The Last Knight (20 page)

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.

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.

The mattress was canvas, stuffed with wool, and the slats beneath it were the best weapon I found, thin enough that I could break them out of their frame, but still heavy enough to stun someone. Only it didn’t matter how many people I stunned, because I was chained to the bed frame, and even if I could maneuver it out the door…

A sudden vision of me running through the keep with the bed frame dragging behind me made me smile. It felt good, despite my bruised face, and ’twas still lingering when the bolt clicked and the door swung open.

I spun, my heart thumping—which was silly, since Lady Ceciel had said she didn’t intend to kill me for a long time.

A girl stood in the doorway. She looked to be about fifteen, big for her age, with a round face and curly, reddish hair. Her jaw dropped slightly at the sight of the room, and the tray in her hands sagged. This made me nervous, for the water, cloths, and especially the pot of salve, were something I’d prefer to see used on me rather than the floor.

“Oh.” Her voice was breathless and childlike. “You’ve messed up the bed.”

I saw no reason to apologize.

Her eyes wandered from the bed to me and she frowned. “You’re messed up too.”

She was one of the simple ones. “That’s all right,” I told her gently. “You’re here to help me, aren’t you?”

“Aye, and like to take all day at it. Get in, girl, do.”

Hackle pushed the girl through the door. He glowered at the ravaged bed, but made no comment. I glared at him, despite the fact that he carried a water jug and a basket that almost certainly held food. The girl might have been persuaded to bring me the shackle key, but there was no way to corrupt Hackle.

He lingered by the door, as Lady Ceciel had. The chain wasn’t long enough to reach him unless I dragged the bed across the room.

He wasn’t inclined to chat, so I focused on the girl instead. Her name was Janny, she’d been with the lady three years now, and she was willing to let me tend my own hurts while she fixed the bed. She’d probably be willing to do anything anyone suggested, including bringing me a saw. That would be why Hackle was there.

I mopped the blood off my face, with Janny telling me when I missed a spot.

The humming energy of magic that touched my senses when I picked up the salve gave me further hope—you don’t waste magica on someone you plan to kill. ’Twas easy to rub the salve into the right places, for my tender nerves told me where I needed it. The pain was already fading as I smoothed a second coat over my swollen eye.

Janny picked up the tray to depart. “You’ll be better soon. The lady’s potions work fine. She’s so smart. She—” An enthusiastic gesture slopped water onto the floor. “Oops.”

She frowned at the damp patch, unsure how to clean it with the tray in her hands. I was about to take the tray, but she solved the dilemma herself.

She stared at the spill and once more I felt the buzz of magic along my nerves, in the exposed skin of my face and hands—but this was different from anything I’d felt before—strong, focused. Not existing passively, as it did in plants, or exercised instinctively, as animals will, but magic being generated…deliberately.

The small puddle evaporated, shrinking in on itself until the floor was dry.
Human
magic. It seemed so unnatural that I took an involuntary step backward, sitting abruptly when my knees hit the bed.

Janny gave me a sunny smile and departed—her job well done. Hackle’s smile was tinged with malice. To my disgust, I found that I was shaking again.

Three days dragged past. My captors weren’t unkind—with the next meal they brought me a selection of books: a ballad cycle, an account of some explorer’s adventures in the southern deserts, and a treatise on astronomy.

I chose the explorer’s story, though my suspicion that it would prove as fantastical as the ballads proved correct. I might have believed in the strange animals he described—I hadn’t been there, after all. Even the bizarre customs of the savages weren’t beyond the realm of possibility. But no one was as courageous and resourceful as the explorer made himself out to be.

In a real adventure, things went wrong. In a real adventure, you couldn’t escape from a simple stone room and a shackle in a civilized keep full of servants, and had to sit there tamely waiting for your
squire
to rescue you. In a real adventure fear rapidly gave way to boredom, and you found boredom could wear away your resolve faster than fear. Father would be horribly embarrassed to have a son who couldn’t get out of an ordinary cell.

Hackle always accompanied Janny, who brought my food and emptied the chamber pot. At mid-meal on the third day I asked, politely, to speak with Lady Ceciel.

She arrived about an hour later. She’d obviously been working in an herbarium, for her big apron was marked with soil and sap, and her hands were stained green. Smudges on her face showed that she’d pushed trailing wisps of hair out of her eyes, and the scent of bruised plants encircled her like perfume.

“What do you want, Sir Michael? I’m very busy.”

“I want to put a stop to this nonsense,” I told her. “You can’t keep me prisoner forever—Fisk knows where I am. ’Tis…’tis ridiculous! You have nothing to gain by it and a great deal to lose. Let me go.”

She leaned against the doorsill and folded her arms.

“Oh, I don’t know. While you’re here, I don’t have to worry that you’re plotting to ambush me and haul me off to a hanging. I’ve been investigating, Sir Michael; I know the terms of your repayment. No wonder you’ve been such a pest.”

Hot blood rose to my face, but a question surfaced as well.

“How did you always know where we were? Not the time you had us cudgel-crewed—Hackle’s brother must have warned you. But at first, when you set the boar after us outside Willowere. There wasn’t time for Mistress Agnes to contact you.”

“Oh, that was Hackle’s doing. I’d sent him to tell Aggie I was safely home, and he got there shortly after you and Fisk left. He hoped it would discourage you, but it didn’t work.”

“If you know the terms of my repayment, you should understand that.” I began to pace, ignoring the jingle of the chain. “But what about this last time, in the burying grove? How did you know we were there?”

She laughed. “You won’t like it.”

“Tell me anyway,” I said gloomily.

“It was sheer luck. One of my maids sneaked out to meet a lover. She passed by the grove, saw your light, and reported it. So I sent out the guards.”

Sheer luck.
Outrage welled through me, and I sought for some witty, cutting comment. I didn’t find one. “Fisk will hate that.” I sank onto the bed, kicking the chain out of my way.

She laughed again. “We’ve also learned a lot about Master Fisk. You seem very sure he’s going to return with the authorities.”

“Of course. Unless…You haven’t caught him, have you?”

She paused a moment, drawing out my suspense, but she answered honestly, “No. He bypassed my sheriff entirely and set out toward the south. I’ve sent men after him, but they haven’t returned.”

“They wouldn’t have, if he’s…” I broke off, aghast at my uncontrolled tongue. ’Twas probably the result of having no one but Janny and Hackle to talk to.

“If he’s headed for Uddersfield,” she finished calmly. “But what makes you certain he’ll go to the authorities at all? A criminal, a con artist. And indebted. What’s to stop him from running off now that he’s free of you?”

“Fisk wouldn’t do that.” As I spoke the words, I realized that I believed it. “He’s a better man than you think. He’ll come back with the authorities, and then…Lady Ceciel, this is absurd. Let me go now, before the law enforces it.”

“Ah, but the law won’t protect you, Sir Michael. Have you forgotten? I can do anything I like with an indebted man.” She waited for me to reply. When I said nothing, she smiled and went out.

I was so accustomed to the idea that the High Liege’s law protected all his subjects that I had forgotten I was now outside it. How stupid of me. And how stupid of Father to have done this to me. Thank goodness Fisk wasn’t stupid. He would appeal to the authorities on behalf of the simple ones, and Sir Herbert. When they arrested Lady Ceciel for those crimes, I’d be set free.