Riddle in Stone (The Riddle in Stone Series - Book One) (29 page)

“Wait,” Edmund said, yanking on Blake’s reins. “They said left
. . .
left!”

The huge horse continued plodding along the street to the right, ignoring his rider’s protests. Eventually he came to a long stable, the heads of twenty other warhorses peering through open windows. Blake whinnied. The other horses whinnied back. A large black Percheron trumpeted and shook its braided mane.

A boy about to enter his teen years slid open the stable doors.

“Blake!” he cried.

Then he noted Edmund riding him. Grabbing a bent pitchfork lying up against a wall, he shouted, “Who are you? And where’s Sir Hanley!” He jabbed the pitchfork in Edmund’s direction. “What are you doing on Blake?”

Uh oh! Think quick!

“Let m-m-me
. . .
let me explain,” Edmund said, clambering down from the saddle.

Act like you belong here.

He set Thorax on the ground. Her right rear leg dragging behind her, she hobbled around, sniffing the various piles of manure left by previously passing horses. She urinated on one of them. Riderless, Blake ambled inside the stable to another chorus of neighing.

Trying to buy time, Edmund raised his hands in a placating motion and stretched his back. It snapped and popped. He started rubbing his aching ass and thighs.

What name did he just say? Sir Hanley?

The boy’s eyes flitted to a building across the street from the stable. Raucous laughter and shouting shook its windows. He jabbed the pitchfork toward Edmund again. It looked as if he was about to run for help.

“Let me ex-ex-explain,” Edmund repeated in response to the boy’s growing alarm. “You see, Sir Hanley lent Blake to me.”

“That’s a lie! He’d never do such a thing.” The boy inched backwards to the stable doors, pitchfork still pointed at Edmund’s chest.

“Listen. Would I steal a knight’s horse and then ride him back to where he belongs?” Edmund asked as he massaged his rear end.

The boy straightened slightly, but the uncertainty didn’t leave his face.

Make this good! Otherwise everything is ruined.

“You see,” Edmund said, praying that his story was believable. “Sir Hanley is hurt.”

More doubt crept into the boy’s face.

“See, he’s
. . .
he’s badly hurt. There’s been an attack. Bandits, you see. Thirty or forty of them. They attacked and, and Sir Hanley was badly hurt. I’ve
. . .
I’ve been sent to talk to the King to get reinforcements!”

The boy smirked. “Reinforcements for only thirty or forty bandits?”

This isn’t going well. Convince him you aren’t a thief or you’ll end up in the dungeon or worse!

“Yes, well
. . .
there were at least that many. Anyway, you’re
. . .
you’re missing the point. They sent me here to talk to the King. I’m on an urgent mission!”

The boy starting stepping to his right, pitchfork at the ready. Whether he was going to stab him or run for help, Edmund couldn’t tell.

“Why send you? Why not Sir Maxwell or any of the others? Why not one of the squires?”

“I
. . .
I don’t know anything about a Sir Maxwell,” Edmund said, rightly guessing that the boy just made the name up. “Look, they can’t abandon the town. They need reinforcements or all the townsfolk are g-g-going, going to be slaughtered!”

The pitchfork lowered a tad.

Show him the Star of Iliandor.

“Plus
. . .
plus they sent me because I found this.”

He produced the Star of Iliandor from his pocket. Its blue gem flashed in the light of the setting sun.

“Holy cow!” the boy cried. “What is it?”

“It’s the Star of Iliandor. If I return it to King Lionel, I’ll become Lord of the Highlands.”

“Wow!” Then something seemed to occur to the boy. “So you’re going to become the new Lord of the Highlands?”

“Yes! Well, if I can get to see King Lionel and everything.” Then Edmund saw what the boy was thinking. “You see
. . .
that’s why Sir Hanley gave me his horse. I’m going to be his Lord, so he obeyed me even though I’m not his actual Lord yet, if you see what I mean.”

The boy straightened a bit more. “Tell me this. What’s the name of the town they went to? In the Highlands, that is.”

“Rood!”

The boy’s expression eased. “Well, nobody else would have known that.” He set his pitchfork against the wall of the stable. “Still, you must be on some important mission for Sir Hanley to do such a thing. He didn’t even let me shoe Blake, let alone exercise him. Then again, if you’re going to be Lord and all
. . .
”

The boy wiped his hands on a grubby cloth hanging from his belt.

“I’m Toby, by the by. I tend to the horses here while I study to be a blacksmith. I’m apprenticing with my cousin, Master Gorin.”

He held out his right hand.

Edmund shook it. “Pleased to meet you, Toby.”

“Blake looks well. So that’s one good for you. Is Sir Hanley and the others all right? I mean, they haven’t been killed or anything, have they?”

Don’t give too many details. You won’t remember them come tomorrow.

“Yes, he’s
. . .
he’s fine. Or at least he will be, I’m sure. I don’t rightly know. I’m not a healer, you see. At, at least he was fine when I left him a few weeks ago.”

Be more confident. Nobody is going to believe you if you act guilty of something.

The boy seemed to be considering this.

Ask him about the Hall of Magistrates!

“How did you lose your eye?” the boy asked. “Are you a veteran?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes. It was burnt out by a goblin.”

“My god, that’s horrible! I’m sorry. My father fought in the Battle of Bloody Rock,” the boy said proudly. “He killed twelve goblins all by himself.”

“That’s w-w-wonderful, Toby. Twelve fewer goblins to worry about. But I can’t chat about such things right now. I n-n-need, need your help.”

“Why do you talk like that? The stuttering, I mean.”

“I was dr-dropped on my head as a child.”

Toby frowned apologetically. “Boy, you’ve had a rough life!”

“Listen, I really need your help. I’ve been told to go to the Hall of Magistrates, b-b-but, but Blake brought me here. Can you tell me where to go? It’s urgent.”

“Sure! But what do you want with the magistrates? Forget to pay your taxes?”

“What? No. Nothing like that. Look, it’s a matter of life and death. So, please
. . .
can you tell me where it is?”

“Absolutely! It won’t even cost you nothing. Here follow me.” Toby closed the stable doors. “Good night, everybody!” he called into a window. “See you bright and early tomorrow.”

There was much neighing and stomping in reply.

“It’s this way,” Toby said.

Suddenly, the door to the building across from the stable opened. Out collapsed half a dozen burly men, all drunk and laughing. They grappled with each other as they rolled through the horse manure on the ground. One of them was giggling and holding up a woman’s brassiere.

“Oh, don’t mind them,” Toby said, waving for Edmund and Thorax to follow. “They’re just His Majesty’s knights.”

“Here you go,” Toby said, pointing at an official-looking building made of red bricks with larger-than-life statues poised stoically in front of it.

Two elderly gentlemen dressed in silk shirts, leggings, and waistcoats with bright silver buttons stood in front of the building’s gold-trimmed doors. The gentleman on the left was holding a lantern. The one on the right leaned on an intricately carved cane of ivory. They both had sour expressions, as if they were indeed constipated.

“Perhaps I should stay,” Toby said, “just in case you need anything. Then you can tell me more about your urgent mission and things in the Far North. Any tales are good ones, as the saying goes.”

Edmund studied the two men, unsure of what to say to them.

“You better hurry,” Toby prodded. “They’re closing.”

Edmund stepped toward the men, a limping Thorax by his side. They stopped speaking, glanced dismissively at Thorax, and then at Edmund.

“If you are a beggar,” the gentlemen with the brass lantern said, “I’ll have the front guards flogged.”

“N-n-no, no sir,” Edmund said. “I’ve been t-t-told to come here. It’s, it’s about an edict of His Majesty.”

The man with the cane threw up a hand in exasperation. “And what silly trinket did you find, pray tell?” he asked.

“Can’t you see we are closing?” the other added. “Come back tomorrow.”

I can’t wait until tomorrow.

Edmund produced the Star of Iliandor from his pocket.

The men looked at it, unimpressed.

“What is it?” the man with the lantern asked.

“This
. . .
this is the Star of Iliandor!”

“What? Another one?” The man with a cane said to the man with the lantern. “How many of the blasted things were there?”

“A-a-another
. . .
another one?” Edmund repeated, blinking. It felt as if the bottom had dropped out of his soul.

“Well, if there is more than one, I’m sure that His Royal Highness would know what to do,” the lantern holder said with a great deal of sarcasm. “Perhaps he would have them thumb wrestle or some such feat of skill to decide the matter.” He shook his head. “All right, all right. Come in and we’ll get this cleared up.”

“If you are going to take care of this
. . .
” The man jabbed the tip of his cane at Edmund and crinkled his nose. “
. . .
this
. . .
gentleman, then I’ll be off. Unless you would prefer me to stay or call for a guard.”

“No need on either account. He looks destitute, not dangerous. If he gives me any difficulties, I shall step on his toes.”

“Just don’t get your shoes dirty.” The man with the cane chuckled as he strolled down the darkening avenue. “Good evening to you.”

“And to you and your family,” the man with the lantern replied, unlocking the door to the building. With an exaggerated exhale, he walked inside. “Come this way, but leave your mutt out here. I don’t want the place reeking of hound.”

“Stay here,” Edmund said to Thorax as he followed the magistrate inside the building. But Thorax limped into the building behind Toby.

The man led them to a finely crafted desk made of polished black walnut. He set his lantern next to a neat stack of papers and fell into a leather chair with the heaviness of a man who had worked a long day.

“I’m, I’m t-t-terribly
. . .
terribly sorry for the, for the inconvenience, sir.” Edmund bowed, still clutching the alleged Star of Iliandor. “It’s just that it’s very important that I—”

The man waved his hand at Edmund. “Yes, yes. I understand. I am Williamton, son of Harrison, magistrate second class,” he said, as if required to say such things.

“Ed
. . .
Edmund s-s-son of Evert
. . .
librarian,” Edmund replied, not sure what the proper response was. He gestured to Toby standing next to him. “This is—”

“Let me see it,” Williamton interrupted, wiggling his fingers impatiently.

Edmund put the Star of Iliandor in the magistrate’s pale palm.

Williamton examined the Star, turning it over in his fingers. He leaned closer to the lantern. Taking a magnifying glass out from a drawer, he studied the Star even closer, tapping the gem with a well-manicured fingernail. He inspected the runes surrounding the stone. Then he looked at each link of the chain in turn. Eventually, he leaned back, his expression uncertain.

“I don’t know,” he said.

“You don’t know?” Edmund found himself saying in disbelief. “Wh-wh-what
. . .
what do you mean, you don’t know?”

Did you actually believe that the Undead King would just give you the real Star of Iliandor? This is just another of his games.

“I don’t know,” Williamton repeated louder. “It’s not my field of inquiry. I studied law, not antiquities. I’ll need to send it to somebody to be sure.”

“S-s-s-send, send it to some-somebody?”

“Of course you don’t want to part with it. Understandable,” the magistrate said. “It’s probably the only item of potential value you own. Here, let me do this.”

He produced a candle from his desk and lit it from the lantern’s flame. Carefully, he dribbled the honey-colored wax over both sides of the Star. Once the wax hardened, he peeled it off and set the impression carefully in a large red envelope.

“You should hear something in a few weeks,” he said, handing the warm Star back to Edmund.

“Weeks!” Edmund exclaimed.

“That’s okay,” Toby said, stepping in between Edmund and the magistrate’s desk. “As long as it isn’t within the next few days. We’ve got things to do.”

“Weeks!” Edmund said again, his anger growing.

I’m not going to wait around for weeks!

“So if you could not bother contacting us this until then,” Toby went on. “We’d much appreciate it.”

Williamton scowled at Toby.

“I can assure you, young man, things will proceed on our timetables, not yours. Now, sir,” he said, turning to the fuming Edmund. “Where can I reach you?”

Weeks! Damn it! Curse my luck!

“As I said,” Toby went on. “Master Edmund here will be abroad for the next few days, but you can send a note to the Royal Stables. I’ll make sure he gets it when he has time.”

Now it was the Williamton’s turn to get angry. “When he has time? Young man, this is royal business.” He turned back to Edmund, his face scarlet. “Sir, you may certainly come and go as you please. However, if you are not here when you are summoned, I’m afraid that you’ll forfeit any claim that you may have. You may even be put in the stockades!”

I can’t let this stop me. I’ll just have to find another way to speak with the King. But how?

“As you say,” Toby replied, pulling Edmund to the door. “Just send the summons to the Royal Stables. But not before the end of the week, if you please. Then we’ll see if he can come.”

“See if he can come?” the magistrate shouted after them. “Sir, teach your son proper manners or I’ll be tempted to raise my hand to him myself!”

Pushing Edmund out of the building, Toby smirked at the magistrate. “Come on, puppy!” He patted his thigh for Thorax to come with them.

“And you brought your dog in here after I expressly—?”

Toby slammed the door to the Hall of Magistrates.

“I can’t wait weeks,” Edmund said, standing by the grand statues in front of the building. “There has to be another way to see the King.”

Toby waved as if his effort were nothing to be rewarded. “Oh, you won’t wait that long. Don’t worry. You’ll hear from him tomorrow or the next day, guaranteed.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you have to know how these fellows work. If you want to meet with them sooner, you have to make them think you’re busy. Then they’ll call for you just to be spiteful. Trust me. You’ll hear much sooner now.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course. Trust me!” Toby said. “Say, do you have a place to stay? You look like you’re down to your last copper piece. Maybe I can help!”