Authors: John Flanagan
Tags: #Young Adult, #Action & Adventure, #Juvenile Fiction, #Fantasy & Magic, #General, #Fantasy, #adventure
Kings of Clonmel (11 page)
“I know. There’s something I need to attend to,” he said, and Abelard tossed his head. So long as his master knew what he was doing, he was content.
Farrell, the leader of the Outsiders group, was having an uncomfortable time trying to calm the villagers. They were openly suspicious that he and his people had played a hand in the unsuccessful raid on the boats. As Farrell tried to reassure them that he knew nothing about the raiders, he could sense their disbelief growing.
Might be time to move on, he thought. He could allay their suspicions for a short time, but in the long run, it would be safer to take what they had gained so far and try their luck elsewhere.
“Wilfred,” he was saying now to the village head man, “I assure you that my people are innocent of any wrongdoing. You know us. We’re just simple religious folk.”
“Funny how all these troubles have started since you ‘simple religious folk’ have turned up, though, isn’t it?” Wilfred said accusingly.
Farrell spread his hands in a gesture of innocence. “Coincidence, my friend. My people and I will pray for you and your village to be protected from further misfortune. I assure you—”
There was the sound of a scuffle outside the entrance to the pavilion that Farrell was using as a headquarters and main center of worship. Then a bearded stranger burst through the entrance. At least, Farrell thought he was a stranger. Then he realized there was something familiar about him.
The newcomer was shorter than average height, dressed in simple brown leggings and boots and a dull green jacket. A massive longbow was in his hand, and a quiver of arrows was slung over his shoulder. Then something in Farrell’s memory clicked.
“You!” he said in surprise. “What are you doing here?”
Halt ignored him. He addressed his remarks to Wilfred.
“You’ve been robbed,” he said briefly. “ This man and his band are about to run out on you. And they’ll be taking the gold and jewelry you’ve given them.”
Wilfred’s gaze, which had been drawn to Halt at his sudden entrance, now switched back to Farrell. His eyes were narrow with suspicion. Farrell forced a nervous laugh, indicating the massive golden altar that dominated the far end of the marquee.
“I told you, we used the gold to build our altar—so we could pray for your people! D’you think we’re going to just walk away with that? It’s solid gold! It must weigh tons!”
“Not quite,” Halt said. He strode quickly toward the altar, the villagers following him uncertainly, Wilfred making sure that Farrell came along with them.
Halt drew his saxe knife with a soft hiss and sliced its razor edge along one gleaming side of the golden altar. The thin veneer of gold leaf that had covered it peeled away, revealing the plain wood beneath it.
“Not as solid as it looks,” Halt said, and he heard an angry growl from the villagers as they moved to encircle Farrell. The Outsider’s eyes flicked from Halt to the circle of hostile faces around him. His mouth opened as he instinctively tried to think of some plausible explanation for the deception, then closed as he realized there was none.
“They used a small amount of gold to coat the wooden altar. The rest of it is probably in sacks underneath, ready to be taken away tonight.”
Wilfred gestured and one of the younger men moved forward, roughly tearing the altar covering away. Under the altar was a neat pile of sacks. The villager toed one, and it emitted a metallic jingle. The head man glared at Farrell, who was standing white-faced with fear. He tried to move behind Halt, as if hoping that the Ranger might protect him.
“You’re a dead man, Farrell,” Wilfred said in an ominously quiet voice.
But Halt shook his head. “You’ve got your gold back. Be grateful for that. But you’re not taking him. I need him to answer some questions.”
“And who do you think you are, telling us what to do?” said the young man who had removed the altar cloth. Halt turned his unwavering gaze on him.
“I’m the man who just saved you a fortune,” he said. “And the other night, I saved your boats from burning.
“Be grateful you still have your money and your livelihood. You can keep the others. Do what you like with them. But I’m taking this one with me.”
The young man started to reply, but a curt gesture from Wilfred stopped him. The head man stepped forward to face Halt.
“I assume you have some kind of authority to make these demands,” he said.
Halt nodded. “I’m an Araluen Ranger,” he replied.
There was a murmur of recognition around the pavilion. The villagers might not be part of any fief, but they knew the reputation of the Ranger Corps. Taking advantage of the villagers’ moment of uncertainty, Halt gripped Farrell by the elbow and started toward the entrance to the pavilion. After a moment’s hesitation, the group parted to allow them through.
As he emerged with his prisoner into the warm morning sunlight, past the unconscious form of the Outsider guard who had tried to stop him, Halt was frowning slightly. He was remembering Farrell’s words.
You? What are you doing here?
The Outsider priest had recognized Halt. And that was why the Ranger frowned now.
The Outsider priest had recognized Halt. And that was why the Ranger frowned now.
Because they had never met before.
13
THE DINING ROOM AT THE INN WAS CRAMMED FULL OF CUSTOMERS, almost every table filled with noisy, happy diners from the village and the castle. Will and Alyss sat at the table of honor, right in the middle of the room, underneath a wheel-shaped chandelier that held two dozen candles.
Will had grimaced at the table when they were shown to it. Typically, he would have preferred to be tucked away in a corner, out of sight—to see and not be seen. Alyss smiled at him.
“Get used to it,” she said.“You’re a celebrity. Some people actually enjoy that, you know.”
He frowned. “How could anyone enjoy having every eye in the room on them?” he asked. He was still casting around for a table in a less prominent position.
“Nevertheless, people do. I’m surprised there aren’t crowds of sketch artists outside the entrance, waiting to draw our pictures as we leave.”
“Does that really happen?” he asked incredulously. Alyss shrugged.
“So I’m told.” She shoved him gently toward the table. “Come on, Jenny will be disappointed if she can’t show you off.”
And here was Jenny herself, threading her way through the crowded room, with a delighted smile lighting up her pretty face. A large wooden ladle, symbol of her office, dangled loosely from her right hand.
“Will!” she shrieked. “You’re here at last! Welcome to my humble dining hall!”
She threw her arms around him, and he ducked instinctively, expecting the ladle in her right hand to whip around and crack the back of his head. But Jenny had it under control. She laughed at him.
“Oh, come on! I haven’t hit anyone since second year! At least, not anyone I didn’t mean to hit. Sit down! Sit down!”
Will hurried to hold Alyss’s chair while Jenny watched approvingly. He’d always had nice manners, she thought. Then he took his own chair and looked around the room, gesturing to the crowds of diners.
“Not so humble. There must be fifty or sixty people in here.”
Jenny appraised the room with a practiced eye. “They’re not all diners, however. Some are just here for a drink.”
“The place is usually this full,” Alyss put in. But Jenny shook her head.
“There are extras here tonight. Word got out that the famous Will Treaty and his beautiful girlfriend would be dining here and the bookings just flowed in.”
Will reddened slightly, but Alyss took the comment in stride. She and Jenny had known each other since childhood, after all. “How did that word get out, I wonder?” she said with a raised eyebrow.
Jenny grinned at her and spread her hands innocently. “I have no idea. But it’s great for business.” She looked back at Will, her smile widening. “It really is wonderful to see you again. It’s been too long. And I believe you’ll be staying with us from now on?”
Will’s eyes widened in surprise. “How did you know that?” He had assumed that the facts about Crowley’s Special Task Group were secret.
Jenny shrugged carelessly. “Oh, I heard about it a few weeks ago. Someone mentioned it. Not sure who.”
Will shook his head. He’d only been told within the past five days. It never ceased to amaze him how quickly people found out about so-called secrets. Jenny didn’t notice his reaction.
“Will there be just the two of you?” she asked.
Alyss shook her head. “Lady Pauline will be joining us.”
Jenny’s smile widened even further. “You people are going all out to give my little establishment a good name, aren’t you?” she said.
Alyss shook her head. “You don’t need us to do it.”
Jenny rubbed her hands briskly. It was time to get down to business.
“Now, did you want to order? Or would you like me to make some suggestions?”
Will sensed her eagerness to show off her skills. He set both hands palm down on the table in a gesture of readiness.
“I think we’d be mad to refuse your offer,” he said.
Jenny clicked her fingers at a passing table boy. “Set another place here, Rafe,” she said. The boy, a heavy-boned youth of about sixteen, looked as if he’d be more at home behind a plow or a blacksmith’s furnace, but he nodded eagerly.
“Yes, Mistress Jenny,” he said. Clumsily, he began to lay cutlery and another platter in the place she’d indicated. The tip of his tongue protruded slightly at the corner of his mouth with the effort of trying to remember where everything went.
“I’ve got a rather nice first course,” Jenny said. “I’ve deboned some quail and stuffed them with a mix of cranberries and apples, lightly spiced, then poached them in a red wine sauce.”
Without breaking her flow, or even looking at the table server beside her, she flicked her wrist, swinging the ladle in a diagonal arc so that it cracked noisily on Rafe’s head.
Will winced, but he had to admire her accuracy and skill.
“Knife on the right, fork on the left, yes? I’ve
told
you that, Rafe.”
told
you that, Rafe.”
Rafe looked at the offending implements in some confusion. His lips moved as he repeated the mantra,
knife on the right, fork on the left.
Jenny sighed.
knife on the right, fork on the left.
Jenny sighed.
“Hold up your right hand,” she said. Rafe hesitated, his eyes fixed warily on the ladle, swinging in a gentle arc like a snake about to strike. “The hand you write with,” she prompted.
“I don’t write,” he said in a dejected tone. To her credit, Jenny was a little taken aback, fearing that she’d embarrassed the boy. She was, after all, only trying to teach him so that he might have a career other than plodding along in the wake of a plow horse.
“ The hand you fight with,” Will put in. “Your sword hand.”
Rafe’s face cleared, and a wide smile spread across it as he raised his muscular right arm. Jenny smiled at Will.
“Thanks, Will,” she said. “Good thinking. All right, Rafe, that’s your right hand, your sword hand. And a sword is like a big knife, really, so that’s the side the knife goes on. All right?”
“Tha’s fine,” Rafe replied happily. “Why didn’t you tell it to me like that before?”
Jenny sighed. “I suppose I never thought of it because I’m not a famous Ranger,” she said.
“Nay, mistress. But thee’s a fine cook, I’ll say that for thee.”
Confidently, he switched the knife and fork to their proper places. Then he checked to make sure he was right, wielding an imaginary sword. Satisfied, he nodded and turned to Jenny.
“Will there be any more, mistress?”
“No. Thank you, Rafe. That’ll be all for now.”
He grinned and bowed slightly to her and her guests, then ambled contentedly back toward the kitchen.
“He’s a nice boy,” she said. “I’m hoping I can turn him into a good headwaiter one of these days.” She hesitated, then amended the statement. “One of these years.”
Will looked at her appraisingly. He had noticed there was something different about her when she had first approached the table. Now he realized what it was.
“You’ve lost weight, Jen,” he said. Jenny beamed, then twisted to look over her shoulder, trying to assess herself from behind.
“You think so? Maybe a little. It’s funny, when you run a restaurant, you don’t get so much time to eat. Tasting, yes. Eating? No.”
“It suits you,” he said. He remembered how taken with her Gilan had been when they’d first met at Halt and Pauline’s wedding. Wait until he sees you
now
, Will thought.
now
, Will thought.
She smiled at him, then rubbed her hands together briskly, getting back to business.
“The main course is a rack of lamb, seasoned in oil and lemon juice and rosemary. I’ll be doing that with new potatoes, roasted alongside the lamb, and wilted green vegetables. Or I have a beautiful fresh turbot that I can steam and serve with ginger and a little chili. Which would you prefer?”
Alyss and Will exchanged glances. She knew what he was thinking and answered for him.
“We’ll have the lamb,” she said.
Jenny nodded. “Good choice. And then . . . hullo, here’s Lady Pauline.”
She’d noticed a slight movement at the entrance, and as Alyss and Will turned to follow her gaze, they saw the tall figure of Lady Pauline entering the restaurant. A few paces behind her, and somehow seeming to fade into the background, was another figure—a cloaked and cowled Ranger.
“Halt!” said Will, rising from his seat, a wide smile of welcome starting to spread over his features. Then the smile faded as the Ranger threw back his cowl and he saw the sandy hair and beard. “Crowley!” he said in surprise.
Jenny frowned slightly, trying to assess whether her main dish would stretch to another diner. Then, remembering the keen appetite that most Rangers displayed, she decided it wouldn’t.
“I’d better get another lamb rack in the oven,” she said, turning away.
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