A Minstrel’s Quest (The Trouble with Magic Book 4) (36 page)

Alrick gave a hoarse chuckle of disdain. “He’s become a dribbling lack-wit and has been shut away for his own safety...and everyone else’s.”

Corlin shook his head but made no comment as he crossed the room to the door which led to the stairs. Just as he opened it, Molly came out of the kitchen, a bunch of clean tankards in each hand.

She looked tired but gave them a bright smile. “Goodnight gentlemen. I expect we shall see you at breakfast. Don’t forget it’s Sun Day so it’ll be an hour later than usual.”

The two men thanked her, bade her goodnight and made their slow way up the narrow wooden staircase, trying to decide between them whether magicians did actually sleep.

Bardeen was seated at the table in the kitchen, his hands round a large mug of tea when Corlin and Alrick came down for breakfast.

He gave the two men a boyish grin. “I took the liberty of introducing myself to goodwife Brewer. She has made me feel very welcome.”

Molly simpered as she placed mugs of tea in front of them. “You’re all very welcome. Now, Ned will be back soon, and then we’ll have breakfast. He’s taken the cart to fetch the barrels and the straw for the game.” She paused, her eyes full of hope. “You will be staying for the game?”

The door-latch clattered and Ned ambled into the room, bits of straw clinging tenaciously to his hair and clothes. “Of course they’ll be staying. It’s probably the last game they’ll ‘ave chance to see ‘til next year.” He flopped down in his carver chair at the end of the table. “Ain’t that right gentlemen?”

Corlin took a sudden and all-consuming interest in his tea; Alrick looked as if he was the bearer of ill tidings, and Bardeen leaned back in his chair, folded his hands against his chest and waited.

After looking at everyone in turn, Alrick cleared his throat. “As much as I’d like to, I’m afraid I have to return to Tregwald as soon as possible.” He nodded in Corlin’s direction. “My duty here is done.”

Corlin glanced at him over the rim of his mug, but said nothing. He knew that Alrick was waiting for a decision, but he hadn’t made that decision yet. With great care he placed his mug very quietly in the centre of a large knot that stared like an eye from the surface of the scrubbed wooden table.

He gave a meaningful glance to the cast iron pans, their contents sizzling, which sat on top of the big black range. “Shall we all wait until we’ve had breakfast before we decide what we’re going to do? I for one, find it difficult to think on an empty stomach.”

Although it was not Corlin’s intention, Molly took that as a broad hint and began to get busy laying cutlery and filling plates. A smile of satisfaction on his face, Bardeen looked across at Corlin and nodded, as though everything was going to plan. The minstrel wasn’t so sure. He had plans of his own.

As soon as he had finished his breakfast Ned excused himself. “I’ll see all you gentlemen later. I have to help with setting up the match.”

He was about to close the door when Molly called after him “Leave the straw there when you come back, Ned Brewer.” She smiled as she gathered up empty plates. “Now if you wouldn’t mind taking yourselves out of here, I can get cleared away and ready for lunchtime.”

Her trio of guests readily agreed, and Alrick led them out the back door, stopping under the archway which led from the street to the stable-yard.

He leaned on the wall and kept his voice low. “Well, master Bentfoot, have you decided what you’re going to do with yourself? I understand you have no holding and your only family is your brother. You could do worse than return to Tregwald with me. Earl Jouan seemed keen to have you join the castle community.”

Corlin leaned on the opposite wall and gazed out into the street for a few moments before shifting his gaze to Alrick.

There was a glint of determination in his eyes, and a hint of derision in his voice. “Did you really think Alrick, that one night was long enough to make a decision as to what I would do with my life?” His chin jutted. “Believe me, I had made that decision long before you arrived in Redmire. I also believe it will be accepted gladly by those involved in it.”

The ensuing uncomfortable silence was broken by Bardeen’s quiet voice and reasonable tone. “I’m afraid Corlin, that whatever decision you have made is about to be over-ruled.”

Corlin glared at the serene blue-robed magician standing beside him. “Blood and thunder! It’s my life! I can do what I like with it!

Bardeen’s hands disappeared inside the sleeves of his robe. “Under normal circumstances, this would be true.”

A knowing smile twisted its way across Alrick’s face, but Corlin continued to glare at the mild-mannered magician. “So, what’s changed? If you must know, I’ve decided I’m experienced enough with sheep and livestock to be accepted into the employ of Otty’s father. It’s the least I can do, and I know he’ll accept me gladly.”

Alrick’s smile had developed into a grin. Bardeen’s smile exuded infinite patience as he nodded. “Indeed Corlin, he would have done. I can assure you of that. There is only one thing that stands in your way, and against it you have no defence.”

Alrick started to chuckle and gave Corlin a friendly thump on his shoulder. “Well done, minstrel.”

Bardeen flapped a dismissive hand. “You tell him Alrick. You’ve obviously figured it out.”

The scar-faced soldier gripped Corlin by both forearms. “You’ve been summoned to the palace in Vellethen.” He shook his head as he looked into Corlin’s startled eyes. “I wasn’t certain, but I had heard a rumour. You can’t argue with a royal command, minstrel, no matter what or how noble your plans are.” He raised an eyebrow. “Will you tell us the substance of the command, master Bardeen?”

The magician nodded, and folded his hands in front of his chest as if he were about to make a momentous oration. “Master Corlin Bentfoot is to present himself at the palace of King Vailin II in Vellethen in the forenoon of the last day of the present month. There he is to take up the post of resident minstrel and to perform for His Majesty any works that the royal person desires to hear, or that the minstrel considers will please the royal person. He is also to perform for any other persons that His Majesty chooses any such works...”

Corlin held up a hand. “Alright! That’s enough. I get the gist.” His mouth gave a wry twist. “Are all royal commands that long-winded?”

Bardeen chuckled. “Some are even more so. You can read the whole thing when you get to the palace. Now, I think we should say our goodbyes to Molly and make our departure.”

Corlin frowned. “Hold on a minute! I need some time to get my head round this.” He peered into Bardeen’s face. “How come it’s you telling me this and not some palace messenger? Or even Karryl for that matter? After all, he
is
the royal magician.” He gave a little smirk. “He could have been here in no time, just like you.”

Bardeen nodded in agreement. “This is true, but it’s all down to distribution of labour. For a royal messenger to be here in time, one of us would have to translocate him. However, as I was doing nothing in particular and Karryl has matters to deal with elsewhere, he asked me if I would take on this most pleasurable of tasks.”

Corlin seemed intent on making difficulties. “And exactly how am I supposed to get to Vellethen before the end of the month?”

The magician’s smile said it all. Corlin backed away from him, pushing the air with his hands. “No! I’ve had enough of that vanishing from one place and appearing seconds later in another. It makes me feel sick.”

Bardeen shook his head. “I’m sorry Corlin, but there is no alternative.”

A hint of frustration crept into Corlin’s voice. “What about Megan? I’m pretty sure she’s not too keen on it either.”

Alrick pushed himself away from the wall and gave Corlin’s arm a companionable squeeze. “She can walk on a lead rein to Tregwald with me. I’m sure your brother will be happy to take charge of her.”

Corlin was not happy. “Does that mean I can’t have her in Vellethen?”

His expression regretful, Bardeen shook his head. “I’m afraid not; well, not for a while anyway. Perhaps when your probationary period is over you may be able to move her to the royal stables. I really don’t know.”

With reluctant acceptance, the minstrel nodded. “We may as well get going then.” He gave his two companions a wry smile. “I reckon Molly’s going to be a bit disappointed, the three of us all leaving at once.”

As usual, Megan whickered a greeting as Corlin entered the stable. While Alrick checked and saddled his own bay gelding, Corlin made a big fuss of the gentle grey mare that he might not see again for a long time. Eventually he was forced to admit to himself that he had to get her ready, and moved down the stall towards the saddle-rack. He stopped almost in mid-stride, his eyes wide with amazement. Slung across the rack were his saddlebags, the very same ones Otty had run off with, what seemed like a lifetime ago.

Relieved, and very pleased, he called across to Alrick. “Have you any idea how my saddlebags turned up here?”

The scar-faced soldier called back. “Yes, I brought them with me. They were found while everyone was searching for Otty. Sorry, I forgot to mention it.”

Corlin unfastened the straps and checked inside each bag. Apart from the clock and its frame, items which he tried not to dwell on, nothing seemed to be missing. Even his few remaining silver coins that had once been walnuts still lay in the bottom.

He called back to Alrick. “Everything’s still here; even my money.”

Bardeen’s quiet voice came from behind him. “That’s good, because you’re paying the bill.”

The minstrel threw up his hands. “Well, that’s just terrific.”

After Alrick laughingly assured him that it wasn’t really the case, and Corlin had made some unfavourable remarks about Bardeen’s idea of a joke, the three men made their way back into the inn. Having decided they would tell Molly the true reason why they were leaving so soon, the three crowded into the kitchen.

Alrick dropped a small leather pouch on the table where the landlady was crimping the edges of a pie. “That’s our debt paid, goodwife Brewer. The time has come for us to take our leave.”

Molly’s soft round face crumpled a little as she brushed a wisp of corn-coloured hair away from her plump cheek. “I thought you might be staying a bit longer; at least until after the match.”

Corlin stepped forward and placed his hands on her shoulders. “We have to leave Molly. We have a long way to go, but I have some news for you.”

The landlady sniffed, feigning disinterest. “What’s that then?”

Corlin grinned, because at that moment the import of the whole situation hit home and his spirits began to rise higher than they had for a very long time.

His voice trembled with the sheer pleasure of being able to tell someone. “Molly, I’m to be a minstrel at the palace, in Vellethen! I’m going to play for King Vailin himself!”

As if seeking confirmation that this was not just some childish joke, Molly looked across at Alrick then at Bardeen. Her hands went to her face and then, with a little squeal of delight she threw her plump arms round Corlin and gave him a long and enthusiastic hug.

Her eyes glistening, she stood back, flapped her floury hands and smiled a silly smile at the three men in her kitchen. “Go, get out of my sight before I make a complete fool of myself!”

They all chuckled, and as they headed for the door she called out to the minstrel. “Congratulations, master Corlin Bentfoot!”

She almost danced as the door closed behind them. “Oh my! Just wait ‘til I tell Ned!”

- - - The End - - -

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