Riddle in Stone (The Riddle in Stone Series - Book One) (30 page)

Edmund spit straw out of his mouth.

Though the hay pile in the far stall of the stables was more comfortable than anything he’d slept in for many months, he didn’t get much sleep. The entire night he kept worrying about whether he would be able to see the King and when. Further, the constantly shifting horses kept making him jump.

The stable doors slid opened. Horses whinnied as Toby came in, a sack of oats over each young shoulder.

“I hope you and Thorax slept well,” he said, dropping the sacks on the ground. “I would have had you stay at our house, but my mom wouldn’t hear of it—you being a scary stranger with one eye and all.”

Steaming manure fell from the rear of one of the horses.

Covered in straw, Thorax stretched and yawned, her long pink tongue rolling out of her mouth.

“Has anybody sent word from the magistrate’s office? Have you heard anything?” Edmund asked, sitting up.

“No. And they wouldn’t have. It’s not even dawn.”

“Damn.”

“I have to kick you two out before someone finds you. Sorry. Here.” He handed Edmund a bag.

“What’s this?” Edmund opened it, his mind flashing back to the last time somebody had given him a canvas bag. He grimaced, remembering the searing pain and crackling noise as the glowing poker pierced his eye.

“Just something to eat during your day. Come back after dark and I’ll see if I can get you some decent supper. But, you better get going or somebody will think you are a vagrant. You don’t want that. They’ll whip you and throw you out of the city. Then you’ll never become Lord of the Highlands.”

“I don’t care about that. I just need to see the King.” Then taking Toby’s bag, Edmund added for good measure, “Sir Hanley is counting on me.”

“Why don’t you just go to one of the castle guards and tell them what happened up north?”

I might have to do that. I could tell the guard about the goblin army.

And if the guard doesn’t believe you?

Edmund shook his head. “Would you believe me if you were a guard?” he asked, gesturing to his threadbare clothes.

“I suppose not.”

“No. I think the only way to get an audience with the King is by using the Star. Then I can tell him everything.”

“Well, I bet you they’ll send word later today.”

“I hope so.” Getting up, Edmund brushed the straw from his lap. “And thank you, Toby. You’re very k-k
. . .
kind. I wish there were some way I could repay you for all your help.”

Toby cocked his head, a sly look creeping across his youthful face. “I could say that any friend of Sir Hanley is a friend of mine,” he said, his eyebrows rising, “which is true. But I’m hoping you’d do me a favor.”

“I’d love to, Toby. I would. But I’m not really in the position to grant many f-f-fav-favors at the moment. All I have in life is what you see me wearing
. . .
and the Star.”

“Ah, but you will be able to do something
. . .
if it turns out that the necklace is real.”

“It’s not a necklace. It is worn on the brow. But go on. What can I do to repay your wonderful hospitality and assistance?”

Toby grinned. “Make me a knight!”

Edmund laughed, despite his growing anxiety. “I can’t.”

“Not now, but if you become a Lord you will be able to.”

“Unfortunately that’s not true,” Edmund said, trying not to disappoint the boy. “You see, you need to have noble blood to become a knight. Then there’s years of sacrifice and service to the common people. Not to mention the endless training. Becoming a knight is the p-p-pinnacle of achievement. Not everybody could reach such a high station.”

Toby hooted. “Maybe back in your day! Nowadays, knights can be appointed.”

Edmund pretended to consider this.

“Trust me! I know all about such things!” Toby said. “Any lord can appoint his own personal knights. They do it all the time to curry favor with wealthy merchants and the like. Why, Lord Farnor knighted over forty people last year! He made a fortune doing so
. . .
that is, until the King put a stop to it.”

Humor the boy. Let him have his dream while he can. What harm could it cause?

“I’ll tell you what,” Edmund said. “If I become Lord of the Highlands, you can be my personal knight. But you have to do something for me first, if you can.”

“Anything! Just name it!”

“You have to let me know the second the magistrate sends word about the Star. All right? The very second it arrives, come get me.”

“Deal!” Toby said, shooting out his hand. Edmund shook it. “Now get out before somebody sees you here. You too, Thorax.”

Thorax shook the straw out of her fur.

“Where should we go?”

“Anywhere but here,” Toby replied, leading them to the stable door. “Go sit in the park or something. It feels like it’ll be a nice day.”

“All right. Just
. . .
just keep an eye out for a messenger from the magistrates.”

“I will! I will!” Toby pushed Edmund out into the pre-dawn street. “Remember, don’t come back until after dark! And don’t look like a vagrant or they’ll send you on your way for good, if you get me.”

“All right. Thanks, Tob—”

The stable doors slid closed behind Edmund. Faintly he heard Toby giggle and say, “Toby the knight!”

He’s going to be devastated when he learns that knights can’t just be appointed.

It’s all just part of growing up, I suppose. Better to learn how things actually are now than when he’s forty years old.

Leaving the stables, Edmund wandered the dark streets of Eryn Mas, trying not to think of how Molly might be faring. To his surprise, many people were already out and about. Not just laborers and craftsmen heading to their places of employment, but also men and women of the upper classes, strolling around in a wide array of elegant garments.

Soon he found himself in the park surrounding the lower city. Sitting on a wooden bench under a budding crabapple, he inspected the contents of the bag Toby had given him.

A ham and onion sandwich.

His stomach gurgled.

I better save this.

Norb had given him some coins and a few small precious stones, slivers of flawed diamonds that might fetch a handful of silver pieces. However, the money wouldn’t last long, especially if he had to stay several days. And he wasn’t going to eat any of his own biscuits if he could help it.

Weeks! Damn it!

Maybe if I forged a letter from this Sir Hanley, I could get word to the King about the goblins in the mountains. I could say that I’m a messenger from Rood and that none of the other Knights or squires could be spared.

You’d need Sir Hanley’s official seal on the letter. Nobody will believe it otherwise.

He shook his head in dismay, the apprehension in him building. He felt like he was going to explode if he sat around much longer.

He exhaled loudly.

Thorax put his paw on Edmund’s knee, her eyes drifting over to the bag.

“Oh! Okay. You certainly deserve half of this. I owe you, girl. Here.”

Edmund broke the sandwich in two and handed the bigger half to Thorax. She took it in her mouth, laid at his feet, and began picking out the pieces of ham.

What now? I have to do something . . . anything! I’m going to go out of my mind if I keep sitting here.

Edmund fought the urge to hyperventilate.

Remember what Vorn said, always use your time to your advantage.

Poor Vorn. That advice helped in the mines, but what can I do to my advantage here, besides see the sights and try not to get kicked out of the city?

A young man in his early twenties walked past, a blue robe traditionally worn by clerics billowing behind him in the wake of his determined strides. In his hand was a small book.

“Excuse me!” Edmund said, springing after him.

Turning, the young man recoiled at the hole where Edmund’s left eye used to be.

“I’m t-t
. . .
terribly sorry,” Edmund said, adjusting his eagerness a bit. “I didn’t mean to startle you, sir. But I was w-wondering if you could help me.”

The young man resumed walking. “I don’t have any money for you,” he said over his shoulder. “Learn a trade.”

“Yes, I understand,” Edmund said, following. “Actually, I’m interested in your b-b-book. I’m an antiquarian, you see.”

The man stopped, his pinched expression showing considerable suspicion.

Edmund went on. “I was wondering if there’s a library here access-access-accessible to the public, to the, the common people, that is.”

“Library? You know how to read?”

“Yes, sir. In several languages, actually.” Edmund pointed to the book in the man’s hand. “Shall I demonstrate?”

The man considered his book, then Edmund’s dirt-encrusted fingers. A piece of straw fell out of Edmund’s unkempt hair.

“There’re many rare book dealers in the city,” he said.

Many? I wonder what they have . . .

“But if you are looking for book lenders,” he said, pointing to a nearby street, “go three blocks up and two over to the left. It’s a four-story building on your right.” The man observed Edmund’s bare feet. “But it isn’t free. They’ll charge you for looking.”

“Thank you, sir. Thank you very much,” Edmund said as he rushed off up the street. “Come on, Thorax!”

Grabbing what was left of the sandwich, Thorax hobbled after her partner.

“Thorax?” the man repeated.

“It’s a long story!”

The sun rose over the towering walls of the city, giving the elegant facades of the surrounding buildings a pink tinge. Immaculately dressed people from the higher classes strolled up the broad stone stairs leading to a pair of opulent double doors; the words “Book Lenders” were painted across them in letters of bright yellow. Edmund stood outside for a moment, straightening his hair and baggy clothes to little effect. Opening one of the doors, he peered in.

Inside he found a brightly-lit chamber filled with many rows of long wooden tables. Over a hundred people were sitting in the room; some were children evidently training to become scribes; others were elderly men, pouring themselves into various scrolls, books, and unbound manuscripts.

An ancient man with a hunched back smiled kindly at Edmund as he crossed the threshold.

“May I help you, young man?” the old man whispered, bowing as much as his bent spine would allow.

“Y-y-yes
. . .
yes, you may
. . .
I believe. This, this is the library, is it not?” Edmund asked, smoothing his soiled clothes again. A piece of straw fell from his tattered sleeve, landing on the pristine marble floor. Quickly Edmund retrieved it.

“Indeed,” the old man said pleasantly, taking no notice of the straw in Edmund’s filthy hand. “It is the Lower Library. I am Horic, its curator.”

“Well
. . .
that is, I’d, I’d like to do some research. I understand that there is a fee involved. May I ask how much?”

“A silver piece per day.”

There goes a nice meal . . .

Fumbling, Edmund reached into his pocket. As he withdrew Norb’s small coin pouch, the Star of Iliandor tumbled out and fell rattling on the floor. Many people looked up from their work, annoyed. Horic hunched closer, his grey eyes growing brighter as he stared at the blue gem. Apologizing, Edmund snatched the Star, shoved it back into his pocket, and then held out a silver piece.

As if in thought, Horic was slow to take it. Eventually, he said, “This way,” and led Edmund to a counter behind which a frumpy woman in her late twenties sat, reading a worn book.

“This is Edith,” Horic said. “She can assist you in finding whatever you are looking for.” Edith’s eyes lifted to meet them even though she clearly didn’t want to be bothered. “I would request, however, that you leave your animal outside. There are rules and a protocol, you understand.”

“Oh, yes. Yes, absolutely.” Edmund grimaced at Thorax. “I’m sorry, girl. But can you go entertain yourself for a while?”

Without complaint, Thorax got up and limped out the door.

“Remarkable,” Horic muttered. Then to Edmund he said, “Please let me know if you require anything. I am at your service.”

“Thank you. I’m at yours.”

When Horic had gone, the mouse-like woman shifted uneasily in front of Edmund, as if waiting for an order she didn’t particularly want to perform.

“What may I get for you?” she whispered. She noted Edmund’s shabby attire and then redirected her gaze to the counter in front of her.

Now what?

“Yes, thank you. I, I
. . .
I need information on the upper Haegthorn Mountains,” Edmund said. “Particularly the east side, if that’s possible. I believe that Sir Franklin of Overshire led an expedition to map the region in the year 235—”

“He returned in 235,” she said, cutting him short.

“I beg your pardon?”

Edith flinched as if being reprimanded.

“No, please miss,” Edmund said. “By all means. You were saying?”

“I didn’t mean to correct you, sir,” she whispered even softer. Edmund had to lean forward to hear her. “But Sir Franklin returned to Eryn Mas in 235. His expedition of the Haegthorn was actually from 229 to 234.”

She’s smart!

She should be, being surrounded by all of these books.

Let’s hope there’s something here that can help us. Otherwise you just wasted a silver piece.

A silver piece . . . I remember when I wouldn’t even stoop to pick up a silver piece off the street.

“Yes, well
. . .
do you have any copies of anything that he might have written about his journey? A journal or a secondhand account, perhaps? Anything that shows the topography of that region would be useful.”

What are the chances that Sir Franklin got within sight of the Undead King’s tower? None. This is all a waste of time and money.

I need information! We have to get back to the tower. I need a map of the area, a description . . . anything that can help the knights plan their attack.

That’s if you can get to speak with the King.

I will . . . one way or another.

“I understand. Please have a seat. I’ll be back momentarily.” She disappeared though a doorway behind her.

Unsure of where to sit, Edmund examined his options. There were over seventy tables, each flanked by long benches with plump green cushions. But every table already had numerous people sitting at it, reading or copying some manuscript by the light of crystal lamps.

Who should I sit by?

Somebody who has a poor sense of smell. You haven’t washed in three days. And sleeping with the horses didn’t help at all.

He selected a table toward the rear of the hall that was occupied by a boy carefully transcribing a lengthy scroll and an older gentleman peering over a thick tome of faded brown parchment. Edmund sat across from the boy.

“The oratories of King Baris the Second,” Edmund said, examining what the boy was working on. “Wonderful!”

The boy put a finger to his lips.

“Oh,” Edmund whispered. “Sorry.”

As he surveyed the room, hoping that Edith would return soon, something poked Edmund’s leg. He looked underneath the table. Thorax winked. Edmund laughed. Several people glowered at him, including the boy across the table.

Good girl!

He patted her head.

Moments later, Edith appeared with an armload of parcels, scrolls, and books. As she approached, her eyes slid to where Thorax lay by Edmund’s grubby bare feet. Edith and Edmund exchanged glances, a slight smile appearing on her thin lips.

“This is what I found for you,” she whispered, setting the materials in front of him.

One of the scrolls rolled off the table. As she went to pick it up, she scratched Thorax behind the ears.

“Remember these are originals, not copies. Please take utmost care.” She handed Edmund a moist towel.

“Oh, I will,” Edmund said, cleaning his hands. Then, nodding toward Thorax, he added, “And
. . .
thank you for not saying anything. I’ll make sure she doesn’t bother anybody.” He handed the towel back to Edith. She took it, curtseyed, and shuffled back behind the counter, holding the blackened towel away from her nose as if it were a skunk.

For many hours, Edmund studied the materials that Edith had given him. Most were loose pages of notes written by Sir Franklin during his travels, papers that were the basis of a book that Edmund had previously read and kept in his library back in Rood. Some of the maps were interesting, but without points of reference, it was impossible to determine exactly what part of the mountains they depicted.

Leaning back, Edmund groaned.

I’ll never find the River Gate this way.

Then you’ll have to try something else. Maybe where the door was in that the guard chamber. You could probably find that again. It was in a dell facing the west not far up the foothills.

Perhaps, but it’ll be guarded.

I’m sure the knights could force their way in.

First I have to speak with the King . . . somehow.

Edmund groaned again.

The boy across the table frowned at him.

Think. What pieces of information am I missing? What do I need to get into that tower?

Besides a thousand heavily-armed knights?

Carefully, Edmund gathered the materials together and brought them to Edith. She looked up from her book, surprised to find somebody standing over her. She stood, straightening her skirt.

“Thank you for all this,” Edmund said.

“Not what you wanted?” she asked in her delicate voice.

“No. I, I, I mean, it was fascinating
. . .
but it didn’t contain anything new for me.”

“Perhaps you’d like to examine something else? You still have a few hours before we close.”

Edmund tapped the counter, thinking.

“Do you have anything about Lord Iliandor of the Highlands? Specifically about his interest in metallurgy?”

“I’ll check. Half a moment.”

She disappeared through the doors behind her desk.

Trying not to disturb the boy and old man with the nervous energy bubbling out of him, Edmund returned to his table.

Do you honestly believe that Iliandor published the formula for his secret alloy?

No . . . But maybe there’ll be hints or clues . . . or something. Anything! I can’t just sit and do nothing.

Edmund imagined Molly in the wet cells, sobbing in the foul darkness that she couldn’t take it anymore and that she wanted to go home. He could almost feel her tears.

Reappearing from the storage rooms, Edith placed five books in front of Edmund. Edmund was about to thank her for her troubles when he saw what was on top of the stack. He sprang back with a cry, knocking over his bench and sending the cushion skidding across the floor. Underneath the table, Thorax leapt to her three functioning feet.

Many patrons hissed for him to be quiet.

“What’s wrong?” Edith whispered, withdrawing a step as if Edmund might be delusional.

Perched on top of the pile, like a specter from his past, was Iliandor’s diary.

“Wh-wh-what? What?” Edmund said, trembling. “Yes. I’m
. . .
I’m fine. Thank you. Thank you very much. There was a bee. That’s all. A bee.”

“A bee?”

“Yes,” Edmund said, his heart still pounding. “But it’s gone now. Everything is fine. Thanks!”

Edith walked to her counter, turning and looking periodically at Edmund as she went. When she had gone and all eyes were off him, Edmund righted his bench and sat down. With shaking hands, he lifted the diary from the pile.

What are you so spooked about? You asked for information on Iliandor and she brought his diary. There’s no meaning behind it. Calm down. You’re making an ass out of yourself!

His chest pounding, Edmund opened the diary’s cover like he was touching a corpse. There was no doubt about it. It was one of the two copies he made back in Rood more than twenty years earlier. Even with only one eye he could recognize his own work.

What are the chances?

You sent a copy to the Royal Library in Eryn Mas. Obviously they didn’t want it and the book ended up here. Relax!

He started flipping through the diary, trying to appear as if he was doing something productive. When he got to the last page, he pushed it aside and examined one of the other books Edith had brought him.

There’s nothing useful here. This is such a waste of time.

I hope Pond is having better luck than I am . . .

Something gnawed at the recesses of Edmund’s mind. From the corner of his eye, he kept looking at the diary, as if to make sure it wasn’t a figment of his imagination. He closed the book he was skimming.

It’s your copy. There isn’t a doubt in the world.

Edmund brought the diary closer to him.

Something’s wrong with it . . .

He started flipping through its pages again even though he knew every word like a member of his own family.

Everything is exactly like it—

He got to the last page.

This isn’t right . . .

The last page of the diary wasn’t the last page he had copied all those years ago.

Edmund looked closer at the binding.

I can’t believe it.

Somebody had meticulously cut out the last four pages—the pages that gave the clues Edmund followed to Tol Helen.

Who would have done—?

Then the answer came to him.

Someone who didn’t want anyone else looking for the Star.

No, not the Star—the riddle written in the cave!