The Orphan King (9 page)

W
illiam stirred as a shadow blocked his face from the early morning sun. He had not slept well—the ground was lumpy and cold, and the pickpocket had pressed hard against him to seek warmth during the night.

He blinked open his eyes at a mountain of black that filled the entire sky above him.

“Mother of saints,” he said with no emotion. “If you are not the boy Thomas, I am a dead man.”

“Your control is admirable,” breathed the specter in low, rasping tones. “It makes you a valuable man.”

With a slight grunt, William sat upright. His movement woke the pickpocket and the girl. Her hands flew to her mouth, and she bit her knuckles. The pickpocket tried to speak, but no sound came from his mouth.

“Send them down to the stream,” the cowled specter said in his horrible voice. “Our conversation will be private.”

Neither needed a second invitation to flee, and they were far from sight long before the bushes in their way had stopped quivering.

William stood and measured himself against the specter’s height. His head barely reached the black figure’s shoulders. A twisted grin crossed his face. “May I?” he asked, motioning at the flowing robe at his waist.

The specter nodded.

William pulled back the robe. He snorted exasperated disbelief. “Stilts indeed.”

Thomas leaned forward, and as the stilts fell free, hopped lightly to the ground. He peeled back the ominous cowl. Strapped to his face was a complicated arrangement of wood and reeds that looked much like a squashed duck’s bill. He loosened the straps. The piece fell into his hands, leaving deep red marks across his cheeks.

“Much better,” Thomas said in his normal voice. He rubbed his cheeks, then grinned.

In that moment, the knight saw the happy face of a little boy he remembered from a long time ago in a country far away—but quickly swore to himself not to that forget the puppy had grown and was armed with sharp teeth.

The knight shook his head and made his voice gruff to hide any admiration that might slip through. “I suppose you can equally explain the fire from your sleeve.”

Thomas pulled his sleeves free from his arms to show a long tube running from his wrist up to his armpit. “A pig’s bladder,” he explained as he raised one arm to show a small balloon of cured leather. “I squeeze”—he brought his elbow down and compressed the bag—“and it forces a fluid through this reed. I simply spark it”—he flicked something quickly with his left hand—“and the spray ignites.”

William nodded.

“Unfortunately,” Thomas mumbled, “it only works once. Then the bag needs refilling.”

“The fluid?”

Thomas shook his head. “I need to keep
some
secrets.”

“How did you blind those sheriff’s men?”

Thomas lifted his other arm to show a small tubular crucible of
clay strapped to his left wrist. The crucible had a long, tiny neck that pointed almost like a finger.

“Another fluid,” Thomas explained. “I sweep my hand and it spews forth. It burns any flesh it touches, causing a temporary blindness on contact with the eyes.”

“Another secret, I suppose.”

Thomas shrugged. “I also have the gold. From the gallows. Is that enough proof that I was the one who saved your life?”

The knight reminded himself that he must play the role of a skeptic. He must make Thomas work to convince him. “Perhaps. Did you use more trickery?”

“
Simple
trickery. Shorter stilts and a white cape around me, supported inside like a tent by a framework of woven branches. The cape was waxed and oiled. I lit a candle inside, stepped back through a flap, and let it burn itself down. It was enough distraction to sneak to the gallows.”

In one sense, all of this explanation was unnecessary for the knight, who was aware that mixing common powders and fluids could lead to explosions of fire, noise, and brightness. This sort of knowledge came from a faraway land, knowledge Thomas could only have gained through what Sarah had left him. The knight had watched the midnight events himself, curious as to how Thomas might succeed. In another sense, William needed to play the role of a simple fighting man, unaware of where Thomas had gained the knowledge for his apparent sorcery.

William waited, but Thomas described nothing more of how he’d conquered the sheriff’s men, and the knight was impressed that Thomas was trying to keep some of his powers hidden from the knight. It also disturbed the knight; this was exactly what Thomas would do if the enemy had managed to draw him to their side.

Hawkwood’s words echoed.
“Play his game until you have learned as much as you can. Then end his life.”

To kill Thomas would break Hawkwood’s will to live, yet could there be any other choice if Thomas truly was among the enemy now?

All of this ran through the knight’s mind as he maintained the role of a lighthearted skeptic.

“You think you have great intelligence,” the knight observed dryly.

Thomas thought of the endless hours his mother, Sarah, had spent coaching him through games of logic, through the painful learning of spoken and written Latin and French, through the intricacies of mathematics.

“I have been taught to make the most of what is available,” he replied without pride.

The knight sprang forward with blurring swiftness, reaching behind his back and pulling from between his shoulder blades in one smooth motion a short sword.

Before Thomas could draw a breath, William pinned him to the ground, sword to his throat.

“Your confidence has made you stupid,” the knight said coldly. “Not even a fool would disarm himself in the presence of an enemy.”

Thomas stared into the knight’s eyes.

William pressed the point of the sword into soft flesh. A dot of blood welled up around the razor sharp metal. “And not even a fool would walk five miles into a desolate forest with a king’s ransom of gold and offer himself like a lamb to a man already found guilty of stealing a sacred chalice.”

Thomas did not struggle. He merely continued to stare into the knight’s eyes.

William grimaced as he pressed harder. “And lambs are meant for slaughter.”

The dot of blood beneath the blade swelled to a tiny rivulet.

“Cry you for mercy?” William shouted.

Neither gaze wavered as the two stared at each other.

William threw his sword aside. “I was afraid of this.”

He took his knees off Thomas’s chest and stood. Then he leaned forward, grabbed Thomas by the wrist, and helped him to his feet. William gravely dusted the dirt off his clothes, then from Thomas.

It was his turn to grin at Thomas. “The least you could have done was proven to be a coward. Now I have no choice.”

Thomas waited.

“In front of God,” William said, “I make this vow. For saving my life, you have my service as required. I ask of you, however, to free me as soon as possible, for I have urgent business.”

“Agreed,” Thomas said.

In the quiet of the woods, they clasped hands to seal the arrangement. Left hand over left hand, then right hand over right hand.

“Now what service do you want of me that was so important that you risked your life as first a specter, then a midnight phantom?” William asked.

Thomas let out a deep breath. “We shall conquer a kingdom,” he said. “It is known as Magnus.”

The knight expected this answer, but realized the necessity for reacting the way any other man would react.

“You have lost all sanity! An army of two men against a kingdom?”

“We have the girl and the pickpocket,” Thomas said mildly. “That doubles the size of our army.”

“And doubles the number of those who will perish. Release me from this vow. I’ll not lead you into suicide.”

“You still doubt? After witnessing how I saved you from the gallows? After knowing I defeated a band of sheriff’s men?”

“This is a kingdom. With an entire army. And worse, it is no ordinary kingdom.”

“You have heard of it then.”

“The dark legends that all in this land fear? Of course I have. The king of England himself dares not to venture to the castle of Magnus.”

“See,” Thomas said. “Already our task is easier. Once we gain it, we’ll have the gratitude of the king.”

“What would possess you to want to do this?”

Thomas set his jaw, and the knight saw a fierce light burn from Thomas’s eyes.

“I shall not share that with you,” Thomas said. “I have my reasons, and I will die before giving up on this quest. And that is enough for you to know.”

The knight could guess the reasons, of course, for if Thomas did not belong to the enemy, then Sarah had taught Thomas his destiny and what he must do to reach it. The knight was glad for the fierce light and the determination that he saw. Unless, he quickly told himself, Thomas was doing what the knight himself was doing. Acting a role. Something the knight needed patience to determine.

“No,” the knight said, continuing his own role. “I will not do this.”

“I believe,” Thomas answered, “your refusal is a matter between you and God, for didn’t you just swear a vow in front of Him?”

“Honor,” the knight muttered as he dropped his shoulders to give an appearance of resignation, “is often too highly rated.”

T
homas followed the knight up a bank. They had just crossed a stream. John had already scampered to the top.

Behind them, Thomas heard a splash. He looked back. The mute girl had fallen into the water while stepping across the round mossy stones that formed a natural bridge.

He stopped. The knight looked at him and shrugged.

Thomas moved down to the stream to help the girl, for she sat in the water with a frustrated expression on her face.

“Are you hurt?” Thomas asked.

She shook her head in lack of comprehension, completely soaked with water, then reached up with her right hand. Thomas pulled her up. Standing in front of him, she pushed her long wet hair away from her face and behind her head with both hands, then squeezed her hair free of excess water.

In that moment, with her face fully exposed and glistening, Thomas saw how amazingly beautiful she was.

She gave him a hesitant smile and reached for his hand again.

He helped her keep her balance as she finished crossing the stream. Ahead of them, the knight had reached the top of the bank, satisfied that Thomas and the mute girl were clear of the water.

That left the two of them briefly alone.

Her clothes were soaked and clung to her body, and with an involuntary glance Thomas realized she was much more than a girl. He quickly looked away to preserve her modesty.

She pulled on his hand, however, and when he looked her in the face, she kissed the tips of her fingers and touched them to his lips. She mouthed two words.
Thank you
.

As he struggled with new emotions that made him tremble, she walked past Thomas and up the bank.

The four of them entered a small town marked from a distance by the church steeple. A pleasant river ran through the center, a rough wooden bridge connecting the banks.

That was about all that was pleasant about the town, however. Human waste littered the streets where shop owners, who lived above their businesses, routinely emptied their chamber pots from their windows each morning. Half-starved dogs roamed, looking for any scrap of food, artfully dodging kicks from irritated passersby.