with a bunk on one side, a chest opposite, and a built-in table under the window at the back. It contained one chair, and no space for more. With a shelf of books and charts on the wall, it was businesslike, but the rumpled bedclothes and the dirty dishes on the table made it homey. Toby had his usual problem with the ceiling.
'Sit!' said the captain, waving at the chest. He closed the door and stood with folded arms, solid and bulky in a cloak of oiled leather that glistened with the moisture of the fog. Under a conical leather hat, his weathered face was solemn, but not unfriendly. He had a tangled, reddish beard that seemed to have been windswept into a state of permanent confusion. It sparkled with fine drops of damp.
'I'm lost, Captain. Would you send word to Master Stringer's house for me?'
'I could have a man take you there.'
Toby shook his head. 'There's a hue and cry after me.
A faint smile softened the sailor's stare. 'And a price on your head.
Had the king admitted what that price was, though? For a moment, MacLeod seemed to weigh possibilities. If Toby had betrayed the cause, he would not be asking for word to be sent to the rebel headquarters. He nodded.
'I'll send the boy. You want to write a note?'
Writing was not Toby's specialty. 'No. Just have him say I'm here, and in trouble.' He wondered about asking for his sporran with all his money in it and decided not to mention that. Dead men had no use for silver. He felt a stirring of hope — the captain was a bluff, honest man. He might throw Toby to the sharks if he thought that to be his duty, but not without saying so.
'We'll not be casting off lines for a whiles yet. You smell like you've been in a fire. I'll bring you some water to clean that soot off your face. Could you use food?'
Toby tested his teeth with his tongue. He thought he could chew again, if he was careful. 'That would be more than kind of you, sir.'
MacLeod smiled almost bashfully. 'I saw you fight, lad. Och, a braw show that was!' He turned quickly and went out.
Toby relaxed in a great wallow of relief. It was good to have friends.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Less than two weeks ago, he had been odd-job boy in the laird's castle. Now a king came to call on him.
They trooped in, filling the tiny cabin to suffocation — King Fergan, Father Lachlan, Kenneth Kennedy, and Hamish. Captain MacLeod followed, pulling the door closed behind him with difficulty.
The tall king smiled faintly at Toby's efforts to stand, for he had the same problem, if not quite so severely. 'Be seated,' he said, taking the chair for himself. 'And the rest of you, gentlemen.'
Toby settled on the chest again. Kennedy joined him. Father Lachlan and Hamish perched on the bunk. Then they could see one another, although there was barely room for all their feet. The captain remained on his feet by the door, as if to demonstrate that on his vessel he took orders from no one, not even a monarch.
Toby braced himself for a struggle. He was fairly sure his life was about to make a sharp turn. It might even come to a sudden stop, because he was a serious danger to the rebels now. The king, the captain, and Kennedy were all armed.
Father Lachlan looked haggard and worried. His white robe was cleaner than usual, but the conspicuous dust stains on the skirt suggested he had been spending much time on his knees.
Hamish was wearing Lowlander disguise. The doublet was too wide for him, and his breeches were pleated at the waist, pulled in by his belt. He was obviously relieved to see his hero alive and well, but he lacked his normal chirrup — Hamish looked as Hamish looked when in trouble. He smiled weakly at Toby and tugged at a bulky object in his pocket, drawing it out far enough so that Toby could recognize his sporran and know that his money was safe.
Kenneth Kennedy slouched in morose silence. He stank as if his overnight carouse had ended in an attack of vomiting.
The thin man in the chair might be balding and in need of more chin; his kingdom might be purely hypothetical, but he could dominate a cabin full of his own followers. They waited on his word. He began by directing a cold glance at Toby.
'The boy knows who I am. He claims you did not tell him.'
'I didn't, sire. He knew before I did. He recognized you from your coins.'
'So he claims. His mother has one of them. But why did you not report this?'
'I suppose I… I should have done so. I believe that he can keep his mouth shut, sire. I know he usually has it open, but he can be discreet when necessary.'
The king's expression did not thaw very far. 'Don't ever make that mistake again! Now, he tells a remarkable story. I want to hear your version of it.'
Toby was not going to enjoy reciting his litany of failure. 'Lady Valda sent a creature to summon me. It hexed me into following it to a house on the edge of the burgh. Then she bound me to complete obedience, hanging a bottled demon around my neck.' He pointed to the silver chain he still wore there. 'Hamish had followed me. I caught him and… and I handed him over.' He shuddered at the odious memory.
'We all know the evil of gramarye,' Fergan said sympathetically. 'How did you break free of it?'
'Hamish released me. He smashed the jewel with a poker. The demon turned on Valda and killed her.'
'What about the other one, though, the creature? How did that one die?'
'Hamish again,' Toby admitted. 'He stabbed it through the heart with Valda's dagger. He was the hero of the whole affair, and I was just a dupe, worse than useless.'
'I see!'
All eyes were on Hamish, who looked more startled than flattered. He stared oddly at Toby.
'My apologies for doubting you, Master Campbell,' the king said, and now his ice was melting. 'Modesty and discretion are both noble virtues, but when you report to your king, you must tell the truth, and the whole truth.'
Hamish muttered, 'Yes, Your Majesty,' and frowned again at Toby. 'But Toby rescued me from the burning house, sire. And then he went off into another, chasing the demon, even though he knew the crowd would recognize him from the wanted poster and—'
'Yes!' the king snapped. He turned to Toby. 'And what happened then? The fire is still burning. The town is in an uproar.'
'I killed it.' Toby produced the dagger. 'Father, you said you had never seen a demon sword. See one now. It works.'
At the sight of a naked blade in the presence of their king, both Kennedy and MacLeod reached for their swords. Then they stilled and fell silent, all eyes fixed on the legendary weapon.
Footsteps drummed on the ceiling as sailors went about their business. The light was growing brighter, and faint sounds of bustle on the pier revealed that the fog must be lifting. Men were getting ready to set sail and catch the tide.
Father Lachlan broke the hush. 'Praise to the tutelary! It has guarded you well, my son.'
Hog swill! 'With all respect to the spirit,' said Toby, 'I don't think it did anything, except perhaps send the fog. I sensed it last night, when we arrived. I can sense it now. It returned a short while ago. But it wasn't there when I was battling Oswood. What did it tell you, Father?'
The little man pushed his glasses up his nose, glanced unhappily at the king, and said, 'Nothing. It is not responding to prayers. The acolytes are very disturbed, for they have no record of this ever happening before.' Then he blinked. 'You can
Toby nodded.
