She smiled at Bealomondore, and he winked back. “I’m going to paint a picture of you, Tipper. I shall title it Princess on Her Royal Barge.”
She gave him a scornful look but refused to reprimand him for referring to her royal heritage.
The current helped pull them along, and a little bit later, Tipper saw the dock of the boat stop jutting out on the south side of the river. They floated toward it too quickly and bumped into the wood pilings with a loud whack. The impact jarred Tipper’s injuries. She gritted her teeth against a protest that sprang to her lips.
“We’ll have to practice landing,” said Librettowit.
He poled to help maneuver the raft closer to the shore as Bealomondore pulled on the ropes. They managed to come alongside the steps leading up to the dock.
Two mariones from the boat stop rushed to aid them. The younger of the two assisted Bealomondore in tying his rope to a horizontal beam under the wooden walkway. When he finished he tipped his hat to the passengers.
“Good afternoon.” His smile reinforced his cheerful greeting. “Business has been rather slim these past few weeks. We’re mighty glad you stopped. Come ashore and rest a bit. My mom makes the best travelers’ stew on the river. We’ve clean, soft beds, bathtubs on every floor, and even a shower on the second. My mother owns the boat stop, and she knows her business.”
Tipper couldn’t get up immediately. Her stiff muscles complained as she followed Rayn’s directions. Arms extended above her head didn’t hurt, but rotating her feet without waiting for Rayn’s signal to begin caused tears to roll down her face. With the green dragon’s soothing touch, and by pushing only to the beginning of pain, she managed to reach a state where Bealomondore and Librettowit could help her stand. They made a seat with their hands between them and carried her up the steps to the wooden porch of the boat stop.
Four weathered doors stood across the front. Labels on faded signs read Store, Wash, Sleep, Eat.
A woman stood at the door marked Sleep. Her long hair fell from a plethora of combs stuck around her crown. Once upon a time, her dress might have been a party gown.
“She can’t walk?” The woman didn’t wait for an answer but grimly motioned them to come in the door she held. “Bring her in here.” She ignored Tipper but examined the two men carrying her with great interest.
Tipper looked over the dim interior of the front room. Disordered furniture appeared to be the leftovers of a parlor. A table with an open book served as the registration desk, and the stairs behind it probably led to beds. Four shabby chairs lined a low bar on the other side of the room. No wall hid the kitchen from view.
The most noticeable feature of the room sent a shiver skittering up Tipper’s spine. Five mariones and three bisonbecks lounged on the scattered furniture.
She spoke to the lady proprietor in an undertone. “Your son said business is slow.”
The proprietress sniffed. “Slow on the river. These farmers are hanging around, waiting for seed and other supplies to be delivered.”
The tumanhofers carried Tipper over to an empty chair and helped her get settled.
Librettowit turned to the woman and bowed. “I am Trevithick Librettowit, librarian.”
The woman preened under his courtly attention. Her face cracked with a miniscule smile, and she actually batted her eyelashes.
Tipper watched with fascination. She’d never thought of the wizard’s librarian as a ladies’ man. But the owner of the boat stop positively glowed at his attention. Librettowit showed no signs of being embarrassed by the woman’s sudden coquettish stance. In fact, he looked like he didn’t notice.
“My name’s Edrina Posh.”
Librettowit smiled, and Tipper decided that he did know the woman displayed an interest in a flirtation. His monstrous teeth did not show in this restrained smile, but definite approval shone from his eyes. He nodded slightly. Tipper wondered if she could reach him with her good foot and give him a kick.
“You’ll be staying the night, won’t you?” asked the predatory female.
Tipper didn’t like her, and the men sitting so casually around the room seemed to be listening while trying to look like they were not.
“Of course,” said Librettowit. “We will require two rooms.”
“Right,” said Edrina Posh. “I’ll have the boys carry up your luggage.”
Librettowit shook his head, looking sorry to disappoint her. “We have none.”
Mistress Posh’s eyebrows drew together. “It’s not safe to leave valuables on your river craft. There are thieves in the vicinity.”
“We have nothing of value to steal.”
Her eyes narrowed for a fraction of a second, and then the smiling welcome returned to her face. “I assume you can pay.”
Librettowit nodded.
She took his arm and guided him toward the desk. “Just sign your names in the book.” She patted his thick arm. “We’ll make you comfortable. It’s our specialty.”
20
In the Night
Bealomondore shifted the tray to one hand and tapped on the door to Tipper’s room with the other. Taeda Bel opened the door.
“Is she awake?” he asked.
Taeda Bel nodded and opened the door wider. Tipper sat in a cushioned chair beside a large open window. Beyond, the river flowed quietly by. The setting sun reflected off the smooth surface, tingeing the water an unreasonable pink. Tree frogs chorused, welcoming the evening.
Bealomondore stood for a moment, capturing the vision in his mind. Tipper, framed by the window, composed an almost perfect painting. She stroked the small green dragon, who had curled himself comfortably in her lap. The contrasting colors made his fingers itch to pick up a brush. Wistfully, he gave up the longing to capture this moment on canvas.
He sighed. “I brought dinner for you and Taeda Bel.”
Taeda Bel wrinkled her nose. “It smells like travelers’ stew.”
“It is travelers’ stew.”
“Will you keep Princess Tipper company?” Taeda Bel opened the door to leave. “I think Maxon and I will go out to eat.”
Bealomondore nearly laughed out loud at the wide-eyed stare Tipper cast upon the little kimen.
“Out? Out where?” she asked.
“The fields.” Taeda Bel spun in the doorway to face them. “There are enough vegetables in the wild foliage behind the boat stop to feed a whole kimen village. Want to come with us?”
“Not me,” said Bealomondore. “I like travelers’ stew.”
“I like it too.” Tipper wagged a finger at her kimen guard. “You be careful out there. Remember all those hideous snakes.”
Rayn raised his head, stretched his neck toward the offering Bealomondore had brought, took a deep sniff, and sneezed. He flew to the kimen about to leave and landed by her feet. Taeda Bel tossed Tipper a cheeky grin and shut the door. Rayn had deserted her.
The tumanhofer put the tray on a round table and scooted it close to Tipper’s hand. He then reopened the door for propriety’s sake.
“Will you sit with me and eat?” asked Tipper.
“Yes, but I must confess this will be my second helping. The young man on the dock was correct in his assessment of his mother’s skill in the kitchen.”
Tipper took the bowl he handed her. “What did you do all afternoon while I slept?”
The tumanhofer glanced toward the hall and answered in hushed tones. “Tried to pry information out of those so-called farmers downstairs.” He pulled up a wooden chair. “Librettowit didn’t have any more success than I did, but we both agree those men aren’t farmers waiting for seed.”
“Did they refuse to talk to you?”
“No, they talked a great deal, but it was all stories, tall tales of life on a farm. Mice in the corn crib, raccoons raiding their crops, and weevils infesting their fields.”
Tipper scrunched her brow and tilted her head. “What’s wrong with that?”
“Well, first they monopolized the conversation, makin
g sure we didn’t get a chance to ask questions. And second, we haven’t seen any corn crops. Librettowit says this isn’t the right climate or the right terrain to grow corn.”
“Did you get to ask any questions at all?”
“Librettowit did. I think he’s better at ferreting out information than I am.”
“What did he ask? What did they say?”
“He asked them if they’d seen any strangers lately.”
“And?”
“One man, who came in to inquire about deliveries, said Edrina Posh and her son, Danto, were the only strangers around. Seems they just bought the boat stop from the previous owners a couple of weeks ago.”
Tipper chewed and swallowed before asking another question. “That could be legitimate. But if they’re new, then they wouldn’t know if these men are truly farmers from the area. Did you ask them questions?”
Bealomondore nodded. “They were excessively busy, and that made an excellent excuse not to talk to us.”
The whole situation at this boat stop didn’t feel right to him. The men made him uneasy, but then the quest already had his teeth on edge.
Librettowit declared they were not on a quest, but their activities came together in the artist’s head as a quest. What else would you call carrying statues to safety, searching for clues about the enemy, and trying to locate Verrin Schope?
Bealomondore wanted to abandon the whole adventure and go paint somewhere. But first he would deliver this beautiful emerlindian into her father’s protective hands.
“Do you think you can travel tomorrow?” he asked.
“Yes, most definitely.” Tipper reached for the glass on the tray. “Rayn said I needed sleep. A person healing fast tires like a person pulling weeds. I know a lot about pulling weeds. That was about the only thing Gladyme would let me do in her kitchen garden.”
“It’s hard to picture you working.”
She harrumphed. “I washed clothes, changed beds, swept, and polished furniture. Do you remember the manor you found me in?”
“I was so excited about my chance to meet your father that it took a while for me to realize how shabby—” He felt his face burn. “I beg your pardon, Tipper.”
She laughed, and he sighed in relief.
Tipper reached across the table and touched his hand. “You didn’t worry much about offending me on our last quest.”
He carefully removed his hand from under hers. “Well, you were a bit of a pest back then, weren’t you?” He grinned at her, hoping she would take his comment in the context of a teasing brother. Her gasp turned into a ripple of laughter.
There. He’d cheered her up. Now he’d best leave before he said something tactless again. She befuddled his polished courtly air.
He stood. “Mistress Posh will probably come fetch your tray. Sleep well tonight. Tomorrow we’ll go on down the river.”
“You’re going to pull the raft again?”
“No, Librettowit found someone who will bring us two donkeys. This so-called farmer was willing to part with them for some hard cash.”
“If he’s not a farmer, how can he get donkeys?”
Bealomondore shrugged.
“Why are we going downstream?”
“Toward the village of Selkskin. Librettowit suspects a painter there is your father.”
“Isn’t that too close to Ragar? I’d think it would be unwise to take the statues right back to where we began.”
He chortled. “No, we are closer now than we will be in Selkskin. Didn’t study maps growing up, did you?”
She shook her head.
“Well, no one knows we have the statues. The rumor is that the king has moved them to a safer location.”
Bealomondore backed toward the open door. Tipper looked woebegone. He would have liked to comfort her, but he was alone with her in her bedroom, and his sympathy might be looked upon as an attempt to woo her.
“Don’t worry, Princess. The kimens sent out scouts, and they know which route we are planning to take. It is not quite like searching for a boat in Librettowit’s hollow. We’ll find your parents.”
He beat a hasty retreat. Not only did he not want to go on a dangerous quest, he did not want to become enamored with an emerlindian lady who had set her heart on another man.
A hand pressed against his chest. Thick, fetid breath assaulted his nostrils. A sharp, jabbing pain poked at his neck. Bealomondore awoke to find the ugly, snarling face of a bisonbeck two inches from his own.
“Silence,” the rough man hissed, “or I’ll put this dagger through your throat.”
He grabbed the front of Bealomondore’s nightshirt and lifted him out of his bed. The covers fell to the floor. Bealomondore tried to relax, relieved that the sharp blade no longer pressed against his neck.
Bealomondore whispered, “I’ve very little money, but you may have it all.”
“Ha! We don’t want your money. We heard you call that girl Princess. We’ll get more money in ransom than you have in your pockets.”
“Princess? That’s a joke. What would a princess be doing away from the palace in Ragar, traveling on a puny raft? Why would she be staying here instead of in a fancy hotel? If she’s a real princess, where are her ladies-in-waiting?”
“Shut up! The boss says we nab her and kill the rest of you. We do what the boss says.”
“Your accent tells me you are not from around here. Your boss is mistaken about the girl, and you’re going to go to a lot of trouble for nothing.”
The bisonbeck returned his knife to the tumanhofer’s neck. “I think your squawker box is right about here. If I don’t carve it out the first time, I’ll try again.”
Bealomondore clamped his lips together. The bisonbeck nodded his approval. He carried his prize out the door, down the hallway, and up a flight of stairs and dumped him on the floor of a storage room. Two other bisonbecks grabbed him and tied him up. They propped him against a wall.
The bisonbeck who had captured Bealomondore left and came back in a few minutes with Librettowit. The librarian was trussed up and planted next to the younger tumanhofer. The three bisonbecks departed. A key scraped. The click of the lock punctuated their loss of freedom.
Librettowit leaned closer to Bealomondore. “There’s still one outside the door.”
“How do you know?”
“Listened to the footsteps. Only two went down the stairs.”
“Do you think the son and Mistress Posh are in on this?”
“Of course.”
“Why?” asked Bealomondore.
“I’m fairly sure these men were planted here by Odidoddex. They have an accent that Maxon says hints of their being from Baardack.”
“Where are Maxon and Taeda Bel?”
Librettowit squirmed as he answered. “I saw them go out together. Rayn was with them.”
“That was hours ago. They went to find food more to their liking.”
Librettowit grunted, then pulled his hands out from behind him. He began untying his feet.
Bealomondore watched with amazement. “How’d you do that?”
“When you are a wizard’s librarian for a century or two or three, you pick up some useful tricks.” He finished freeing his feet. “Lean forward, and I’ll untie your hands.”
In another minute, they both stood, rubbing their wrists where the ropes had left chafed skin.
Bealomondore tilted his head toward the door and whispered, “That oaf said they were going to kill us.”
“They would have killed us by now if they were going to.”
“Not that I object, but why didn’t they?”
“Probably wanted to use one of us as a messenger. Or they are hoping they could get a ransom for us as well.”
“I distinctly heard him say ‘kill you.’ ”
“Probably just wishful thinking on the thug’s part.”
“What do we do now?” asked Bealomondore.
“Do you have your sword?”
The artist looked down
at his nightshirt and shook his head. “Not at the moment.”
“Harrumph! What good is a sword if you don’t take it with you?”
Bealomondore started to protest, but a noise from the hallway silenced him. A thud on the landing followed a grunt from their guard. He tensed as unnatural quiet conjured up all sorts of dire images in his mind.
Librettowit signaled for him to step aside. Bealomondore mimicked the older tumanhofer’s actions. Picking up a leg from a broken chair, he stood with his back to the wall beside the door. It would seem he and the librarian were ready to bash the head of anyone who came in the room.
21
Sword of Valor
Bealomondore raised his table-leg club and then stretched to raise it higher. He didn’t think he had the height to whack a bisonbeck on the head. The dark room added to his apprehension. His eyes had adjusted to the light, but he saw only a shadow where he thought his friend now stood.
He didn’t want to accidentally clobber Librettowit or Edrina Posh should she be the one to come through the door. He and the librarian would both swing their meager weapons in the same direction. Would the clubs collide, bounce off each other, and do no harm to the villain? Would he miss and knock out Librettowit? Would Librettowit miss and knock him out? They should have thought of a better plan.
A key rattled the lock. The doorknob turned. The door eased open and stopped.
The light in the hall must have gone out. The shadows deepened. A cloud over the crescent moon? Or was the evil lurking outside the door overcoming shades of gray to bring a black triumph?
Bealomondore readied his weapon to strike.
“Down here,” Maxon whispered from beside his ankle.
Bealomondore jumped, dropped his club to his side, and put his other hand on his heart. “You scared ten years off my life.”
Librettowit leaned through the open entry. “The guard is out.”