Return to Canifis

had so clearly stated.

He gestured to William before darting back up the staircase to hand his sealed letter to the same man who had barred his advance previously.

Finally, when he returned, William was seated at their table, drinking much more freely now. Standing opposite him was the same young man who had delivered the ink a moment before.

“This is Karl,” William explained. “He works here. He saw Kara today. Thought you might want to hear what happened. Go on Karl.”

Theodore returned to his seat and sipped another stout which William had brought for him. There was no seat for Karl.

“Begging your pardon sir,” he stammered to Theodore. “She told everyone who she was. She stood on that table near the kegs and said she was Kara-Meir, the saviour of Falador and that she had come to Varrock at the King’s request for the Midsummer Festival. Some people laughed at her and called her a liar, and then… well sir, she proved herself so to speak.”

Theodore shuddered involuntarily.

“What do you mean?”

“She held her scabbard up, sir. There was a blue ribbon tied to the hilt of the sword which prevented it from being drawn, or so she said. It was her promise to a man called Bewler or something…”

“Bhuler.” Theodore corrected. “His name was Bhuler.”

Karl nodded and Theodore saw that he didn’t dare contest the statement.

“Go on,” the squire prompted.

“Anyhow sir, she said to prove herself we could either fetch you from the palace sir, which we weren’t inclined to do being as it were a fair way away, or let her prove it to us. We cheered her on, and men asked her to prove who she was, and… erm… she did.”

“How did she do so, Karl?” William asked him with a mischievous smile. “You’re going to like this Theodore!”

“She drew a knife and threw it at a boy, sir.”

“She did what?”

“Threw it at a boy. A small boy who was standing right next to me. Before anyone realised it, she hurled the knife and we all jumped back. But she’s Kara-Meir you see. She didn’t miss!”

Karl laughed in the manner of someone sharing some private joke.

Saradomin give me patience!

“What didn’t she miss?” Theodore demanded before taking a long drink to prevent himself from saying anything that would demean his order.

“The boy was holding an apple, sir, and the knife went straight through it! Never seen anything like that in all my life sir! Straight into it. Ah, the juice was flowing on the lad’s fingers as he nearly fainted at the shock of it. Well, after that no one doubted her! We lifted her up on our shoulders and led her out into the street and then back into here-everybody was celebrating.” Suddenly Karl’s face darkened. “Varrock needs a hero, sir. I know you’re a visitor here, but there’s something going on…”

Theodore felt William stiffen at his side.

“Just get on with the story,” the nobleman instructed.

“Aye sir. Well after that, she said it was only right that those who had money to spend on drink could spare some for those that had nothing. She said that was how it was in Falador now, after the war, the rich giving money to help the poor. Like you hear in the ballads sometimes, sir. You know what I mean?”

Theodore nodded.

Incredible. Kara asking for money? Unbelievable.

He froze in his seat, a sudden realisation chilling him.

The message! Gods! Who have I passed that onto?

“Well, anyhow,” Karl continued, not appearing to notice Theodore’s sudden discomfort, “she passed a sack round and people put their money in, even me, what little I could afford. She said she would give it out to the needy tomorrow, before the Midsummer Festival. We was all proud at that.”

“And then?”

“And that’s it, sir. After that, after we had filled the sack, she went upstairs where she remains now, with the boy she took as a servant.”

“What did she look like Karl?”

“Oh, she was Kara-Meir sir, no doubt. Blonde hair to her waist, slim, pale skin.” Karl hesitated, scratching his head. “Well, sir, you should know what she looks like…”

William spat his stout out in sudden glee, laughing.

Theodore’s hand smacked down on the tabletop, silencing those nearby.

“Indeed I do know what she looks like, Karl,” he said more loudly than he had intended. Then in a more controlled voice, he continued. “I am trying to ensure that it’s the same person.”

“Who else could she be, knight?” a drunken man shouted. “No one else can be that skilled with a weapon. And do you know…” He staggered forward, launching himself toward their table. “We do need a hero. Karl is right. Varrock needs a hero who can help us. Not men like you, with your coats and your buttons and your… your titles.”

The man flicked his arm toward William, who was far enough away to be out of danger, and yet as he did so the young nobleman fell back from his chair, striking the wall behind. He looked terrified.

“William! You are safe. Calm yourself,” Theodore said, standing quickly to put himself between the two men. The drunk backed away, a look of surprise on his face.

“I didn’t mean anything by it, sirs,” he mumbled, aware that he committed a serious offence. “Please sir. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

The drunk began to weep as the yellow tabards of the city guard closed in.

“No,” William said in an even tone, and then again, louder. “No-it’s all right. No harm was done.” He scanned the room, then turned to his friend. “Come Theodore, let us return to the palace. Didn’t like the stout, anyway.”

He followed William out into the street, leaving behind a room shocked into silence, to where their horses had been secured under the watchful eye of a city guard.

“What was all that about, William?” Theodore demanded. “You dragged me from the inn, leaving me with unfinished business, acting like a…” He wanted to say coward, but he held his tongue at the last second. But it was already too late.

“A coward, Theodore? Isn’t that what you wanted to say?”

Theodore turned his head to avoid William’s gaze.

“Isn’t it?” William pressed.

“Yes, William,” Theodore admitted. “I am sorry, but it is.” Even as he spoke, however, he knew that he was wrong. This is not the way a knight of Falador would behave.

“I have heard it all my life,” William said. “Since I was old enough to understand the word and the insult it carries. My father said it often enough. My mother attempted to hide me from it, to tell me that I was ‘different to others.’ Either way, I came to realise that both were unhappy with me-the one told me so, the other simply tried to hide the fact.”

William smirked, and Theodore shivered when he saw his friend’s face, for it was a mirthless visage, one filled with contempt and self-loathing.

“Still, they were both disappointed in me,” he continued. “Their only child. The heir to a proud family of Misthalin who have counted generals and chancellors amongst their ancestry. Now, I am all that remains of their line.” Theodore saw the tears spring into his eyes as his voice broke.

“I have no love for your god, Theodore. I think you know that. I attend the services of course, as does everyone in the court of Varrock, but I cannot bring myself to worship him.”

Theodore frowned.

“What’s Saradomin got to do with this, William?”

The young noble pulled a silk handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his tears away.

“Do you believe people are cursed, Theodore?” he asked suddenly. “Through no fault of their own?” He gave