warned.
She lowered the pan; her shoulders drooped; she turned and slunk toward the door. 'I never gets to play,' she grumbled. 'Why don't they ever invites me to play in their sick games?'
'Don't forget my dinner!' I called after her.
The falconer shifted uncomfortably, his garments still steaming. I rapped his head with the flat of the dagger, and he grew still once more. 'Isn't this nice?' I chirped pleasantly.
He gave a low groan. 'Nice,' he agreed uncertainly. 'Are you going to cut my throat or not? If not, let go of the hair, please. I couldn't attract a nice piece like you with a bald spot.'
'Sassy,' I purred. Moving the dagger point to the back of his neck, I let go of his hair and reached between his legs. He gave a shiver and groaned an entirely new note.
'On the other hand, I hear some women like bald men,' he hissed through clenched teeth.
I gave him a couple of gentle squeezes. He twitched and squirmed as much as he dared. 'Not that I object to company,' I said conversationally, 'but I usually prefer to dress for my guests. What must you think of me?'
His voice turned husky. 'My opinion is going up by the minute.' And to my surprise, I noticed, so it was. I let go of the grip I had between his legs and slapped his rump sharply.
'Yes!' he moaned. He raised his head from the floor; his eyes were closed. 'Spank me!'
I drove my fist between his shoulder blades. 'What kind of girl do you think I am?'
'Punish me!' he begged. 'I've been bad!'
I'd heard of men who craved abuse. Living with a bunch of dwarves in the woods, I'd heard of just about everything. And who was I to judge? Ripping free his jerkin's leather lacing, I draped it over his neck like a horse's reins and bounced jauntily on his back.
It was time to get down to serious business, though. I dealt his rump a sharp slap. 'You didn't just happen by my window,' I said, slapping him harder. 'You knew my name-who sent you?'
'You can't make me tell!' he challenged. I knew he wanted to prolong the fun.
He arched his back, an invitation, and I grabbed him between the legs again. The landlady surely heard the sound he made. 'No, no!' He shook his head furiously. One arm slipped from beneath my pinning knee, but he made no effort to throw me off.
'Who?' I shouted. I jerked on the lacing. The landlady must have heard me, too. In fact, by the shuffling and the shadow at the bottom of my door, the nosy crone was in the hallway listening. 'Give it to me,' I ordered. 'Give me what I want!'
I lashed him with the thin leather, snapping it on cheeks and shoulders. My thighs squeezed his ribs. His feet drummed the floor; his vertebrae popped noisily, I rode him so hard. 'No!' he cried. 'You'll never make me betray my queen!'
I frowned. I stood up.
He rolled onto his back, disappointment flooding his eyes. 'What's wrong?'
Careful not to slip on the wet floor, I righted the overturned chair, centered the flower vase, and lay the dagger on the table. 'I don't like easy men,' I answered without looking at him. A breeze from the the window reminded me I was naked. I pulled the sheet from the bed, wrapped it around myself, then picked up my sheathed sword.
When I turned around, the disheveled falconer stood holding the dagger limply in his hand. The lacing dangled from his neck. 'Maybe I lied,' he said half-heartedly. 'Maybe I have more information.'
I shook my head. 'Just leave the way you came.' With the tip of the sword's sheath I nudged him toward the window.
He backed up reluctantly. 'She saw you spying on the castle,' he said as he sheathed his smaller weapon and tried to straighten his clothes. 'You'll never get in. The place is impregnable.'
'Tell her I'm coming to see her.'
His expression brightened. 'You're into that, too?'
I leaned on the sword. With an awkward cry, he tumbled backward over the sill and out the window. I heard frantic scrambling in the bushes as I closed and locked the shutters.
With a sigh, I placed my sword on the table and tiptoed to the door. I jerked it open. The landlady, on her knees at the keyhole, looked up. Sweat beaded her forehead. She might have been startled, but not a hint of embarrassment showed on her face unless it was hidden somewhere in all those wrinkles. Without rising, she lifted a platter. 'Ye like chicken?'
I sighed again. 'I prefer aged beef,' I answered, sure the sarcasm wasn't wasted. But I took the chicken. 'Wine, please.'
'Looks at all that water on my floor! I'll have to mop it! Ye mights have wrecked my room! I grows roses outside that window, ye knows! Is that my good sheet?'
I closed the door and sat down to eat. At least the old bag had been thoughtful enough to include a few bits of cooked turnip and leeks on the side. I'll give her this, too, none of it tasted bad.
Night fell like a broken curtain, like the hopes of jilted lovers, like a black bird shot from the sky.
As similes went, I didn't like that last one. It reminded me of the falconer. He really wasn't a bad sort. Maybe I'd been too rough on him.
While I polished my armor and contemplated nightfall, the landlady returned. Not bothering to knock, she pushed the door open with her mop, which she carried under one arm as if it was a lance. No matter that the floor had dried by itself an hour ago. She also carried a small oil lamp, which she sat on the table. Wordlessly, she cleared away the cold chicken bones and exited again.
I leaned back in the chair and put my bare feet up on the table, my sword in my lap.
The door opened swiftly. 'Ye better not scuffs my furniture, ye better not!' Then she was gone again.
Night fell like an old woman's breasts after the age of fifty.
I wondered why I'd bothered to reopen the shutters. Night was only depressing me. At least the lamp's steady flame offered some cheer. I fetched my saddlebag from under the bed and withdrew the scrolled map Leonardo had given me in Sardeenia. King Clarence, he'd said, had given it to him just before Clarence's untimely demise.
It revealed a secret, forgotten way into the castle.
After studying the scroll's markings, I returned it to my saddlebag, shoved that back under the bed, and dressed for work.
One thing I could say for my armor; I didn't need a squire to assist me, although I'm sure I could have found one without too much advertising or for too much money. When all the hooks were fastened and both breasts in place, I stamped into my boots. Lastly, I buckled on my sword.
I could almost hear theme music, I looked so good.
No sign of the landlady in the hallway. Still, I tiptoed to the front of the inn. There I exchanged my small lamp for a bailed oil lantern hanging conveniently on a peg. As I reached for the doorknob, she popped up from behind a counter. 'I knew'd it!' she cackled. 'I knew'd ye'd be walkin' the streets. So I left thats fer ye!' She winked. 'Good huntin', dearie! Sure ye don't want that sweater?'
I growled at her. 'I'll bring you back a carcass to gnaw, you old buzzard.' In truth, she was beginning to grow on me.
The lantern cast a yellowish circle of light as I walked quietly to the end of town. There I turned toward the stream and followed its bank into the woods. Darkness and I were old friends. I loved the forest at night, and the tree branches waved as if I'd just come home.
After a time I found an old church-the Church in the Wild Wood, later known as the Church in the Dell, but in any case long abandoned. If not for a bit of moonlight, I might have missed it altogether, it was so overgrown with moss and vines, and the trees had grown up close around it. With the lantern high, I strode into the weeds. The windows were empty of the stained glass they had once contained, but the doors stood like patient, if aged, sentries. I pushed one back and stepped inside.
Birds or bats-I couldn't tell which-filled the blackness with an urgent fluttering. The stone floor was slick with droppings. I crept down the long aisle between the wooden pews, trying to be silent for no reason. The place had long since been stripped of anything valuable, and I was quite alone.
Three stairs led up to the altar, which was a huge rectangle of weighty marble. Like the floor, droppings covered it. Birds and bats respected nothing. Shining the lantern around, I recalled Leonardo's map and its instructions. On the wall behind the altar hung three tall wooden crosses, the middle one slightly higher than the outer ones. Like everything else, they were covered in droppings.
I couldn't help frowning as I moved to the rightmost cross and leaned against its filthy bottom. A fine white powder of dried birdshit cascaded down onto my head and shoulders. I leaped away, sputtering in disgust.
According to my light, the cross hadn't budged so much as an inch.
I cringed inside; I was going to get very dirty. Sometimes it came with the job. I set my lantern on the altar, and this time planted my shoulder against the foot of the same cross. Another powdery shower rewarded me. Cursing under my breath even if it was a church, I strained harder.
Old gears gave a metallic screech. The rightmost cross shifted suddenly. I nearly toppled. My screech rivaled the gears as ancient birdshit accumulated along the cross's horizontal arms rained down. I sprang away, shaking my hair, brushing my arms. The stuff had gotten into everything, even my boots!
When I looked up, however, the cross's tip had moved to touch the center cross.
Halfway done. I wondered if all the goldfish in Sardeenia were worth this degradation. The leftmost cross remained to be shifted. Why, oh why, hadn't I brought a raincoat, or a cloak, or accepted the old woman's offered sweater?
Leonardo was going to pay me double for this!
Trying not to breathe the chalkish air, I returned to work. The leftmost cross proved more stubborn than the rightmost; my delicate shoulder was going to bruise. But like the first, it eventually lurched into position and all three came together in a point.
A complaining rumble filled the church; a vibration shivered through the floor. My lantern's flame trembled and quivered. I lunged to save it, suddenly
