would return later when it was repaired.
The lord gestured to the houses above them and the shops around them. "As you can see by the packed buildings, our forefathers never expected the population and mercantile businesses to grow to such heights, so we are trapped within these walls, unable to expand anywhere but up."
"For an industrious man there is never such a trap," Ned commented. Fred started to get the feeling that Ned didn't trust their guide.
Sturgeon smiled and nodded toward the old man. "Quite right, my dear sir, quite right. That is why I've expanded beyond Tramadore, but I still keep myself here for festivities and the like." He stopped their small group at a small sweets shop crowde
d with children. Further down the street was the wall of the city, and in front of it was stacked a pile of crates. Sturgeon gestured to both the shop and the crates. "My sweet shop, my lady and gentlemen, with shipments from all over the world to stock the shelves, even as far as Crutchen to the east."
Fred had no idea how far Crutchen lay, but Pat was politely impressed. "That's very far. How do you manage to keep your goods safe along these roads?"
"That is a trick of my trade, my dear lady," Sturgeon replied with a wink.
The whole conversation bored Fred, so he wandered off toward the wall. Its massive construction attracted his attention, and he wondered if there were any cracks in the walls where he could see out to the fields. Being cooped up among all that rock, even for such a short time, had him longing for open fields. He reached the crates at the foot of the wall and was disappointed to find not a single sliver of light between the giant boulders that made up the wall. They were expertly wedged atop and against each other. He wondered if they hadn't used giants to create such a large and perfect defense.
While he stood there a dozen yards from the others, Fred's eyes caught on a movement among the crates. He thought perhaps it was a cat, but the color was odd. It was less of a flash from a disappearing cat, and more of a shimmer. He edged closer and realized the movement wasn't among the crates; it was one of the crates. One of the wooden boxes at the front moved and caught the light of the sun, causing a ripple of color.
Sensing they'd been spotted, the crate fell away to reveal itself as some strange cloak able to reflect the appearance of a crate. From the cloak arose a tall man dressed completely in black. He wore a wide-brimmed hat, and over the lower half of his face was a bandanna. The skin on the upper part of his face was pale, almost white, and the man's eyes burned as red as coals. He raised his arm and Fred saw he held a small crossbow with a black dart as its projectile. The boy couldn't run; his surprise and fear froze him to the spot. Everything slowed down; the man pointed the weapon straight at him and pulled back his finger.
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