The Lost Stories

  They paused only to replace the gag in Ambrose’s mouth and to tie his ankles together as well. Under the strain of the moment, the silversmith didn’t register the fact that his ankles were tied only loosely—far more loosely than his arms. Laughing to themselves, the trio left through the back door of the forge, then crept down the side passage once more to the road.

  They paused, checking to make sure there was nobody in the immediate vicinity to notice them emerge from the side alley onto the high road. They crossed to the far side and hurried away to the south, passing through the outskirts of the village. En route, they encountered several villagers, who looked at them with scant curiosity. They were strangers, but that was not an uncommon thing in Wensley. The village was situated close to Castle Redmont, and as a result, visitors were often seen coming and going.

  They left the village limits and headed down the high road into the woods. But once out of sight, they hurriedly moved off the road and into the trees, then half ran in a large semicircle, back to the northern end of the village.

  “You’re sure the house will be empty?” Nuttal panted as they ran through the trees. Tomas gave him a withering glance. Nuttal was an incurable worrywart, always assuming the worst, he thought.

  “It has been every day for the past week. Why should today be any different?” he asked.

  3

  THE AROMA OF BAKING TART FILLED THE HOUSE. JENNY STOOPED to the oven door, unlatched it and opened it, allowing even more of the delicious smell to waft around the house. Protecting her hands from the fierce heat with an oven cloth, she reached in and removed the plum tart from the oven.

  The rich plum filling glistened temptingly and the pastry strips crisscrossed on top were a perfect golden brown. She placed the hot tart on a windowsill to cool. Plum tart was one of Gilan’s favorites, she knew. She’d serve it cold, with cool, thick cream poured over the top. Her mouth watered at the thought. Jenny was a chef, but unlike some members of her profession, she also enjoyed the food she created. Satisfied that the dessert was in good shape, she turned her attention back to the leg of lamb.

  She had prepared it by rubbing the outer surface with oil and lemon juice. Then she had made thirty or forty small incisions in the flesh. Into these, she pushed sprigs of rosemary and slightly crushed garlic cloves. The trick with food, she believed, was not to use too many herbs or spices or flavors. Rather, use a few and pick the ones best suited to the dish you were preparing. She smiled at the leg, closed the damper on the oven firebox a little to reduce the heat, then slid the lamb into the oven on a baking tray. Later, she would add chopped and oiled potatoes and pumpkin. Blanched leafy green vegetables, prepared at the last minute, would complete a simple but delightful meal.

  Smiling to herself, she noticed Gilan’s note on the kitchen dresser and picked it up to read it once more. The oakleaf crest marked it as official Ranger Corps notepaper. But the contents were anything but official.

  Dear Jenny, she read, I’d be delighted to have dinner with you this Thursday. I’ll come by your house around six in the evening. Looking forward to it already.

  Love, Gilan.

  Her smile broadened as she took in the opening “Dear Jenny” and the closing “Love, Gilan.”

  “Oh yes indeed,” she muttered to herself. A warm tingle ran through her at the prospect of not only seeing Gilan once more, but of spending several delightful hours in his company—a perfect dinner for two.

  She replaced the sheet of paper on the kitchen dresser, propping it up so that her eye would fall on it any time she glanced in that direction. Then she returned to the more mundane task of preparing her potatoes—peeling them and cutting them into quarters. She placed the peeled and chopped vegetables in a bowl of water to prevent them from blackening in the air. Later, she would drain them and rub them with seasoned oil to ensure a perfect, crisp finish when they were baked.

  She was setting the bowl on a lower shelf, out of the direct sunlight, when she heard her back door open and close, and footsteps in the living room. Jenny’s home, unlike most in the village, had the kitchen situated toward the front of the house, facing onto the village high street. She spent a lot of her time cooking and baking and she liked to see the goings-on in the street while she did so. Her kitchen window was large and commanded a view of the road leading up to the bridge over the Tarbus and on to the castle set on a hill above the village.

  Curious now at the sound, she wiped her wet hands on a kitchen towel and hurried toward the parlor. Perhaps it had been the wind opening the unlatched door and slamming it shut, she thought. But it paid to make sure. She opened the door to the parlor and went through.

  Three men, roughly dressed and strangers to her, stood transfixed for several seconds at her sudden appearance.

  “What the blazes are you doing here?” the middle one asked finally. He was flanked by the others, one smaller and one larger than he, and his face was heavily bearded, framed by long, unkempt hair. The eyes were set under heavy, dark brows and they appeared angry.

  “I might ask you the same question!” Jenny replied with considerable spirit. Her immediate reaction was one of indignation. How dare these rough-looking strangers barge into her home and then have the arrogance to ask what she was doing there? She turned back to the door. Perhaps there was a member of the village watch patrolling the high street. In any event, she thought there would be someone there. Her neighbor was a woodcutter, tall and powerfully built. He’d send these three packing in no time.

  But she made her move too late.

  “Stop her!” Tomas ordered, and Mound leapt forward, seizing her arm and swinging her back into the parlor. Then he released his grip so that she spun across the room and fetched up against a settle, falling awkwardly across it. Jenny was furious.

  “How dare you!” she said, her voice rising in tone and volume as she scrambled back to her feet. But the bearded man had moved quickly to face her and he shoved her roughly back against the settle. It caught against the back of her knees and she stumbled again, sitting down heavily on the cushioned bench.

  “Shut it!” the man snarled at her. His hand dropped to a heavy dagger sheathed at his waist and her eyes narrowed as she saw the movement. This was not a time to argue, she realized. She was in grave danger here. She stopped the shouted protest that had been on the tip of her tongue and watched him carefully, taking stock of him.

  He was confused, she saw. Confused and angry, and that could be a very dangerous combination for her. She held up a placating hand in surrender and sat back on the settle, making no further movement to rise to her feet.

  “All right,” she said, lowering her voice. “Let’s just calm down, shall we?”

  “You said she wouldn’t be here!” the smallest of the three men said to the bearded one—obviously the leader, Jenny thought.

  The leader, satisfied for the moment that she would make no further attempt to escape or call for help, turned angrily on his companion. “How was I to know?” he said. “We’ve watched her for five days and every day she’s spent all her time at the restaurant!”

  Interesting, thought Jenny, her mind racing. They’ve been watching me. Why? What do I have that they want?

  The bearded man looked back at her. “Why do you have to be here today?” he demanded angrily. “Today of all days?”

  She sensed that it would be best to make no reply. The bearded man let go a string of curses. The largest of the three stepped forward and placed a hand on his shoulder to calm him.

  “Nothing we can do about that,” he said. “She’s here and we’ll just have to make the best of it.”

  “I say we make a run for it!” the smallest man said. He was peering around nervously, as if expecting more villagers to materialize in the room at any moment.

  “Don’t be stupid,” the large man told him. “If we try to leave now, we’ll be seen, and the posse will be on our heels within minutes. That silversmith has probably freed himself by now and raised the alarm.
Tomas’s original plan is still good. The silversmith thinks we’re heading for Stiller’s Ford. We stay here till after dark, then head off to the north while they’re searching for us in the south.”

  “Mound’s right,” the bearded man said. He seemed to be back in control of himself, Jenny noted. “We stick to the original plan. We’ll wait here till it’s good and dark, then slip away as we planned. Nothing’s really changed.”

  Jenny’s mind was racing and a small frown furrowed her brow as she tried to piece together the string of events prior to their arrival at her house. They had robbed Ambrose, the village silversmith. That would explain the sack that she now noticed on the floor of the parlor, just inside the doorway. They had left Ambrose loosely bound so that he would be able to free himself after a short delay, and they’d given him the impression that they were heading south. In the meantime, assuming that her home would be empty till the restaurant closed for the night, they had sought to hide out here until darkness would conceal their movements. Then they would escape in the direction opposite the one where the pursuit was concentrating.

  Outside in the street, they could hear shouting and the sound of running feet. Obviously, the alarm had been raised and the constable was summoning the village watch to organize a posse.

  She realized that the three robbers were studying her closely and she tried to assume an innocent, thoughtless expression.

  “What about her?” the small man said, jerking a thumb in her direction.

  “Well,” said Tomas, with an unpleasant smile, “at least she can make sure we have a good meal while we’re waiting.” He sniffed the air, noticing for the first time the scent of the roasting lamb that was wafting through from the kitchen.

  But the small man shook his head angrily at the answer and the larger man, Mound, took up the question with deliberate, ponderous logic. “What about when we leave?” he asked. “What happens to her then?”

  “We’ll gag her and tie her up. Or take her with us,” Tomas said. But he had paused too long before answering. Instinctively, Jenny knew that they would do neither of those things. After taking so much trouble to lay a false trail, they couldn’t afford to leave her behind unharmed. And she was sure they wouldn’t take her with them.

  They needed her silenced, and there was only one way they could be sure of that.

  4

  GILAN ENTERED REDMONT KEEP, HEADING FOR BARON ARALD’S office on one of the higher floors.

  He was taking the stairs two at a time when he heard a soft tread on the stairs above him. He paused so as not to run into the person coming down, and stepped to one side to make room. By the sound of the light footsteps, he thought it was a woman.

  He was right, and his face lit up in a smile as he recognized Alyss, beautiful and graceful as ever in her white Courier’s gown. She smiled in return as she saw him, hiding a flash of disappointment. For one hopeful moment, seeing the green-and-gray cloak and cowl, she had thought that perhaps Will might have returned.

  “Hello, stranger,” she said. “We weren’t expecting you till next week. Will and Halt have only just left.”

  Will and Halt had been formed into a Special Task Group by Crowley. In times when they were absent from Redmont for an extended period, Gilan would travel from the neighboring fief to take over their duties.

  “I know,” he said. “Originally I wasn’t coming till Monday, but I had an offer I couldn’t turn down.” The offer, of course, had been Jenny’s invitation to dinner. His gaze wandered up the stairway. “I’m just reporting to the Baron,” he added.

  Alyss took the hint. They could gossip later. Gilan would be here for some days, she knew. But she smiled more widely. “And then you’ll be reporting to young Jenny, I imagine?” she said meaningfully, and he grinned.

  “Well, yes, as a matter of fact. I’m having dinner with her.”

  Alyss’s perfect eyebrows raised and her lips formed an O shape. “Sounds romantic,” she said.

  But Gilan ignored the implied invitation to tell her more and took a different tangent. “Speaking of which, how are the preparations for the royal wedding?”

  Horace and Evanlyn—or, as she was more widely known, Princess Cassandra—were to be married later in the year. Alyss was the Princess’s bridesmaid.

  “Very well indeed,” she told him. “There’s even a rumor that Shigeru may be attending.”

  It was Gilan’s turn to raise his eyebrows. “The emperor himself ?” he said. “That’s impressive.”

  “He grew very fond of Horace while we were in Nihon-Ja,” Alyss said.

  “He must have,” Gilan said. Then he gathered himself together. “I should be going. We can chat later.”

  Alyss stepped aside and gestured for him to proceed up the stairs. He nodded his thanks and resumed his rapid climb. Alyss watched him go, smiling to herself.

  “They’re always in such a hurry,” she mused.

  In the office, Baron Arald wasted no time in bringing Gilan up to date on matters within the fief. There were no important items to discuss. Halt and Will had recently foiled and arrested a gang of highwaymen preying on travelers through the woods. Since then, the fief had been peaceful. Still, thought Gilan, one never knew. Trouble could crop up at any time in a large territory like Redmont.

  He had no sooner had the thought when there was a loud and prolonged knocking at the door to Baron Arald’s office.

  “Come in,” the Baron called, frowning slightly. The knocking had been somewhat overvigorous. Gilan hid a smile as he thought that whoever it was had better have a good reason to cause such a ruckus.

  As things transpired, they did.

  The door swung open immediately to reveal a member of the Wensley village watch—the half-dozen volunteers who served under a full-time constable to keep the peace in the village. Gilan didn’t know the man by sight, but he recognized the watch uniform—a metal-studded leather vest and a round hardened-leather helmet. In addition, the man had a heavy club and a large dagger hanging from a weapons belt. Behind him, Arald’s clerk, scandalized by this rude interruption to the Baron’s meeting, was making urgent, fluttering gestures over his shoulder.

  “I’m sorry, my lord!” he began. “This man just barged in before—”

  The Baron waved a hand at him. “Never mind,” he said. “It’s obviously an emergency. What’s the trouble, Richard?”

  This last was addressed to the watchman and Gilan smiled once more, impressed by the Baron’s use of the man’s name. Many barons, he knew, would have no idea of the individual names of their village watchmen. It was one of the qualities that made Arald an effective, as well as popular, leader.

  “Your pardon, my lord,” Richard replied. He was breathing heavily and Gilan guessed he had run all the way from the village. “There’s been a robbery.”

  He noticed Gilan in the room for the first time and nodded deferentially to him. Gilan inclined his own head in reply.

  “Who’s been robbed?” the Baron asked. “And by who?” Sometimes, in the excitement of the moment, his grasp of good grammar deserted him.

  “It’s Ambrose Shining, my lord,” Richard replied, and the Baron sat straighter in his chair.

  “The silversmith?” he asked. This sounded like more than mere petty theft. “How much did the thief take?”

  “Thieves, my lord. There were three of them. And Ambrose says they’ve taken several hundred royals worth of silver and gemstones.”

  “He’s all right?” Gilan put in. “They didn’t harm him?”

  Richard shook his head. “They left him tied up and gagged. It took him half an hour to free himself and then he raised the alarm.”

  “So he didn’t see which direction they took when they left?” Gilan asked.

  “No, sir. But he heard them talking. They were planning to head for Stiller’s Ford.”

  Gilan fingered his chin thoughtfully. That made sense. Beyond Stiller’s Ford there was wild country, an area of thick woods, high, rugged cliffs and
deep rivers. It had long been a favored hiding place for criminals. Years ago, when he had been Halt’s apprentice here in Redmont, the two of them had cleaned out the area, capturing many of the outlaws who were hiding there and scattering the rest.

  “So what action has the constable taken so far?” Arald asked.

  The watchman turned his attention back to the burly nobleman. “He’s sent a galloper on to Stiller’s Ford to rouse the constable there, my lord. And he’s following with a posse of ten men.”

  Arald relaxed a little and exchanged a glance with Gilan.

  “Hmm,” he said. “Sounds as if the constable has things pretty well in hand. These men will be caught between two forces—and presumably they have no idea that the constable knows where they’re heading. Does Walter need anything from me? Half a dozen men-at-arms? A few cavalrymen? Anything like that?”

  Walter was the village constable and he was a capable official, but Arald thought he should make the offer. Richard was shaking his head.

  “He simply wanted me to inform you, my lord. He said he’ll have these three rounded up by morning. One of the posse men is a po—” He paused. He had been about to say “poacher,” but he realized that might not be a politic thing to say in front of the Baron.“A hunter,” he amended. “He knows a back trail through the woods that will get them to Stiller’s Ford well before morning. They should be there ahead of the thieves.”

  Again, Arald let his glance wander to Gilan. “Looks as if we won’t need your skills for this one, Gilan,” he said comfortably.

  Gilan nodded assent. He had been glancing out the window. He couldn’t see the sun, but the length of the shadows outside told him it must be hovering near the brink of the horizon. “Be too late for me to track them anyway,” he said. “It’ll be dark soon. And as you say, the constable seems to have things in hand.”