Saving Thanehaven (6 page)

“Is this some kind of prison cell?” Rufus asks Lorellina as they tramp through one of the smaller, damper, murkier guardrooms. It’s full of chains and wet straw. “Or is it where your garrison hangs out?”

“Some of the guards sleep here,” the princess replies. “Not all of them.”

“Homey,” drawls Rufus. Then he addresses the guards behind him. “How much do you guys get paid for this gig?”

There’s no response from the guards, perhaps because they can’t hear Rufus over the noise that they’re making as they march along.

It’s Lorellina who finally answers.

“We give them bed and board and clothes and firewood,” she says, lifting her skirt to cross an oily black puddle. “That is their payment.”

“No money?” Rufus inquires.

“Money? You mean—gold? Silver?” Lorellina sounds genuinely surprised. “Why would they need money?”

“Oh, I dunno. For the app store?” Rufus shrugs,
not explaining this odd term. “Now that they can actually get out of here, don’t you think a bit of money would be nice for them?”

“But they are our vassals. Our liegemen,” says the princess. That is all she needs to say, as far as Noble is concerned.

Rufus, however, doesn’t seem to understand.

“Maybe some of them don’t want to be guards,” he speculates, not bothering even to hunch his shoulders as he passes beneath an archway so low that it forces Noble to duck. “Have you thought of that? Have
they
thought of that? This whole world’s opening up, now—you might have to offer a few more incentives if you want ’em to stay.”

“They belong with the fortress,” Lorellina insists. No matter how much Rufus argues, he can’t seem to get through to her. And he stops trying when they reach the front gate.

“The gate!” she cries. “The gate is open!”

“Yes,” says Noble, who’s just behind her.

“And the bridge is down!” Her voice trembles. “Is that the sky? Is that the
open sky
?” She points at a patch of cloud framed by the dark, jagged mouth of the entranceway.

“Yes,” Noble says again.

A new platoon of guards is waiting for Lorellina in the gatehouse. She edges past them until she has an unobstructed view of the drawbridge, the river, the bare trees, the gray sky, and the matched pairs of
gargoyles facing each other across a ribbon of white road.

“Oh!” she exclaims, her voice catching on a sob. “No roof! No walls!”

“No enemy agents,” mutters Noble, who’s scanning the vicinity of the fortress for possible threats.

“Come!” The princess squares her shoulders. “Advance, Liegemen of Harrow!” she commands, with a grand sweep of her slender arm. “Let us go forth and reclaim what is ours!”

Then she strides out of the fortress into the full light of day.

Falling in behind her, Noble feels a slight sense of discomfort. It may be because he’s unarmed and barefoot at the head of a military procession. It may be because he can hear Rufus chattering away in the rear, asking a couple of guards called Flummocks and Sooterkin if they really want to be soldiers. Or it may be because there are plans that need making—and Noble doesn’t quite know how to make them.

As Lorellina lifts her face to the sky, he realizes that he, too, is about to confront something vast and free and formless: namely, the future. Once his existence was a series of on-the-spot decisions, with life or death at the end of each one. Now his choices are less clear. It’s all so new, he doesn’t know what to think.

Maybe Rufus will be able to help him.

“Where is the sun?” asks Lorellina, halting in the center of the drawbridge. The troops at her
heels also stop, blinking in the unaccustomed glare.

“The sun’s behind those clouds,” Noble replies.

“Oh.” Lorellina sounds disappointed. “Are the clouds always here?”

“I don’t know.” He tries to recollect. “I don’t think so.…”

“How big it is! The outside world. It makes me feel …”—she pauses—“… very small,” she concludes.

Noble glances down at her. “You
are
small,” he can’t help pointing out.

For some reason, this isn’t well received. “Small in stature, perhaps,” she growls, flushing. Then she points. “Are those the gargoyles?”

“Yes.”

“Then I will give them the freedom of the sky,” she announces.

As she sets off again, Noble peers back over his shoulder. He sees that Rufus is at the very end of the parade, deep in conversation with one of the potato-headed, shell-backed guards. Noble frowns. He hopes that Rufus doesn’t persuade the whole garrison to lay down its arms. Not yet, anyway. Not until they’re absolutely sure that the mysterious “enemy agent” won’t be showing up.

But then again, Rufus hasn’t put a foot wrong yet. He seems to know exactly what he’s doing. Noble tells himself that if Rufus isn’t worried, none of them should be. So far, Noble’s faith in Rufus has been well founded.

“You, there! Gargoyle!” Having reached the first black plinth, Lorellina is addressing the creature chained to it. “What is your name?”

The gargoyle opens its yellow eyes. It looks vaguely like a winged warthog, with its curly tusks, hairy crest, and leathery snout.

“I have no name,” it creaks.

“Then I shall give you one.” The princess lays a finger on her chin and ponders for a moment. “You will be called Doddypoll,” she finally decides. “Doddypoll Scrumping.”

Doddypoll stares at her in astonishment—and Noble wonders if she might have been the one responsible for naming all the guards.

“Doddypoll,” she continues, “I am Princess Lorellina, your liege lady, and I am here to set you free.”

There’s a sudden snapping of wings all along the road. Noble can hear the gargoyles hissing to one another from plinth to plinth. The princess must hear them, too, because she loudly declares, “I have come to set you
all
free, for a new age is upon this land—a golden age of justice and liberty!”

“Uh—Princess?” A low voice interrupts her. Dropping his gaze, Noble sees that Rufus is tugging at Lorellina’s gown. “Could I just have a word with those guys for one minute?”

Though Lorellina is startled, she yields with good grace. “Of course,” she says. Rufus promptly steps in
front of her to address the corridor of gargoyles in a piercing, high-pitched voice.

“Okay, you guys—now, as you can see, we’ve kept our promise. We said we’d get you released and we have. But one good turn deserves another.” He shakes his hair out of his eyes and pinions the nearest gargoyle with a glare. “I know you won’t be dumb enough to start misbehaving when we let you go. I know you realize that if you start causing trouble, Lord Harrowmage will simply chain you up again. Right? Huh? Are we all agreed on that?”

There’s a brief silence. At last, Doddypoll speaks up.

“Yes,” he squawks, sparking an echo that runs down the double line of gargoyles.
Yes … yes … yesssss …

“So I’m not asking you to be good, because that’s a given,” Rufus explains. “What I’m asking for is a volunteer. We need one of you to take a message to the clan caves of Thanehaven. It’s an important message about peace in our time and it’s something you should be proud to carry.” He scans the matched rows of attentive, scaly heads. “Any takers?” he asks.

After another pause, Doddypoll says hoarsely, “I will.”

“Are you sure?” Rufus seems to have some misgivings. “Can you really handle this? Because it’s a long way to go and a lot to remember.”

“I can go. I can remember,” Doddypoll assures
him. “Tell me what to say and I will say it.”

Rufus nods. Then he steps back with a smile and a wave, relinquishing center stage to the princess once more. “Right,” he says. “Let’s see if this works, okay?”

Lorellina takes a deep breath. Brandishing her key like a flag, she tells Doddypoll to bow down before her so that she may “remove the iron collar of enslavement and replace it with the yoke of honor and duty.” There’s a flurry of displaced air as the gargoyle launches itself off the stone plinth, wings beating, chain swinging. Noble finds himself retreating a few steps, to give the creature a bit of room.

Doddypoll hits the ground so hard that Noble feels the impact in his bones.

Lorellina then stoops gracefully to unlock the gargoyle’s iron collar, which hits the cobbles with a ringing
clang
. But before Doddypoll can do more than rear up, wings flapping, Noble seizes the discarded chain. He throws it around the gargoyle’s neck and pulls the loop tight, dragging Doddypoll back down to earth again.

“Wait. You haven’t heard our message,” he warns.

The gargoyle stares at him blankly. Though it doesn’t bow its head or fold its wings, it doesn’t try to bite or buck, either. So Noble feels safe enough to ease his grip on its chain.

Using his right hand, he yanks the heraldic ring off his left pinky finger. Then he slips the ring onto one of Doddypoll’s tusks.

“Take this ring,” he orders. “It bears my seal, and is proof that my message comes directly from me. Tell the Conclave of Clans that Lord Harrowmage has received me like a son, because he has no quarrel with Thanehaven. Tell them that Princess Lorellina is at one with Lord Harrowmage, and that they desire peace and freedom for all their subjects. Tell them that the Fortress of Bone has opened its doors, and the gargoyles of Harrow have been released from bondage.…”

Noble is concentrating so hard on his speech that he isn’t aware, at first, that Doddypoll’s attention is beginning to stray. At last, however, Noble hears the noise that’s making so many ears prick and heads turn. It’s a strange, distant, buzzing sound, which becomes harsher as it grows louder.

Something large and monstrous seems to be advancing toward them down the cobbled road.

“Do you know what that is?” Noble asks the princess, who doesn’t respond. She simply stands there with her hands on her hips, squinting into the distance.

“Does it belong to Lord Harrowmage?” Noble presses. “Can you stop it?”

“I don’t think so.” She lifts a hand to shade her eyes. “I’ve never seen it before. Is it a carriage?”

“Maybe.” Noble can now make out that the thing approaching them has wheels. Its back half is shiny and white, like a tooth, while most of its front portion is made of glass. “It doesn’t look like a creature.…”

“Whatever it is, it has been given no wayleave.” Lorellina turns to address the guards behind her. “Block the road!” she commands, just as the approaching object grinds to a halt. It squeals, chokes, and sighs. Then it falls silent.

The guards hesitate.

“Wait,” Lorellina says to them. Noble looks around for Rufus, who might be able to explain. But Rufus has vanished.

Clunk!
Part of the newly arrived object—a wing or a flap—pops open, leaving a giant hole in its side. When someone climbs out of this hole, Noble realizes that the flap is actually a door.

“I think you’re right,” he admits. “That thing must be a carriage. A
magic
carriage.”

“Where is Rufus?” The princess glances over her shoulder again.
“Rufus?”

“He’s gone,” says Noble. “I don’t know where.”

The man who emerges from the carriage is short and solid, with slicked-back hair and no beard. He’s wearing a long white coat over gray pants; his shoes are as black and shiny as his hair, and he has a square, bland, small-featured face. Though he’s very neat and quiet, something about him reminds Noble of Rufus.

“Who are you?” Lorellina demands. “What do you want?”

The newcomer doesn’t reply. Instead, he walks toward her, between two rows of staring gargoyles
that shift uneasily as he passes. He’s holding a small black book.

When he’s just a few paces away, Noble barks, “Stop right there!”

The newcomer stops. He studies Noble intently, his gaze skipping from one empty hand to the other before dropping to Noble’s bare feet.

Then he reaches into the breast pocket of his white coat and pulls out a pen.

“Are you deaf?” the princess demands. “Did you hear me? I asked you a question.” Seeing the newcomer make a note in his book, she adds, “Who
are
you? What are you doing here?”

“I’m looking for a piece of malware named Rufus,” the newcomer informs her, in a quiet, flat, bloodless voice. “Do you know where I can find Rufus?”

Lorellina glances at Noble, who gives an almost imperceptible shake of the head. It’s occurred to him that this might be Rufus’s “enemy agent.”

“No,” says Noble quite truthfully. “We don’t know where you can find Rufus.”

The newcomer grunts. By now he’s fixed his attention on Lorellina’s key.

After considering it for a moment, he makes another entry in his little black book.

“You must state your business,” the princess insists. Upon receiving no answer, she tries another tack. “What is this ‘malware’ of which you speak?”

The newcomer’s response is to jerk his chin at
Doddypoll, saying, “Does your cousin know that you’ve released his gargoyle?”

Lorellina stiffens. “Why should that concern you?” she snaps, shaking back her springy red locks. “Who are
you
to interrogate Princess Lorellina of Harrow?”

The newcomer regards her impassively. Then he flicks his book shut.

“Well?” she continues. “Speak!”

“Thanks for your help,” the newcomer remarks. He tucks his pen back into his breast pocket. “That’s all I need, for the present.”

“Wait!” she cries.
“Wait!”
But he’s already turned his back on her. And as he retraces his steps, head down, he produces a very small, flat object from somewhere on his person, tapping away at it with one finger like a man rapping at a blocked hourglass.

Noble removes the chain from Doddypoll’s snout. “Go,” he orders quietly. “Now. Go to the clan caves and deliver my message.” He doesn’t bother to watch the gargoyle fly away, though he does feel the air churn under its beating wings. Instead, he spins around and grabs Lorellina, who’s about to follow the man in the white coat. “No,” he murmurs. “Come inside.”

“Unhand me!”

“Look.” Noble points at the newcomer. “Look at him. He doesn’t belong here.”

“But—”

“There are people who’ll try to keep all the power
for themselves. Don’t you remember what Rufus told us?”