The crowd lowered Fred to the floor and he rushed over behind Tramadore. The lord glanced over the crowd. "Now will you rejoin me for dinner or leave?"
The people shuffled from leg to leg, and looked to one another. A voice sprang up from amongst their number. "We should tell the whole city!" That inspired movement from them, and they stampeded out of the castle in their bid to be the first to inform their friends and neighbors of the miracle. Tramadore grabbed Fred and dove out of their way. The guests were all gone in a moment save for Percival and Brighton. Pat hurried up to Fred and checked him over; Ned was close behind her.
Tramadore shook his head. "I had no idea I had invited such wild animals," he halfheartedly joked.
"Gossip fever is a very contagious disease," Ned pointed out.
"Yes, and let us hope their fellow citizens aren't so prone to such a burning outburst," Tramadore countered.
CHAPTER 16
The next morning the city was aflame with the news of Fred's conquering of the legendary chair of uncomfortableness. Rumors and gossip ran their course, distorting facts and creating confusion among the people. The only consistency was the knowledge that someone inside the castle had sat in the chair. A pair of familiar men, Lord Sturgeon and Anthony Brighton, sat on one of Sturgeon's balconies and watched the people dancing in the streets. The festival ended yesterday, but the news of the chair extended the merriment.
Lord Brighton poured himself a drink and looked down at the crowds. "You really think this boy's the legendary great man?" he asked his compatriot.
"I don't know, and that doesn't matter. What matters is that they do." Sturgeon nodded at the crowds beneath them. "Even if he isn't, they're going to make him so."
"So you don't believe this nonsense about the boy leading us to a great change?" Brighton wondered.
Sturgeon picked up his drink and swirled it around; there was a small smile on his lips. "You evidently believe the tale isn't true."
Brighton wiggled in his chair and his lips pursed together. "Well, it's not to say it's all a fake. The chair certainly had its curse, but for this boy to be a great leader?" He shook his head. "I just don't see that happening."
"Perhaps you're right, perhaps this boy isn't the great leader foretold in the tale," Sturgeon mused. Out of the corner of his eye he caught movement, and he frowned. "You're late. I expect better from you."
His words were meant for a dark figure in the shadowy corner of the balcony. The person stepped forward and bowed; it was Deadly Sins the assassin. "My apologies. The guards have been tripled since the news."
Sturgeon turned sharply to the man. "I don't care if the guards have increased tenfold, you're to be here when I command you to be here." The assassin merely bowed again. Sturgeon sighed, "Have you at least taken care of the assignment I gave you?"
"Yes, sir. The way is prepared," Sins replied.
Lord Sturgeon noticed his hired help was stiff, more so than usual. "What is it?"
"I would rather take care of them myself, sir. They will be defenseless without their staffs, and easily dealt with."
The lord scoffed at Sins' plea. "Haven't you complicated things enough by going after that boy?" The assassin bowed his head, and Sturgeon sighed. "Your methods are effective, but not invisible. According to my spies Tramadore already suspects you are in my employ, and if he found them dead by your hand he would have me executed."
Lord Brighton, not at all surprised by the presence of the assassin, glanced between the two. "What is this? Another of your enemies taken care of?"
Sturgeon smiled over his glass. "Not yet."
At the same time their conversation occurred, mobs crowded around the front of the closed castle gates. They wished to see their new hero, their new leader, and chanted the boy's name.
"Freud! Freud! Freud!" were their cries.
Fred sat in his bedroom at the edge of the bed and winced at every mispronunciation. At his side was a bag of letters written by the people of the city; they were filled with pleas and demands, dreams and wishes. The citizens presumed him to be a gift giver of a fantastically magical nature when he was just a boy who sat his derriere on a cursed chair. He felt overwhelmed by their blind hope and affection for him, and that cast a gloom over his spirits.
Fred's bedroom door flung open and Ned stood on the threshold. "Good morning, Freud," he cheerfully greeted the boy. Fred cast a dirty look at the old man; this was all his fault. He'd tricked him into moving into that chair. Ned shut the door behind himself and ventured over to the window. "A fine crowd of admirers, wouldn't you say? Very enthusiastic. Lord Tramadore has been kind enough to put more guards around the castle to protect you from your admiring fans."
"I don't care about any of that. I'd rather that they were gone," Fred glumly replied.
"Come, come, that's no way for a new leader to talk," Ned scolded. Fred bent over and clutched his head in his hands. Ned's twinkling eyes lost their sparkle and his face softened. "There, there, lad. Things aren't as bad as that."
"No, they're worse," Fred replied. "Now I have to follow that stupid legend, don't I? The one about being a leader or something. I'm supposed to bring about change, but I don't even know where to start." Ned heard the boy sniffle. "I don't want to do any of this. I just want out of here."
Ned took a seat beside him on the bed, and looked the boy over. "None of this tempts you? The opportunity to choose the fate of other men, to lead them on to greatness?" Fred shook his head. "What are you looking for?"
Fred raised his head and his blurry eyes looked straight ahead. "I don't know. I thought I wanted to stay here and be a blacksmith or something like that, but I guess that can't happen now, can it?" Ned shook his head. "Did you mean to do this? To make me miserable like this?"
Ned sighed and listened for a moment to the chanting outside. "The best laid plans are often the ones that go most awry," he admitted.
"How'd you know this was going to work at all? That I was going to be able to sit in the chair?"
"To be honest I wasn't sure it would work, but it would have made a good trick if it hadn't," Ned sheepishly replied. His eyes fell on the stick nestled against Fred's waist, and his mood switched from amused to melancholy. "Change is in the air. My old bones can feel it, and that staff you have there proves it."
Fred pulled it out and examined the weathered leather and sharp edges of the broken parts. "This thing's that important?" he asked the old man.
Ned shrugged. "I've always held it to be, but it has special meaning for me."
"Because of Cedric?" Fred guessed.
Ned jolted back and his lips pursed together. "Then Tramadore told you about him?" Fred nodded. "How much?"
"That he used to own this stick and he was good friends with you two," the boy replied.
Ned's stiff shoulders relaxed, and a sad smile graced his lips. "I see. Yes, because it was Cedric's I attach great meaning to its actions. It's lain dormant for almost fifteen years, and I believe it's awakening now is no coincidence."
Fred paled. "So there's something coming?"
"I believe so," Ned answered.
"And because I sat in some old chair I'm the one who's supposed to deal with it?"
Ned stared straight ahead and pulled at his beard. "Did Tramadore tell you about Cedric's health?"
Fred frowned at the change in subject, but answered the question. "The lord said that he wasn't very strong and died young," Fred told him.
"Yes, that he was, and because of that he spent most of his time studying books. He came upon a private journal written by one of Tramadore's ancestors, the first to receive the chair, if I recall correctly. The lord wrote down the legend that came with the chair, and it was a little different than the one the people retell now."
Fred's eyes widened; hope rose within him at a way out of this mess. "Different? Different how?"
"A great change would come when a person came who was able to sit comfortably on the chair," Ned told him. The old man chuckled
. "The story changed with the passing of the legend over the years, much like your name changed in a single night. After so many years people started ascribing the person to the change, and confused them for the same thing." He pulled at his beard and smiled. "Tramadore was much put out that the chair didn't have more importance than being a bellwether for change."
The boy clenched tightly to his stick, and his hands quivered. "You mean I don't have to do the changing? Somebody else gets to do all these things people want me to do?"
"That is how I would understand it, yes," Ned replied. "You're merely the catalyst, the standard-bearer who heralds in the change."
Fred's face lit up with joy and he impulsively threw himself at Ned. Ned oomphed when the boy's arms wrapped around him in a bone-crushing hug. Fred realized what he was doing and quickly released Ned. The old man chuckled. "You're very welcome, my lad."
Fred jumped up and paced the room; his hands were so animated Ned ducked whenever the stick was waved in his direction. "I don't have to do anything! I can just tell Lord Tramadore the older legend and then they'll-" Fred froze and slowly turned to the window. The chants from outside was loud enough to shake the air, and the crowd was only increasing. He looked over to Ned, and his voice came out in a squeak. "How am I supposed to tell them that I'm not the one? What if they don't believe me?"
"Very simple," Ned replied as he stood up. "You don't tell them a thing and leave the diplomacy to Lord Tramadore."
Fred frowned. "How is that going to work?"
"I'm sure Lord Tramadore could show us some escape tunnels through the mountain. We're certainly in need of an escape," Ned quipped.
"We?" Fred repeated.
Ned pulled on his beard and glanced about the room. "Yes, we. I think it's time for a change of scenery. Gloom and responsibility fills these halls, and that wets a man's appetite for adventure." He looked over and winked at Fred. "What say we head out for more fun?"
For all the trouble Ned had caused him, Fred was glad to know he wouldn't be a lone. A smile slipped onto Fred's face, but disappeared just as quickly. He glanced over to the wall that separated his room from Ned's. "What about Pat? She doesn't want me around," he pointed out.
The old man had a twinkle in his eyes that was full of mischief. "I believe I have the perfect reason to persuade her otherwise."
"We are not taking him with us just so he can avoid his adoring fans!" Pat snapped at Ned.
Ned and the boy stood before her in her room; Fred flinched from her anger, and he glared at Ned. "That's your reason? So I can avoid admiring fans?" Fred asked him.
Ned shrugged. "It sounded perfect in my head."
"That's an echo chamber of lies," Pat bit back.
"Then you refuse to allow this boy to come with us?" Ned asked her.
Pat threw up her arms. "Am I surrounded by fools? What good would it do to take him with us? Does he want an early death?"
Ned raised an eyebrow. "As you yourself pointed out, he would be a better guardian than myself. Are you willing to risk your life because you care so much about this boy to let him stand in harm's way?"
Pat blushed and stuttered. "That's not how it is! He's just too young and too inexperienced! His luck will run out and he'll get himself killed and-" The girl shook her head and paced in front of the men. She massaged her forehead with one hand. "Maybe I should just find myself a brand new guardian. Percy-"
"Percy?" Fred snorted.
Pat shot him a glare of death. Fred slammed his mouth shut, but he was irked at her insult toward him. "Yes, Percy Clavier. He's very good with a sword and takes a lady seriously."
"If he took you seriously then he doesn't know what a lady is..." Fred mumbled.
"What was that, boy?" Pat yelled at Fred.
The term boy was the last straw. Fred pulled out the broken stick, marched up to her and shoved it into her shocked face. "This stick's saved you more than that boyfriend of yours, so if you're stupid enough to trust his sword over my staff you deserve that lout."
Pat stared at him with her mouth open and her eyes wide. Fred breathed heavily into her face until she wrinkled her nose and shoved him away. "Your breath reeks," she commented. Fred opened his mouth to object, but she put her fingers gently on his lips. His eyes crossed down at her hand, and back up to her face. She smiled at him. "But you're right. What I said to you was ungrateful, and to you, too, Ned," she called to the old man behind Fred.
Ned shook his head. "Nothing that wasn't true, at least on my account."
"Well, I still apologize for saying such things, especially after how you've both saved me from all those dangers."
Fred's eyes lit up. "So does that mean I can go with you two?"
Pat crossed her arms over her chest and glanced between them. A sly smile slipped onto her lips, and she leaned forward. "Fine, you can go, but on one condition." She nodded down at the stick. "Make that thing come out, right here and right now."
Fred paled, and glanced between her stern face and the stick. "I-I don't really think it works that way," he objected. The boy frowned and looked over to Ned. "Does it come out like that?"
Ned smiled. "Cedric would use it for his walking stick."
"Great..." Fred mumbled; that meant the stick could change forms for even mild tasks. He sighed, stepped back and held the stick out in front of him. "Um, alright, stick-staff thing, I command you to come out!" The staff retained its broken form; Fred felt beads of sweat form on his forehead. Ned and Pat watched him, one carefully and the other impatiently.
"Come on, we don't have all day," Pat insisted.
"Wait a minute, I'm still trying!" Fred shot back. He looked to Ned. "Any idea how to do this?"
The old man raised his eyebrows. "Do you think I would have carried it for so long as a stick if I could have used it as another staff?"
"Maybe?" Fred weakly replied.
Ned rolled his eyes and plopped himself down on the bed. "Perhaps if you cleared your mind and focused only on the stick then something will happen."
Pat snorted. "He should have the first step taken care of."
Fred shot her an ugly look and trained his eyes on the pieces of stick in his hands. He closed his eyes and imagined the stick shining and stretching into a staff. The wood felt warm in his hands; he concentrated harder. His brow furrowed and his arms shook. Something pushed him from behind.
Fred yelped and his eyes shot open. He hugged the stick to himself just as it transformed into the staff. The tall stick pushed into his jaw and whipped his head back. He clutched at his injured mouth and stumbled back. A pair of soft arms caught him. His head whipped around and he found himself looking into Pat's amused face.
Ned chuckled from the bed. "Well, he certainly has a grasp on the situation when the need calls for it."
"You mean when he's scared it works," Pat countered.
"We shall have to hope he never obtains courage," the old man snarkily replied.
Fred glared at him, and turned to Pat; his expression drooped. "So does this mean I can't go?"
"Well, you did bring out the staff right here and now," she reminded him.
The boy frowned. "Yeah, but not without your help."
Pat shrugged. "A deal is a deal. You can come with us or stay behind with your adoring fans, but you need to hurry. We're already a few days late reaching Galaron."
Ned came up beside her and put a hand on her shoulder. "We both thank you for this honor to protect you."
The girl snorted. "Well, if we take him with us he can't disappoint his adoring fans," she pointed out.
Fred frowned. "How would I disappoint them?"
A wicked, teasing smile graced her face. "Just by being you."
CHAPTER 17
The three companions packed their few belongings, including a healthy bag of food from the kitchen, and went in search of Tramadore. They found him at the front entrance with a contingency of his guards. The doors were not yet barred shut, but a heavy block of wood stood by in case o
f emergency. He spotted the three and smiled at them, particularly Fred. "It seems you have many adoring fans," he teased the boy.
"Not from choice," Fred muttered.
Ned stepped forward. "I'm afraid the young Chosen One of the Chair wishes to make a hasty retreat from those same fans."
Tramadore raised an eyebrow, and his guards were equally surprised. He waved at the knights. "Pay heed that they don't get through unless expected." The lord turned to his guests. "Please follow me into my study." They obeyed his command, and he had hardly closed the door behind them when he swung around to face them. "What are you up to now, Edwin?"
"Ned, old friend," Ned countered.
Tramadore shook his head. "Not when I see that look in your eyes. That's the same wily expression that's gotten us into trouble many times before."
"In this case I hope to get us out of trouble. We need to leave the city as soon as possible, and with as few problems as possible," Ned explained to him.
"You planned to go through the tunnel?" Tramadore asked them.
"If you will allow it," Ned replied.
Lord Tramadore smirked. "I wonder that you ask my permission. Your staff would get you through the darkness well enough."
"But not without the key to the outside entrance," Ned pointed out. "No magic nor locksmith has ever broken it."
"You have me there," the lord answered. He reached into his vest and pulled out his gold watch. Rather than opening the container as he'd done before, Tramadore unfastened the silver chain and handed it to Ned. "I expect that back next time you come through, and don't forget to lock the door behind you."
"Yes, old mother," Ned teased as he safely tucked the watch chain into his cloak.
Tramadore gestured to Fred. "Before you go there is a matter of this young boy. What excuse should I give for our young prodigy's disappearance?"
Ned pulled at his beard and squinted at the boy. "Well, perhaps you can say he's shy and will perform his workings out of the public eye."
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