City of Jade

25

FIRE AND IRON

EARLY AUTUMN, 6E6

Just after the sun crossed the zenith, the Red Coach rolled into Junction Town, where it stopped at the depot to change teams, and to allow the passengers to debark and stretch their legs and have a meal and take care of other needs.

As the dust of their arrival settled or drifted away on a gentle breeze, the footmen laded the Warrows’ luggage onto a pushcart. Pipper and Binkton said good-bye to Mrs. Harper and Raileigh Bains, and Raileigh thanked them for the tales surrounding the Company of the King in the Dragonstone War, while Mrs. Harper nearly smothered both buccen with an all-encompassing, drawn-out hug against her ample and beribboned bosom.

Released at last, the two Warrows began trundling the cart toward the Black Dog Inn. They trudged by stores with wares sitting out front on display-barrels, pots, dry goods, and the like. They passed a barbershop and bathhouse, a leather-goods store alongside a boot-and-shoe repair shop, and other such establishments. A clanging sounded on the air, and the Warrows fared by a large stable with a smithy to one side, where a man pounded a glowing iron rod into a curved shape. Along the way and on either side of the street there sat a few houses, but mostly business establishments lined the Post Road, a main route between Challerain Keep at its terminus far to the north, and Caer Pendwyr even farther away at the other terminus southeastward. And although Junction Town couldn’t by any means be called a full-fledged city, still it was considerably larger than the Warrow village of Rood-not only in the size of the buildings, for all were constructed for Humans, but also in the sheer number of them; for many dwellings and other buildings stood along the streets that crossed or paralleled the main road. The broad scope of the town was due not only to it being along a major trade route and sitting at a junction, but also due to the garrison on the outskirts, where a company of King’s men were stationed. These soldiers were assigned to patrol the roads, for although the ways to Neddra were in the main blocked, still there were occasional Foul Folk sighted, as well as brigands and other unsavory kinds roaming the land.

Down the wide way passed the Warrows, their eyes agoggle at the splendor of it all, with people rushing hither and yon, now that a Red Coach had come.

“Lor, Bink,” said Pipper, “have you ever seen so many Big Folk?”

“Now how would I have done that?” snapped Binkton. “I mean, just like you, this is the first time I’ve-”

“Oh, Bink, what I mean is that this is really quite a place.”

Binkton took a deep breath and then let it out, calming his irritation. Then he said, “You’re right at that, bucco.”

“I think our fortune is soon to be made,” said Pipper, grinning.

“Wull, I wouldn’t exactly say that, Pip. . fortune or fate, perhaps, but-Oh, look. Up ahead.” Binkton pointed with one hand, the cart wobbling in response. He quickly grabbed hold again, and said, “I think it’s where we are bound.”

The buccen could see in the near distance and standing out before a large red barnlike establishment a painted signboard hanging by hook and eye from a post arm and swinging slightly in the breeze. The words thereon proclaimed the place to be the Black Dog Inn, Graden Finster, Prop. Above the placard a dog stood darkly on the post arm, its ears pricked, and, as if sighting a friend or its master, its tail was awag.

“Good grief. How do they get a dog to do that?” asked Pipper.

“Oh, Pip, don’t be silly. It-it can’t be alive,” said Binkton, hesitantly, uncertainty filling his face.

As they neared they saw it was a carved wooden dog, its tail on a swivel and swinging back and forth in the stirring air.

“See, I told you,” said Binkton, his voice taking on a tone of superiority.

“Wull, you had your doubts, too,” declared Pipper.

“Did not.”

“Did too.”

They were still quibbling when they arrived at the inn. And as they pushed the cart to the edge of a roofed-over porch with tables and diners thereon, a dark-haired lad jumped up and asked, “Are you them?”

“What?” asked Binkton.

“Are you them?” repeated the boy. “You surely must be, ’cause you’re Warrows.”

He turned and bolted through the swinging doors, shouting, “Da! Da! They’re here.”

As the boy ran into the inn, customers glanced up from their meals. And one burly man looked at his tablemate, a small, skinny man, and declared, “Well, strike me dead, Queeker, but it looks like two pip-squeaks got lost and strayed outside the Boskydells.”

The tablemate laughed and in a high-pitched voice said, “Yar, Tark, I do believe you’re right. Got all turned about and accidentally wandered out into the world.”

Binkton bristled and said, “I’ll have you know most of us are not like some of those mossbacks back home.”

“Bink’s right,” said Pipper, and he made a sweeping, theatrical gesture that took in all the others dining on the porch. “We are daring adventurers, and we have the blood of heroes in our veins.”

“Heroes? Ha!” sneered the Tark. “Weakling runts like you, heroes?”

The skinny one, Queeker, hooted, as if somehow a victory had been won.

Binkton muttered, “Ruck-loving, rat-eating idiots,” and he reached for a rock, but even as he bent down, Pipper grabbed his cousin’s arm and hissed, “Remember what Uncle Arley said: Turn hecklers into part of the act.” Then Pipper pulled himself up to his full three-foot-four height. “We are descended from the great hero and healer Beau Darby, and Captain Trissa Buckthorn of the Company of the King is our cousin.”

At these words, two men, each wearing a scarlet tabard emblazoned with a rampant golden griffin, looked up from their own meals.

“So?” sneered the skinny man.

“So,” answered Pipper, “adventurers we are, and quite bold, with the blood of warriors in our veins, as you’ll see tonight if you come to the Black Dog and watch.”

“Ar,” scoffed the skinny one, “as Tark says, y’r nothing but pip-squeaks. Pah! As if you could fight anyone.”

Even as this exchange went on, one of the tabarded King’s men stood and strolled to the table where Queeker and Tark sat. With a flinty gaze he looked down at them. “I fought beside Captain Buckthorn and her company in the Dragonstone War, and finer or better warriors I ne’er saw. So, if I were you, I’d keep my gob shut.”

As Queeker flinched down, Tark looked up, his eyes filled with suppressed rage. Then he glanced at the other King’s man, who had also risen to his feet, but who merely stood waiting.

In that moment the lad burst back through the doors, a sheaf of paper in his hands. And on the boy’s heels bustled a small, rotund, bald-headed man who burbled, “Binkton Windrow and Pipper Willowbank, I presume? Welcome to my establishment. Graden Finster at your service. Which of you is which, might I ask?”

“Um, I’m Pipper, and this is Binkton,” said Pipper.

“Well met. Well met,” said Graden, nodding enthusiastically. “Have you brought your gear? Oh, I see you have. Yes, yes. Yes, yes, yes. Indeed, I see you have. If you’re anything like your Uncle Arley, well. .” He turned to all the diners at hand, and even though there were no women present he announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, I invite you, each and every one, to come tonight to see these two perform. All the way from the mysterious and exotic hidden land of the Boskydells they came to delight all. Tonight, sometime after”-he looked at the buccen-“sundown?” Pipper nodded. “Tonight after sundown they’ll be here exclusively in the Black Dog. You don’t want to miss them.” Finster then said to the lad, “Pud, start passing out those handbills. Make certain that everyone in town gets one. And post several down at the Red Coach station”-he glanced at the King’s men-“and make sure the garrison gets some as well.”

As the boy darted off, Graden turned to the Warrows again and said, “Now let’s get your gear inside.”

“Um, Mr. Finster,” said Pipper, “we’ll need some help with the chest. It’s quite heavy.”

“Right-o,” Finster started to answer, but the King’s man looked at the buccen and smiled and then turned to Tark and Queeker and said, “These two here will be more than happy to carry your trunk inside, right?”

Queeker leapt to his feet, but Tark said, “Hey! We’ve got a Red Coach to catch.”

“Don’t worry,” said the guardsman, placing a hand on the hilt of his sword. “You’ve time.”

Tark snarled, and his own hand twitched toward the dagger at his belt, but the burly man did not complete the move and, growling, got to his feet. He and Queeker stepped to the handcart, and, grabbing the leather handles at each end, they hefted up the iron-gray case with its painted-on flames, Queeker grunting under the unexpected load. Following Finster, they toiled up the steps and into the inn, the King’s man coming after, Binkton and Pipper, their duffle bags over their shoulders, trailing the parade.

The Black Dog’s interior was huge. “Used to be a hay barn, back before Junction Town became a way station,” explained Finster. He took a deep breath and said, “Still smells like clover at times.-Anyway, they were going to tear it down, and that was when my great-granddad said to himself that it’d make a fine inn. So he bought it and changed it over, and it’s been in the family ever since.”

As they wended among the tables, Pipper looked up at the rafters and beams high overhead. “Perfect,” he murmured to Binkton.

“Just like Uncle Arley said,” replied Binkton, gesturing at a stage sitting well below what must have been a small loft of sorts.

To one side sat a bar, and swinging doors led somewhere-to a kitchen, the buccen guessed.

They crossed the large common room and passed through a door to one side of the stage, where they entered a hallway. Graden led Tark and Queeker along the corridor to a modest room.

As Queeker and Tark set the trunk down, Finster said, “I turned a storage room into this dressing room a while ago when I realized we’d have bards and dancers and such passing through. It’s had lots of use, and for the next sevenday it’s all yours.”

Binkton looked about. “I don’t see any cots. Where do we sleep?”

Finster laughed. “The main inn is out back in another building. One of the guest rooms is waiting for you. Come, I’ll take you to it.”

Pipper said, “First we need to push the cart back to the Red Coach station.”

“Oh,” said the King’s man, “I’m sure Mr. Queeker and his sidekick, Tark, will be glad to do that for you. After all, they have a Red Coach to catch.”

“Yessir,” said Queeker, heading out, even as Tark, relegated to the status of sidekick to his own hanger-on, glared and followed. As he passed the Warrows, he muttered, “Someday, pip-squeaks. Someday.”

“Oh, yeah?” spat Binkton, as the man went onward.

“The blood of heroes beats in our hearts,” Pipper called down the hallway after Tark.

The guardsman laughed and looked at bristling Binkton and said, “I believe it does at that.”

That evening, the large common room of the Black Dog was full to the walls with King’s men and townsfolk, along with most of the passengers on layovers while waiting for Red Coaches to roll through heading toward their various destinations: some would fare north through the land of Harth and toward Rian and the Jillian Tors, as well as the Dalara Plains; other passengers waited for a southbound coach en route to Gunar, Valon, Jugo, and Pellar; a few travellers would bear west through the Boskydells, aiming for places in Wellen, or Thol, or Jute, or Gothon, or perhaps across the waters to Gelen. But on this eve, the townsfolk and soldiers and wayfarers were not thinking of these things. Instead they were in the Black Dog to see a show. Quite often bards and minstrels came through, and occasionally dancers, and many onlookers came to hear them sing or see them perform, especially if they were Elves. But this show would be different, for these were not singers, not musicians, not dancers, but entertainment of a different sort. Not only that, but this diversion boasted legendary Warrows, a folk seldom seen outside the Boskydells, except in times of strife.

And so the room was crowded, and Graden and his staff bustled hither and thither, bearing platters of food and trays of foaming mugs of ale from the Holt of Vorn and goblets of dark wine from Vancha.

Some in the audience were impatient, and many asked when the performance would get under way.

“In a candlemark or so,” someone said.

“Ar, is that one of the ‘old’ candlemarks, or one of High King Ryon’s ‘new’?”

That simple question started an argument among those gathered concerning the merits of the old versus the new, an argument hearkening back some seven years past to the time King Ryon had made it so:

It was after the end of the Dragonstone War that the boy King declared that beginning on Year’s Start Day, with the onset of the Sixth Era, there would be a new candlemark instituted, where four of the “old” candlemarks equaled just one of the new. He said that with this change, instead of there being ninety-six candlemarks in a full day, there would be only twenty-four. No one knew for certain why ninety-six marks from noon to noon had been chosen as the old candle measure in the first place, and there were several explanations-none of them satisfactory. Regardless, King Ryon set about to partition the day into more readily remembered divisions, and he decided on a four-to-one standard, for that would make it straightforward to institute, since the chandlers could simply alter their existing wares with a red mark every fourth one of the old. Slowly the new standard-twenty-four candlemarks in all-was accepted, but for the most hidebound. In reality, given the quality of the wax and wick, most candles burned at something between twenty-one and twenty-seven new marks in a full day.

But in the Black Dog, even as arguments over candlemarks continued, Graden Finster stepped upon the empty stage and called for quiet. When-but for some murmurs-relative silence fell, Finster announced: “My lords and ladies, sirs and madams, and soldiers and maidens alike, I present to you, all the way from the secret land of the Boskydells, the Incredible Pip and Marvelous Bink, and their travelling show: Fire and Iron!” Graden then made a wide-sweeping one-handed gesture to point up to the rafters, where lines had been strung, along with stationary bars crossing from beam to beam as well as trapezes lightly held up and back by fragile string tethers. And upon a joist high above in the shadows stood Pipper. And even as the crowd turned about and looked toward him, Pipper leapt out into the light and into empty space. Women screamed and men shouted, as the buccan hurtled through the air like a red flame, with yellow and orange streaming after, and it seemed the wee one would plummet to his death. But in the last instant he caught hold of a tethered bar and swung down and through a deep arc, then up to the rafters again, where he released the one only to catch another lightly tethered bar to swing down and just over the heads of the gasping onlookers. Up he sailed once more, to release and somersault through the air, and grab onto one of the fixed bars to whirl ’round and ’round. Then he dropped straight down and onto a tightrope and he ran across to leap to another. And all the while he looked to be a Warrow trailing fire, dressed in scarlet as he was, with a multitude of bright orange and yellow ribands streaming from the backs of his arms and legs, and his fair hair flying out behind. And he spun and whirled and leapt and swung, all scarlet and gold and saffron.

The crowd ooh ed and ahh ed and called out in fear for the wee one’s very life. And women fanned themselves and gasped, while men leapt to their feet and shouted.

But then Pipper swung on a line down and through and up, and he released to land on a rope tied from a high rafter on one end to slant down to the stage on the other. And he glided down to the platform, where he sprang outward in a high-flying leap and flipped through the air like a swirling blaze to land upon a large iron-colored chest painted with flames, a chest that had not been there when Graden made his announcement.

He came to rest and bowed to the crowd, to wild cheers and applause. And he bowed again and then once more, the cheers only growing as he did so. But then, of a sudden, there came a flash and a bang and a great puff of smoke. Some in the crowd shrieked in fear, while others reached toward their waists for a weapon. And when the smoke cleared, Pipper was gone, but high above and dangling upside down from the ceiling and wrapped in dark chains secured with locks slowly spun a Warrow dressed in iron gray. Two men rushed out from the wings, and they took up the chest and rushed off, while two more men, one of them Graden, at the end of a rope dragged a bed of long, gleaming spikes to place them directly below the trussed Warrow.

And even as the men exited, there came a Ping! and a large silvery link flew to clatter upon the stage, and the Warrow dropped toward the spikes, only to be jerked up short, having fallen some third of the way.

And as the Warrow slowly twisted like a fly strung up by a spider, “Look!” cried someone-Graden, it seemed. “Look at the silver rings above!” High over the Warrow, the dark suspension chain dangled in two remaining big loops, held together by two more large and glittery silver links among the dark rings of the chain, and one of the silver links was slowly giving way.

Ping!

The link parted and clanged down, and amid a rattle and clatter the Warrow dropped another third of the way toward the gleaming spikes below.

And up above, the gap in the last silver ring began to spread.

“Oh, please, please, get him out of there!” shouted someone, female it seemed.

Men stood, and some started for the stage.

But in that very moment, the Warrow began shedding locks and chains.

But the silver link gave even more, as chains cascaded from the Warrow to rattle down among the spikes.

“Hurry! Oh, hurry!” cried the voice.

The silver link yawned, and by only a slim finger held on.

But the Warrow was now free, and with white and black ribands swirling about him, the dark-haired, gray-garbed buccan began climbing the chain, even as the link finally failed, and the last loop fell.

The Warrow plunged toward the spikes.

Women screamed and looked away.

Men shouted in despair.

Chang!

The chain came to an end, and the Warrow swung safely just above the sharp points of the long and gleaming tines.

The hall exploded in relief, and Binkton swung out from over the spikes and dropped to the stage, and bowed to cheers and applause, and to the relieved tears of many.

After several more bows by Binkton, Pipper came out from the wings, and, as helpers dragged the spikes and chains away, Graden jumped up on the stage and called out, “There they are, folks, Fire and Iron.”

As Pipper and Binkton took more bows, Pipper said out of the side of his mouth, “You cut that one mighty close.”

“Pah, I would have landed in the safe spot, had anything gone wrong,” replied Binkton.

Before Pipper could reply, Binkton held up his hands for quiet, and when it fell, he called out, “Blindfold, please.”

Pud, in his moment of glory, rushed from the wings bearing a black cloth. And Fire and Iron began the second part of the act, with Pipper roaming through the crowd and holding up various objects donated by individual spectators and calling out for blindfolded Binkton to identify what it was. Binkton, of course, slowly hemmed and hawed and circled ’round the identity of the object-brooches, daggers, cloak pins, coins, swords, and other such-making it look as if he were struggling to simply discover with his mental abilities what the object was that he could not see, while all the time knowing by Pip’s coded responses exactly what it was.

Most of the folks in the Black Dog had never seen such an act before, though one or two soldiers in the audience had come across such in the past. Even so, they were amused by the patter of the Warrows, such as the time Pipper held up a bookkeeper’s quill for the audience to see, and Binkton declared that he thought it might be something smaller than a horse. The audience roared.

The next night, Pipper again performed daring acrobatic feats, leaping and turning and tumbling across the stage and through flaming hoops, and he juggled blazing firebrands that it seemed would burn him to a crisp.

And this time at the end of his act, when he did a series of backflips and landed on the trunk, after his bows, he reached down and pulled up a large piece of cloth all ’round, to immediately drop it, but it was Binkton who stood there instead.

As men started to carry the chest offstage, a man leapt to his feet and called out, “Ar, I’ll wager t’other Warrow is in the trunk.”

Binkton called for the chest bearers to stop and open it up and tilt it forward so that the patrons could see inside, and when they did, Binkton waved his hand through the space within and called out, “Are you in here, Pip?” When he received no answer he turned and said, “As you can see, my skeptical friend, it’s completely empty.” The challenger grunted in puzzlement and sat back down.

As the men closed the chest and took it into the wings, Binkton invited a couple of soldiers to come to the stage and shackle him. As they were doing so, and much to their surprise and confusion, he handed the first one of them the second soldier’s sword that had somehow come free, and he gave the second soldier’s suddenly loose purse to the first, saying that he had thought he had heard the one sell his sword to the other for a fee. He apologized and returned the rightful goods to each as the crowd whooped in glee. And then, even as one snapped shut a shackle cuff on Binkton, the soldier discovered he had locked his own wrist. And there were inadvertent losses of the soldiers’ belts and pants falling down and other such. It was an “Oops, pardon me,” and an “Oh, I am so sorry,” and a “Well, how did that happen?” sort of act, the audience laughing themselves to tears.

Finally they managed to get Binkton’s wrists into manacles, and as they knelt to fetter his ankles, the Warrow leaned down to help them, handing one of the soldiers the wrist shackles to hold while Binkton helped.

When the soldiers were finally sent back to their seats, the captain of the garrison called out to Binkton and said, “I do believe, my dear Wee One, you do use trick fetters.”

“Ah, well, then,” replied Binkton, “would you happen to have some of your own about you?”

“No, but if you’ll come to the garrison tomorrow, I’ll have some waiting. Slap you in one of my cells, too, and I’ll bet you one of the Black Dog’s finest meals and drinks that you’ll never get out of that.”

Binkton hesitated a moment, and the captain called out, “Do I see fear on your face?”

Binkton flared. “Fear? Pah! No gaol can hold me, much less a military stockade. I do accept your challenge, Captain. Shall we say at the mark of noon?”

“I will bear witness,” called out someone, and when he stood all could see he was the town’s Adonite priest, a man the townsfolk knew to be totally trustworthy.

The acts went on, and as they took their bows, Pipper said from the corner of his mouth, “Are you insane, Bink? You’ve never broken out of a prison before.”

“Do not worry, cousin. I mean, how hard can it be?”

“Those are the words of doom, I fear,” said Pipper in return.

“Not really, bucco,” said Binkton, “for you see, I have a plan.”

The sun stood on high, and nearly all of the citizenry of Junction Town, along with a few layover passengers, as well as the soldiers of the garrison, were at hand. Businesses were closed, and a Red Coach driver and his footmen and the passengers who happened to be heading north were in attendance as well.

The captain and the priest greeted Binkton on the steps at the front of the stockade, a humble but sturdy stone building. The King’s man held in his hands a pair of small-sized irons. Binkton said, “Might I have a walk about your gaol first?”

The captain led the Warrow and the entire crowd around the modest guardhouse, noting that both iron-barred doors, front and back, were well locked, and all windows-front, side, and back-were iron-barred as well.

When they returned to the door at the front, the officer led Binkton up the steps, where he fitted the irons to the buccan’s wrists, while Pipper stood to one side and fretted, clearly nervous for all to see. Then the captain announced, “No one has ever escaped from the cell that I will now lock him in.”

“Pah!” snapped Binkton. “I’ll be out in a trice.”

“We’ll see,” said the captain, and he took a ring of keys and opened the barred front door, and, with the Adonite priest following along as an observer, he took Binkton inside. Moments later, the captain and the priest returned and relocked the entry, and then stood waiting.

“Is he well locked in, Prelate?” called someone.

“Indeed,” replied the priest. “Shackled tightly and locked in a cell from which there is no escape.”

“How d’y’ know he ain’t got no lockpicks on’m?” asked another.

“I thoroughly searched him,” said the captain. “There’s nothing whatsoever that could’ve escaped me, not even a pin.”

“Did y’ look in his mouth?”

“I did.”

“How about his nether parts?”

“That, too.”

A quarter candlemark passed, and the crowd became restless, and Pipper sat glumly on the top step. The captain glanced up at the sun and then back to the audience and said, “Well, I do think a trice has passed.” He turned toward the priest and said, “Come, Prelate, let us go and see how he’s doing.” Then he grinned and said, “I’m going to enjoy the meal he now owes me.”

Moments later, with bewildered looks on their faces, the captain and priest came back out the door, and in the captain’s hands were the small shackles, and he said, “He’s gone.”

“Where can he be?” shouted someone in the crowd.

“Yeah. Where is he?” cried someone else.

Babble broke out among the onlookers, and Pipper, grinning and completely at ease, jumped to his feet and held high his hands for quiet. When it fell, Pipper said, “Why, he’s at the Black Dog and sitting at a table and waiting for his meal.”

The crowd streamed back to the inn, and there sat Binkton at a table, and he stood in welcome and invited the captain to sit at his side while he partook of the Black Dog’s finest food and its very best drink.

Graden Finster and his staff had never served such a noonday crowd as they did that very day.

“I say,” said Pipper as he and Binkton made ready for bed that eve, “we ought to do this at every town.”

“Do what?” asked Binkton, yawning.

“Challenge them to lock you in gaol, and then you escape. Did you see how many came to watch?”

“Of course I did, ninny. I was there, you know.”

“No, Bink, what I mean is: it’ll draw the crowds.”

“Hmm. .” Binkton frowned in thought.

“And if we send handbills ahead of us to the next city and put up broadsheets, well, then. .” said Pipper, not completing his words, but Binkton knew what he meant.

Binkton frowned. “Wull, it might have been difficult to get out of the stockade had we not slipped down there last night so that I could try their locks.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t have any trouble then, and you were working in the dark. And it certainly wasn’t any trouble in the light of day.”

Again Binkton yawned and he slipped into his bed. “I suppose it is a good idea, Pip. But for now, blow out the candle and let’s get some sleep.”

The seven-day engagement at the Black Dog flew by, and Binkton and Pipper performed the variations of their Fire and Iron act every night-juggling, jesting, picking pockets, mind reading, swinging, flipping, escaping, appearing and disappearing. But soon nearly everyone in Junction Town had seen the performances, and the crowds began to wane.

“Where will you go?” asked Graden, when the buccen told him they were moving on.

“We’ll work our way down to Argon Ferry Town,” said Pipper. “We hear it’s grown back since the war, and is quite prosperous with trade.”

“I’d watch out for them Rivermen, if I were you,” said Finster.

“Don’t worry,” said Pipper. “We know what they did back in the Great War of the Ban. And before that what they did at the Race and on Olorin Isle.”

“Robbers and traitors,” said Binkton, nodding.

The very next day, with the help of footmen, the Warrows laded their iron-gray, flame-painted, secret-paneled trunk, loaded as it was with chains and locks and ropes and other gear, onto the southbound Red Coach. The footmen also tossed up to the top the buccen’s duffle bags, filled as they were with clothing and costumes for the Fire and Iron act, along with their personal kits. Finally, waving good-bye to Graden Finster and his boy Pud and a small gathering of townsfolk, as well as a few soldiers from the garrison, including the captain, the Warrows boarded the coach on their journey to acquire fame and glory, along with some of the good King’s coin.

As the coach trundled out of town, Pipper turned to Binkton and asked, “Nervous?”

Binkton scowled. “Nervous, me? Pah. I mean, after all, what can possibly go wrong?”