My Unfair Godmother (31 page)

He was enjoying this way too much. “Okay,” I said. “Maybe I like you a little.”

The sparklers dimmed, but didn’t go out.

Hudson raised an eyebrow.

“All right,” I said, nervously eyeing the area to make sure no one saw us. “I’m into you.”

The sparklers died, but I didn’t wait around for more commentary. I headed to the inn. Behind me I heard Hudson still talking to the baby. “Yes, we like Mommy’s flaming hairdo, don’t we?” 289/356

Once we reached the inn, Hudson stopped trying to come up with ways to embarrass me. He gave the innkeeper some coins for our meals, and then we sat down on a bench at one of the tables. I held out my hands for the baby. “Do you want me to hold Junior?”

“Junior,” Hudson repeated with distaste. He whispered conspiratorially into the baby’s ear. “I don’t think we should trust your mother where names are concerned. She put you in a dress.”

“It’s what babies wear here,” I said.

Hudson ignored me and kept whispering to the baby. “Don’t worry, when we get back to the right century, I’ll teach you to play football and drive a pickup truck.”

We didn’t say more about the future because the innkeeper’s daughter came by with our food. She was about my age and cooed happily at the baby until her mother came over and told her to get back to work. But they both stayed for a few more minutes talking to the baby and risking their lips to his grasp.

“You’ve a fine-looking lad,” the innkeeper’s wife told us, giving him a pat good-bye.

“Thank you,” I said. “His name is Edward.” The hat didn’t go off. I hadn’t lied—at that moment I wanted to name him Edward just for spite.

As soon as the innkeeper’s wife was out of earshot, Hudson took the baby from my hands and pointedly started calling him Stetson again.

When we were nearly done eating, I saw two men on horseback ride past the inn. They wore the red surcoats of King John’s men.

Hudson saw them too. He stiffened and handed me the baby. All the lightheartedness in his expression vanished. Before I knew he had done it, he took the pouch that held the Gilead and handed it to me too. “If they come in here, I’ll hold them off so you can get to the 290/356

carriage. Don’t let Bartimaeus know you have the Gilead until you reach the others.”

Fear swept through me. “No,” I whispered. “You can’t fight two trained swordsmen. I’ll go with them if I have to.” Hudson’s eyes connected with mine. “If they take you back to the castle, it won’t be for a wedding. King John will throw you into the dungeon and keep Stetson hostage to force you into making gold for the rest of your life. Do you think I’m going to let that happen?” I could see the men out front. They were nearly to the front door.

I held the baby with shaking hands. “We’ll find another way. One that doesn’t end with you being killed.”

“Don’t argue with me. Just do what I say.” I would have argued with that, but I saw the pain that flashed across his face—the same pain I’d seen at our campfire. He wasn’t thinking of the future. He was back in the past on the night he’d lost his mother. It hit me with a sickening
thud
that he didn’t want to escape from these men; he wanted redemption—to die heroically. He would act now because he couldn’t forgive himself for the way he had acted then.

“Dying here will not bring her back,” I said.

Hudson flinched. My words hit home, but he didn’t acknowledge them. He stood up. “Let’s walk to the door like we’ve finished our meal.”

I stood up to follow, putting my hand on his arm. “Your mother wouldn’t want you to do this.”

“How can I know what she’d want?” His voice had a bitter edge.

“She’s dead.”

We stared at each other for a moment, then the emotion on his face vanished and he was all practicality again. He took my elbow. “At the first sign of trouble, bolt away from me and run to the carriage.” 291/356

He propelled me forward and we walked toward the door. The baby made happy gurgling sounds and looked at me with his big brown eyes. Hudson’s big brown eyes.

“
I
don’t want you to do this,” I said.

He sighed in frustration, but didn’t answer. The door to the inn opened and the knights entered. Hudson nodded to them, the way you might to any stranger you were passing.

They didn’t move. In fact, they stopped directly in front of us, sizing me up.

The first was a bear of a man, with a beard and mustache that covered most of his face. His eyes kept running over me. “Is this your wife?”

Hudson put his arm around my waist. “Yes, and the little one is our son.”

The man didn’t take his eyes off of me. “She’s tall and pretty. Is she blond?”

“She’s taken,” Hudson said with forced humor. “If you’re looking for a pretty maid of your own, I can recommend a few in the village.” Hudson pulled me to the side, trying to walk around the knight, but the man stepped in front of us again.

He pointed a finger at me. “Are you perchance a miller’s daughter?”

I couldn’t lie, but I could tell a safer truth. “My father works with books.”

“Books?” the man repeated with disbelief. “You mean he’s a monk?”

The second man stepped toward Hudson’s side. I knew it was a strategic move; if Hudson drew his sword he would have two fronts to fight on. The move also opened up a space I could dart through to get 292/356

out the door. Hudson nudged my back, and I knew he wanted me to run.

I couldn’t. I didn’t like Hudson’s chances. If anyone was going to sacrifice themselves, it was going to be me. It had to be. This trip to the Middle Ages was my fault.

One of the knights put his hand on the hilt of his sword. In another moment, Hudson would reach for his own. My breath seemed to lodge in my throat. Should I blurt out who I was? Would that stop them from hurting Hudson?

I hadn’t heard the innkeeper’s wife approaching, but she stepped over to the guards. She addressed them in a cheery voice, as though their swords weren’t about to scrape free from their scabbards. “Welcome, gentlemen. Are you here to eat or do you have business with our cobbler?” She looked at their boots, appraisingly. “He does some fine work, this young man. I’ve known him and his wife since they were no bigger than their own sweet babe.” She patted the baby’s arm, lovingly.

“You won’t go amiss with a pair of his boots.” Her speech did the trick. The guards muttered under their breaths about us wasting their time, then walked to the tables and spouted off their order to the innkeeper’s wife.

Hudson didn’t need to nudge me forward again. I hurried out the door and down the street. I made it to the stables, ahead of Hudson, who kept looking over his shoulder to make sure we weren’t being followed.

In front of the carriage, a teenage boy was hitching up the new horses. He hardly took note of us as we climbed inside. I was shaking as I sat down. I moved the curtain a sliver in order to peer out the window. No one had followed us, but I didn’t see any sign of the wizard.

“Where’s Bartimaeus? Do you think he saw the men ride in?” 293/356

“From now on,” Hudson said, “if I’m jabbing my thumb into your back, that’s your cue to run.”

“It worked out better this way,” I said.

“Only because the innkeeper’s wife saved us. You didn’t know she was going to do that.”

“You’re right,” I said, giving Hudson the full force of my gaze, “but that’s how life is. You never know how it’s going to turn out, and you can’t plan for everything. You just have to do your best dealing with things as they come and hope people forgive you when you make a mistake.”

He grunted and peered out of the window. “That makes a lovely moral. Why don’t you write it in the book and see if it sticks?” I did. I handed the baby to Hudson and got out the book. A new illustration showed Hudson and me traveling in a much nicer carriage, one with cushioned seats and backrests. I wrote the moral on the last page. I thought it would work this time—I
had
learned something important.

It still didn’t stick.

A tapping sounded from the door.

Hudson and I looked at each other, but neither of us moved.

Enemies weren’t supposed to be able to see the carriage, but Bartimaeus wouldn’t bother to knock on the door. He would just check to make sure Hudson was inside, then take off. Whether I was there or not was probably optional to the wizard.

“Pardon me,” a girl’s voice whispered through the door, “but my ma sent me to give you this.”

The innkeeper’s daughter. I opened the door, and the girl handed me a cloth napkin, folded into a bundle. I could tell by the smell that food was wrapped inside. “You had to leave some of your food on the table,” she said. “Ma didn’t want you to go hungry.” 294/356

I took the napkin. “Tell her thank you for helping us.”

“Knights,” she said in disgust. “They’re nothing more than thieves. A few days ago they came through and took half the village’s straw. Taxes, indeed.” She looked back over her shoulder, then continued. “Now they’re bothering our patrons, searching for some maiden who’s supposed to marry King John. They’ll take every blond woman who can’t prove she’s not the one.” The innkeeper’s daughter looked at the wimple covering my hair. Perhaps she guessed what color it was.

“You best be careful.”

She turned to leave, but I reached out for her. “Wait, I have something for you too. Let me put this food somewhere so I can return your napkin.”

I expected Hudson to try to stop me, but he didn’t say anything as I pulled a golden acorn from my pocket and wrapped it in the napkin.

“Have your mother open this later tonight when the knights are gone.

Don’t let anyone else see it.”

She gave me a questioning look, but thanked me and left.

A minute later, the wizard returned. He opened the door and glared at me. “King John’s men are everywhere. From henceforth the woman stays inside the carriage.”

He slammed the door.

For once, I agreed with Bartimaeus. I was staying put until we reached the rendezvous point.

Moments later the horses clopped down the street, gently jostling us back and forth. Hudson shifted the curtain to see if anyone followed us. “I hope your gift doesn’t come back to bite us. If the knights find out about the golden acorn, they’ll know which way we’re headed, how we’re dressed, and that we’ve got a baby with us.” 295/356

He was right, but I didn’t regret what I’d done. “What’s the point in having this enchantment if I don’t help people who deserve it?

That’s worth the risk, isn’t it?”

I didn’t think he would agree, but his gaze rested on me and his expression softened. “Yeah. Some things are worth the risk.” It may have been the gentle tone of his voice, or the way his eyes held mine, but I felt he meant
me,
that he was saying I was worth the risk. And the sentence warmed me in a way I hadn’t expected.

“You’re into me,” I said. “I can tell.” He smiled and didn’t deny it.

“Of course you might still like Sister Mary Theresa better …”

“Well, I might if she weren’t a nun and about fifty years old.” Hudson looked at the ceiling, contemplating the matter. “It’s a close call, but you still have all your teeth.”

“In that case, I win.”

“You win.”

I switched benches so I sat next to him, and he put his arm around me. It felt so comfortable. So right. We sat that way for a long time, talking and keeping the baby entertained.

At one point, while Hudson was holding Junior-Edward-Stetson, I said, “Would you forgive him if someday he grows up and goes to the wrong kind of party?”

Hudson nodded. “Yeah.”

“Even if he called the party to warn them it was about to be busted?”

He nodded again, slowly this time.

“Your dad still loves you. I think the only person who’s not forgiv-ing you is you.”

He didn’t say anything about that. He just held the baby closer.

296/356

A while later when the baby went to sleep, I took out the magic book again.
Some things are worth the risk
. It was a moral. Probably not the one the book wanted, but another one that had written itself onto my heart. It was worth the risk to trust people. And to let people back into your heart. And to love new people.

When Clover first gave me the magic book, I had worried I wouldn’t be able to think of a moral for the story. Now I couldn’t turn around without bumping into one. They were hanging in the air in front of me, waiting for me to snatch them. Had these truths always been there and I just hadn’t ever seen them before?

Some things are worth the risk
.

The gold ink glimmered and disappeared. I shut the book and flicked the cover angrily. “I don’t care what you say; I think that’s the moral of the story.”

The book didn’t respond.

“Stupid book.” I was talking to inanimate objects again. My pathetic-o-meter numbers were probably skyrocketing. I shut my eyes and tried to think of more morals. I had learned so much I was already brimming with self-realization. What else could I possibly take from this experience? Words tumbled around my mind to the rhythm of the jiggling carriage, and I drifted off to sleep.

• • •

I sat up and tried to orient myself. The carriage was going slowly now. Only dim light and cool air drifted through the windows. It was nearly night. The baby sat on Hudson’s knee, grabbing for the walkie-talkie, while Hudson held it out of his reach.

297/356

I waited to hear if my father would answer Hudson’s question.

Only static came through the speakers. “Are we to the meeting point?” I asked.

“We’re close. We might have to wait for an hour before they respond though.”

I knew this. I had been there when Hudson told my father to turn on his walkie-talkie for five minutes every hour. Still, the static filled me with dread. What if something had happened to my family? King John’s men had been looking for me. What if they found Robin Hood’s camp instead? Would they have killed everyone on the spot for being with bandits?

I didn’t want to think about that possibility, but it hovered, unin-vited, in my mind.