The Tale of Mally Biddle (8 page)

Mally smirked at Sam who looked taken aback by the tiny, e
xuberant man. Gently, she tugged him into the stable.

It was well built and very roomy. The large framework and thick-boarded walls kept the cold at bay. The ground was a dense mat of straw and a few peaceful neighs drifted from the other stalls. Sam sniffed the air.

“The name’s Bob Kettle, missy,” said the old man.

“Mally Biddle,” and she shook hands with Bob, who had a su
rprisingly strong grip.

“Tha’s quite a nice horse ya got there, Mally,” Bob Kettle said with a wide, toothy grin, taking in every inch of Sam.

“His name’s Sam.”

“Fine name,” said Bob, nodding his approval. “Fine. Cross b
etween a Urian and a West Moor Black?” he asked, suddenly business-like.

“Correct,” said Mally, amused by the intensity of the whis
kery man’s gaze. “You know your horses, sir.”

“Call me Bob! Call me Bob!” he exclaimed, still not taking his eyes off Sam. “Everyone does. I don’t like formalities.”

Bob now hobbled around Sam, peering up at his withers.

“Good work horse—bloodlines like that—must be sixteen and a half hands tall?”

“Seventeen.”

“Seventeen!” Bob nearly fell over with excitement. “Goo
dness me! Don’t get to see a seventeen very often. No, sir, Bob Kettle sure don’t!” He slapped his knee and shuffled around to Sam’s other side.

“Where did fine Sam come from?” he asked. Mally could only see his skinny legs but she heard him patting Sam’s side.

Mally had heard this question often enough not to take offense for it was clear that she could never afford a horse like Sam.

“Sam was given to me by Allen Dobbs—the horse breeder in Blighten,” Mally explained, speaking to Bob’s knees. And then to answer the question that always followed, she added, “He’s a close family friend and I helped him raise Sam.”

“That’s quite the friend,” said Bob and Mally imagined Bob’s white eyebrows rising into his hair. “Maybe I need to get in contact with this Dobbs. How old is fine Sam?” he asked.

“He just turned eight,” Mally replied looking at the su
rrounding stalls. “Bob? Do the knights’ horses stay here?”

“What? Knights?” his voice squeaked. He shuffled quickly back to Mally. “No, no. They’ve got their own pristine qua
rters for their beasts.” He dropped his voice low. His eyes were wide and Mally thought that she saw fear reflected in them. “I wouldn’t let a single one of those creatures into my stable.”

“The knights or the horses?” Mally asked smiling.

“Neither if I can help it,” said Bob, his voice quivering slightly. He glanced over his shoulder to the opening of the stable. “But some knights
do
come here. They look ‘round at the horses staying here. Size ‘em up.”

Mally felt a chill that wasn’t due to the weather outside.

“They don’t
take
horses?” she asked, aghast.

“Sometimes,” Bob nodded.

But instead of feeling panicky about losing Sam, Mally laughed.

“I’d like to see any knight try to ride Sam. Ivan Finley sent me … he told me that he would pay for Sam’s stay here,” she added, slightly embarrassed.

“Fine. Fine,” said Bob. “He’s a good lad. Good money. I’ll speak to him in the morning.”

Mally walked over to Sam and rubbed his nose.

“I’ll be back in the morning,” she whispered and nodding to Bob, she left the stable and turned toward the Lone Candle. Wrapping her cloak more tightly around herself, she walked quickly, scanning the dark streets for knights.

8
Bayard's Mistake

Mally woke the next morning, curled up in a warm ball under thin sheets and blankets. For a moment, she simply laid there, her eyes shut tightly.
I’m not home,
she thought.
I’m in Bosc, trying to help a group of rebels find a dead princess.

“I’m crazy,” she said aloud, opening her eyes.

The little bedroom was small yet pleasant. A few embers were smoldering in a small fireplace and a basin of water sat on a table under a square window.

Stretching and yawning, Mally washed, dressed, and headed downstairs to the pub. A few early morning customers were sitting at the tables, chatting to each other over steaming drinks and plates of eggs and sausages.

Mally stood at the foot of the stairs and felt a sudden pang of homesickness. She wondered what her mother was doing right now. If any of the villagers knew where she was …

“Mally, isn’t it?”

Mally started and turned to find Olive, who had just walked up beside her.

“Would you like some breakfast?” Olive asked, a large jug of juice in her hand. Up close, Mally thought that Olive Dunker’s face looked drawn, with an unhealthy paleness. There were dark circles under her eyes that the thin layer of powder on her face didn’t hide.

“Yes, please,” said Mally.

“Take a seat and I’ll be right with you.”

Olive smiled and marched behind the bar to disappear through the door to the kitchen. Mally sat at a small table by the large window and gazed out at the street. It was very early. The street was still dark, but a faint gray light was slowly beginning to take over. Even though it was only shortly after dawn, a few people were walking briskly in the chilly air.
It
must have rained,
she thought, for little water droplets clung to the glass like crystal beads. Without warning, a lump formed threateningly in her throat. She knew she would feel better if she saw Sam. He was very much family to her.

“All right, what would you like?” Olive asked, her voice sta
rtling Mally.

After Olive had scribbled down a breakfast order she smiled at Mally smugly, as if she knew a secret that no one else did.

“I saw that you met my son, Galen. He’s a nice lad, isn’t he?” she asked, her eyes twinkling.

“Yes, he is,” Mally answered.

“Your food will be out in a jiff.” And still wearing that smile she walked over to another table.

Mally quickly ate her breakfast and hurried down the street to Clip-Clop. She wanted desperately to see Sam. Maybe she would ride him around the fenced-in meadow. But just as she came to the opening of the stable, she heard loud voices from within. Curious, she peered through the open door.

Halfway down the stable stood a large group of men. Four of them stood to one side while one bore down on a trembling Bob Kettle. Around Bob stood young men and boys that Mally assumed worked at the stable. Behind Bob, looking increasingly annoyed, was Sam. Mally recognized the five men standing before Bob as knights almost immediately for they were all in uniform. They were not in armor, but in heavy, sweeping cloaks of rich burgundy, and their black boots shimmered with a high polish. At each hip hung a long, wicked sword.

“Now see here, Kettle,” the knight growled. “I don’t care that this horse belongs to someone else—”

“But Sir Adrian,” Bob argued timidly, seeming to shrink under Bayard’s glares, “he belongs to Miss Mally Biddle.”

“As if I care who owns him,” Bayard barked back, making Bob shake like a twig. “If you want to keep your legs healthy you’ll stop blubbering and hand him over.”

Bob looked like he was about to faint. Mally was sure his shaking legs would not hold him much longer, so she walked hastily to the group, and Sam tossed his head happily at the sight of her. The knights that had been standing lazily to one side straightened up as she swept past them.

“My dear!” Bob gasped and thrust out a hand to her with the air of a drowning man. He gripped her arm and cowered behind her as Mally stared up at Bayard.

“Who are you?” Bayard sneered disdainfully.

“The owner of the horse in question, Sir Adrian,” Mally replied calmly.

“
You
own
this
horse?” Bayard said incredulously, his eyes raking Mally’s small figure and patchy attire.

“Yes sir. And I’m terribly sorry but he’s not for sale.”

Bayard grinned and Mally felt her nerves tighten. He took a step toward her, but she stood her ground. Bob was practically vibrating behind her. 

“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll realize he’s mine,” he said quietly.

Mally raised her eyebrows and looked Bayard straight in the face, wondering where this courage—or stupidity—was coming from.

“Forgive me, Sir Adrian, but a horse that you cannot ride is of no use to you.”

There was a split second of shocked silence before the knights behind Bayard exploded with laughter. Bayard turned brick red and gnashed his teeth.

“You think I can’t ride this horse?” he growled menacingly and Mally felt Bob flinch behind her.

“I think it is unlikely,” Mally replied with quaint innocence. “I am thinking only of your best interests, sir, when I say you should set your sights on another horse. Mine can be … temperamental.” And on cue, Sam rolled his eyes and stamped his heavy hooves.

Bayard stood glaring at Mally and for a moment, she thought he might hit her, but instead he smiled. Mally was sure he thought his smile was charming, but the look didn’t suit him. It made his face look taunt.

He started to laugh. It began as a chuckle, but soon he was roaring. His booming laughter seemed to make him grow in size. Mally tried to keep the nervousness pulsing under her skin off her face.

“Best interest?” he repeated through a wicked grin. “Here that!” He turned to his fellow knights behind him. They joined him in his laughter and Mally blushed uncomfortably.

“I say I can ride him,” said Bayard, turning his attention back to Mally, his eyes glittering wickedly.  “So, how about a little proposition. I get a chance on your horse. If I can ride him—I keep him. If I can’t …” Bayard shrugged his shoulders with the air that such a thing was highly unlikely.

Mally considered for a moment.

“Agreed.”

Adrian Bayard’s mouth twisted into a large grin. He ordered Mally to bring Sam into the meadow and marched outside. The other knights followed laughing and jeering. When they had gone, Bob turned to Mally and demanded in a strained voice, “How could you? He’ll have fine Sam for sure!”

“Not necessarily. You heard him, he has to be able to ride him.”

“But he can ride any horse!” Bob yelled, stamping the ground in furious panic. He glared at Mally as she saddled Sam. The stable hands watched her, shocked.

“Sam isn’t any horse.”

“Girl! Get out here now!” Bayard yelled from outside the st
able. “Unless you’d like to just give him to me now and be done with it.”

More laughter answered this taunt.

“Bob, trust me,” Mally implored.

Bob only shook his head in incredulous amazement as Mally led Sam outside.

Mally felt Sam’s muscles tighten under her fingers as they headed for the meadow beside the stable. Sam and Mally nearly grew up together. There was hardly anything she couldn’t ask him to do, but even she had to admit that she was putting him in a dangerous predicament.

“I have complete faith in you,” she whispered to him and Sam’s ears pricked toward her.

“Ready to hand him over?” Bayard smirked.

Instead of answering him, Mally turned to Sam and rubbed his forehead.

“Put him in his place, Sam,” she breathed.

Bob had reached them, panting slightly. He had jogged from the stable in short jerky strides, closely followed by the curious and frightened stable hands. Mally gave Bayard Sam’s reigns and joined Bob and his employees at the meadow’s fence.
It did rain
, Mally thought. The meadow was spongy and soggy with quite a number of large, muddy puddles. Sam’s huge hoofs left deep prints in the soft ground. The four other knights stood opposite Mally and Bob with Sam and Bayard in-between them.

“Remember our bargain?” Bayard shot at Mally, his fist clenched on Sam’s reigns.

Mally nodded and Bayard lifted himself and swung his leg up and over. The moment he had settled, Sam let out an almighty neigh and reared. Bayard yelled in surprise and clutched the reins as the knights quickly stumbled backward, shouting encouragement. But Sam wouldn’t listen to Bayard or the knights’ orders. He flattened his ears against his skull, snorted like a bull and dived forward into a wild gallop. Mally, Bob, the stable hands, and the knights stood transfixed as Bayard tried to control Sam. Then quite suddenly, Sam came to an abrupt, jerking stop. Bayard flew over Sam’s head to land with a loud
thud
in a large mud puddle.

Sam trotted around Bayard to stand, wriggling his ears in a di
sgruntled way, beside Mally.

“I’m so sorry, Sir Adrian!” Mally yelled over the howling laughter from the other knights, her voice full of false concern. “Are you all right?”

Cursing under his breath, Bayard stood back up, shaking mud off his hands.

“Blasted beast!” he snarled.

“The miss did warn you, sir,” Bob piped up, grinning from ear to ear.

“I can ride any horse!” Bayard shouted and Sam’s ears fla
ttened again against his head.

“But, sir, Sam isn’t any horse,” Mally replied, her voice as sweet and innocent as a child’s.

Seething, Sir Adrian rounded on his fellow knights, who were pounding the fence with their fists as they laughed. One blonde knight had removed his red feathered hat and was swatting it against his thigh as he howled with laughter. Mud dripped from Bayard’s ruined cloak and dribbled down his forehead.

“Think it’s funny, eh? Think it’s a laugh? I’d like to see you try, Rendle!” Bayard snapped.

The blonde knight Bayard had yelled at looked up, wiping tears from his eyes.

“I would,” he said, glancing at Sam who snorted menacingly, “if I were a fool.”

The knight named Rendle grinned roguishly and replaced his hat and Mally suddenly recognized him. He was one of the knights who had joined Gibbs in his tax collecting. Had he been the blond knight her mother had suspected of giving them gold?

Bayard looked ready to punch Rendle and Mally felt that it was best to leave the scene, so she led Sam back to the stable, Bob tro
tting behind her.

“I haven’t seen someone stand up to Bayard like that in all th
ese years, no sir!” Bob laughed gleefully, slapping his knee. “You’ve got some courage, girl!”

“It wasn’t me, it was Sam,” said Mally, taking off the saddle and reins. “Did you have any trouble with him last night?”

“Nah,” said Bob shaking his head, still grinning madly.

“Good,” said Mally, patting Sam’s neck.

“Mally?”

Mally turned and was happily surprised to see Ivan rushing into the stable.

“Ivan, hi!”

“I thought I’d find you here. What happened outside? Bayard looks ready to kill.”

Bob burst into cackled laughter as Mally smiled sheepishly.

“It’s Mally, sir! Mally’s what’s gotten to him!”

“Mally?” repeated Ivan, looking confused. “What happened?”

“Well,” Mally began but Bob flew onward, telling Ivan ever
ything that had been said and done. With every word, Ivan looked stonier.

“Why did you do that?” he exploded at Mally, and Bob looked quite taken aback.

“Because I didn’t want him to take Sam,” Mally replied, frowning at Ivan’s reaction. “And it was his own fault. I told him he wouldn’t be able to ride Sam.”

“I understand that, but you realize that he lives in the same ca
stle I’m trying to get you into?”

It seemed that Ivan had forgotten Bob was still with them.

“The castle?” Bob asked, nonplussed, looking from Ivan to Mally. “Why do you want to go there?”

“I’m sorry I angered him,” said Mally, trying very hard to keep her voice calm. “But there really wasn’t any way around it.”

“It’s not wise to go looking for trouble so quickly,” Ivan berated.

“I wasn’t looking for trouble!” Mally fumed. “It was there a
lready. I wasn’t going to let him take Sam!”

They glowered at each other while Bob hovered at Mally’s shoulder, looking uncertain.

Ivan pinched the bridge of his nose and, clearly trying to keep his voice steady, he said, “All I’m asking is for you to go unnoticed. Do not attract attention. Is that too hard for you to do?”

Mally felt like she had been slapped. All words had left her and she stared stupidly at him as he turned on his heel and marched out of the stable. Blinking, Mally realized that she didn’t know why he had been looking for her in the first place.