The kid looked at his father until the man said in exasperation, “All right, tell him.”
“Yeah,” the kid began, so quickly it was as if the words had been piling up behind his lips. “He can do magic tricks, and he sings all the songs about King Marcus. They say there’s dragons in the forest where he lives. They protect him from the bad guys.”
“There are no more bad guys,” his father said. “Marcus chased them back across the sea. We live in a peaceful kingdom now.”
I thought of Mary lying dead beneath Nodlon Castle. I said nothing.
“It’s got this whole model of Motlace, the king’s main castle, all made out of crystal,” the boy continued. “It covers the whole floor of the cave, and if you peek in the windows, you can see little scenes of the king and queen and all the Knights of the Double Tarn.”
“It really is something,” the father agreed. “I can’t imagine having the patience to do it myself.”
“Does Cammy live there alone?”
“You sure ask a lot of questions,” the little boy asked.
“That’s how I find things out.”
“What kinds of things?”
“All kinds.”
“Like what?”
“Like that you’re a really curious little kid.”
His father smacked the back of his son’s head. “With the manners of a damn billy goat. Stop pestering people.”
Throughout, Jenny remained silent, the brim of her hat pulled low ostensibly against the rising sun. She tapped her fingers impatiently on the back of the wagon seat. I thanked the farmer and his son, and we clattered off in opposite directions.
We followed signs down a narrow road to a clearing in front of an immense rock outcropping. At its base was the dome-shaped cave mouth shaded by an awning. Nearby stood a small stone cottage. Smoke curled from the chimney, and in the dawn lamps glowed through the windows. Seems somebody got up early.
I stopped the horses with an extra-loud “Whoa,” so that Kern would know we’d arrived. “Stay here for a minute,” I told Jenny as I hopped down. Just as I reached the cottage door, it opened.
A portly man with thick, wavy gray hair and a beard that covered his cheeks almost to his eyes peered out at me. He was clad in a baggy, multicolored tunic that hung almost down to his knees. He wore no pants or shoes. He held a long-stemmed pipe in one hand, and I saw he was missing most of his right middle finger; all that was left was a stump out to the first joint. The tapestries at Nodlon had captured his likeness, but they gave him more reserved dignity than the man before me possessed.
I smelled burning giggleweed; rather than getting up early, he seemed to have forgotten to put out the lamps the night before. Giggleweed did that to people.
“Hey, man,” he said genially. “I’m afraid you’re too early for a tour today, but come back closer to noon and we’ll be open for business. Here.” He flipped a coin-like token at me. “Tour’s on the house. Peace.”
“We’re not here for the tour,” I said, and ungracefully caught the token with my left hand. “We’re from Blithe Ward. Elliot Spears sent us. I’m Eddie LaCrosse.”
“Hello, Cameron,” Jenny called from the wagon.
The big man squinted his red-veined eyes toward her. His expression changed instantly from benign curiosity to guarded acknowledgment, and a lot of his haziness vanished. “Dark Jenny. Last person I expected to see on my doorstep first thing in the morning.”
She took off her cap and shook her long hair free. “I’m sorry to impose on you, Cameron, but I need a place to stay for a while. Elliot was called to Nodlon Castle; he should be back to pick me up within a week at the most.”
“You mean a place to hide,” Kern said.
“If you prefer.”
Kern puffed on his pipe and regarded her with the skepticism one might give a wild horse that seemed suddenly resigned to the bit. “And why should I get my feet muddy in your swamp again?”
“Because your hands are still dirty from the last time,” she fired back.
He remained motionless except for the smoke that swirled around his head. I politely kept my distance; as tired as I was, the last thing I needed was a contact high. After a long moment he replied, “Well, then, I guess I should be a more gracious host. Come in.”
Inside the little cottage a low fire smoldered in the hearth and something simmered in a pot hung below the mantel. It rekindled my gnawing hunger. Neat shelves sported dozens of little knickknacks, and obscure vellum books lined one wall. Two lutes and a hurdy-gurdy leaned against a chair. A closed door indicated a private bedroom or study.
I dropped Jenny’s bag near the door and gratefully slipped the scabbard from my back. I had to kick a woman’s discarded shift aside to prop the sword against the wall. Other articles of clothing, the residue of past meals, and general clutter covered most of the flat surfaces. Kern’s magic apparently didn’t extend to housekeeping.
Kern said, “Whoa, man. You seem to be injured.”
“Yeah.” The cast felt looser around my wrist as I held it up.
He leaned close and squinted at it. “One of the royal healers did this. You mentioned Nodlon Castle; is this Iris Gladstone’s work?”
I nodded.
“She’s a good healer.” With a wink he added, “Bit of a looker, too, or at least she used to be.”
“So how have you been, Cameron?” Jenny asked as she came inside.
He shrugged. “It’s a lot quieter here than at court.”
“I’ll bet.” She ran her fingers through her hair in an unsuccessful attempt to tame it. “Do you hear from court much?”
He shook his head. “Not a word. Marcus and I have nothing to say to each other.”
The door to the other room suddenly opened. I reached for my sword but checked myself when I saw the new arrival. Despite the manners drilled into me as a boy, I confess I stared.
It was a beautiful young girl with wavy golden hair and big blue eyes. But she was a giant, almost as tall as Marcus Drake. Yet she was built perfectly to scale, so that she took your breath away even as you worried she might step on you. She wore a too short towel tied under her arms and nothing else, which gave a clear view of many tattoos. She gasped when she saw us, tried to pull the towel in ways it wouldn’t go, and cried, “Whoops!”
“Hey, baby,” Kern said. “We’ve got some guests. Didn’t you hear the wagon?”
She looked out the window and giggled. “Gosh, there is a wagon out there, isn’t there? Wow…” Clearly Kern wasn’t the only smoker in the house.
“It’s okay,” Kern said. “Amelia, this is Mr. LaCrosse. And this is Jenny.”
The girl looked down at Jenny with the practiced eye of one used to evaluating rivals. “Jenny,” she repeated. “You look familiar.”
“She gets that a lot,” Kern said quickly. “She has a generic kind of face.”
“I’m an old friend of Cameron’s. I need somewhere to stay for a few days, and I knew he wouldn’t mind.”
“No, he’s a very kind man.” Amelia’s eyes flashed to Kern. “Cammy, may I speak with you for a moment?”
He sighed, followed her into the bedroom, and closed the door. Over the crackling fire, I heard their muffled, insistent voices. To Jenny I said, “That’s not his daughter, I take it.”
“No. Young enough to be, but no. He’s always liked his girls… impressionable.”
At last the door opened, and Amelia emerged in a robe cinched at her slender waist. Her voice was calm and reasonable now, and her smile gracious. “We just needed to discuss some things in private. I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions before. You both can stay as long as needed. Anything we have is yours.”
“Thanks, but I’ll be leaving,” I said. “My job was just to get her here.”
“Well, you’re certainly welcome as long as you’d like.” Amelia turned to Jenny. “If you’d like to join me, we
