The Unwilling Adventurer (The Unwilling #1) (13 page)

A few hours later he finally gave up and dressed himself; perhaps a stroll along the hall outside his door would help tire him. He peeked out of his room and saw that many of the torches were extinguished, casting much of the passage into darkness. Still, he was no stranger to the night and ventured out of his room. His exit would have been quiet except for a loud squeak of the door hinges. Fred hadn't gone more than a yard before he noticed a shadow of a man climb down a winding set of stairs at the end of the hall. The man had a familiar beard, it was Ned. The boy wondered what would have the older one up at such an hour, and dodged behind a rusting suit of armor.

Ned's cane lightly tapped the stone floor, and his head was bent down at a contemplative angle. The passage was accessed from the main entrance hall through a short, narrow hall to Fred's right, and the boy saw a man step out in front of Ned. The old man jerked to a stop and both his hands flew to his staff.

"Easy there, old friend," Lord Tramadore's voice whispered.

Ned visibly relaxed. "You risk giving me a quick death with such greetings."

"Or giving me a quick death, though I don't believe you need my help. You seem intent on worrying yourself into an early grave," Lord Tramadore countered.

Ned chuckled. "My bouts of worry make up for the many instances where I do not worry enough."

"And I don't take these bouts of yours lightly." Tramadore folded his arms across his chest. "What bothers you now?"

The old man glanced around them and Fred ducked down further behind the suit. "Perhaps a hall is not the best place for a tete-a-tete."

Lord Tramadore stepped aside and swept his hands down the passage leading to the entrance hall. "My study is very private."

The pair disappeared down the hall and Fred hurried after them. Their shadows danced along the walls, and he snuck a peek down the corridor. They disappeared down the turn in the stairs, and he risked scrambling down the corridor so as not to lose sight of them. Fred was in time to see them reach the study door beneath him in the entrance hall and enter, then the door was shut. No other soul was around, so he slunk down the stairs and reached the entrance to the study. He pressed his ear against the wood, but the door was solid; he didn't hear a thing. Then his eyes caught the area between the two doors; there was a small gap and here he could listen in and see the participants of the conversation.

Hardly had the men seated themselves than Lord Tramadore got down to business. "Is it the girl that bothers you, or the boy?"

"Both, I'm afraid," Ned replied. "One believes she knows the world, and the other doesn't know enough. I haven't figured out which is worse."

"I would say the false belief, unless the boy thinks he knows the world, too," Tramadore pointed out.

Ned shook his head. "No, he knows he's ignorant, but so much so that I can't even guess where to start his learning."

"Start his learning?" the lord repeated. Ned was quiet for a moment, Lord Tramadore leaned over his desk. "I've waited long enough, old friend, now tell me. Is this boy truly him?" the lord asked him.

The old man sighed and pulled at his beard. "If it isn't then the world is a stranger place than even I guessed."

Lord Tramadore leaned back in his chair, awed by Ned's answer. "He did find that assassin through the veil of that magic cloak, but have you tested him? Given him the staff?"

Ned waved his hand. "Yes. He performed beautifully with the staff, like I thought he would, though Pat was given a fright."

"Pat? Oh yes, her name. I'd forgotten. So now you have two troubles on your hand, one of them long-awaited and another unexpected?" Lord Tramadore asked him.

"They were both expected, but to be together on such a dangerous journey, and with the boy so ignorant, has given us some challenges," Ned admitted.

"Will you make the deadline to Galaron?" the lord wondered. Fred's ears perked up; there was that name again.

Ned shook his head. "I do not know, but we have no choice. To do otherwise would risk some catastrophe, I know it."

"And Lord Canavar? Does he know of your journey?"

The old man shifted in his chair and sighed. "And stalks us even now. I wouldn't put it past him to have called forth those tree demons we found. They reeked of his handy work. The further we go the worse it will get until after we've passed through Salaron."

"Did you wish for accompaniment?" Lord Tramadore offered. "I can go myself and-"

Ned held up his hand. "I thank you, old friend, but you have troubles here you must attend to. Lord Sturgeon created this false assassination for a reason, and I believe that he aims to gain the sympathy of the people. Should you leave, he may very well use his influence to control your household."

"You believe it's that serious?" the lord asked him.

Ned gave a nod. "I do." A smile crept across his face. "But until we leave, I expect to be useful to you, and you to me, and we shall drink your fine mountain wine until it comes out ours ears."

Lord Tramadore was quiet for a moment. He leaned over the desk and his unwavering eyes fell on his old friend. "You take these matters lightly, but in the passage upstairs you appeared consumed by your worries. Why were you not asleep?"

The old man turned away, the first time Fred saw the man turn from a challenging stare. "Old memories become dreams for most people, sweet reminders of what was."

"And yours?" the lord asked.

Ned lifted his staff and ran an old, withered hand over the wood. "Mine are nightmares. You know a part of the cruelties I've seen. None of that has gone away, and the dreams loose it upon my mind."

"You're a haunted man, but I wonder if this boy doesn't shed some light on your soul," Lord Tramadore replied.

The old man glanced up at his old friend. "Perhaps, if I find him to be worthy of the staff."

"Can I see it? For old times' sake?" the lord requested.

Ned nodded and leaned forward; he pulled forth the broken stick and handed it to his old friend. Lord Tramadore ran his hand over the worn leather, and stopped at the broken parts. "And this still works? Even with this break?"

Ned shrugged. "It was always cracked. He made it that way so no one would steal it. It broke the night-well, that night, but the boy was able to use it."

"I see." Lord Tramadore returned the weapon. "And you will take this boy with you if you can?"

Ned sighed. "If Pat will allow it, I will. He has potential, even if he doesn't have his soul."

"The soul of-"

"What are you doing there!"

At the cry Fred swung around and saw a guard standing at the other end of the entrance hall. The man hurried forward and Fred stumbled toward the stairs. He didn't make it more than a foot before the doors to the study swung open and whacked him in the ass. The boy tumbled forward and landed in a heap at the bottom of the stairs. Ned and Tramadore stepped out of the study and their eyes fell on Fred as the poor boy was roughly pulled to his feet by the guard.

Lord Tramadore smiled at the boy and waved off the guard. "Release him. He's no harm to anyone, my good man."

"Very well, sir." The guard retreated to perform his rounds, leaving the three alone.

Fred shrank from the stairs of the two imperious men. "I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean-"

"Of course you did," Lord Tramadore interrupted him. "It's just a matter of how much you heard and understood."

The boy shook his head. "Very little, my lord, I promise."

Lord Tramadore rubbed his chin and looked to his quiet compatriot. Ned leaned heavily on his staff and his blue eyes bore into the boy; the lord couldn't tell whether Ned was amused or angry, but that was always the way with the old man. "I believe that, but perhaps we should finish this conversation in the study. With our resident eavesdropper inside we're sure to have a safe conversation."

CHAPTER 13

Lord Tramadore herded Fred into the room and Ned followed. The boy feared the old man's silence; he hated to have his disapproval, and even worse his anger. Fred flinched when the doors shut behind him with an ominous thud, and he was led over to a chair at the desk. Ned took the seat closest to him, and Lord Tramadore opposite them both behind the desk. Fred sank down in his chair and wished he could disappear into the seat.

Lord Tramadore leaned forward and gave the boy a careful glance. "How much of the conversation did you hear?"

"E-everything," Fred admitted. He noticed Ned wince.

The lord's eyes dodged over to Ned, and back to the boy. "And what did you understand?"

Fred shrugged; he was too frightened to recall much of what was said. "I heard you talking about taking Pat somewhere, and somebody following, and-and stuff about me and that broken stick."

Ned pulled out the stick and held it in front of the boy. Fred shook his head; he didn't want it. "Take it," Ned ordered him.

The boy cringed at the deep, commanding voice, and raised his arm. His fingers hesitated over the leather for he feared this was some sort of punishment, and he glanced up into Ned's face. The old man stared straight at him; he didn't even blink. Fred took a deep breath and gabbed the stick; he was relieved when he felt nothing save for the old leather.

Lord Tramadore was disappointed nothing had happened, but he continued on with his questions. "Do you remember enough to repeat it to anyone?" he asked the boy.

Fred shook his head. "No, my lord." Right then he could hardly remember his own name.

"And you will keep what little you remember to yourself, and not divulge it to anyone else?" the lord questioned.

"Yes, my lord." Fred would have agreed to anything had it gotten him out of there faster.

Lord Tramadore turned to Ned, who still stared at the boy. "Do you consider him a danger to you?"

Ned glanced over to Fred, who stared uneasily back. Then the old man slowly shook his head. "I would trust him with my life, what's left of it."

"Then what will you do with him? From your account he has talent," Tramadore asked him.

The old man leaned back and pulled at his beard. "Fred." The boy looked to him. "I wish to take you with me on my journey. I can't promise you the way will be as easy as it is now, what with Tramadore's hospitality at our disposal, but I feel you may be of great use where I am going. That is, with a little training."

Fred frowned. "That depends. Where are you going?" the young man asked Ned.

"To Galaron, the capital of our kingdom. After that, I cannot say because I do not know." Ned gave that mischievous smile and glanced between his staff and the boy. "You would see a great many sights, wondrous and terrifying."

"You make it sound as though its an adventure for the lighthearted when it isn't," Lord Tramadore scolded him.

"I would-I would rather stay here, if you please," Fred spoke up. The smile dropped off Ned's face, and Tramadore raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps I can be apprenticed to someone. There are a great many shops here. Maybe one of them needs a boy."

Fred expected the old man to object, but Ned only stood up. "The hour is late. We should discuss this when we have our wits about us." Ned stretched out to set his hand on Fred's shoulder, but the boy dodged his hand and stepped out of his reach. The old man's arm dropped to his side and he nodded; his voice was soft, but understanding. "Very well then. Let's be off."

The pair walked up to their rooms and found Pat standing out in the hall. She was fully dressed, including armor, and alert; her voice held a tone of urgency. "Did you find what it was?" she asked them.

"Find what?" Ned questioned.

Pat leaned back and frowned. "Didn't you hear the noise?" she countered.

The men stared at each other; they hadn't heard anything. Ned looked back to the girl. "Was it perhaps the sound of a guard yelling?"

Pat straightened up. "Definitely not," she replied. She glanced at Fred, who sheepishly turned away. The girl turned to Ned. "What have you two been doing?"

Ned shook his head. "That's a tale for another time. What noise did you hear that worried you enough to put your armor on?"

"I heard a door creak," she told them. The two boys blinked; that wasn't the eerie noise they expected. Pat rolled her eyes. "It was a muffled creak, like someone put their hands on the hinges, and it cut off very quickly."

Ned and Fred glanced past her at their doors; they were both shut. The boy paled when he remembered one very important pointed. His voice shook when he spoke. "My door creaks," he informed his companions.

Ned and Pat looked at him, then at Fred's door; there wasn't anything unusual about it. The old man straightened himself and grasped his staff. "Well, we'll have a look in there, shall we?"

With the youngsters behind him, Ned marched over to the door and tried the handle. It was unlocked, and when he pushed it open the hinges creaked. "That's the noise I heard," Pat whispered to them.

Ned's head disappeared inside, and the two waited breathlessly. He pulled back and pulled at his beard. "Something not quite right in there..." he murmured. The old man glanced over to Fred, and raised a brow. "Care to take a look?"