The Royal Ranger

Thirty-eight

By the time Will returned Tug to the little clearing outside Esseldon and resumed his farm worker’s garb, it was well after dark.

He hurried back along the road to the village. Unlike Maddie, he wasn’t nervous about the dark shadows under the trees that lined the road. But he was no fool and he knew that dark forces were at work in this part of the world. As a result, he kept his hand near his saxe knife as he strode along. His bow was unstrung and, along with the quiver, concealed inside a canvas wrapping.

The lights blazed in the inn and there was a babble of conversation coming from the crowded tap room. It was the end of the week, and the villagers were relaxing after six days of hard work.

He stowed his bow and quiver in the bottom of the handcart. The stable was dark, the lanterns unlit. Maddie, of course, had slept in the inn the previous evening. It was logical to assume that she was there now.

He made his way to the main building, pushed the door open and was greeted by the noisy babble of voices and the smell of good cooking, woodsmoke and spilt ale. A few people looked up, recognised the itinerant farm worker who had been in the village for several days and lost interest in him. By now, they all knew his story, prosaic as it was. Jerome was behind the bar, passing two full tankards to a customer. He caught sight of Will, smiled and beckoned him over, drawing another foaming tankard of ale as Will crossed the crowded room, threading his way between tables and chairs and their noisy occupants.

Jerome placed the tankard on the bar in front of Will.

“You’re back!” he said cheerfully. “Any luck?”

Will grimaced. “Not a skerrick. No work at any of the farms for an honest man.”

“How about a dishonest one?” Jerome grinned.

Will shook his head, managing a faint smile in return. He took a deep draught of the ale before he replied. As he’d told Maddie, he didn’t make a habit of drinking ale but it would be out of character for a farm worker to refuse a drink.

“None for one of them either,” he said. “It’s hard pickings these days.”

“It’s a bad time of year to be looking for casual work,” Jerome agreed. “And you missed all the excitement here.”

Will cocked his head curiously. “Excitement? What’s been going on?”

“Man found dead in the street—just a little way down the road.”

“Who was it?” Will asked.

But Jerome shrugged. “That’s just it. Nobody knows. Nobody’d seen him before until Neville Malton found him yesterday morning, sprawled in the middle of the road with a huge wound on his forehead.”

That detail definitely got Will’s attention. There were several weapons that could leave a mark like that on a man, but the one that sprang to his mind was a sling. He glanced round the room for some sign of Maddie. Then he turned back to Jerome.

“What did he look like?” he asked.

“Big feller. Dark looking. I’d say he was a foreigner. Had one of those long, droopy moustaches that foreigners wear. And he was all in black. Up to no good, I’ll be bound, and someone went and settled his hash for him.”

At that moment, the door to the kitchen banged open and Maddie appeared, laden with four platters of steaming roast meat and vegetables. She wended her way through the crowd to the table that had ordered the food. The four men sitting there cheered as she set the platters down, joking with her and thanking her for saving them from death by starvation.

They were cheerful and friendly and meant no harm. Maddie smiled at them, a little wanly. She seemed bothered by something, Will thought. Then she looked up and noticed him at the bar, and he saw relief flood across her face.

“That’s a good girl you’ve got there,” Jerome said, noticing the byplay between them. “A hard worker and good with the customers. I won’t be charging you for that room she’s been in. And I’ll toss a few coins into her purse as well. Matter of fact,” he added, “you can use the room tonight if you choose.”

“Thanks. We may do that,” Will said.

Maddie was looking meaningfully at him, and now she jerked her head towards the door that led to the stableyard. The message was obvious.

He drained the last of his ale. “I’ll just go and say hullo,” he said, and turned to follow Maddie out of the stableyard door.

“Tell her to take a good long break,” Jerome called after him. “She’s been working hard all evening. Best waitress I ever had,” he added, thinking to himself that it was a pity that Maddie and her father wouldn’t be staying long in the village.

As he followed Maddie into the cool air outside, Will smiled wryly to himself. Maddie, the royal princess, the superior, snobbish young lady of Castle Araluen, had found her vocation as a serving maid.

Might be a new career for her if Evanlyn and Horace don’t reinstate her as a princess, he thought, and gave a short bark of laughter. He paused, surprised. It was the second time recently that he’d laughed out loud, he realised. He shook his head and strode quickly to where his apprentice was waiting for him.

He stopped a few paces from her. Her face was pale and her lip was trembling. As she looked at him, her eyes welled with tears.

“Uncle Will, I killed someone,” she said.

Her shoulders began to shake and she began to sob uncontrollably. He gathered her in, wrapping his arms around her and muttering soothing noises as he did so. The fact that she had called him “Uncle Will’ spoke volumes for her state of mind. She was still a child, he realised, in spite of all her self-confidence and bravado. And she had been forced to do the most terrible thing a person could do—take the life of another. He had no doubt that circumstances had forced her to do it. He also had no doubt that she was talking about the mysterious black-clad stranger who had been found in the street.

“Hush now, my girl,” he crooned softly to her. “Hush now. I’m here and everything’s going to be all right. Can you tell me what happened?”

Gradually, between the vast, gulping sobs that were shaking her, she described how she had woken in terror to the presence of an intruder in her room. How he had threatened her, and then how the terror had been gradually replaced by anger and indignation.

“You followed him?” Will said, as she described how she had gone down the stairs, her sling ready. She snuffled back a tear and nodded.

“Yes. I thought I should.”

He had released her when he asked the question, but now he pulled her into his embrace once more.

“My god but you’re a brave girl,” he said, marvelling at her courage.

She continued with her tale, describing how the sheer chance of the stone under her bare foot had saved her life, as the quattro whirred over her head. Then she told him how she saw the man preparing another cast and let fly with her sling, a fraction of a second before he could release his missile.

“Let me get this straight,” Will said. “He threw a quattro at you. He was about to throw a second, and you retaliated, just in time.”

She nodded tearfully. “I didn’t think what would happen. I just let fly. Then I fell flat,” she said.

Will nodded sympathetically. “Of course you didn’t think. You acted as you’ve been trained to act. You reacted to a threat. There’s no blame here attached to you, my sweet.”

“But he—”

“He was obviously working with that filthy Stealer. He tried once to kill you as you came out the door. And he was trying to kill you again when you threw. And you say he had another two of those weapons in his satchel?”

She nodded, not saying anything. Will made a dismissing gesture with one hand.

“Then you acted in self-defence and there’s no blame in that. None at all. If you hadn’t, I have no doubt he would have tried again to kill you with those remaining quattros.”

“I suppose so.” She had told herself this over and over since the event. To have someone else say it, and particularly Will, was enormously comforting.

“Dry your tears now. I know it’s a horrible thing to face, but it was something you had to do. You had to do it or you would have been killed. Are we clear on that?”

She nodded, wiping the back of her hand across her face to dry her tears.

“I so wanted to talk to you. I couldn’t tell anyone and I felt so… dreadful,” she said in a small voice.

Will nodded at her, comforting her. “I shouldn’t have left you. If anyone is to blame for this, it’s me. But I want you to put this out of your mind now and don’t think any further on it, all right?”

“All right. But it’s just—”

“No. No more. Put the thoughts aside.”

“But… he had a sheet of paper on him. I think it might be important.”

Will’s head snapped up at those words. “Paper? What is it?”

“I’m not sure. It could be a map of some kind. It’s in my room.”

He took her hand and led her towards the inn. “Then let’s have a look at it.”

“But… I’ve got work to do…” she protested.

He shook his head. “Let Jerome and his wife do it. He said you should take a long break. So let’s take it.”

“What did you find out in Boyletown?” she asked as they headed for her room.

“The Storyman was there all right—a couple of days before Peter Williscroft disappeared.” Will paused, then added, “And the boy was being mistreated, just like the others.”

“By his father?”

He shook his head. “An older brother. He used to bully him continually. Nobody was surprised when Peter went missing.”

They reached the top of the stairs and he pushed the door open, standing aside to let her enter the little room.

“Now let’s see what’s on this paper you found.”