"We have orders from Lord Tramadore to protect you. Until we're told otherwise then you must have a guard with you at all times," Spalding explained.
Fred cringed. "At all times?" he repeated.
The captain smiled. "At all times," Spalding confirmed.
"If I can't get out of this then I guess you can come with me," Fred agreed.
Spalding, the guard and Fred went to the dining hall and found the room as jovial as the night before. The guests were all aflutter with the news of the assassination attempt on Sturgeon and the earthquake from the night before. Fred wondered why they stared at Ned, and not him; not knowing the lie Lord Tramadore told his guests for the previous night's tremor. They were curious about his armed entourage, though, and he received his fair share of attention.
Pat noticed his entrance and watched him move down to take a seat beside Ned. "How are you feeling?" she asked him.
Fred shrugged. "Like somebody hit me on the head with an anvil."
"That may have something to do with the fall out of bed," the guard spoke up.
Fred glared at him, and Spalding intervened. "If you're comfortable, we'll be on our way." The captain and the guard left them.
"You fell out of bed?" Pat asked him.
He appreciated the concern in her voice, but waived off his humiliating awakening. "It's nothing," he mumbled. He glanced between the two. "So what happened last night? I don't remember anything after-"
Ned put his hand over Fred's mouth and his eyes darted tot he other guests. More than one conversation died down to focus on theirs. "For another time," Ned advised the boy.
Lord Sturgeon was conspicuously absent from the breakfast, but his son, Percy, was one of the guests. After the three companions finished their meal and rose to leave, he came up to them with a bright smile on his face. Percy held out his hand to Ned. "I wanted to personally thank you for saving my father's life," he told them.
Ned ignored the distending hand. "We were merely fulfilling our duty to protect those who needed it," he replied.
Percy dropped his hand but shook his head. "Not everyone would do the same, especially for my father. He's made a great many enemies in his dealings, and I'm grateful that at the first attempt you were there to intercede." He looked to each of them and stopped on Pat; his smile brightened. "But I hope this won't cut short your stay here. Tonight is the fireworks display, and no place in the world can beat our men with gunpowder."
Pat blushed and looked down. Ned glanced at her and raised an eyebrow. "We had planned to stay here one more night, but our plans may change," Ned replied.
The girl's head shot up. "Surely we can stay here one more night," she pleaded with him.
Ned frowned but bowed his head. "Then it's settled. Our plans will remain as they were."
Percy grinned and grabbed Ned's hand in his own; he roughly shook the old man's hands and his voice bespoke his pleasure. "I shall be glad to host a dinner in your honor this evening. Say you will come."
Pat was disappointed when her guardian shook his head. "That can't be. Lord Tramadore expects us here, and we can't refuse his invitation on such short notice."
"Then you must allow me to finish the tour my father gave you," Percy begged them. "Or at the very least to take this lovely young woman to the market. Our jewelry is the best in the world, but I will try to find something worthy of her."
"I accept," Pat replied. Ned opened his mouth, but a warning glance from her shut it. Fred stepped back to avoid the displeasure that emanated off them both.
"Then shall we go now?" Percy invited.
"In a moment. I need to speak with Ned and ready myself," Pat promised.
"Then I shall wait for you in the hall." The young man kissed her hand, flashed his smile and allowed them to leave.
When they reached the hallway Ned followed Pat into her room; she expected him to, and turned around with a sigh. "I know this is foolish of me when we're so close to the border, but it is because we're so close that I wish to take this last chance at personal bliss."
"Would it not be wise for me to accompany you?" Ned asked her. "You're not ignorant of Lord Tramadore and my own suspicions toward the father. What makes you believe the son is any better?"
Pat crossed her arms over her chest and frowned. "A son is not his father any more than the father is the son," she countered. "And if you can't show me evidence to implicate the young man then I have nothing but your suspicions to rely on. Besides, if I needed a guard I would rather have this boy here." She nodded to Fred. "He performed admirably last night, which is more than you can say."
Ned looked over her face carefully, and finally nodded. "Very well. Go with him, but do not leave the city."
Pat smiled, grabbed her coat and dashed out of the room. Fred watched her go, but Ned continued to stare straight ahead. The boy heard a sigh and looked back to the old man. Ned chuckled, soft and low, and shook his head. "Only yesterday I would have laughed at the idea that a mere boy would prove more capable than me of protecting her, but-" Ned turned and smiled at Fred, "-you've certainly proved my former self wrong. Yet I get the feeling you would trade in the responsibility for the home from which I took you."
Fred shrugged. "Probably. I don't understand anything that's happening, and I really don't understand this thing." He pulled out the stick he kept at his waist. His eyes broached over every cracked piece of letter and splintered piece of wood; it told him only part of the picture. "Where did it come from? How can I get this thing to work? What am I supposed to do with it?"
Ned shuffled forward and put his hand on Fred's shoulder; he was glad when the boy didn't shy away. "The wood of that staff came from an ancient tree that grew in the garden of a very old temple managed by the priests of Phaeton. It was whittled with great care and imbued with a most powerful magic, one only the pure of heart can use."
Fred wrinkled his nose. "Pure of heart? Shouldn't a girl be wielding this thing?"
Ned laughed and patted Fred's shoulder. "I've met many women with hearts blacker than coal, and many men whose souls would put the purest winter snow to shame. You would know the world is more complicated than it seems if you choose to go with us on this journey."
The boy put the stick back; he would keep it until he was sure the assassin was gone from his life. "I don't think I'm cut out for everything you two are going to find. I barely got out alive last night with that assassin."
Ned leaned down and caught the boy's eyes in his. "But you did survive. That's proof enough that you have some ability in you."
"Well, maybe that ability will be useful to a blacksmith or a tanner, but not for you two," Fred replied.
Ned sighed, straightened himself and nodded. "Yes, perhaps it may, but the future is a very mysterious thing. It may lead you down paths you don't wish to go, but that destiny demands you travel."
Fred narrowed his eyes and looked into the old man's face; he felt there was something Ned wasn't telling him, but he couldn't be sure. He didn't know the old man that well to tell if he was hiding something or not. "Yeah, well, I guess I'll just enjoy the day and tomorrow see about Lord Tramadore's promise."
CHAPTER 15
Fred kept his promise to enjoy the day, and wandered about the great city. He enjoyed the sights, though less so when he glimpsed Pat walking arm-in-arm with Percival. He wouldn't admit it to himself, but he felt a weight on his chest and he rushed away before they spied him. The young man returned to the castle shortly after that, and bumped into the lord of the city himself in the entrance hall.
Lord Tramadore smiled at the boy. "I didn't get a chance to ask you how you were feeling this morning. Are you well?"
"I'm fine, my lord," Fred replied. He wanted to scuttle back to his room, but the lord blocked his way.
"Would it be asking too much if I spoke with you for a moment in my study?" Lord Tramadore requested. Fred's shoulders slumped, but he nodded his head. The lord led him into the room and firmly closed the door behind them. "I'
ve had my carpenter repair the doors so we shouldn't be disturbed."
Fred sat down in his customary chair and squirmed. "Have I done something wrong?"
Lord Tramadore paused around the other side of the desk and laughed. "No, you haven't. I just wanted to ask how you came to be with such unusual company," he explained as he seated himself. He leaned forward over the desk and his eyes watched the boy. "So how did Ned find you?" Fred recounted the tale, and by the time he was done Tramadore had a smirk on his face. "I see. It would be like Ned to take a boy under such questionable means and thrust him out into the world. Do you regret what's happened to you?"
Fred's hands fidgeted in his lap, and he looked down at them. "I don't know anymore. I've seen more than I ever thought I'd see and I'm free of my parents' debt, but, well, I don't know."
Lord Tramadore sat back in his chair and intertwined his fingers together. "Yes, it would be quite a shock. I imagine the trouble you've seen with them hasn't helped you decide whether this was a good or bad idea."
"No, my lord," Fred replied.
The lord nodded at the boy's waist where he could see the broken stick sticking out. "And what do you make of that stick Ned gave you?"
Fred reached down and pulled it out. "I don't know what to make of it, my lord. It's magical, and Ned said I was the only one who could use I, but I don't know what that means. Is it important that I'm the only one who can use it?"
"That's very important for a castor's staff. They choose their master, and no amount of force will make them work unless they wish to work," Lord Tramadore told him.
"Begging your pardon, my lord, but that still just tells me that I'm the only one who can use it," the boy countered.
Tramadore raised a brow. "Would knowing who owned the staff before you satisfy your question?"
Fred's ears perked up; his heart thumped in his chest. "Only a part of what I wish to know, my lord, but I'd be glad for that."
The lord smiled as he reminisced. "I'm proud to say he was a great friend of mine, and of Ned's, which I believe you know. He was born with a very poor constitution. The smallest exertion tired him easily, but that didn't stop him from traveling. The three of us journeyed together across much of the world. With Ned and I being so much older than him we treated him as a son, and cared for him how we could before the burden became too much for him, and he retired to his bed in a temple not far from where he was born. He died there just short of his twentieth birthday."
"So he was the one to make this strange staff?" Fred asked him. Tramadore gave a nod. "What was his name?"
Tramadore sighed. "Cedric Osgood."
"Cedric Osgood," Fred repeated. He glanced down at the stick in his open hands. "How did he make it? This staff, I mean."
The lord smiled and shrugged. "I can't say myself. When I first knew him he already had it in his possession, though he was only fifteen at the time."
Fred's eyes widened. "My age," he whispered.
Lord Tramadore raised his eyebrows. "Is it? That's a very interesting coincidence, though I'm sure you two would have gotten along quite well. You remind me a great deal of him."
"So that's why Ned gave it to me? Because I look like this dead friend of yours?" Fred wondered.
"Yes, I believe so, and Ned means for you to do great things with it. Whether that comes to pass or not depends on you, of course, but he certainly gave you the right tool," Tramadore replied.
Fred shook his head. "I guess I've never had to make this sort of decision before. I always had my lord telling me which crops to grow and where, and when I could leave the manor. I just don't know what to do."
Lord Tramadore stood and walked around the desk to Fred. He put his hand on the boy's shoulder, and Fred looked up into the man's kind face. "I'm sure that whatever destiny offers you and whatever choices you make, they will lead you down the path of a good man."
Fred managed a smile and uncurled himself from the chair. "Thank you. I think I really needed that."
Tramadore reached into his vest and pulled out a gold watch on a silver chain. "My pleasure, and it will also be my pleasure to remind you that supper will be served very soon. I'm sure your friends are wondering where you-" They heard a knock at the door; Lord Tramadore turned to the entrance. "Come in."
Pat peeked her head into the room. "My apologies, Lord Tramadore, but I was-" She caught sight of Fred and frowned. "There you are. You had us worrying you'd been assassinated," she scolded as she marched into the study and up to the boy. "Where in the world have you been?"
"Here?" Fred weakly replied.
Pat grabbed his arm and pulled him from his chair. "Well, here is not where you need to be. Supper was called and when we found your room empty Ned had me come down to find Lord Tramadore and see if he could find you. Thank you for keeping him out of trouble."
Lord Tramadore bowed to her. "I'm glad to be of service."
Pat escorted Fred upstairs and to his room, where she left him to attend to his toiletries. The three rejoined out in the hall; Fred wondered where Ned was all day, but the old man rebuffed any and all questions from Pat about his whereabouts. He especially worried them since he had a mischievous smile on his face. The companions wandered downstairs and into the dining hall. The guests from the previous evening crowded in with them, and took the same seats from the night before. Fred aimed to sit opposite Pat, and so one seat down from where he'd sat, but Ned gently edged him down the table.
"Come on, Fred, move farther down. You can't expect an old man like me to sit in such a chair," Ned scolded.
Fred didn't see anything wrong with that chair, but he obediently moved one seat down. Though all the chairs looked alike, he thought this new one fitted rather differently than the others. He wouldn't complain, though, not with such a feast laid out before him. The other guests seated themselves and all relished the fine food, Fred most of all. An apprentice wasn't likely to be fed feasts every day, so this would be his last good meal for a very long time; maybe for the rest of his life. The food was wonderful, the company friendly, and a messenger raced into the hall fast enough he slipped on the shining floors.
"Lord Tramadore, it's gone!" the man shrieked.
The lord stood from his chair and the table went silent. "What's gone? What is it?"
The messenger got to his feet and his face was as pale as death. "The Uncomfortable Chair! It's been stolen!"
The women were all atwitter and many of the men stood to offer their services in its recovery. Lord Tramadore raised his hand and the room calmed down. "A moment, please, ladies and gentlemen. I'm sure this is some mistake."
The messenger shook his head hard enough to make Fred wonder how his head stayed on his shoulders. "I saw it myself, my lord. The chair has vanished!"
The guests repeated their panic, and Lord Tramadore hurried through them to the messenger, whom he spoke to privately. Pat and Fred looked around in bewilderment, unsure whether to join in the commotion or entertain themselves with the sight of so many adults in fright over a lost chair. Amongst the panic and wonderment, Ned stood and held up his hands. His voice boomed over their frantic voices. "A moment, ladies and gentlemen. The chair is not stolen."
A hush fell over the room, and Tramadore snapped his head toward his old friend. "You know something of this, Ned?"
Ned smiled and nodded. "I do. I know where the chair is hidden, and so do you all. It is in this room, and one of you has sat in it." Many of the women gasped and others glanced over the room, searching for the chair. "I deceived you all through magic, and through magic I will reveal it." He raised his hand and snapped his fingers.
The ruse fell away from the chair and Fred felt the seat beneath and around him transform into its true form. Fred paled and Pat's mouth dropped open; he was the one sitting in the Uncomfortable Chair. Pat's jaw wasn't the only one to drop, and there was a collective gasp from the females. Before the boy could flee the room away from all those staring eyes, one of the older men stepped forward.
<
br /> "Boy, what is your name?" he asked in a shaking voice.
"F-Fred," he replied.
The old man turned back to his compatriots. "Three cheers for Fred, the Chosen One of the Chair!"
A great cry went up from the other guests and they laid hands on him. He yelped when he was raised on the shoulders of the younger men and paraded above the crowd.
"Ned!" he cried out. The old man leaned against the wall and grinned; Pat stood beside him and pointed to Fred. The boy couldn't hear any words above the shouts of the crowd, but he saw her stomp her foot and turn to him with a helpless look on her face.
The crowd moved; Fred grasped his captors' hands as they paraded him around the room. Chants filled the air expressing their joy for their new-found leader. "Hooray!" hollered the men. "Yay!" yelled the women. The females fawned over him and the men pushed and shoved to shake his hand. In the back of the crowd Fred noticed Percival standing beside Anthony Brighton; both were showed interest toward him, but neither participated in the jovial atmosphere.
The crowd took Fred around the room a few times and through the archway. it was a low archway, and he knocked his head against the door frame. No one noticed his pain; they were too eager to parade the boy before the whole town. The guests aimed their steps toward the castle entrance and the doors were flung open. Fred's eyes widened and he tried to claw his way out of their hands.
Lord Tramadore stepped in front of the marchers and held up his hands. "A moment, ladies and gentlemen! I don't wish to lose my guests to rapture without an inquiry into this matter."
"Pish-posh, Lord Tramadore," one of the men replied. "Let us show the city their new leader."
"That remains to be seen, and kidnapping is still an offense in my city," Lord Tramadore pointedly countered; he was still in charge of the city. "Now surrender the boy to me and return to your food. If you'd rather harass him or abandon the meal, then you're free to leave." At a signal from Tramadore several of his guards circled the guests. The peoples' enthusiasm died at the points of the guards' weapons.
The Unwilling Adventurer (The Unwilling #1) Page 11
