Demon Sword

by Ken Hood

  "My son!" The old man was practically squealing. "I told you! A hob is like a child, a terribly powerful, innocent child. It has almost no concept of right or wrong, of good or evil! It can be mischievous, spiteful—unpredictable! You cannot walk around with a pet hob on a string! Spirits know what it may do!"

  "It hasn't hurt me so far."

  "That doesn't mean it won't! It may take it into its head... I mean, it may decide to... Oh, anything! It may drive you insane, or turn you into a monster! You must bring it to the sanctuary right away and..."

  "And what?" Toby asked quietly. "Do you have adepts who will conduct it back to its home and restore it?"

  Father Lachlan shook his head, looking frightened. The other men were leaving the metaphysics to him.

  "I cannot," Toby said. "If I could, I doubt it would let me. I don't know if it can reverse what it did, or why it should even try. It wanted to know where all the young men are going. I think it wants to see the world! Maybe that is childlike, but I can sympathize." His feeble effort at humor won no smiles.

  The little man moaned and wrung his hands. "It has never been taught! It may go mad itself in there and turn into a demon. At least a hexer can control his creatures by conjuration, but that hob is a free elemental! You can't control it, you don't know what it may decide to do next. My son, it is dangerous!"

  "It has saved me many times from danger," Toby said stubbornly. "Already I owe it my life, over and over. I will resist any effort to take it from me, and I believe it will do the same." He turned to the king, who was regarding him with dark suspicion. "You see, sire? I did not know I had a hob in my sporran, or another man's soul in my heart. I swore to you in good faith, but even if you give me a direct order to dispose of the jewel, I either cannot or will not obey. And I can do nothing about Nevil."

  Fergan drummed fingers on the arm of his chair. He glanced at the impassive Captain MacLeod and frowned at what he learned from his face.

  "I was hoping that your mysterious powers might be used to further the cause of liberty and help free Scotland of its oppressors."

  "I cannot control them, Your Majesty. In a battle, the hob would probably go berserk, as it does in thunderstorms."

  Sunshine poured in through the window now. Outside, the pier was bustling. Blocks squealed as sails were raised. The captain had begun to fidget.

  "So," Fergan said. He leaned back and crossed his legs. He had probably guessed what was coming, and a faint smile touched his lips. "So, what are you proposing, Master Strangerson? If it will make things easier for you, I will admit that our relationship is proving troublesome. Loyalty is a two-sided sword. A vassal is due protection from his liege, but I am perplexed to know how to protect you this morning in Dumbarton."

  It was going to be all right. "I am a danger to you," Toby said. "I may lead the Sassenachs to you. Baron Oreste is on his way here—searching for me, Valda said, because he knows about Nevil. He has also distracted the tutelary from its duties, which include your defense. I bear the soul of your foe. I carry an elemental. I am loyal, sire, but you would be well rid of me. I am trouble."

  "And Captain MacLeod has agreed to take a passenger to Portugal, I presume?"

  Toby had not dreamed of escape on that scale. "I was hoping he might take me south and let me off at his next port of call."

  The sailor chuckled. "We'll take on water in Dublin—but why not come to Lisbon, lad? I can always use an extra hand."

  Demons! Why not? "But hands are the problem, sir." Toby held out his swollen fists. "I can't haul on ropes for you yet! I'll gladly pay my fare if you have room for a passenger."

  MacLeod snorted. "Bilge! I saw how you earned that silver, lad, and I won't take it from you. Och, that was a braw fight! Come along, and welcome. I'll book you in as ballast!"

  A strange lump constricted Toby's throat. This was friendship!—friendship he had done nothing to deserve. "That's incredibly generous of you, sir. I'll try to be of use... if His Majesty agrees?"

  The king was looking at the dagger on Toby's lap.

  "It is yours, sire," he said quickly, "if you want it. I swore to defend you against all foes, and I happily give you this to defend you against Oreste and others like him." He began to move and then laughed. "I don't think there's room for me to kneel!" He proffered the dagger.

  Fergan stared at it covetously. "It is a princely gift! The jewel alone is beyond price. You are sure?"

  "Quite sure, sire. Take it with my thanks for befriending me when all men were against me."

  The king took the dagger. "Then I accept it, with gratitude. I free you from your oath, Longdirk. Tush, Father! If he is happy to live with a hob in his shirt, then let him be! Spirits go with you, Toby." He offered a hand, and he did not seem to want it kissed.

  Toby shook it with a feeling of a great weight being lifted from his shoulders. He had never been happy being the king's man, and now he had been honorably relieved of his oath.

  "Captain MacLeod is anxious to weigh anchor," the king said, preparing to rise.

  "I wanna come too!"

  Everyone turned to Hamish, who was staring at Toby with total dismay.

  "Boy, that isn't—" Father Lachlan said.

  "Wait!" the king barked. The cabin stilled. "I don't care how discreet he is, that might not be such a bad idea!" He glanced inquiringly at the captain, whose obvious impatience melted for a moment. He shrugged.

  "Could use a cabin boy, Your Majesty."

  Hamish grinned widely.

  "Longdirk?" said the king. "Will you take him with you?"

  "I won't take him, Your Majesty—"

  Hamish wailed. "But you promised—"

  Toby had been joking then, as he was joking now, but he didn't want to have to explain all that. He was not good at gratitude, never having had much practice. He hadn't had much experience with friendship, either, yet he had discovered today how invaluable it was. He had learned that no man was strong enough to survive without friends. He had learned it from Captain MacLeod, almost a stranger. He had learned it from Hamish. The gawky young scholar had saved his life and his soul—not once but three times. He had brought the amethyst to the apothecary's, he had smashed the sapphire, he had stabbed Krygon. How much more friendship could a man display? Toby would have to learn gratitude, and soon.

  He couldn't say all that. He was no good at speeches. "No, I won't take him! Being responsible for Meg Campbell was a real pain, and I'm not going to fall into that trap again. The last thing I want is a snivelly child trailing after me, expecting me to wipe his nose and see he eats his vegetables and washes his socks every week."

  King Fergan's eyes twinkled. "Quite understandable."

  "Toby! I'm not a—"

  "Shut up, brat! Your Majesty, I refuse to be saddled with a wet-eared kid—wondering all the time if he's gotten into a bar, or a brothel, or a fight... Of course, I could use a man at my side who can be counted on in the bars and the brothels and the fights, because I'm going to get myself into all those sorts of troubles, and I'll need a friend beside me. I promised Meg I'd never fight for money again, but I'm sure there will be fights, so I'll need a good second, someone whose courage I can rely on. If anyone here knows of a man who could handle that, then I'd be glad to have him with me—equals, shoulder to shoulder. No, I won't take a boy. But if a man like that chose to come along... I could certainly use a trusty friend."

  Hamish had swelled like a pigeon on the bunk, almost filling his oversized doublet. He managed to force his voice into an adult range, but it sounded forced. "Happens I'm thinking of heading south myself."

  "Would you mind if we traveled together?" Toby asked.

  "I can put up with you, if you promise to stay away from hexers."

  The whole cabin burst into laughter, Toby louder than any. "Think you can handle the brothels yet?" He wondered if he could.

  Hamish glanced around in alarm, then straightened his shoulders manfully and grinned as wide as a pike. "Well, certainly! Er
... are there any books on that?"

  CHAPTER NINE

  The royal party had gone. The sun was shining. The Maid of Arran leaned into the breeze as she edged away from the pier. Her departure came none too soon, for the mob of townsfolk rampaging through the streets in search of the giant Highlander who burned houses and conjured demons had now reached the harbor. Toby had been ordered to stay out of sight, and Hamish had remained with him.

  The kid was so excited that he barely glanced at the captain's bookshelf, although he peered carefully at a chart on the wall and jumped at every new noise. Mostly he knelt on the bunk with his head out the side window. The rest of the time he just squirmed around.

  Toby sat uncomfortably on the chest and felt like a herring in a barrel. He should be feeling like a falcon loosed. He was no longer the laird's man, or Valda's man, or the king's man. What he had never dared admit, even to himself, was that he wanted to be his own man, however absurd that idea was for a landless orphan. At the moment he was bound only to work for Captain MacLeod, and that service would not last long.

  Perhaps he was really the hob's man, but he had not found that situation too troublesome so far. Despite Father Lachlan's forebodings, the hob seemed content to view the world. Apart from its attack on Crazy Colin, which had been a unique revenge, it had interfered only when he was in danger from demons. It had been unpleasantly attracted by the broadsword that Annie had provided, but it had let him dispose of it when he insisted. It had not interfered in his fight with Randal because he had not had it with him then. A well-intentioned hob would be a valuable friend.

  He had learned a lot about friendship. Friends were where you found them, or they found you. He would never have chosen the hob, or even Hamish. Hamish had chosen him, but he had learned to enjoy the kid's company. His chatter didn't seem so bad anymore—a man got used to it—and he had more than proved his worth this morning. His brains and book learning were exactly what a dumb lunk like Toby Strangerson needed around.

  Of course, Teacher Neal Campbell of Tyndrum was going to have a dozen simultaneous fits when he received Father Lachlan's letter and learned that his son had gone off adventuring to foreign lands with the terrible bastard. That realization had been one of the brightest spots in a very eventful day, but it had had nothing to do with Toby's decision to take the lad. At least, he hoped it hadn't. He was just obeying the king's orders!

  Hamish plopped his seat down on the bunk. "Toby, this is exciting, isn't it?"

  "More exciting than fighting demons?"

  "Well... no. I prefer this, though."

  "We've had an exciting couple of weeks. A quiet cruise is exactly what we need."

  "Just think," Hamish said dreamily, "Meg Tanner as the next countess of Argyll! Me and you off to explore the world, and you've got the hob round your neck!" He frowned. "You don't suppose we'll find Portugal dull after this, do you?"

  "Where is Portugal? South?"

  "Everywhere's south from Scotland." Hamish went back to the window. "It'll be hot. They grow grapes and olives and oranges."

  Whatever they were.

  He pulled his head back in for a moment. "And after we've seen Portugal, we can go on to Castile! Granada or Aragon, maybe? Or Savoy?"

  Wherever they were.

  "Anywhere you like," Toby agreed. They would probably get rounded up into somebody's army, of course, fighting for or against the Tartars.

  As the ship turned into the firth, the burgh was coming into view through the larger rear window. Vast clouds of smoke were still rising from the western end. Rory would sneer and repeat that Toby was a walking disaster. Suddenly Hamish pulled his head in and aimed a glum look at Toby.

  "What's wrong?"

  The kid pulled a face like an owl that had swallowed a bad mouse. "The fire! I almost wish I hadn't released you from the hex."

  "I hope you don't mean that! The fire's not your fault. The tutelary's back and can deal with it. You couldn't have known what would happen. Valda was the one who played dangerous games with demons. The guilt is hers."

  Hamish scowled. "I'm surprised the captain lets you stay, now that he knows you've got the hob with you."

  Toby pulled out the amethyst on its chain and dangled it, winking flashes of purple light. "He'll just throw it overboard if it causes any trouble." And Toby with it! He doubted he could ever bring himself to part with it. It was still Granny Nan's farewell gift to him, and he would cherish it for that reason alone. Then he looked at his guilt-ridden young companion and remembered that one duty of friends was comfort in times of trouble.

  "I hate to think what I would be now if you hadn't brought it to Valda's lair. How did you know about it?"

  Hamish smiled wanly. "When I was looking for coins with Fergan's head on them, before the prizefight... remember? You gave me your sporran to care for and told me to look through it."

  "So you guessed that was where the power came from? Why in the name of demons didn't you say so?"

  The smile became a triumphant grin. "I assumed you knew and didn't want to talk about it, of course! I am discreet, remember? That's what you told the king. And when you went tearing off in the night without it, I knew there was dirty work afoot."

  "I can never tell you how grateful I am. I mean that!"

  Hamish perked up to listen to new noises on deck, then turned and rose on his knees to look out the window again. He paused. "By the way, why did you tell yon king laddie that I killed the Krygon creature?"

  "It was you who picked up the dagger and..."

  Hamish was shaking his head.

  But... "Then who did?"

  "The hob! You shouted at me to get the dagger, but I couldn't find it—it was in the fire—the table and all that stuff... I was looking for something else, a table knife or a fork... and your foot was almost into the stove... Then I passed out from the smoke. But you managed to open the casket... No?"

  "No."

  "Oh..." The boy's voice cracked. "The dagger jumped out of the fire and shot right into the creature's back—all by itself. I saw it, Toby!"

  "I don't understand! The hob was locked up in that hexed box of hers. I didn't get it open until after."

  They stared at each other. It made no sense.

  "Unless... demons and hellfire!"

  He had it—whereas Hamish looked more like a startled rabbit than an owl.

  Toby groaned as the implications sank in. "Didn't Lady Valda say that sometimes it's easy to make a switch? And when she tried to plant another soul in me, if the hob didn't like that..."

  "Toby! No!"

  "Yes! We've had it all backwards! Valda, too! That's why she couldn't find Nevil's soul in me—it was locked away in her casket."

  "And that's why the hob still has free will!" Hamish shouted. "It's incarnate, not bottled... Oh, demons, Toby!"

  Father Lachlan had been horrified at the idea of him carrying a hob around on a chain. What would he say to carrying a hob around in his heart?

  Now the presence of the hob suggested very sinister possibilities. Toby tried to laugh, without noticeable success. "Rory told me that I was a human hob! That's it! I'm possessed after all—possessed by the hob."

  Hamish nodded morosely. "So you can't just drop it in the sea."

  "I'm stuck with it!" Spirits! He was possessed by a hob! That might be better than being possessed by a demon, but not necessarily. The hob had no sense of right or wrong. It was childish, wayward, capricious. This hob might be even worse than most, because this hob, unlike all others, had decided on its own initiative to venture forth and see the world. He knew how it reacted to drums and thunderstorms—suppose someone started firing guns near him? It was totally ruthless, as Crazy Colin had discovered. It had made him lust after that absurd broadsword, dreaming of slaughter and mayhem. And it had been present at the prizefight, after all! It had probably enjoyed that roughhouse tremendously, perhaps even keeping him fighting and suffering long after he should have collapsed under Randal's battering, and to
day's battle with the demons, too—it had intervened only at the last moment. Very funny!

  Father Lachlan had warned that it might drive him insane, or go insane itself. And Hamish's appalled expression confirmed that he could see all the terrible possibilities. Possessed by a hob!

  Toby forced a laugh. "Well, what of it? I can't throw it overboard, but I can always get it exorcised at a sanctuary. Do you hear that, hob? You behave yourself from now on! And you cheer up, my trusty friend. We're on our way to see the world, aren't we? That's what we both wanted, isn't it?"

  Hamish brightened and nodded.

  The door opened. Toby hastily thrust the amethyst back under his plaid.

  "Time to get to work!" Captain MacLeod announced cheerily. "We'll have no lazy layabouts on board this ship!"

  "Aye, aye, sir!" Hamish piped brightly.

  "Aye. First you both must sign the log. Means you agree to be bound by ship's law." The sailor chuckled. "And that means whatever I say it does!"

  He pulled a large book down from the shelf and spread it on the desk. He uncapped the inkwell, wrote a line with a squeaky quill.

  Toby did not enjoy having people watch him write.

  Hamish must have noticed his expression. "My friend's hands are still swollen, sir. Can I sign for both of us?"

  The captain shrugged. "Aye, as long as he makes a mark. Don't use the name that's on that Sassenach poster, 'cos other eyes may pry in there. Use whatever names you want to be known by. Your mothers will not be writing to you here." He stepped back and began unlacing his cloak. "That's a demon of a fire in the town!"

  Toby winced. "Terrible."

  The sailor eyed him thoughtfully. "You're a very fortunate young man, you are—escaping from demons and all. Glad to have luck like yours on board."

  "He just blunders around," Hamish said from the desk—apparently he could talk even while writing. "I get him out of trouble when he needs help. Here, er..." He passed the quill to Toby and wriggled quickly out of the way.

  Toby rose and leaned over the log book, squinting at the crabbed scrawl.