The Tree of Story (29 page)

Edweth studied the wildman’s face for a long moment
and then she nodded. With her quick but rarely mistaken judgment she had decided to trust him.

“How will you convince them to let me out?” she asked, glancing at the door. “And even if you do, they’ll suspect you, too, and lock you up.”

“Leave that to me, ma’am. Now, I need you to put on this cloak and cover your face.”

When she was ready, Balor turned and hammered on the door. It opened almost immediately and the sentry stood aside to let them pass without a word.

“I’m shutting the cell door now,” Balor said to the sentry.

“Right, Balor,” said the sentry. “And when I look in on the prisoner later, I will discover to my utter surprise that she’s not there.”

“You will,” Balor said. “Hard to believe she managed to vanish from inside a locked cell without any help.”

“No help at all,” the sentry said with a wink at Edweth. “I didn’t see you or anyone else down here. Must be more of that dark sorcery going on in Fable these days. Who knows what could happen next.”

“We have to keep sharp,” Balor said, and he nodded to the sentry and escorted Edweth up the stairs and out of Appleyard.

“I hope we’re going straight to the toyshop, Mister Gruff,” Edweth said when they had left Appleyard and Balor had steered her into a narrow alley. “I have some choice words for Master Brax.”

Balor made a rumbling noise. “Er, that would not be wise.”

“Why not? I’m not afraid of that phony, that charlatan—”

Balor fixed her with a sombre look that made her stop in her tracks.

“As I said, things have changed, ma’am.”

She glanced around them then, and noticed for the first time that she hadn’t seen any people on the streets. No carriages rattling past, no hawkers and sellers crying out their wares.

“Curfew,” Balor said. “And no gatherings of three or more persons permitted at any time of day. There’s been some panic, you see, about the coming battle, and the odd things that have been happening in Fable, thanks to the mage. There’s been some rioting and looting, and Brax has the Errantry busy quelling what he says is a treasonous uprising. It’s no such thing. It’s just folk scared and angry, that’s all.”

“Brax did this? All the more reason, then, to hurry to the toyshop and put a stop—”

“We’re not going there, ma’am, and I’ll tell you why. When I got back from Annen Bawn, no one would tell me where you were,” he said, “so I went to the toyshop. I wanted to make sure Rowen and her friends weren’t Brax’s prisoners. And I’d found out that Rowen’s friend, Freya of Skald, had been taken there, as well. Ma’am, you wouldn’t recognize the place anymore.”

“What do you mean, Mister Gruff? Oh, I knew that horrible man would make a mess of things.”

“It’s much worse than that, I’m sorry to tell you. The shop, even the street it’s on, has changed. I don’t visit Pluvius Lane very often, but I know for certain it never looked the way it does now, all narrow and dark as a tunnel and cold, too. And all the other shops are gone.”

“Gone? What do you mean?”

“Walled up. Nothing but blank stone from one end of the lane to the other.”

“How can that be? I was there only two days ago, and Old Gimlet, the tailor, and Kyndle, the bookbinder … everyone was open for business.”

“Well, they’re gone now. Folk who live nearby say they
heard screams for help coming from
inside
the walls. Screams growing fainter, and then nothing.”

Edweth put a hand over her mouth.

“It’s the mage’s doing,” Balor went on with a grim scowl. “That’s the only explanation. When I got to the end of the lane, I thought I must be in the wrong place because I didn’t recognize the toyshop. Somehow Brax has turned the master’s house into a fortress. The walls are covered in some kind of dark green stone, the windows are all gone, the door is barred with iron and half a dozen armed Errantry troopers are standing guard in front of it. And I don’t know how to describe it, but there’s something about the place now that … well, it just felt
wrong
to me, wrong in my bones. I’ve been to a lot of haunted and sorcerous places in my travels, ma’am, and I’ve learned to trust my bones when they shiver like that.”

“Oh, no, no,” Edweth said under her breath. “He must have found …”

She gave Balor an alarmed glance, as if she had said too much. The wildman shook his head.

“Ma’am, I know that Rowen had to get into the toyshop in order to go someplace else,” he said, “and that’s all I know. The rest is none of my business. But I’m pretty sure Rowen made it to wherever she was going and Brax does not have her. When I got to the door the sentries stopped me, so I made up some story about delivering a message from Captain Thorne that was for the mage’s ears only. Then the door opened a crack and one of those filthy hogmen poked his head out. The scum was wearing the dress uniform of a knight-errant, with a lot of ridiculous gold trim and braid added on. I got pretty steamed when I saw that, but I kept the lid on and told him I’d come on Errantry business to fetch the Skalding woman back to Appleyard. I thought I’d start with Freya, you see, in the hope he’d let something slip. And he did. For an instant he
had this panicked look, then he sneered and said that the mage released prisoners to no one, and I knew then that Freya had been in their clutches and escaped somehow and it was the hogmen’s fault. Then he seemed to think of something, and he asked me if I was the scout who’d arrived two mornings ago with the news of the fetch host. Brax must’ve learned I was with Rowen when she got back to Fable, and he was wanting to question me about her. That means he doesn’t know where she is, and he’s worried she’ll suddenly show up and ruin his plans. So now I think that Rowen succeeded at whatever she went back to the toyshop to do, and she’s safely out of his reach. At least, it’s what I hope.”

“I’m sure you’re right, Mister Gruff,” Edweth said. “But please go on.”

“Well, before I could say another word, the hogman’s face got all crafty-looking and he told me to come inside while he fetched Master Brax. I hope you won’t consider me a coward, ma’am, but I peeked through that doorway into what had once been the master’s toyshop and I didn’t see a front hall. I saw … well, I saw the throat of a beast. And I knew that if I set foot in there, I wouldn’t be coming back out—I couldn’t hope to stop the mage in his own lair, not by myself. I also knew that Rowen and Freya were safe, and that’s what I’d come to find out, so I called the hogman some fitting names and hurried back to Appleyard. And then I found out where they were holding you. I had to keep my promise to Rowen, you see.”

“You were right not to challenge Brax, Mister Gruff, and I consider you very brave indeed, but that wicked man must be removed from the toyshop, somehow. If he’s been stealing the master’s secrets, there’s no telling what terrible things he might do.”

“Or has already done. The way the Marshal took ill so suddenly …”

“Oh, do you think the mage
poisoned
him?”

“That or did something to his mind. The last orders he gave to Thorne, well, they were not like the Marshal at all. Anyhow, I’m not finished with Brax or those hogmen yet. And there are still plenty of us in the Errantry who haven’t signed on with the new management, let me tell you. We’re working on some plans of our own.”

“I’m glad to hear it, Mister Gruff. And when the time comes, you can count me among you.”

“I’ve no doubt of that, ma’am. But in the meantime I’ve thought of a place where we can keep you safely out of sight. Have you ever been to the Golden Goose?”

A short time later, Edweth and the wildman were at the bridge across the canal that ran through Fable. On the bridge itself was the Inn of the Golden Goose.

“You’re bringing me here?” Edweth said doubtfully. “I’m grateful for your pains, Mister Gruff, but this must be the busiest spot in all of Fable. There are travellers and foreigners and other riff-raff coming and going at all hours.”

“Yes, and that’s why this is the last place anyone would think to search for you, ma’am, if you see what I mean. Besides, I’ve got a good friend at the Goose. He may look after an inn where people talk each other’s heads off, but
he
knows how to keep quiet when need be.”

A troubled look crossed Edweth’s face.

“If you mean the innkeeper, Miles Plunkett, I can tell you right now he is not going to want me under his roof.”

Balor looked startled.

“Why not, ma’am?”

“We had a falling-out some years ago, and I don’t think he would care to see my face again. You see, one evening Rowen slipped out of the toyshop—she was only eight, the
headstrong thing—and I finally found her here at the inn, perched on a chair by the fire with her legs dangling, telling stories to a roomful of strangers and vagabonds of the road. And Mister Plunkett hadn’t done a thing about it. He hadn’t sent word that she was at the inn, or had her escorted home. In fact, I found him sitting there with all the other idlers and ne’er-do-wells, just listening to the child spin some far-fetched tale. And, Mister Gruff, I told him in no uncertain terms what I thought of him, and we have never spoken since.”

“I’m sure Miles has forgotten all about it, ma’am,” Balor said. “I can tell you on my honour he’s never had anything but words of praise for you.”

Edweth gave the wildman a sharp glance, but she took a deep breath and followed him up into the inn.

The rickety stairs rose steeply to a small door set into an arch in the brickwork of the wall. Balor knocked softly and after a few moments they heard a bolt being drawn back and the door opened soundlessly, as if it had just been oiled before they arrived.

The innkeeper, Miles Plunkett, stood before them, a checked dishcloth over his shoulder and a lit candle lantern in his hand. He was a broad-shouldered, thickset man with a balding head and calloused red hands.

“Balor,” he said in a low, urgent voice. “Good to see you. And you, too, ma’am,” he added, nodding stiffly in Edweth’s direction, though he wouldn’t look directly at her.

“Mister Plunkett,” Edweth said curtly, eyeing the many stains on the innkeeper’s apron.

Plunkett beckoned them inside and they found themselves in an unlit corridor cluttered with chairs, crates, casks, and other odds and ends stacked along its sides.

“Come this way—quickly,” Plunkett said, raising the lantern, “and watch your step, please.”

They followed him along the dark corridor and up another flight of stairs to a small door that he unlocked with one of the many keys on the ring on his belt. The door creaked open into a long, low-ceilinged storeroom filled with more crates and squat barrels. He led them down the one narrow passage that was left, Balor having to bend nearly double to avoid bumping his head on the roof beams. At the far end of the room Plunkett reached up and pulled on some sort of hidden catch, which brought a concealed flight of steps swivelling noiselessly down on metal brackets.

“If you would, ma’am,” the innkeeper said.

And Edweth, followed by Balor and Plunkett, climbed the steps. They led to a room that must have been right under the roof of the inn. It had a steeply sloping ceiling with a small round window set in the roof. In the room were a small, bare table and an armchair made of braided willow wands, a cot in one corner and even more crates stacked against the far wall. Old books stood leaning against each other in a row on a shelf. Cobwebs hung in every corner and there was the dusty, close smell of a room that had not been used or aired for a long time.

Edweth looked around and sniffed.

“I realize it’s not the most pleasant accommodation, ma’am,” Plunkett said, passing his dishcloth quickly over the layer of dust on the table, “but no one will be likely to look for you here. In fact, I’m the only person at the inn who knows about this place.”

“Why do you keep a room like this, Mister Plunkett?” Edweth asked, unable to keep a note of suspicion out of her voice.

“It was for my Nell,” the innkeeper said, resting a hand on the back of the armchair. “She was a lighthouse keeper’s daughter, Nell was, you see, and she used to talk about
how lovely it would be to have a place where she could climb up out of the noise and bustle and have a wider view of the world. So I built this for her. She could be alone here, knit, read her books, and no one would bother her. She was a great one for the books, my Nell. Smart as a whip, not like me at all. Can’t have been easy for her, being an innkeeper’s wife when she could have been, I don’t know, a scholar or a doctor …”

He trailed off with a worried glance at Edweth as if he might have said too much.

“Forgive me, Mister Plunkett, my question was rude,” Edweth said, her face flushed. “I did not know your wife well, but I was sorry to hear of her passing.”

The innkeeper at last summoned the courage to look Edweth in the eye.

“Thank you, ma’am,” he said huskily, and cleared his throat. “Balor’s told me what’s been happening, Master Pendrake going missing and the mage taking over the toyshop and all of that. It got my blood up, I can tell you. And now the girl off on her own somewhere.” He shook his head slowly. “Those were always the best evenings around here, when the toymaker dropped by with Rowen and they’d tell their stories. The best evenings. I hope they’ll both get back to you safe and sound, ma’am.”

For once, Edweth seemed unable to speak. Her eyes welled with tears.

“There isn’t much that someone like me can do to help make things right,” the innkeeper went on quickly, “but as I told Balor, you’re welcome to stay as long as need be, ma’am, and not a soul will hear of it from Miles Plunkett. I know the room’s in poor shape and I haven’t kept it as I should have, what with things always so busy.”

“The room will be just fine, Mister Plunkett,” Edweth
said firmly. She stepped under the sloped ceiling, glanced out the little window, then faced the innkeeper again. “Thank you for your kindness. And I wanted to tell you … about that time I found Rowen here in your common room and … well, I said some things to you.”

The innkeeper flushed to the very crown of his balding head. He wrung the dishcloth in his hands.