The Tale of Mally Biddle (7 page)

They returned to the road, which was becoming much more congested. Sam tossed his huge head from time to time in agitation. He wasn’t used to so many people and horses in such close proximity. Mally rubbed his neck gently and whispered softly in his ear. The last thing she wanted was to lose control of Sam.

They rounded a corner and Mally felt a burst of sea air. Bosc was an extremely large port city. Fishermen sold their catches on the docks and expensive jewels and cloths were brought in from distant countries. Mally had never seen the ocean, but her mother and father had talked glowingly about it.

Mally’s throat suddenly went dry. A huge stone wall, twenty—or thirty—feet high, towered before them. It was the outer wall of Bosc and encircled the entire city. She looked up at the top and spotted knights strolling slowly, almost lazily, up and down, bows draped over their chests and swords swaying from their waists. Mally quickly looked down as a knight from above noticed her.

The wide road had narrowed, forcing Mally and Ivan into a line that had come to a halt. A knight was standing at the large gate before them, inspecting those who wished to enter the city.

“Don’t worry,” Ivan said quietly, interpreting her stiff posture correctly. “You’ll be fine.”

But she didn’t feel fine. Far from it. Perched on top of Sam, she was head and shoulders taller than almost anyone else in the line. She felt like a flame that was attracting all the eyes of the many moths around her. People in the line around them had turned their heads and were pointing openly at Sam. Trying to ignore them as best she could, Mally focused on her fingers that were twisting Sam’s mane feverishly. Finally the large wagon before them moved through the gate and Mally and Ivan were at the front of the queue.

“Name?” a bearded knight grunted, staring dully at a large roll of parchment in his hand.

“Ivan Finley, son of Brenden and Abby Finley,” Ivan a
nswered, rather tartly. “I am a resident here as you very well know, Strap.”

Strap chuckled, giving Ivan a wide wicked grin.

“Rules are rules, Finley,” Strap smirked. “His Majesty wants to know the comings and goings of the people in his city.”

“His Majesty or Sir Illius Molick?” Ivan asked, his voice hard.

Strap laughed again.

“Does it matter?” he asked.

Ivan glowered at Strap, but Strap didn’t seem perturbed. He turned his eyes upward to Mally.

“And your name, missy?” His eyes roamed over her and Mally resisted the urge to squirm.

“Mally Biddle.”

“I’ve never heard of you.” His voice was like gravel. “Where you from?”

“Blighten,” Mally replied shortly.

“Blighten, eh? I should go their more of’en,” he chuckled to the knight beside him and Sam snorted and stamped his huge hoof.

“Quite a horse you got there,” Strap observed, taking in Sam’s impressive bulk. His eyes shined with a hunger that Mally didn’t like at all.

“Thank you,” she said tightly.

“This your first time in Bosc?”

“Yes, and I hope I enjoy my stay … sir,” Mally added politely.

“I hope you do as well,” Strap leered. “Ten gold pieces,” he barked suddenly.

Before Mally could reach for the small moneybag in her cloak, Ivan had already handed the gold to Strap. He inspected it with a sneer before saying, “You may pass.”

Feeling suddenly dirty, Mally passed the two knights and entered the city.

7
Dunker and Kettle

“The Lone Candle is near the castle,” said Ivan. “What do you say we walk? It’d be nice to stretch our legs.”

Mally agreed and they dismounted. Sam bent his head and rubbed Mally’s shoulder with his nose.

They walked at a pleasant pace and after a while Mally forgot about her encounter with Strap, for the city of Bosc simply glowed. Night had fallen and the street lamps were being lit. They shone brilliant light upon the cobblestone streets and Mally couldn’t wait to explore the many shops that would open at daybreak. She had already spotted a few that sounded promising: Sticky Finger Ba
kery, June’s Hats and Gloves, and Puddlemore’s Bookshop, to name a few. She wanted to find something to get for her mother … perhaps a new hat?

“Here we are,” Ivan said some twenty minutes later.

Mally looked around and spotted what he was pointing at. Opposite them was a small inn with a huge glass window beside the door. It was slightly foggy and Mally couldn’t see clearly through it.

Mally and Ivan tied Sam and Arrow to poles outside the inn and stepped out of the cold and into the Lone Candle.

The inn was quiet except for the sporadic conversation from its few customers. Ivan grabbed hold of Mally’s wrist and led her gently to a small table in a corner, three tables away from the nearest customer. Mally sat down and looked around the room feeling suddenly uneasy.

“It’s seen better days,” Ivan said under his breath, also glancing around them.

Then quite abruptly a loud boom of laughter sounded from a corner. Mally and Ivan turned to see six knights laughing loudly at something one of them had just said. Mally noticed that everyone else in the inn had taken tables far from the knights.

“What can I get for you, dearies?” asked a short woman with a round face and graying auburn hair. She hadn’t looked at them, as she was busy trying to pull a quill and piece of parchment from her apron pocket. When she had extracted them and spotted Ivan, her face split into a wide grin, her eyes dancing. “Why, Ivan Finley! What a surprise. Where’ve you been?”

“Blighten,” Ivan said, grinning. “Olive, I want you to meet Mally Biddle. Mally, this is Olive Dunker. She owns the Lone Candle.”

“It’s a beautiful inn,” said Mally, shaking hands with Olive.

Though Mally felt she was being polite, she thought she saw something flash behind Olive’s eyes. There was certainly something strained about her smile. Over Olive’s shoulder, Mally spotted a large painting of a man in knight’s attire. The knights laughed loudly again from their corner.

“Thank you. What would you like?”

“Are you still making the stuffed quail?” Ivan asked, rubbing his hands.

The annoyance flashed in Olive’s eyes again and for a m
oment, Mally thought she had cut her gaze to the loud group of knights.

“No. Sorry to say. But I’ve got a nice pork stew.”

“We’ll take it. And I’ll have the amber ale and …” Ivan frowned at Mally for a second before saying, “and Mally will take a cider.”

“Cheddar?”

Ivan nodded.

“It’ll be right out,” said Olive, scribbling away.

She left their table and disappeared through a door behind the bar. Mally turned her eyes on the knights who were waving their empty mugs in the air for refills. A girl around Mally’s age took their mugs as quickly as possible, nearly tripping over her own feet in her haste to leave their table. The knights roared in merriment. Mally’s stomach turned from the whistling and jeering.

“They’ll stay for hours,” Ivan muttered darkly, indicating the knights. “They’ll eat and drink and scare all the other cu
stomers away and finally leave without paying.”

“One knight left us gold,” said Mally. She said it more to try to convince herself that all the knights weren’t horrible.

“We’ve heard some stories about that,” Ivan whispered, leaning over the table to her. “Some family will have a small bag of gold left in a flower pot. A women will be about to fill her kettle with water and nearly faint from the silver she finds in it. We don’t know who is leaving those gifts but we do know they have money—and the knights have lots of that.”

“So you think that some knights are good?” Mally asked, hop
eful.

“I’m no more sure than you are,” Ivan answered, shaking his head. “But someone is trying to thwart the knights. And whoever it is is quite serious about staying anonymous”

“For obvious reasons,” said Mally, thinking of Gibbs and imagining how quickly he would turn in a traitor.  “You don’t have
any
ideas who these good knights—if we assume they are knights—are?”

“Not enough to feel confident in naming them,” Ivan admi
tted gloomily. “Whoever they are, they act well—they’d be dead if they didn’t.”

“TO CAPTAIN MOLICK!”

Mally nearly jumped out of her chair. A woman sitting close to Mally had flinched so badly at the sudden outburst that she had flung her mug to the floor. Ivan swiveled in his seat, glaring daggers at the knights who seemed oblivious to what they had caused. Their mugs full, they were cheering and clanking their beers together, waving at the painting of the man near them.

“Disgusting,” Ivan spat under his breath.

“Who is that painting of?” Mally asked.

“Painting?” Ivan repeated, confused. But when Mally poin
ted it out his face soured. “Captain Illius Molick,” he explained. His voice dripped acid. “You haven’t seen one of those?”

“No,” said Mally.

“Humph,” Ivan snorted. “Well, get used to it. He’s everywhere here.”

Mally’s attention was gratefully diverted as the same girl a
rrived with their drinks and a small wedge of daffodil yellow cheddar. She was trembling. Mally smiled kindly in silent gratitude. The girl nodded stiffly, her lips pressed together so tightly they were white. Mally watched her disappear through the door behind the bar as if it were her sanctuary.

“But that does bring up an important topic,” Ivan said as if they were continuing a conversation. “It is imperative that Molick doesn’t suspect you. He’s been trying to sniff the rebel members out ever since the group formed. He’s o
bsessed with catching us.”

“Does he suspect you?” Mally asked quietly, suddenly ner
vous. She felt that it was reckless for them to be discussing such a topic in a room where six intoxicated knights sat.

“If they did, I doubt that I’d be here.”

On that foreboding note, they sat in silence, each sipping on their drink and watching the customers. They all spoke quietly, shooting wary glances at the knights who seemed to be reveling in the discomfort their presence had created.

“Ah! And here’s Galen!” Ivan said happily, his eyes fixed over Mally’s head.

Mally turned in her seat and saw a young man with sandy-blonde hair walk up to them. A curious grin played upon his face as he made his way to them.

“Ivan,” he said, once he’d reached their table. “Nice to see you back.”

“Pull up a chair!”

“No, I really—don’t want to intrude.” His gaze had fallen on Mally and Mally returned it with a smile.

“You won’t be,” Ivan laughed, pulling out a chair beside him. “Sit!”

With a quick glance at Mally, Galen sat.

“Galen, may I introduce to you Miss Mally Biddle. Mally, this is Galen Dunker, the friend I told you about.”

Galen and Mally shook hands.

“Pleasure,” said Galen.

Mally smiled in reply.

“She’s going to help me,” Ivan revealed in an excited undertone, leaning toward Galen.

Galen’s head shot around and he released Mally’s hand.

“Help you?” he repeated a little more loudly than necessary.

“Yes. Don’t worry, she knows all about the plan,” he rushed,
in answer to Galen’s sharpened gaze. “You can trust her.”
Galen looked uncomfortable and he shot another quick glance at Mally before whispering to Ivan, “What exactly are you going to have her do?”

“What I told you I’d have her do,” Ivan responded rather
impatiently and mouthed, “Snoop around the castle.”

Galen opened his mouth, but closed it again. With an agitated glance at Mally, he scooted his chair closer to the table and leaned his head nearer to Ivan’s. Mally had the distinct impression that Galen didn’t want her to hear what he wan
ted to say.

“Does she know,” Galen whispered so low that he was bar
ely moving his lips, “does she know the—”

Mally had a feeling she knew what Galen was trying to say without her noticing and decided it was time to speak up.

“I know the dangers involved, Galen, thank you,” Mally said clearly, breaking up Ivan and Galen’s conversation. “Ivan has already told me what I’ll be doing and I understand my situation.”

Ivan looked pleased and took a large swig of beer, but Galen looked mutinous.

“Galen! Galen, where—
there you are
!”

A boy who looked about fourteen with pale freckles on his face rushed to their table.

“Galen, I’ve been looking all over for you!” he gasped, slightly out of breath. “Mom’s hav’n’ a fit. The potatoes burned and Sarah still hasn’t shown.”

“Tell her I’m coming,” Galen told the sweating boy, who no
dded and hurried off.

Galen turned to Ivan and rose.

“I’ll talk to you later. Nice to meet you,” he said to Mally.

“You worry too much,” Ivan told Galen’s retreating back.

Mally watched him disappear through the door behind the bar, feeling uneasy.

“Don’t let Galen upset you,” Ivan said. He picked his mug up off the table to make room for two bowls of stew.

“He didn’t seem too happy about me helping,” Mally replied uncomfortably. Would everyone else in the rebel group act the way Galen had? Would they all think she couldn’t handle the dangers of spying on the knights and the king?

“Like I said, he worries too much,” Ivan said quietly, a kind smile on his face. “You’ll be fine.”

Mally gave him a nervous smile and drank some more of her cider.

It was just before Mally and Ivan had finished their dinner that the knights in the corner left. Just as Ivan had said, they simply rose with much talking and laughing and left. Galen and his mother stood at the bar and simply stared after them stone-faced. Mally watched Galen turn to his mother and say something, but she didn’t reply. Mally thought that her jaw was clenched.

After dinner, Ivan went off in search of Olive to ask if there was a room available for Mally. He returned to tell Mally that a room was ready and paid for.

“Paid for?” Mally repeated, turning slightly pink. “You didn’t need to pay for my room.”

“I wanted to. It’s the least I could do”—he dropped his voice—“seeing that I’m asking you to risk your life and all.”

Mally laughed, but it was a short one.

“Where do I put Sam?”

“There’s a stable that you can use. It’s down the next street. It’s”—Ivan looked suddenly embarrassed—“called
Clip-Clop
. Tell the fellow there—name’s Bob Kettle—that I sent you and that I’m paying for Sam’s stay.”

Mally blushed even harder.

“No arguments,” Ivan said firmly. Then he added, “I can go with you, if you want.”

Mally stood up and Ivan had to take a hasty step back to give her room.

“No, you’ve done enough for me,” she said, drawing her cloak around her shoulders. “Thank you.”

“All right then. Shall I escort you out the door?” Ivan asked, bowing slightly.

“Yes, you shall,” Mally replied, grinning and taking his arm.

It was bitterly cold outside and Mally couldn’t wait to get back inside the Lone Candle. Sam nickered softly at the sight of Mally and she felt a stab of guilt at making him stay so long in the cold street. She quickly untied his reigns with numb fingers, said goo
dnight to Ivan, and headed in the direction that he had indicated.

The few shops down this long street were spaced much fa
rther apart from each other and focused on tending to horses. Mally felt that she was walking toward the edge of the city’s walls. Trees and grass grew here and when she reached the end of the road, she found a large fenced-in meadow and yes, at the other side of the meadow ran the giant stone wall surrounding the city.  To her immediate left was the stable Ivan had mentioned, for in the dim light from the city wall’s torches she read from a wooden sign hammered into the ground: Clip-Clop. The words looked as though they had been carved into the wood with a knife.

“Need a place for your horse?” asked a thin, wiry old man, who stepped into the light of one of the streetlamps. He was slightly stooped, and a great deal of white hair covered his head.

“Yes, sir. I was told this was the place to go.”

“If you want the best place for your steed,” the man e
xclaimed, waving a knobby cane in the air. “This way, if you please!”