The Last Knight, page 18
“If he circled around he’s likely long gone, but we’d better try. Have everybody fan out and sweep toward the road.”
A long pause was followed by a sigh. “I guess. But we’d better make it fast—we’ve got a lot of digging to do tonight. Spread out, lads. Head for the road, and keep your eyes open.”
Luck is something I never trust, but I’ve never despised it either. The fact that they started their search on the other side of my bush was pure luck. I lay there for five minutes, listening to the search pass beyond me, breathing the scent of decaying leaves, before it hit me.
Digging. Lots of digging, and they must have twenty men. She was going to dig up the graves, remove the bodies. Remove the only evidence that would confirm my story. I had to get to a sheriff—fast.
It wasn’t possible to run all the way to Cory Port, though I tried. It was probably a good thing I couldn’t—my brain only seemed to function when the stitch in my side forced me to walk. It was during one of those lucid periods that I realized that in a small town like Cory Port the sheriff would be appointed by the local baron. Which might mean that the Cory Port sheriff had belonged to Sir Herbert, and hated Ceciel. Or he might not care who paid him, in which case he now belonged to the lady.
As I stumbled down the rutted track, alert for the sound of pounding hooves behind me, it also occurred to me that he might care more about justice than getting paid, but I wouldn’t bet on it. A few months ago the thought would never have crossed my mind. Association with Michael was rotting my brain. I had to get away from him—as soon as I saved him. Thunder rumbled over the sea, and I rubbed my side and started running again.
I guessed it was about the sixth hour of the night when I stumbled into Cory Port, which left four hours till dawn. Most of the torches had blown out in the wind, but I found the largest inn without difficulty. The stable lad on gate duty roused after only a few shouted threats.
A sleepy groom was persuaded that he had the authority to rent me a horse, since we both knew his employer wouldn’t want to be awakened or miss the profit if I went down the street. Quite a large profit, since I couldn’t provide references or say how long I’d need it. Thank goodness I was the one who’d been carrying our purse.
The groom claimed the fidgety roan was the best horse for rent in the town. Looking at the beast, I had my doubts. But then, what did I know about horses?
As the groom saddled him for me, I brought the conversation around to the sheriff. And I did it casually enough to keep him from becoming suspicious, which isn’t easy when you’re trying to rent the fastest horse in town in the middle of the night. But I’m pretty good at that kind of thing. The groom was yawning when he told me that the old sheriff had been replaced, only a few weeks ago, by a new man.
Between thunderclaps, he mentioned other changes the new “lady baron” had made, such as decreasing the town’s taxes if they’d agree to drop their shipping fees. I tried not to shiver, although my blood was running cold in my veins. I would get no help from the law in this town.
Uddersfield was the nearest town big enough for the sheriff to answer to both Lord Gerald and a town council. Lord Gerald might want to keep Cory Port in his hands, but Uddersfield’s town council would resent another port’s competition. They’d probably be delighted to order the sheriff to arrest a baron who might lower the shipping rates…and they’d doubtless be outraged by the murders, too.
I would have set out for Uddersfield then, but as I led the roan toward the stable door a peal of thunder shook the building. Rain began to fall—a spatter of drops that soon became a sheet, a blanket, a mattress of rain. To set out in the dark, in a downpour, was suicide. Riding off a cliff wouldn’t help Michael—not to mention what it would do to me.
A chill that had nothing to do with the damp air settled into my guts, but there was no help for it. I bribed the groom to let me sleep in the loft, and wake me as soon as it was light enough to ride.
The roan had the roughest walk I’ve ever encountered, but he was a steady goer so I forgave him every jarring step. It’s a four-day ride from Cory Port to Uddersfield. I made it in three and a half, despite rain, mud, and being forced to stop when darkness fell.
Remembering my experience with Mistress Kara, I took the time to shave when I rose on the third morning. Little could be done for my travel-stained clothes, or the marks of strain and weariness on my face, but they lent credence to my story. Besides, I was telling the truth.
I handed the tired roan over to the sheriff’s man and climbed stiffly up the steps to the town hall. I was reporting a serious crime. I was on the same side as law and justice, no matter how strange that seemed, so of course they would help me.
Clearly, I was out of my mind—but at the time I felt nothing but exhausted relief as I approached the clerk and demanded to speak to the sheriff.
“You want us to assault Craggan Keep? Are you out of your mind?”
The sheriff was about my own height, but with an air of hard competence I’d never possess…though I might be able to fake it. Unfortunately his competent manner and craggy face concealed the mind of a guard dog. Lots of teeth; no imagination.
“I don’t want you to assault it,” I explained as patiently as I could. The impulse to pace back and forth on his carpet and rant at him was almost irresistible. “I want you to go in and demand Sir Michael’s release.”
“And suppose she says she hasn’t got him? Then what?”
“Then arrest her!” I waved my arms wildly. “Threaten her! Search the keep! How do I know—you’re the sheriff.”
“And you want me to do all that on nothing but your word? You’ve been very forthcoming, Master Fisk, about how you and your employer have been pursuing Lady Ceciel, but you haven’t told me why.”
He thought he was being subtle. Curse country gossip. I had no choice but to brazen it out.
“What do you mean, why? I told you, Sir Herbert’s brother found that Sir Herbert had been poisoned. She—”
“I don’t mean that, I mean why you? Why send a couple of”—he searched for a sufficiently offensive word and failed to find it—“outsiders to bring the lady back instead of appealing to Lord Gerald through the High Liege?” He paused again, to watch me squirm. “I know that Sir Michael is indebted, Master Fisk. And so are you, unless he’s pronounced on you in the last—”
“He did,” I lied without hesitation. “When I rescued him from the Albatross.” And so he should have, the ungrateful bastard.
Then a hideous thought crossed my mind: If Sir Michael died without pronouncing my debt repaid, I’d be permanently unredeemed. They’d tattoo broken circles on my wrists, and even the beggars wouldn’t have me…unless Sir Michael’s heirs set other terms. Sir Michael’s heir was his father. I tried to keep any trace of my reflections off my face.
I must have succeeded, for the sheriff pursed his lips and said, “All right. Since there’s no contrary evidence I’ll accept your word for that, but it does your cause no good. Sir Michael Sevenson is unredeemed. If you abuse the law, then you’re outside its protection until you’ve made restitution.”
“He’s in trouble because he’s trying to make restitution,” I snarled.
“Sorry.” The sheriff shook his craggy head. “I have no official interest in helping Sir Michael Sevenson. On the other hand…”
For once, I had the sense to hold my tongue.
“This talk of graves disturbs me. Even simple ones are entitled to justice.”
Another pause. My fingers began to cramp, and I unclenched my fists. Pounding his head into the desk wouldn’t speed his ponderous thought process, no matter how much I wanted to do it.
“Tell you what, Master Fisk. I’ll go to Lord Gerald and ask if I can take some men to look at that burying grove. Yes, I remember you said she planned to move the bodies, but I’d like to check it out. You can come with us. This may not result in a chance to free your Sir Michael—if she has him—but who knows what we’ll find once we start digging?”
He chuckled at the awful pun and I smiled. I felt so grateful I’d have kissed his feet—smiling at bad jokes was the least I could do. But Lord Gerald wanted to keep Cory Port.
“Sir, shouldn’t you bring this matter before the town council? If it concerns a rival port, surely it concerns them, too.” I’d told him about the shipping fees and taxes, and this was his town. So why was he shaking his head?
“I’ll certainly take it to them, but the council doesn’t meet for eight days. If Lord Gerald agrees, I can notify my deputies, and we’ll leave from the back courtyard at dawn tomorrow. Meet us there.”
“I will, but…dawn, sir? It’s been four days already, and you’re right about the need for haste. Couldn’t we—”
“Master Fisk, it’s late afternoon, and I still have to meet with Lord Gerald. There’s no point in riding through the night when you’d just have to rest your horses and sleep during the day. If Lord Gerald agrees, we’ll be in the courtyard tomorrow at dawn. And if he doesn’t, I advise you to tell Lord Dorian to go through the proper process next time!”
“But—”
“Good day, Master Fisk.”
I spent the rest of the day seeking out an inn that had a stable to care for the weary roan, and was cheap enough that I could afford it. Old rough-gait had been expensive, and our purse was almost empty. Again. When we got out of this, I was going to have a word with my employer about our finances. When we got out of this…
I was almost as tired as the roan, but I woke several hours before dawn, dressed, and stole softly down the inn’s creaking stair. A sleepy stableboy helped me saddle up, and I was waiting in the back courtyard of the town hall when the eastern stars first began to dim.
The black sky faded to charcoal. Steam puffed from the roan’s nostrils, and I clutched my cloak around me. It was very quiet; not even the birds were awake. The only sound was a distant chiming from some tower clock.
Sir Michael had been in Lady Ceciel’s hands for four days now, but, knowing I’d escaped, she would wait to see if I brought help. And she’d know it would take time. If I were in her shoes, I’d give it a month before I did anything…rash.
I shivered and pulled my cloak tighter. The sky paled. A rooster crowed, not too far off. Colors appeared in the hall’s stained-glass windows. The sun slipped over the horizon.
It was still early. The roan fidgeted and I soothed it. The sheriff said dawn, but that could be loosely interpreted. Especially in towns. I’d spent too much time in the countryside lately; only farmers thought that dawn meant dawn, right?
I waited for another half hour before I faced the truth. Lord Gerald wanted Cory Port. He’d told his sheriff not to go. But Lord Dorian wanted Cory Port, too—he’d be happy to go to the High Liege with my tale…and by the time anyone did anything, Michael would probably be dead.
There was nothing I could do about it. The rising sun didn’t warm me.
Nothing I could do. It was over a week’s ride back to Lord Dorian’s fiefdom, and he wouldn’t send troops over another lord’s land without the High Liege’s permission. Not for an unredeemed man. And Lady Ceciel might not have played it safe. He might be dead already.
I needn’t even tell Lord Dorian; why should I go to so much trouble to avenge someone who by that time would be long dead? If Lord Gerald and his sheriff didn’t care about the simple ones she’d killed, why should I?
I was free. I could tell the world Sir Michael had pronounced my debt repaid. He wouldn’t be around to deny it. I could ride off, and never again have to sleep in haylofts or mend chicken coops—not to mention camping out, skinning game, brawling, and quests. No more lunatic knights for me. What was it he’d said about debts of honor? More binding than a chain. But if he was so crazy, why did I feel invisible shackles closing around my throat?
I had to save him. It was impossible, and insane, and would probably get me killed, but I owed the lunatic son of a bitch. I had to save him. Somehow.
Heroism is vastly overrated.
CHAPTER 14
Michael
I wasn’t unconscious when they took me into the keep, but I was badly bruised and stunned, so I had only vague impressions of being dragged up flights of stairs and down long hallways.
Midway down one hall, they thrust me into a small, dark room and shoved me toward a bed. A true knight errant would have sprung back into the fray the moment they released his arms. I toppled onto the bed with a whimper of relief and didn’t even stir when the cold metal shackle closed around my ankle.
I don’t know what woke me—I didn’t hear a thing. When my memory returned, I muttered a curse and opened one eye—the other was swollen shut. Someone had lit a lamp, and I could see the stone wall that the bed rested against. No paneling. No window. Rolling over, carefully, I learned that the room was about ten feet square and, besides the bed I lay on, held a chamber pot, a small table with a lamp on it…and Lady Ceciel, who leaned against the wall by the door, watching me.
I sat up hastily, and a sickening throb all but tore my skull apart. I moaned and sank back to the bed, eyes closed.
If she came near to tend my hurts I could use her as a hostage—assuming I could sit up and grab her. But she stayed where she was. I rolled slowly onto my side, the chain attached to my ankle rattling, opened my good eye, and gazed at her.
It was still night, for she wore a bed robe and slippers, and her hair was braided down her back. She should have looked childlike and innocent, but no child ever wore such a complex expression—amusement mixed with cold fascination. Thunder rumbled in the distance.
A smile that held no warmth touched her lips. “Well, Sir Michael. Are you going to arrest me?”
If I’d had any hope she didn’t know what Fisk and I were doing, it would have died right there. But I’d never entertained much hope on that score.
“Consider yourself arrested,” I said wearily. “You will be, you know, by Lord Gerald or Lord Dorian or someone. You can’t get away with murder.”
“I didn’t kill Herbert.” She said it absently, gazing at me with dispassionate interest. “You have the magic-sensing Gift, don’t you?”
“What does that matter? Your own sister found the poison—how can you deny it?”
She smiled. “Poor Agnes. She had quite a crisis of conscience. I heard about your fight with Peter, too. You’ve had a rough time of it, you and your…squire.”
I don’t usually mind being laughed at, but this time I did.
“My squire has gone to the authorities,” I told her. “You’ll answer for your crimes as soon as…ah, Fisk did escape, didn’t he?”
The change of tone must have been ludicrous, but this time she didn’t laugh. There was a moment of silence while we both sought a reason for her to lie to me, and couldn’t find one.
“Yes,” she said finally. “The dolts haven’t laid hands on him yet, so I think he’s gotten clean away.”
“Then ’tis over. As soon as Fisk tells the authorities what we found, they’ll come for you. You might as well give up now.” And not hurt me. I hoped she understood that implication. Thunder rolled again.
“Ah, but that depends on which authority he goes to.” Her lips were twitching, curse her. If she controlled the local sheriff…No, Fisk would think of that. Fisk was so cynical, it would never cross his mind that the local sheriff might be honest.
So he’d have to go farther for help, which would take him longer…which might give them time to capture him. Could I convince them he’d walk right into the local sheriff’s hands? Try.
“You mean the local sheriff is your man?” ’Twas far too easy to sound frightened. I bit my lip and sat up.
“Yes, but I’m not counting entirely on him. Your Fisk doesn’t strike me as a fool. And he didn’t strike Hackle as one, either. We’ll wait and see what he does.”
So much for deceiving Lady Ceciel. Her voice sent a shudder down my spine.
“You don’t dare kill me as long as Fisk is free.” Now I struggled to keep the fear out of my voice. “They’ll know you have me. If I die, they’ll know you did it.”
“So? If I killed my husband, I’m dead anyway. They can only hang me once.”
I found myself with nothing to say.
Lady Ceciel’s expression changed. “You mean it, don’t you? You really intend to see me hang.”
“I’m not your judicar.” I folded my arms to keep myself from shaking. “If there were extenuating circumstances…I don’t know. There would be none for killing me.”
“Not even the fact that you’re trying to get me hanged? Oh don’t look so frightened. I’m not going to kill you—not for a long time. I have something else in mind.”
Something else? I had no chance to ask, for she turned and went out, closing the door behind her. I wrapped a blanket around myself, but I was still shivering long after she’d gone.
Eventually my fear wore off, and I began to feel foolish, so I unfolded myself and investigated the room. It wasn’t promising. In addition to having no windows, the floor and walls were of stone, and the heavy beams and planks of the ceiling looked every bit as impregnable as the floor.
Standing up, I examined the furniture. The table was crude and heavy—too heavy to pick up and swing, too solid to break apart. The lamp was a cheap one, of tin and thick glass, too flimsy to do more than irritate anyone you threw it at. The chamber pot was lightweight tin as well.
I’d been trying to ignore the shackle, but now I sat and looked at it. ’Twas iron, of depressingly good workmanship; the only way out was to pick the lock, a skill I’d never learned. I bet Fisk knew how. If…when I got out of this, I’d have him teach me.
The chain could have stopped a charging bull, much less me, and the other end was attached to an iron ring that circled one of the bed frame’s horizontal bars. The bed frame was even sturdier than the table, its joints pinned together with tight-set wooden pegs. I might have pounded the pegs out, if I’d had any tools.
