The Sahiba Pendant - A Novel

I hit 50,000 words!

2004-11-30T19:06:00.001-08:00

Yes, folks, I am a NaNoWriMo winner!!! I really can't believe I did it, but I did. Here, now I get to gloat with my spiffyful winner's icon:

Ciao,
Miry

Chapter Fourteen

2004-11-30T18:14:00.000-08:00

Chapter Fourteen:
In which something very important is revealed

Over the next few days, the group settled in at the house of Manfred and Leticia. They turned out to be sorcerers both, and good friends of Nicodemus’s. They explained that their house was very secure, and that none of Baron Snout’s soldiers would be able to find them when they were there. Nicodemus, as Lancelot has become once more, arranged for them to stay there for at least a week. It was on their second day at the home of Leticia and Manfred that Alastair summoned Adara, and asked her to speak with him privately.

Adara came into her father’s room looking anxious. Alastair was reclining on a couch, his head resting in his palm, facing her. He was recovering steadily from his imprisonment, but he was still weak. His normally large frame barely had any meat on it, and he was skinny as opposed to being his usual lean and wiry self. He had grown a short beard over his time in prison, and he had not yet shaved it off. His usually silky, reddish blonde hair had become dry and faded in color. But he was getting better, at least. Manfred’s cooking was superb, and Alastair was fed on a rich diet of fried dough, pork buns, wild rice, venison, and other local game. The only limitation, cuisine-wise, was that seafood was unavailable. This was, of course, due to their landlocked location at the center of the forest. As it turned out, this was of little consequence, since Alastair did not much care for seafood.

When Adara first saw Alastair, the thought passed through her head that her father was getting better. She smiled tenderly as him, and came to sit beside him on the couch. Stroking his hair, she said the lyrics to a little song she remember from her childhood, one that her father had sung to her when she could not sleep. She did not attempt to sing it, as she knew perfectly well her singing voice was terrible and unworthy of her father’s ears. Instead, she read the lines as poetry.

“’Pon the seas,
The little boat dances.
In the breeze,
The great ship prances.

“’Pon the seas,
The fishes swim.
The gulls glide down,
And snap at webbed fin.

“’Pon the seas,
The fishermen fish.
Under the waves,
The sea turtles flourish.

“’Pon the seas,
The little boat dances.
In the breeze,
The great ship prances.

As she finished saying the lyrics, her father, heartened, sat up and sang it for her in his loud, clear voice. The both of them knew a good deal about poetry, and they shared knowing smiled at the peculiar rhyme scheme and the uncanny rhyme of “fish” with “flourish.” Alastair changed the tune as he sang to make the song more lively, and motioned to Adara to dance for him. She obliged him, and got to her feet. She did a few steps of a folk dance from Hockport, and Alastair changed the tune to suit the jig.

“Faster!” Alastair called, and Adara’s feet quickened. She stepped to the right, to, the left, to the back, to the front, then leapt into the air and repeated the steps with much swirling and swishing of her skirts. At last Alastair’s voice softened and then faded out into silence. Adara stopped dancing, and resumed her seat beside her father.

“That was a joy, Papa,” she said, “and I thank you for it. Only, now will you tell me why you asked me here this afternoon?”

Alastair tugged on his short little golden beard, thoughtfully. “Of course I will tell you, Adara. But you may not react too well. What I have to say affects not only you and I, but a score of others.”

“Does it affect Timeus?” Adara chirped at once.

“Yes, it does. It affects everyone you know. Well, truly, it affects you a whole lot more than it does Timeus. In some ways, it affects even those you do not know.” Alastair paused and hugged his daughter. “Oh, Adara, you will be so shocked by this, I am sure.”

“Tell me, Papa!” she begged.

“I will, do not worry about that. I just want to warn you that you may be… well; I can not say for sure how you will react. You may be angry, upset, disappointed, terrified… even happy. I really cannot say. Just please, please promise to hear me out and not interrupt me or question me until I am finished speaking.”

Adara was beginning to feel rather uncomfortable. Nevertheless, she nodded patiently at her father, wishing he would just plow ahead. “I promise, Papa. Now tell me, please!”

“All right,” Alastair said, with a lopsided smile. “Here goes. I will tell it from the beginning. No questions, no interruptions. Got it?”

“I got it, Papa.”

“Well, when I was young, I was a good friend of the Duke’s. Yes, I know what you’re thinking: ‘Duke Tiernan? My papa?’ But it is quite true. We were very close friends. I was a court painter at his court when he was young. The Duke married the old Duchess, Gods bless her. A few years later they had their first child. You have probably heard of Lady Iona, named after her mother. An angry noble who sought to overthrow Duke Tiernan killed her when she was still an infant. The Duke and Duchess were very upset. When they had a second daughter, they decided to put her in hiding. Naturally, they did not want her to get hurt or even killed as well. Being the Duke’s closest friend, Tiernan came to me. It was right around that time that I had married Karida, and Clancy was a babe of but three years.

“’Alastair,’ Tiernan said to me, ‘you have been a good friend to me for my whole life, though I have not asked much of you. Now I have something to ask of you. Take my daughter as your own, Alastair, and I will be forever grateful. When she is eighteen she will restored to her rightful inheritance. Unless Calliope’—that was his wife, before she died—‘and I have a son, this daughter of ours will rule as duchess of Hadiya, will whomever she chooses as her duke consort.’

“So I accepted this offer, for what else could I do? He was my friend, and he needed support. I could not let the ducal throne become endangered, nor could I hurt my friend. I raised the child as my own. Her name is Adara Imogen Voletta, heir to the ducal throne of Hadiya, the greatest of the duchies. That is all there is to it.”

Adara sat in stunned silence for a minute after Alastair finished his tale. She felt numb and could barely move. Then she began to cry. Her tears fell onto her shoulders and sprinkled the front of her tunic with salty blotches. When he tears stopped she hugged Alastair, and then pulled away from him and began to cry some more. “Papa, Papa, Papa!” she murmured, over and over and over again. “You are not my papa, after all! You are not my papa! The Duke is my papa… my papa… oh, Papa, how could you?”

“Come, Adara, please!” Alastair wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head. “I know this seems strange, but you will enjoy life as heir to the duchy, and Tiernan will be the best father you can imagine. Adara, try to understand.”

Rising to her feet, Adara looked at Alastair with a steely expression on her face. “Have you told Clancy?”

“No, not yet. You have to understand, Adara…”

“Papa—I mean Alastair, I am going to go tell Timeus right now. He is my closest friend, and I suspect he would like to know. You can tell Clancy, I just can not bear to tell him. I thought he was my brother for seventeen years! And it turns out we are not related at all. Who am I related to? Now I do not even know. Tell me one thing, Alastair: why were you kidnapped? I think I see, and yet I feel I do not. Tell me, Alastair. I will someday be your duchess. My mother died, and there is no male heir to the ducal throne. Someday I will be a duchess, Alastair. Duchess of Hadiya is what I will be. Tell me, Alastair. Why were you kidnapped? Explain things to me. I am confused.”

Alastair stood up beside the girl he had taken as his daughter so long ago, the girl whom he had loved as his own for so long, the child of his best friend for so long, a girl he wanted to keep as his own forever and ever, though he knew he could not.

“My dearest Adara, I know I owe you an explanation. Here is the long and the short of it. The noble that killed your sister, Lady Iona, firstborn daughter of Duke Tiernan and Duchess Calliope Iona Aglaia, escaped from the law once he had done that dreadful deed. He started an organization of noblemen and women who were against Tiernan. It was called the Confederation of Barons, for most of the members were barons. The founder’s son, the baron of Chay’nee, is now ringleader of the CB, as it is called for short. I believe you have met dear Baron Chay’nee. Aye, he is a traitor if ever there was one. I have never before seen a man inclined to plot against a good and fair ruler with so little reason as Baron Chay’nee has,” Alastair told Adara.

“So members of this… this Confederation of Barons were the ones to kidnap you?” she asked. “Was it Baron Chay’nee who did it?”

“No,” Alastair said, shaking his head, “it was Baron Snout. He is a very active member of the Confederation of Barons, though you would not know it from the way he treats Baron Chay’nee, and the way Baron Chay’nee treats him—or, namely, his wife, the Lady Lorelei, Baroness of Snout.”

“Oh, yes. I have been meaning to ask about that, Pa—Alastair. Why is she called Lady Lorelei, and not Baroness Snout?”

“She is of the ducal family, Adara dearest. She is your cousin, your first cousin. She is heir to the throne after you, and Baron Snout with her.”

Adara gasped. “So Chay’nee mean to marry his co-conspirator’s wife to gain control of the throne once Duke Tiernan was overthrown, and I was out of the way?”

“Exactly. You have always been so clever, Adara. I will always love you as my daughter, even if by blood you are daughter to Duke Tiernan. Always remembered who reared you so well, my dearest Adara. I was your father for longer than Tiernan was your father. He was your father openly for only a few weeks. Then he handed you over to me. Of course, he meant to protect you, but I think he may have done both you and I a deal of harm. although it had been a wonderful experience having such a bright, artistic girl as my daughter. I love Clancy as any father would his son, but you have always been and will always be my special daughter. You are the daughter who is not a daughter, the friend who is not a friend. I love you, Adara. Truly, I do. You can take my word for it,” Alastair who in a soothing voice.

“I see. It is now very clear to me, Alastair. Thank you very much for taking care of me so well for long. I can guarantee, Alastair Irvin, that I will never forget all the services you rendered me in the name of the ducal crown. And I can assure you, as well, that my true father, His Grace the Duke of Hadiya, will never forget, either. You will always have the recognition you deserve for loving me as your own. Thank you again.” Adara walked towards the door, and then turned back. She kissed the man she had thought was her father for so long on the cheek, and whispered in his ear, “I love you, Papa. And you will always be my papa, even though in truth you are not.”

At these parting words, Adara ran off, out the door. This left Alastair alone, by himself. “What a strange girl she is,” he said to himself, “what a strange, wonderful, loving, accepting child. Really, I should not say child. She is almost grown.” Alastair smiled faintly, and added, “No more a girl, not yet a woman—but somewhere in between. I will make sure that her path to her place, as heir to throne, is smooth, for that is what she deserves. What a wonderful girl she is.”

* * *

Adara found Timeus in the small guest room he shared with Nicodemus. He was seated at the desk, leaning over a pile of parchment paper. A wooden pen with a brass nib was in one and hand, and he was scribbling furiously. Every so often he would snatch up a piece of parchment paper from his desk, hold it at arm’s length, away from his face. He would read over the paper briefly, and then crumple it up in dissatisfaction and toss it into the metal dustbin over his shoulder.

“What are you up to, Tim?” Adara asked, walking hesitantly into the room.

“Uh… Adara… hello,” he stuttered, spinning around so fast that ink from his pen splattered across the front of his tunic. He hurried to hide the parchment papers in one drawer of his desk, and to put the ink and pen away.

“Nice one, Tim,” Adara said with a giggle.

Timeus blinked at her, and looked down at his tunic. “Greenman’s glaziers!” he cried in frustration, noticing the mess he had inadvertently made of his tunic. Timeus pulled the tunic up over his head, and stared at it. “Oh, Gods! What have I done?”

He was about to run right out of the room and find a source of water, so that he could try to wash out his tunic, when Adara secured her hand around his arm and stopped him. “Wait up, silly! You keep forgetting I am a sorceress now.”

“Oh. Yes. Sorry.”

Adara smiled at her friend. “Here, let me help.” She held the tunic up to the light, and concentrated on thinking of it without the ink. “Ink, be gone,” she muttered. Or at least that is what it sounded like to her. To Timeus it sounded something like, “Nee kay ea bay oneenigay.” He could not help laughing a little at the odd sound of his sorceress friend’s words, but he immediately fell silent, however, when he saw the effects of her gibberish babbling. His tunic became instantly good as new, though for some obscure reason Adara’s hands looked rather the worse for wear. They were chapped and pink, as if she had been scrubbing away at laundry with plenty of soap and freezing cold river water for the past few hours. She sighed, and handed Timeus the tunic. “There you go. Do enjoy it.”

“I will, Adara,” Timeus assured her, stroking his tunic tenderly, with as much affection as a father stroking his newborn son or daughter. “Thank you ever so much. It was very good of you to help me with that.” He eyed the elaborate embroidery on the sleeves and collar of the tunic, and added, “Believe me, Adara, this tunic was not cheap. It would hard been both costly and difficult to replace, so I am naturally very grateful. Thank you again, Adara.” Although the corners of Adara’s lips curled up at her friend’s heartfelt, earnest gratitude, she was unmistakably weary. Timeus carefully put away his tunic, and then led Adara to his cot. They sat down together. “Adara, something is wrong. It will not work to try to distract me by changing the subject, my friend. You must tell me what it is that is wrong. Maybe I can help you.”

“I am quite sure that you will not be able to help, Tim. If you could, I know you would but really, in this case, you can not. I will tell you, though, despite that. Alastair told me only a few minutes ago.” Adara, who had been staring at the floor, turned her head to look Timeus in the eyes. “Did you know, Tim, that Alastair is not my true father?”

Timeus shrugged. “You were adopted? That is not so bad. I know plenty of people who were adopted—“

“No, Tim, that is not quite it.”

“Oh! Gods! You are illegitimate, Adara? That is terrible. Oh, I am so sorry. But Alastair won’t disinherit you, will he? He loves you too much for that. How did he find out?”

Adara rolled her eyes. “Still wrong, Timeus. Do you know whom my true, birth father is? And my birth mother, as well?”

“No idea, Adara. How would I know?” Timeus said. “Just tell me!”

“Fine, I will,” Adara snapped. Then she bit he tongue. None of this was Timeus’s fault, and she should not take it out on him. “I am sorry for my harsh words, Tim. Here, I shall now you know. Listen, and I shall tell you.”

“I am all ears, Adara,” Timeus hinted, cupping a hand around one ear.

“Lovely. All right, you have gotten your wish. I will tell you. My father is—are you sure you are ready for this? —Duke Tiernan of Hadiya.”

Timeus gaped at her. “How in the world did your mother get into His Grace the Duke’s bed? My goodness. I wonder what your father plans to do. Blackmail the Duke, perhaps?”

“Alastair is no traitor,” Adara said sharply. “And would you very much like to know just how my mother got into Duke Tiernan’s bed? Well, I shall tell you. She was his wife, before she died.”

“Hang on, does that mean…?” Timeus eyebrows shot up, and he stared at Adara, his eyes as wide as two shining moons, tacked onto his face.

Adara nodded in confirmation, and added a verbal, “Yes,” as well, for good measure.

“You are the legitimate heir to the ducal throne, Adara? Gods, you have all the luck, I swear.”

This was most definetely not the reaction Adara had anticipated. “You think I am lucky?” she inquired, incredulous.

“Of course I do, silly. You will be duchess fairly soon, you know. Well, not within the space of the next few years, but soon enough. The Duke is in his sixties, and in moderately poor health. Just think, Adara! You will be duchess of the grandest of the duchies! You will have all your heart desires at your hand. Of course you are lucky.”

“If you look at it that way, yes, I am. Very lucky,” Adara agreed reluctantly. “But if you look at it my way, I am not. Think of all the things I will have to deal with: unhappy people complaining about the way I run the duchy, unhappy merchants whining about trade laws, ambitious courtiers angling for my favor… list goes on and on. I was not born to be a statesman. I saw born to be an artisan’s daughter, and later, most likely, an artisan’s wife.”

“Aye, Adara, that is what you think, but there you are wrong. If you were born an artisan’s daughter, you would not be the Duke’s daughter. But you are if what you say is true—and I believe it. You were born to be a statesman, or, rather, woman. You may continue with your paintings and poetry, no one will mind. But you must rule us as duchess. I will have none but you,” Timeus said. A glorious image of Adara was forming in his head. In his mind, he very clearly saw Adara, seated on the ducal throne, her long hair streaming down her back and shoulder, in a gown sewn from gold and silver cloth, the orb of Hadiya in one hand, the scepter in the other, and the crown of Hadiya on her head. Driven by this vision, Timeus added, “And you will be the strongest duchess Hadiya has ever known, and I shall serve you with my own hand, and you will build a thriving duchy that will prosper beyond your wildest dreams.”

Adara blushed. “Timeus, that is hardly likely. I will be a terrible ruler, and the duchy will fall to pieces in my hands. You will hardly wait on me yourself, either. You are well bred, and from a good family. You will marry a pretty young wife from an equally good, or perhaps even better family, and the two of you will have numerous strong, healthy children to continue the Orrin dynasty. Meanwhile, I will be teetering alone on my throne, with nobles trying to push me off whenever they get a chance. Believe me, Tim. I will be only too easy to push off the ducal throne. No one wants a female ruler, one without even an heir, to rule their duchy.”

For some strange reason, Timeus had ignored all but a small part of Adara’s bitter speech. “Is that really what you think?” he asked. “That I will go marry some beauteous merchant’s daughter to continue the Orrin dynasty, while you do unsteady sit upon your throne? Oh, Gods, Adara! Do you not know I would rather die than desert you? Even if the duchy falls, as you seem so sure it will, I will stay by your side until the very end. I am not a weak friend, to desert my closest companion because events do not bode well for either of us. Adara, I will not desert you, you have my word. Gods forgive me for ever letting you think otherwise.”

Stunned at Timeus’s lengthy promise of devotion, Adara began to cry. She did not have any idea why exactly she was crying, but she found herself in tears, sobbing onto Timeus’s shoulder. “You think I hate you, Tim,” she sobbed. Her voice was almost completely muffled, as her mouth was pressed against his shirt, but he heard it somewhat.

“Gods, no! Oh, Adara, please forgive me.”

“Must I forgive you? What have you done? I think you are the one who must forgive me. You have been a true friend for longer than I could have hoped. I am not angry with you, not at all. I just hope you will understand.” Adara shook in Timeus’s hold. He hugged her close to him, but she could not stop weeping. “I am being foolish,” she remarked, “I am wailing, but I do not know quite what about.”

“Nonsense, Adara. You are not a fool, and never have been. Only fools speak or act foolishly, so I can say quite truly, with no doubt that I am wrong in the least, that you are not being foolish. It is utter nonsense to say so.”

Adara picked her head up, with effort, off of Timeus’s shoulder. She found herself smiling up at him. “Do you really think I can be duchess and survive?”

This Timeus did not even have to think about. “Oh, absolutely,” he said. “And if not, I will go down will you. Remember, Adara, that I will always be with you.”

“That pretty young wife of yours will not like that very much, will she?” Adara asked, mischievously.

“I have not married her, yet,” Times reminded Adara, “who knows whom I will end up marrying? Maybe I will marry a bent, old, poverty-stricken lady. Who knows? No one knows. No one really does.”

“Well, we will find out someday,” Adara said, a laugh bubbling in her voice at the thought of Timeus married to an old lady.

“Yes, we will,” he agreed. He looked at Adara fondly, and she gazed back at him. “Yes, we will,” he said again.

Chapter Thirteen

2004-11-30T18:12:00.000-08:00

Chapter Thirteen:
In which our heroes come to stay with very interesting hosts

It was not until the next morning that the disappearance of Lady Cherise of Dysthe and her party was discovered. Even then, it was not until noon that the disappearance of a prisoner, by the name of Alastair Irvin, was discovered. At one o’clock in the afternoon, Baron Snout and a score of the best Snoutian soldiers left, in search of Alastair, whom they believed had escaped with Lady Cherise.

This gave our heroes a head start of nearly half a day, as they hidden ridden away from Snout Castle at roughly one thirty that morning. They were conscious of this amazing lead, but still they did not stop to rest at all that night, or even later that day. It was only after three days of hard riding, changing horses several times each day, that Lancelot let them stop. Everyone was exhausted, and Alastair seemed to be on the verge of death. Lancelot had been making sure Alastair took a nutrition potion every morning, and he wore a health charm around his neck, but despite these precautions, Alastair barely had any energy left at all.

On the fourth day of riding, they reached the welcoming shelter of TK Forest. Lancelot became suddenly very cheerful once they had entered the forest, and everyone wondered why. Finally, around the time that they should have been having their midday meal, they found out.

Lancelot called them to a halt as they neared a falling apart shack. “Dismount!” he told them loudly, and they did as he said, even though it seemed a very odd thing to do. Lancelot led them to the house, and knocked on the door. Everyone wondered whom they were going to meet, and Adara was suddenly reminded of the similar hut they had knocked on the door of not so long ago, when they had first gone in search of her father.

When the door opened, the person who came to greet them was a very tall woman who looked to be in her thirties or so. She had a long, aquiline nose and blonde hair so pale it looked white. The woman wore a white frilly chemise and long silk robe. Her hair was very straight and hung to her waist, like a white cape, and the front part of her hair was trimmed into bangs that reached her eyebrows. The woman stared at them all for a moment in surprise, and then noticed Lancelot.

“Nico!” she cried joyously. She bent down to kissed his cheek, and ushered them all into the house.

For one moment Adara was under the impression that this was the wife of Lancelot, or, as he had apparently returned to, Nicodemus. That impression went away as quickly as it had come when a tall, blonde gentleman who looked extraordinarily like the woman appeared.

“Manny, Nico has come for a visit, and he has brought guests with him!” the woman said loudly to her husband. “Children, this is my husband, Manfred. He likes to be called Manny, too,” she babbled, turning to the group. “And—oh, Alastair! I did not see you in that crowd. You look positively famished. Manny, you must bake some more of your molasses fudge for Alastair, he seems to be half-dead. I was not aware you had been freed, Alastair. I thought you were locked up in our favorite baron’s citadel.”

“Leticia, do calm down,” Manfred said quietly. “Welcome, all. How are you, Nico? And you, Alastair?”

Leticia had calmed a bit now, but she was still bubbling with excitement. “Alastair, can that young lady be Adara? Ady, do you remember Auntie Lettice?”

Adara stared Leticia and shook her head. “Papa?” she asked, looking at her father. “Are they my aunt and uncle? I thought you only had one sister, Raymonda.”

“Goodness, no!” Alastair exclaimed with a laugh. “Leticia is not really your aunt, she just likes to be friendly with you, my dear. And Leticia, you must know that Adara could not possibly remember you. She was only three, or around that, when she last saw you. You can not surely expect her to remember you from then?”

“Well, no, I suppose not. But, really, Ady! I must say, you have grown tremendously, and you are becoming such a beautiful young lady.”

“Thank you, Leticia,” Adara said, feeling her cheeks heat up slightly as they turned a lovely shade of pink. “I hope you are not offended that I do not remember you.”

“Good Gods, no! But I must say, Ady, call me Auntie Lettice. I do not have any nieces or nephews, you know, though I wish I did. I only have one brother, and he does not have any children yet. I do hope he will soon!”

Her curiosity aroused instantly, Adara asked, “Er, Auntie Lettice, do you have any children?”

This seemed to be the right thing to say, for Leticia face lit up and she beamed. “Unica!” she hollered. A small girl came running down the hallway and into the room. “Unica, meet Ady, your cousin.”

The girl walked towards Adara, and Adara found that the girl looked nothing like her parents. She had frizzy black hair, bronze skin, and was very short. “Hello, Cousin,” Unica said.

“Oh, you mustn’t call me Cousin, Unica. Call me Adara, please,” Adara said, smiling at the little girl. “Because truly, we are not cousins. But we shall be friends, I hope.’

“Yes, we shall be friends,” Unica said solemnly. “I will call you Adara, too. Not Cousin, but Adara.” Unica stuck her hand out. “Let’s shake, Adara. Friends?”

“Er, yes.” Adara shook hands with Unica. “Friends.”

“Good. Now I have eight friends, Adara! Eight!” Unica grinned and toothy grin, and Adara wondered if she made friends with everyone who visited the house. Something about Unica’s manner made Adara’s heart go out to the little girl. She was so sweet. Sometimes she was somber, and others she seemed very excited. And all the time Adara was reminded that Unica was very young, only about nine or ten.

“Whoa!” Adara exclaimed, playing along with her new friend. “Eight? That is really incredible. I only have Timeus, here,” she said, grabbing Timeus’s elbow and pulling him over to join them.

Unica wrinkled her nose. “A boy? They are not any fun at all. Besides, Momma will not let me play with boys. She says they will try to hurt me.”

“Well, I am very sorry about that,” Timeus said, holding on to Adara’s hand. “I am very sorry that you think boys are no fun, because we are. Right, Adara?”

She could not help grinning. “They are, Unica. Girls are best, I think. But some boys are not boring at all. I like Timeus, he is quite fun at times.”

“Thank you for supporting me, Adara,” Timeus said, very seriously.

“Boys are boring! Boys are boring!” Unica chanted, sticking out her tongue defiantly. “Girls are better! Even you yourself admit it, Adara.”

Adara bent down and cupped her hands around Unica’s ear. “Let me tell you a secret, Unica,” she whispered. “You would not think boys boring if you knew Timeus. Just three days ago, in his company, I almost fell into the moat of Baron Snout’s castle.”

Her eyes wide, Unica looked up at Adara. “You almost fell into the moat of Snout Castle? Oh my goodness!”

“That she did,” Timeus said. “She was dangling from a few stones, hundreds of feet above the moat. I had to pull her up. Clumsy Adara!”

“Gods!” Leticia cried, who had only heard Timeus’s last words, and not the rest of the conversation. “Ady, I can not believe you did such a thing! Tell me, did you try to commit suicide by jumping out one of the castle windows?”

“No! Not at all!” Adara paled at the thought. “I fell. I opened a door, thinking it would lead to my father’s cell, but it was a trap. It let into the moat.”

“Oh my goodness, gracious me! That is preposterous. I hope you were all right, dear.”

“I was fine,” Adara assured her. “It was not until later that I broke my leg.” The expression on Leticia face caused her to say quickly, “I am jesting, Auntie Lettice. I promise you I am. Look, I am fine.” Adara stuck out one leg, bent it, and the stuck out the other and did the same.

“That is scary, Adara!” Unica said, shaking in her mother’s tight hold. “Were you scared?’

“Yes, very scared. But Timeus helped me to safety, and I was all right.”

“That was nice of him. I wish I had a friend like that.” The little girl suddenly looked very sad, and Adara thought she was about to cry. But Unica did not cry, she simply bit her lip, and stood up a little taller. “‘There is no good in wishing,’” Unica said, as if quoting someone, “‘unless you have a fairy godmother.’”

“Let me tell you something, Unica,” said Adara, “there is always good in wishing. Never give up, my friend. Because wishes can come true.” She patted Unica on the head. “Remember that.”

“If you wish, Adara, I will remember that. Momma and Poppa both give me a quote to remember every day, so I suppose remembering one more would not hurt. Thank you for being my friend, Adara. We will be friends forever.”

“A quote everyday? Each? Gods, that is a great many to remember. How do you manage?” Adara was shocked at how many that would be every month—close to sixty!

Unica’s eyes gleamed. “Can I tell you the truth, Adara? I do not usually manage. Sometimes I do, but mostly I just forget the quotes as soon as I am told them.

“Dearest Unica,” Adara said, placing one hand on the little girl’s back. “That is exactly what I would do in the same situation.”

Chapter Twelve

2004-11-30T18:10:00.000-08:00

Chapter Twelve:
In which our heroes plan and later attempt to execute a nasty surprise

Days passed, and then weeks, as the group traveled at an increasingly high speed towards the distant and remote barony of Snout. Adara went from being excited in the morning, to depressed at noon, to weary in the evening every day, in and endless cycle. Everyone tried to amuse her, even Clancy, but she would not be easily cheered once she had sunken into her noon mentality.

As they neared the barony, Lancelot began to strategize about to recover Alastair. Clancy had a good mind for strategy, and he began to stick constantly to Lancelot’s side, helping him to plan. This was rather a relief for Adara and Timeus, who were glad to be free of Clancy’s unnerving presence. Adara knew that things were changing between all of them in these difficult times. Once she and Clancy had been good friends. True, he had always annoyed her to some extent, but now they hardly got on at all. She would, perhaps, have felt guiltier if she weren’t too busy feeling sorry for herself and moping around, wishing to see her father’s face.

A few times Adara tried to get Lancelot to let her help him and Clancy plan, but she was dismissed every time. Lancelot claimed that he did not need help, but Adara refused to believe it. She pestered them time and time again, until they finally broke down, and agreed to let her take a look at some of their plans. Adara was both astonished and impressed to find that her very own older brother had made a series of detailed maps of the duchy, and of the barony of Snout in particular. Clancy seemed to be the expert cartographer of the pair, for most of Lancelot’s was simply detailed charts. They were notable enough for their detail, but they were not as remarkable, in her opinion, as Clancy’s map. This was not entirely surprising, as Clancy had always been an artist, just like Adara, but she had never thought him to be interested in the precise art of mapmaking.

“Very nice, Clancy,” she told her brother approvingly.

“Thank you,” he said with pride, puffing up his chest, “do try to remember to call me Percival.”

Adara muttered her apologies, and went back to looking at the plans. It was very hard for her to understand the plans, especially as she had to read Lancelot’s cramped, smudged handwriting. “I do not understand,” she said, looking up at Lancelot in confusion. “What are you trying to do? This is not… logical. I do not see what you are trying to do.”

“Do not you see? Well, that’s a shame, for I really can not explain it very well.” Lancelot smiled a secretive smile, and shooed her away like he would a stray animal.

“But Lancelot, you said you would tell me!” Adara protested, as Clancy rearranged the paper so that only he and Lancelot could see them.

“I did not,” Lancelot said, still smiling that annoying secretive smile. “I said, young lady, that you could see our plans. I did not say you would receive an explanation of them.”

“Oh, no! You tricked me,” Adara said mournfully, clapping her hand to her face. “How stupid I was.”

Soon Adara forgot all about the plans as they entered the barony of Snout. It was one of the lesser baronies of Hadiya, ruled by a fumbling, dull-witted baron. The barony was most renowned for its wide variety of wines. The landscape was covered with short, neat rows of grape vines. The badly paved roads were lined with inns, each with its own vineyard in the back, and each boasting its own homemade wine with every meal.

Lancelot booked rooms at the finest inns in the barony every night, and they both ate and drank well. The people of Snout were friendly, and the group found themselves in good company. It was one of the better parts of the journey so far, as they all knew they were close to finding Alastair. Adara was plainly nervous about whether or not they would succeed, and began to look unwell. Bags appeared under her eyes, and her fair skin turned a pallid color.

“We must stop for a few days,” Timeus declared one morning, when he noticed that Adara had not slept at all the previous night. “Adara is ill. She needs to recover.”

“I am fine,” Adara protested, though her heart was not in her words. She sat in a high-backed chair looking as if she had aged twenty years. She was pale as death, her hair had lost its usual glossy sheen, and she could barely move, she was so tired and sleep deprived.

“No, you aren’t!” Timeus said angrily. “You look dreadful, you act dreadful, and you are in dreadful shape. You are far from being fine.”

“I say we stay at this inn for a few more nights.” Taking a sidelong glance at his sister, Clancy saw for the first time how truly terrible she looked.

“Good idea,” Lancelot said, yawning. He had not slept much lately, either, but for a different reason than Adara. He had been busy making plans, while she had lain in bed worrying. “I could use a rest myself.”

“I am fine,” Adara repeated, knowing perfectly well she was not. She stretched out her hands to shake Timeus, to show him that she still had energy, but drew them back in surprise. Her hands had so little fat left on them that the skin sagged over the bones. She looked like a corpse.

“Oh, Adara!” Timeus wailed, despite Lancelot’s stern look. He should have called her Isolde, but he could not bring himself to, lately. “Adara, you are not, not, not fine. You must go back to bed. This time, you must sleep.” Timeus practically lifted her to her feet, and half carried her up the stairs to her room. He set her down on her bed, and brushed out her hair and rubbed oil into it until it shone, as it should have.

“Thank you,” Adara said in a tiny voice.

“Your welcome,” Timeus replied with a rather forced smile. He knelt down on the floor to pull her stiff riding boots off of her feet, and helped her out of her tunic and breeches.

“Timeus!” Adara complained sleepily, her eyes already half closed. “You must look away. It is improper for you to see me in nothing but my chemise.”

He ignored her, and pulled up the blankets until they reached her chin. “Sleep well,” he said softly. He sang her to sleep with the slow, lilting lullaby his nursemaid had sung him to sleep with when he was an infant. Once she was asleep, her whole body relaxed, and she looked almost happy. Her mouth smiled, and her face regained some of its natural color. “Sleep well,” Timeus said again, and started to leave. Somewhat to his disbelief, Adara reached out in her sleep to grab him and pull him back to her.

“Do not leave me,” she murmured into her pillow.

Not wishing to disturb Adara, Timeus sat by her bed all day. Several times he tried to leave, but each time she reached out in her sleep to pull him back.

* * *

They stayed on at that same inn for two additional days. Adara spent most of the time sleeping, but Lancelot and Clancy continued to work on their elaborate plans. Timeus tried to interrogate them about these plans, but received the same reward for his trouble as Adara had. They let him look at the plans, but they would not explain them. This aggravated Timeus, but he somehow managed to keep his temper, for the most part.

Finally, almost three weeks after they had begun their journey towards the barony of Snout, they left the inn. Within little more than three days, the Pigshead stronghold, Snout Castle, came into view.

It was a towering complex of stone towers, surrounded by a series of walls of increasing height. The first Pigshead baron, Dagobert Pigshead, had built Snout Castle roughly four hundred and fifty years ago. Some said Dagobert had been the best Pigshead baron, and he had certainly worked hard to ensure that his people prospered. One of the first things he had done after overthrowing the previous baron, Baron Dugan, was build the castle. A team of hundreds of laborers and craftsmen had worked on it, along with some of the best engineers of the time, for almost Dagobert’s entire lifetime. It was built in what had then been a considerably modern style, but was now very out of date. The main advantage to its layout was that it was extremely fortified and perfect for withstanding siege. A series of tunnels led out of the castle, but many spells had been put on them so it was impossible to get in through these tunnels. Once every tower had been armed with a century of archers, but now the current baron, Johann Pigshead, had grown lazy in his prosperity, and only ten or so soldiers patrolled the walls.

It would be easy enough to rescue Alastair once they were inside the castle walls, Adara could see. The only problem would be getting inside in the first place. When Adara asked Lancelot about how he planned to accomplish this, he finally agreed to tell her, as well as Timeus, what the plan was.

One evening, just before dark, Lancelot summoned Timeus, Adara, and Clancy to a private sitting room in the inn where they were staying that night. All three came at once, and found that a variety of snacks had been laid out for four. Adara sat down at once, bubbling with excitement, as did Timeus. But Clancy took his time selecting a pastry puff filled with chicken and onion. At last he sat down, and began to nibble at it slowly.

Lancelot grinned at Clancy. “Do you mind if I start without you?” he asked, his eyes twinkling.

For a moment Adara thought Clancy would say yes, he did mind. Luckily, though, he did not. “Oh, no—not at all. Go ahead.”

“All right, then,” Lancelot said, looking slightly disappointed. “So, you want to know that plan, do you?”

“Yes, but please, by the Gods, do not stall,” Timeus said. He looked pleadingly at Lancelot.

“I will not, I promise.” Lancelot chuckled softly. “Let us begin, now. First thing is, I suspect you will to know how we plan to get inside the castle.”

“Well, yes. I do not see we could. It seems impossible,” Adara said anxiously.

“Actually,” Clancy cut in, setting down his pastry, “we discussed a number of possible ways of going about it.”

“Really? Is that so?” Adara raised her eyebrows. “I find that hard to believe.”

“No, no, it is quite true,” Lancelot said. “But let’s not waste time debating this. We must get straight to the point. We do not have all day. What I summoned you here to discuss was the plan we chose, not how many we had to choose from.”

“Okay then. Tell us the plan,” she said, looking slightly put out.

“I will, if you will just be quiet.” Adara shut pressed her lips together, and Lancelot’s voice became a lot less testy. “Here, I will tell you. Or, rather, I will show you.” He smiled as he saw that Adara’s eyes had widened in curiosity. He said a few gibberish words of sorcery, and a white screen appeared on one wall of the sitting room. Everyone twisted in his or her chairs to get a better view of the screen. Lancelot said something else, and an image appeared on the screen.

It showed four people riding towards Snout Castle, wearing expensive clothing and jewels. They were clearly nobles, judging from their clothing and the way they carried themselves. One of the figures turned slightly, and Adara was shocked to see that the face was that of Lancelot. She looked around the room to make sure he was still there, and he was. Now she was starting to see the plan. They were to disguise themselves as wealthy nobles. She focused her attention back on the screen once more. The nobles continued riding until they reached the castle gates. The Lancelot noble dismounted, and went to speak with the gatekeeper. They conversed for a few minutes, and Adara was aggravated because she could not her what they were saying, and the angle was such that she could not read their lips.

It seemed an eternity before the image of Lancelot stopped talking to the gatekeeper, and got back into his horse’s saddle. He nodded to the group, and signaled to them to follow him. The gates of Snout Castle opened slowly, and the group of nobles in disguise rode inside.

The image turned grey, and then the screen disappeared.

“So,” said Lancelot, happily, “now do you see our plan?”

There was a stunned silence.

“I see,” Adara whispered. “Brilliant. We are to be visiting nobles. I suppose you will have constructed virtual personas for us all… very good work. Thank you, Lancelot—and you, too, Clancy. I can not wait to hear the details.”

Lancelot beamed, and pulled out his portfolio filled with plans and maps. “Then I will fill you in.”

* * *

A rich noblewoman and her party rode towards the dark spikes against the vivid azure sky of Snout Castle. One of the noblewoman’s party pulled his horse closer to hers to talk to her.

“Adara,” he said in a very low voice, so low that only she could hear it. “Be careful. This could be dangerous. So I beg you. Be careful.”

She titled her head up to smile at him from underneath her carefully arranged veil. “I will, Timeus,” she assured him gently. “You need not worry. I will be careful. And you must be careful, as well.”

He nodded. “I will.” With that, he spurred his mount to a gallop, and took off across the grass, towards Snout Castle.

Shaking her head, the noblewoman gave the command for her companions to hurry up as well, and they went off after the man. The whole party came to a stop as they neared the castle gates. The noblewoman turned to the eldest of the group, a man in his mid thirties.

“Lancelot? Do I look ladylike?” she asked.

He grinned. “Very, Lady Cherise of Dysthe.” He bowed as best he could in the saddle, and then pulled his mount ahead of hers, to lead the party right up to the gate.

The noblewoman straightened in the saddle, titling her nose slightly in the air. She knew there would be no doubt of her nobility, the man had taken care of that. She only hoped they could get inside the castle without too much trouble.

“Ho!” she heard the man cry from the front of the procession, waving to the gatekeeper.

The gatekeeper looked at them in surprise, and then cocked his head at the man, wanting to hear their story.

“I speak on behalf of Lady Cherise of Dysthe,” the man began. “She would like to have an audience with His Lordship, the baron.”

“Lady Cherise of Dysthe?” the gatekeeper asked, furrowing his brow.

“Aye, Her Ladyship Cherise of Dysthe would like to speak to His Lordship, Baron Snout,” the man confirmed.

“She is Her Ladyship? What lands does she hold?” The gatekeeper was taking notes now, with a ridiculously long quill and bright emerald ink.

“You do not know?” the man’s hand flew to his mouth in feigned surprise. “Her Ladyship holds the county of Denes. His Grace the Duke of Hadiya has been very kind,” the man said smugly.

The gatekeeper fairly quivered on the spot. A countess! Gods, a countess but the Duke’s own order. She must be very important. He let them in at once, and sent a runner to tell Baron Snout that Countess Cherise of Dysthe was here to see him.

* * *

“It is so good of you to have us,” Lady Cherise said warmly.

The Baron had been staring at her goggle-eyed since she had entered the room. Not since the Duchess’s death had the Duke given a whole barony, let alone a county, to a woman as a gift. “Not at all,” he said, trying not to gape at her.

The Countess took off her long velvet cloak to reveal a snug, low waisted scarlet damask gown, belted with a golden girdle. Her veil had slipped back slightly to reveal a wealth of glossy auburn curls, so dark that they looked almost black. “You may deny this all you like, but I insist that it was very good of you to have us. I am very grateful to you, truly. I would not have minded staying at an inn, but Tiernan—His Grace—insisted that I stay only behind good solid stone walls. I can not tell you how hard it is to convince most people that I will not harm them if they let me stay with them.” Adara knew every word she said was a lie, but she met the Baron’s eyes calmly and did not falter as she spoke.

“You have had trouble?” Baron Snout asked, looking outraged. “Even though you are under His Grace’s protection?”

“Yes,” Adara said with a sigh. “They all think that either I have a dishonorable relationship with His Grace, or they think my mother did. Wherever I go, I am not accepted. Well, naturally, I am accepted at home, at Dysthe, but that is the only place.” She stuck out her lower lip slightly in a subtle pout.

Baron Snout gasped at her words. “Surely they do not slander you? Not when you are under the Duke’s protection!”

“I am afraid they slander me because I am under His Grace’s protection. They think I am his… oh, I dare not repeat the vile words they use.” Adara shuddered. “So now do you understand why I am so grateful to you?”

“Of course, Countess Cherise. I understand,” Baron Snout said sympathetically. He looked over her head at his reflection in the mirror, and noted with satisfaction that his valet de chambre had gotten him a wig in the latest fashion, and he was wearing it that night. He thought he looked quite the gentleman, in his black velvet doublet, embroidered with silver.

“Thank you for understanding, Your Lordship.” Adara’s lowered her eyes demurely and stared at her hands, folded across her lap.

“You are most welcome.” Getting to his feet as slowly as the old man he was, Baron Snout made a deep but extremely stiff bow. He straightened, and clapped his hands. A servant appeared at his elbow.

“Yes, Your Lordship?” the servant asked, curtseying.

“Ah, Mellany. Please show Countess Cherise to her room.”

“And which room is that?” the woman inquired, looking at Adara with open interest. She had not seen a countess since she was a little girl, but this woman had none of the airs that the other countesses she had seen had had.

Baron Snout looked fleetingly at Adara. “Her Ladyship shall have the Rose Apartment,” he said airily.

“Pardon me, Your Lordship, but where are my men to stay? And Sir Vasilios? Will they have rooms as well?” Adara asked hesitantly.

“Right. Sorry, Countess, I forgot.” Baron Snout turned to Mellany. “Give the Countess’s friends rooms in the West Wing.”

Mellany bobbed her head, and beckoned to Adara. She led her up a few flights of stairs, and down a long marble corridor. When at last she stopped, it was in front of an elaborately carved wooden door painted gold and rose pink.

“Here you go, Your Ladyship,” Mellany said, inserting a key into the lock, and turning it. She handed Adara the key, opened the door, and showed her inside. “Do you have any bags, Your Ladyship?”

“Er, yes, I do…” Adara trailed off as she saw a pageboy come down the hall, struggling under the weight of her heavy leather trunk. “Thank you so much!” she said, accepting the trunk and carrying it into her room.

“You need only to pull the rope by your bed to summon me,” Mellany said helpfully, pointing inside the room to the rope she was talking about.

“Excellent. I thank you,” Adara said. Mellany handed her the key to the room, and dashed away. Adara waved to the woman, and then walked inside the room,

It was beautifully decorated, everything in soft shades of pink and grey. The walls were covered with pink silk, and all the furniture was very elegant. Adara walked over to the grey wooden bed, covered with pink bedding, and sat down on it. She looked around the room a few times to make sure there was no magical or nonmagical surveillance system in place, and then opened her trunk. It was, of course, filled with dresses and other items of clothing on top, but underneath it held a variety of other things. She checked to make sure nothing had been searched, and then closed it again. Soon a servant arrived to take her to dinner.

Dinner was held in a private salon, with only Baron Snout and his wife, Lady Lorelei, and a few friends of theirs. Adara saw immediately what Encyclopedia Bob had meant when she had praised Lady Lorelei’s beauty, as well as when he had described her as looking similar to Adara herself. Lady Lorelei was a fine-boned, slim young woman, still in her early thirties. She had the same shape of face that Adara had, and their eyes were similar, though Lady Lorelei’s were much greener than Adara’s own. She had curly dark hair, but Lady Lorelei’s was more of a dark brown, where Adara’s hair held a hint of red. Lady Lorelei’s hair was slightly straighter than Adara’s, which was quite curly, but overall there was an uncanny resemblance between the two.

As Adara entered the room, Lady Lorelei stared at her and her already wide emerald eyes turned enormous. Baron Snout’s wife was clearly shocked to see a slightly altered, younger version of herself.

“Who is this?” Lady Lorelei asked. But she did not ask Baron Snout, her husband. Instead she asked a blonde-haired young man seated to her left. From the way they looked at each other, Adara took this to be her lover, Baron Chay’nee.

Although Lady Lorelei had posed this question to Baron Chay’nee, it was Baron Snout who answered. “We have the honor of a visit from Countess Cherise of Dysthe,” he informed his wife, looking at Adara the whole time.

“How lovely,” Lady Lorelei said coolly. “Do come sit by me, Countess. We have not heard the court gossip in so long, I am sure you will oblige me.”

Adara tried to desperately to think of an excuse to avoid this conversation, as she knew none whatsoever of the recent court gossip. She could not think of one, and was forced to go over to them.

“Really, I do not know much gossip,” Adara said modestly.

“No?” Lady Lorelei raised her eyebrows.

“No, I do not.”

Lady Lorelei turned away in disgust. Adara started to go over to Baron Snout, but Baron Chay’nee waved to her.

“Please, talk with me for a moment,” he said.

Adara looked over her shoulder at Baron Snout, and found him deep in conversation with one of his friends. She hesitated for a moment, before she glided over to Baron Chay’nee, looking radiant in a gown of blue and silver samite. Her dark curls were carefully pinned in ringlets on top of her head, and a circlet of silver sat on top of her head. “Good evening,” she said, taking a seat beside Baron Chay’nee.

“Good evening, Countess,” Baron Chay’nee returned. “I must apologize for Lady Lorelei’s behavior. I know she was cold to you. It is because she is angry that you outshine her so.”

Adara blushed prettily, and avoided Baron Chay’nee’s eyes. “You flatter me, Your Lordship. Surely that is not so, Lady Lorelei is very beautiful.”

“Not as beautiful as you, Countess.”

“You flatter me,” Adara said again.

“Not at all. You are extraordinarily lovely. It is true; some could argue that you and Lady Snout look too similar for one or the other to be more beautiful. But I would disagree. You have the glow of youth, while Lady Snout is becoming shriveled with old age.”

Adara giggled. “You think the Baroness old? But she can not be very old. Only around thirty or so, I would say.”

“Thirty-three,” Baron Chay’nee corrected with a smile. “But you are much younger than that, are you not?”

“I am seventeen, so yes, I am sixteen years younger than Her Ladyship.”

“Really? You are only seventeen? So you are still a child. I would have said you were around twenty-one.”

“I am not so dreadfully young,” Adara protested. “I am almost eighteen, you know.”

“No, not dreadfully young,” Baron Chay’nee allowed. “You are almost a woman, very almost.”

At this, Adara’s blush deepened. “Thank you, Your Lordship.”

Baron Chay’nee leaned closer to Adara. “You are most welcome, Countess. Or may I call you Cherise?”

“I suppose you call Lady Snout by her given name as well,” Adara taunted, her voice very low, but at the same time pushed her chair away from him.

“You mean Lorelei? Yes, that is true,” Baron Chay’nee said offhandedly.

“And how many girls at taverns along the road do you call by their first names, too?” Adara asked, her eyes suddenly shining with a fierce light.

For a moment Baron Chay’nee was taken aback. Then he laughed a deep, rumbling laugh, and slid his hand around Adara’s waist, drawing her closer to him. “How clever you are, Cherise,” he whispered, his eyes never leaving her. “How very clever you are.”

“Your Lordship,” Adara warned, pulling away from him, conscious that Lady Lorelei was staring at her enviously. “Be careful where you put your hands. They may cause a scandal, when not guided by the brain, but by the heart.”

Baron Chay’nee laughed again. “My dear girl, you really are far too clever for me. You shall make me look a fool, in front of… everyone.” Adara knew he had been about to say, “You shall make me look a fool, in front of Lorelei,” but had checked himself.

“Fine, I will admit it. That has been my only aim his whole time,” she said, her eyes dancing.

“Is that so?”

“Aye.”

“And what kind of lady says ‘aye?’”

“Your kind, apparently,” Adara said.

Baron Chay’nee opened his mouth to reply, but stopped when a team of servants came into view, each bearing a tray laden with food. To Adara’s immense surprise, one of the servants was Timeus. His fair hair had been smudged with soot, and he wore the Pigshead livery, complete with the Snout baronial crest on the front of his tunic, but he was easy enough for Adara to recognize all the same.

The servants and Timeus began serving the dinner guests, presenting each with a platter of cheese and bread, accompanied by a glass of the best Snoutian wine. As Timeus served Adara and Baron Chay’nee, she spilled the wine all over her gown. He gasped,

“My lady! I am so sorry—please, come with me and I will—I will help you wash it off,” Timeus stumbled, in the halting voice of a servant afraid of his master’s punishment.

“That is quite all right, it was my fault,” Adara said. “But it would be very kind of you to help me wash it off.”

Timeus ran off, and Adara followed him. He stopped beside a portrait of Baron Dagobert Pigshead of Snout. Timeus pushed the portrait aside, and it revealed a small, empty chamber. He stepped inside, as did Adara.

“The wine will ruin your gown,” Timeus said at once, looking with regret at the costly ruined samite.

Adara smiled impishly. “Oh, I am quite aware of that.” She closed her eyes for a moment, muttered some gibberish, and then opened her eyes again. A new gown had appeared on the floor, looking almost exactly the same, only the stomacher was a slightly different color and material, as if it had been replaced. The wine had spilled over the skirt of the old dress as well, but no one need know that. They would be perfectly content to see that she had changed the stomacher of her dress.

“A stroke of brilliance,” complimented Timeus. “The question is, though, will it last?”

“Of course!” Adara looked offended. “What do you think? It will vanish at the stroke of midnight? No, this dress is quite permanent. Feel it. Try to rip it.”

Timeus rubbed the fabric between his fingers, and pulled at it gently. There was no doubt; this was a true gown and not some illusion. The cloth would as strong as the cloth of the original dress, and the seams were sewn just as carefully. “You are right,” he admitted. “It is fine work, Adara. Or shall I say, ‘Countess Cherise.’”

Adara made a face. “Please, Tim. Do not. I am starting to hate that name.”

“That reminds me,” Timeus said. “What is going on with Baron Chay’nee?”

“Oh. Him.”

“What is it? Is it just that he can not resist a pretty face? Is that all? And are you encouraging him?”

“Well, I suppose I am encouraging him, but it would be unwise not to. Baron Chay’nee is a powerful man. But I do not think he means anything serious.” Adara shrugged.

“You may be right. Just be careful, Adara. Please, be careful,” Timeus begged.

“I will, Tim.”

“Promise?”

“I promise, ok? Can you leave me alone now?”

Timeus groaned. “Oh, Adara! I am just trying to protect you from the evils of the world, truly I am.”

Adara rolled her eyes, and turned her back to Timeus. “Can you help me out of this gown? The wine is starting to soak through my gown and onto my chemise.”

“Of course, I would be happy to help.” After briefly examining the complicated ties that held together Adara’s bodice, sleeves, skirt, and underskirt, he attacked the loose knots with will. It did not take him to long to get the gown loose enough that he could slip it over her head.

“Thank you very much,” Adara said appreciatively. “Could you just help me get the other one on, now? Please, Timeus?”

“Sure thing, Adara.” Timeus picked it up off of the ground. He found that it was decidedly easier to slide the gown down over her head and lace it up than it had been to get it off. “There you go,” he said, when he was finished.

Adara gave him a quick hug of thanks, and then summoned a mirror with another of her gibberish spells. She had only to take one look in it before her hand flew to her mouth. “I am sorry, Tim, but could I ask you one last favor?”

Timeus grinned. “I know. Your hair, it is a total mess.”

And it was. Changing out of the old, soiled gown and into the new one had ruined her precise hairstyle. Many pins had come loose, and the once neat ringlets had tumbled down onto her shoulders.

However, Adara did not like to admit that her hair was a “total mess.” Instead, she ripped the remaining pins from her messy curls. Drawing a comb out of the pocket of her skirt, she ran it through her hair until it looked presentable. “A ‘total mess,’ eh?” she said, tossing her head.

“I was jesting,” Timeus protested.

“Come, I must go back to dinner, or the barons will miss me.”

Timeus gave a short little laugh, and pushed back the canvas of Dagobert Pigshead’s portrait. “Here, follow me.” He led her back to private dining salon, and stopped right outside the open door.

“How do I look?” Adara asked, looking at her reflection in the window.

“You look lovely, Adara.” Timeus drew her into his arms, but she wriggled out of his reach.

“Someone will see us and wonder why a servant boy is touching a countess like that,” Adara scolded, shaking her index finger in Timeus’s face.

“You are quite right,” Timeus said grimly.

“I know I am!” Adara agreed, giggling. With that, she skipped away from him and into the salon.

As Adara resumed her seat next to Baron Chay’nee, she caught him glowering at Timeus, who was waiting in the shadows by the doors, watching to make sure Adara was safe.

“That boy!” Baron Chay’nee said, turning to Adara. “What was he doing to you, Countess Cherise, with his filthy hands?”

Adara felt her heart sinking. He had noticed. Surely the Baron would suspect them of being acquainted now. That was, unless she could talk her way out of the nasty situation. Adara started by raising her hands to cover her face in embarrassment and modesty.

“Tell me, girl!” Baron Chay’nee demanded, slamming his fist down on the table.

“I would thank you not to call me ‘girl,’ Baron Chay’nee,” Adara said calmly.

Baron Chay’nee gave a sigh of exasperation. Regaining his composure, Baron Chay’nee softened his voice, and looped a brawny arm around her shoulders, drawing her to him. “All right, Countess. I am most apologetic. Only tell me, did that filthy man hurt you?”

“Well, Baron…” Adara paused for a moment, and then plowed on. “To tell you the truth, not quite. We were just standing there in front of the doors, about to go in, when he… he just… hugged me. I have no idea why; truly I do not. But it was very frightening, though he did not actually hurt me. I was just frightened.”

“Surely you are not so naive as to claim you do not know why he did such a thing?” Baron Chay’nee inquired.

Adara fluttered her eyelashes at him. “No, My Lord, I am afraid I do not. I hope I do not disappoint you?”

“It is obvious, Countess,” the Baron breathed. “It is because you are so enchantingly beautiful. No man can resist you. Least of all me… Cherise.”

This was too open a declaration of attraction for Adara. She pulled away from him, much harder than she had Timeus earlier. “You will ruin my excellent reputation, Baron Chay’nee,” she sniffed. “Do you mean to drive me to commit adultery?”

At this, Baron Chay’nee stiffened and pushed his chair away from her. “What is this you talk of, Countess Cherise?”

Playing her last possible and probably most risky card, Adara said, “My husband will be very angry to hear of your advances on me.”

Baron Chay’nee breathed in sharply. “You are a married woman, Countess? I did not know.”

“Is that so?” Adara’s manner was calculated to a perfect degree of detachment.

“Yes, My Lady. Please, tell me, who is the lucky man?” Such a horrible, venomous look passed over Baron Chay’nee’s face that Adara was suddenly very frightened.

“Count Dysthe,” she said, airily. That was obvious enough; he could not say she was lying for saying that. Of course the Countess of Dysthe would be wife the Count of Dysthe.

“Yes, yes! I know that well enough! But what is his name? Is he here?”

“His name is Vasilios, and he is here, in the castle,” Adara said uneasily. “Why do you wish to know?”

“Because,” Baron Chay’nee growled, “I think I have something to settle with him.”

The Baron did not have to elaborate. Adara knew that he meant to duel her husband. Why did she ever have to mention a husband? Why, oh why? “Please, do not hurt Vasilios,” Adara pleaded.

“Why ever not? If he is out of the way, we can do as we like,” Baron Chay’nee said. “You should be glad. Besides, he is just the man your parents picked for you to marry. He is not your true husband, bound to you by love.”

“That is not true at all,” Adara said boldly. “We married for love, and it is a love that will never die. Besides, my mother and father would never let me marry a baron.” She almost added, “That is, if I wanted to. And I do not,” but stopped herself just in time. It would be bad to offend a powerful man like Baron Chay’nee too much.

“Why did you offer yourself to me, Countess, if you had already given yourself to this Vasilios?”

“I did not offer myself to you!”

“Oh, but you did.”

“Your imagination is ruling your mind, Baron Chay’nee.” Adara left in a swirl of gold and blue skirts, and took a new seat next to Baron Snout.

The rest of dinner went by slowly. Adara spent the whole time wondering if Baron Chay’nee would seek revenge in some manner, but he did not. She noticed that by the second course he was all ready back to flirting with Lady Lorelei. This made her realize that Baron Chay’nee had in no way meant to marry her, or even court her. She was suddenly disgusted with him. What a terrible, revolting man he was. How right Timeus had been to warn her of him. Things would be better for all if only she had listened to his wise words.

* * *

Once dinner was over, Adara retired to her the Rose Apartment. She combed out her hair, washed her face, and undressed. She knew it might be a long time before Timeus, or Clancy, or even Nicodemus came, and figured she might as well try to get some rest. She blew out all the lights in the room, except for one candle by her bed. She climbed under the blankets, and closed her eyes.

It was well past midnight when there came a knock on her door, waking her from her light sleep. She slipped out of bed, and walked over to the door. She opened it slowly, and peered out into the dark hallway.

There stood Timeus, holding a torch in one hand, and a leather knapsack in the other. The soot had been washed out of his fair hair, and he was back to being Timeus, and no one else.

“Come in,” Adara said, just barely audibly. “I have spelled the room for privacy. No one will be able to hear us once you are inside, and the door is closed.”

Timeus came into the room, and shut the door behind him. “Baron Chay’nee sought me out after dinner tonight,” he said, looking at her oddly. “He wanted to know if it was true, if we had married for love. What is going on, Adara?”

“Tim! It was so terrible!” Adara quickly recounted the events of that evening. By the time she was finished, she was on the brink of crying.

“It is all right, Adara. Please, do not cry.” Timeus patted her shoulder, comfortingly. “I can see why you are so upset. That Baron Chay’nee sounds like a really bad character. But we have a mission to complete tonight. Do you want your father back, or not?”

Adara brightened, remembering that she was only a few hours away from finding her dear, dear father. “Yes, let us get ready.”

They set to doing just that. Adara exchanged her long, fine cambric chemise for a shorter, stronger smock. Then she added the same black woolen tunic she had worn the night they had broken into the inn, which now seemed to be in the distant past, so long ago. She put on a pair of short canvas breeches, dyed the same black as the rest of her uniform, and jackboots. Her hair she pinned on top of her head, just as she had before, and covered it with a black scarf.

“Are you ready?” she asked Timeus, turning to face him.

“Aye. That I am.” Timeus was wearing an almost identical outfit, complete with black headscarf and perfectly polished jackboots.

“Good. Is everyone else ready?”

Timeus nodded. “Aye.”

“Excellent, most excellent,” said Adara. She opened her trunk, pulled the gowns, stockings, chemises and tunics, to reveal the assortment of other items. The first was a magical lamp Lancelot had made for her. It would light up when the holder wanted it to shine, but would go out instantly when the holder wanted it to go out. Adara took the magical lamp out, and set it on her bed. Then she continued looking through the contents of the trunk. She took out a skeleton key that would open any lock, a mirror that would show what was in back of the holder or just around the corner, and a knife with a poisonous blade. Once she had taken all the items out, she stuffed all the clothes back inside the trunk, and said a short spell that caused the trunk to disappear. Adara gathered up all the magical objects, and stuffed them into a leather knapsack of her own, that looked exactly the same as Timeus’s.

“We are ready to go now, I think,” Timeus said, excitedly. He pushed his torch against the stone floor, causing the flame to go out. Then he took out a magical lamp from his bag, one that was just the same as Adara’s.

“Yes, we are ready to go,” Adara agreed. She trembled slightly. She was very nervous, as well as excited. She could hardly keep herself from exploding, so many strong emotions were bubbling up inside her stomach and flying around all of the inside of her body. “We are ready,” Adara said again, adding, “ready to find my father, and to get out of this grim castle. The accommodations are lovely, but there is something haunting and creepy about this place. I would like to leave as soon as possible.”

“As would I. But we must rescue your poor father, first,” Timeus said. “Come, we will do that now. All is ready and set to go. Lancelot and Clancy have determined where your father is. It is left to us to get him, and get him out of the castle. They, meanwhile, are saddling up horses, and tying rags on their feet to silence their hooves, so that we may escape as soon as Alastair is free.”

Adara nodded. “Show me where my father is,” she said.

“Follow me, and I will show you.”

Timeus led Adara through a series of passageways, corridors, and secret stairwells. It seemed someone had been well informed about the layout and design of the castle. Later, Adara was to learn that Lancelot had been in possession of a blueprint of Snout Castle, but at that moment she was astonished as to how well Timeus knew his way around the castle.

Although Adara had expected her father to be chained up one of the castle’s tall tower, but it did not take long for her to realize that they were going down, rather than up. Now she knew he had to be in the castle dungeons. She shivered at this thought. Her poor, innocent father should not be chained up in a moldy, dank dungeon!

At last they arrived in front of a plain, ordinary wooden door. Adara placed her hand on the knob and jiggled it. The door was locked. She rummaged around in her knapsack until she found the skeleton key. She inserted its long, filed down end into the lock, and turned it. The door swung open.

“Good job,” Timeus complimented quietly.

“Thanks.”

Once they had pushed the door open all the way, they found that it revealed a narrow spiral staircase, leading up. The pair started to climb, and found that the stairs seemed to go on and on forever. Adara started to count each stair as they went up, and quickly past fifty, one hundred, and then two hundred. She wondered how much father they could go. Clearly, their destination was no dungeon, but, indeed, one of the castle’s towers. On the two hundred and thirteenth step, they arrived in front of yet another door. This came as a huge relief to Adara, who was beginning to feel rather claustrophobic.

She put out her hand to try the knob of this door, and then realized there was none. She searched the whole door with her fingers for some sort of hidden latch, pull, anything. But there was nothing. She then fingered the outline of the door, and found that she could force her fingers into the cracks between the door and the cold stones of the stairwell. Once she had done that, she was able to slowly pry open the door.

As the door opened, a blast of icy air hit Adara and Timeus full on. Adara, blinded by the intensity of the wind, stumbled forward, over the doorstep, and found herself sliding down suddenly. She grabbed the slippery, polished doorstep and clung on for dear life. Looking downwards, she felt suddenly sick. She was hanging hundreds of feet above the jutting rocks and alligator infested waters of the moat. Suddenly, she understood. The door had been a decoy, a trap. It had been put in place to trick whoever went in search of Alastair into falling to their death, or, at the very least, getting such a fright that they turned back.

“Tim! Help me!” Adara screamed, over the rush of the wind. Her knuckles were white from clasping the stone of the doorstep, and she knew she could not hold on for much longer.

“One moment, Adara. I am working on it,” Timeus screamed back. He took a length of magically strengthened rope out of his knapsack, and leaned out to tie it around Adara’s waist. Then he stepped away, and pulled on the rope with all his might.

Adara felt herself slowly moving upwards. As soon as she was able to get a good grip of the doorstep, she pulled herself up. Within a few minutes, they were able to get her up to safety. Adara closed the door behind herself, and slumped down in a heap on the stairs.

“We will never, ever, ever get to my father,” Adara moaned, hopelessly.

“Courage, Adara,” Timeus said, gripping her hand. “We will find your father soon. Surely you would not come all this way only to give up, only a few minutes away from finding your father?”

“I might.”

“The Adara that I know would not. Are you not she?”

“I do not know if I am she. What can you tell her by?”

Timeus grinned, and knelt down beside Adara. “The Adara that I know is very beautiful, and very clever. Plus, she has an iron resolve. She never gives up. Are you she?”

“Definetely not,” Adara said. “Surely you can see that!”

“No, I most certainly can not see that. No, you are my Adara. I am sure of it,” Timeus responded, with conviction.

“Your Adara?” she inquired, rising to her feet.

“You are right. She is not only my Adara. She is her father’s Adara, her brother’s Adara, and even Adara’s Adara. She is her own as much as anyone else’s, but mine as much as her own.”

“What a complex riddle you speak in, Timeus.” Adara started up the stairs, continuing their upward journey.

“It is not complex at all,” Timeus said, following her. “It is nothing but the truth. You are my Adara, but also your own.”

“Since when have I been your Adara? Am I some sort of item that can be possessed and purchased and traded for?”

“No, not at all! You are only my Adara is my heart. I do not aspire to possess you.”

“Is that so? Well, then it would be best if you did not say I was yours.”

“You are not yet mine, but perhaps some day you will be.”

Adara spun on her heels, nearly tripping over the edge of the step below her. “You are talking nonsense now, Timeus,” she said sharply. “I do not know what you are saying.”

He reached out to steady her. “Oh, Adara, but you do know what I am saying. You just utterly refuse to believe it.”

After that, they walked in silence. Up and up and up they went, up stair after stair after stone stair. It seemed as if their journey upwards would never end, and yet a feeling of intense apprehension hung in the air, stifling Adara, making her heart beat rapidly, and preventing her from slowing down, or from stopping. When another door came into sight at last, that feeling of tension tightened, practically putting a halt to Adara’s breathing. She gasped for breath, and took her skeleton key out of her knapsack. At least this door had a lock, which came as a relief. Her heart pounding against her chest loudly, Adara pushed the key into the lock, and turned it.

Nothing happened.

With a small sob, Adara crumpled to the floor. She felt as if her whole body had entered a block of ice. There was a clenching feeling in her stomach, and her throat was filled with damp, heavy something. Tears brimmed at her eyelids, threatening to drip over onto her cheeks. She was perfectly conscious that her carefully pinned hair was falling down, and her clothes were covered in grit and dust, as were her hands. At other times she might have worried about looking so far from presentable in from of Timeus. Right then, she could not have cared less. All she felt was the terrible cold that froze her in that heap on the floor, and the pressure inside her throat, he heart, and her stomach. Her head buzzed with a nagging, dull ache. If she had been less occupied with the other pain she was feeling in the rest of her body, she might have described it as a splitting headache, but now she ignored it easily.

Adara did not think she had enough strength left to move her mouth, teeth, and tongue. She did not expect to be able to talk. But somehow, somehow, she opened her mouth to talk. Her cold, numb lips pressed together and then parted. Her lips came together again and then parted. Her tongue hit the back of her teeth, then moved to the top of her mouth, her top teeth came down on her bottom lip. Her lips moved across each other again. Her mouth opened and closed. She pushed air through her teeth. Her teeth grazed her lips; her tongue hit the top of her mouth and bounced off. Her lips smacked together and parted. Her teeth grazed her lips once more, her mouth opened; her teeth came down on her tongue and pushed off. “We will never be able to find my father,” Adara said, barely conscious of her words.

There was an odd feeling in her body, as if she was thawing out suddenly, and Adara found she could move again, and breathe easier. She searched her mind for the cause of this unexpected release, and found that Timeus had spoken, jarring her from her all-consuming, frigid misery. Adara looked up at him, wondering what he had said. She did not ask him verbally, but her eyes asked him just as clearly as if she had asked him with words.

“We will find your father, Adara,” Timeus repeated. He took another key out of his own knapsack, and showed it to her. “Lancelot gave me this. It is the key to your father’s chamber. If it does not work, we will know that this is just another decoy, and that we must continue up the stairs further. However, if it does work, we will know that we have found your father.”

“Oh. Thank you.” The thawing out had finished now, and Adara’s body moved almost normally again. Thankfully, the icy despair was completely gone, and replaced with a new excitement that coursed like molten lava through her veins. “Yes, we must find my father. I will not give up. As you said, Adara Imogen Voletta, daughter of Alastair Irvin, never gives up. I can do this. We can do this.”

“That’s the spirit, Adara!” Timeus cried, cheerfully. He tossed the key up into the air and caught it with a smile. “Here goes.”

Adara watched, attentively, as the key spun in the lock. There was a grinding sound, and her breath caught in her throat. The key twisted further, and there was a long scratch, and a soft click. Adara held her breath as the door popped open. She flung herself against the door, and pushed it all the way open. The door opened onto a midsized cell. The floor was covered with slab of slippery stone, as were the walls and ceiling. The only light in the room came from a small slit of a window, covered with bars, and located almost at the arched ceiling.

In one corner of the room was a hunched figure. They were wrapped in a tattered wool blanket. At the top of the blanket was a mop of reddish gold hair. Adara propelled herself through the air and hugged her father.

“Papa! Papa! Papa!” she yelled, over and over again. “Oh, I am so, so glad you are safe. I am the gladdest girl in the duchy. Papa, oh, my Papa!”

Alastair Irvin looked up at his daughter, and Adara was shocked to she that his normally tanned face was white. His face was gaunt, and hardly had any skin left on it. There were deep bags beneath his eyes, and they had lost all of their usual twinkle. A bruise decorated the left side of his face. He looked terrible. Adara pulled away from his, not wanting to hurt him.

“Papa? Are you okay? You look awful.”

“Oh, my darling Adara. We have no time for that. We must leave.” Alastair got to his feet, and Adara could see that his whole body had lost all of its fat. He was nothing but skin and bones, and he moved without any energy whatsoever.

“Papa! You are most definetely not okay. You must be cared for,” Adara said, her voice high and frightened.

Timeus, who had been standing by the door, came in to the room and rested one hand on Adara’s shoulder. “Adara,” he said in a very even, calm voice, “we must leave, and soon. Your father is right. We have no time to lose.”

“Is that Timeus Orrin?” Alastair asked. He looked surprised.

“Yes, Papa. And Clancy is waiting for us outside, I think. Along with… Papa, do you remember that sorcerer you recommended I summon in case of an emergency? Nicodemus is his true name, I think. But now we must call him Lancelot. And you must call me Isolde, and call Timeus Tristan, and call Clancy Percival,” Adara said slowly, as if saying something very obvious to a small child.

“I see.” Alastair pulled his blanket closer around his body. “Well, I suppose we should go now.”

“Aye,” Timeus agreed. “We must go out the way we came.”

It was slow going, on the way down. Alastair was very weak from his extended imprisonment, and Adara and Timeus had to take turns supporting almost all of his weight. Luckily, he was so skinny and undernourished that he was not much of a burden to carry. They took the journey a step at a time, until they reached the bottom landing.

Once they were back in the long stone corridors of Snout Castle, progress was faster. The smoothness of the ground was easier on all of them, and in no time at all they had reached the door that led to the stables. There, Clancy and Lancelot were waiting with five strong, healthy hunters, all saddled up and ready to go. At once, Clancy ran to his father and embraced him. Then Lancelot came to shake Alastair’s hand warmly. The two conversed for a short while, quietly so that no one else could hear.

Once the greetings were exchanged, everyone mounted their horses. Somewhat to Adara’s surprise, her father swung into the saddle on his own, and was able to stay there without falling off the horse, or even slumping. Watching him sit there proudly, despite the fact that he most likely had not eaten in weeks, made her gain new respect for him. She patted her own mount’s head, and closed her eyes for a moment to try to relax. Before she knew it, a hand was shaking her.

“Adara, wake up! We are leaving, now!” It was Clancy, she could tell by his voice.

“I was not asleep, Clancy,” Adara said crossly, opening her eyes. She watched as Lancelot gave the signal to depart, and kicked her dug her ankles into her mount’s side. The hunter took off, as did everyone else’s mounts. They made not a sound, as the horses’ hooves had been padded, just as Timeus had said they would. Adara smiled as they rode away from Snout Castle, hoping never to see it again.

Chapter Eleven

2004-11-30T17:37:00.000-08:00

Chapter Eleven:
In which our heroes recover slowly from their evening escapade

Adara eyelids fluttered open, and Timeus gave out a cry of joy. He bent over her anxiously, and wrapped his arm around her back, raising her into a sitting position.

“Are you okay, Adara?” Timeus forgot to use “Isolde,” but this was probably a matter of little importance, as none heard it but Adara, who was in no mood to harangue him about it.

“Perfectly fine, thank you,” Adara said, primly. She moved forward, away from Timeus’s supporting arm, as if to show off how well she could manage on her own. “The only thing that’s wrong is that people have been fussing over me almost constantly since Papa disappeared, and it is very irritating.” She glared at Timeus, but the hurt expression on her face made her smile tenderly. “Oh, Tim,” she whispered, forgetting to use “Tristan,” just as Timeus had forgotten to use “Isolde.”

“What?” Timeus asked, his face pinched with the pain Adara had caused him by being so cutting.

“Tim, I wasn’t serious. Could you not tell?” Timeus shook his head, and Adara laughed softly. “I am sorry. It is just, I really did not mean it at all.” She looked up at him, imploring him to understand.

“I see. Well I suppose I owe you an apology, then.” Timeus’s face stayed pinched, and his lips were puckered as if there was a sour taste in his mouth, showing Adara that he did not accept her excuse. He lowered his head, avoiding her piercing gaze.

“Why do not you understand, Tim? I really did not mean to be cruel at all. I was jesting—jesting, you hear? I would not speak so harshly, even to a distant friend. And you, Tim, are more than that.”

“What?” Timeus’s head jerked up. He stared at her. “What did you say?”

“I just said that you are more than a distant friend.” Adara was plainly confused.

“What do you mean?” Timeus reached out touch her long auburn curls, tussled from slumber. He twisted them around his fingers, apparently absently.

Adara shivered, and drew back slightly. “Just that we have known each other for ages, and I am sure you will agree we are close friends, not distant ones.” She twisted away and got to her feet. “How long was I out?” Adara shouted across the tent to Lancelot. He averted his gaze, as did Clancy.

“You had best get dressed, Isolde,” Clancy said, rather bluntly.

Timeus stared at her for a moment, and then covered his face with his hands, hiding a smile.

“What is it? Is something wrong…” Adara looked down at herself, to find that she was wearing nothing but a light linen chemise. She turned beet red with embarrassment, and quickly opened her trunk, selected a soft blue lawn kirtle. For additional modesty, and to show that she was capable of dressing quite well, she brushed out her tangled hair, and stuffed it carefully into a caul. “I am quite decent now,” she informed her friends, trying to smile pleasantly.

“Thank you so much, Isolde,” Clancy said, with a smirk, as he turned back to look at her. “You look gorgeous. I approve.”

“Why did you have to get dressed? I liked you better before,” Lancelot joked bawdily, with a broad grin. Adara silenced him by crossing the room and slapping him across the face. Timeus followed that up with an icy glare that caused Lancelot to apologize hurriedly and profusely. “Oh, come, Isolde! I was joking! I am sorry though; it was very rude of me, of course. I am very sorry.”

“Your apology is accepted,” Adara said gracefully, making it seem as though she had just graciously forgiven him for an unthinkable act.

“Thank you,” Lancelot groveled, in a way that was quite out of character. But there was something about the elegant manner Adara had assumed that morning that made everyone willing to go far out of their way to please her. Even the normally grumpy Clancy was acting rather devoted to his sister.

“Now,” Adara murmured, tossing her head, “can we leave here? I do not like to think that a couple hours ago a man died at this very spot.”

With an understanding nod, Lancelot suggested, “Why do not we go find a nice, clean inn?”

“That would be lovely!” Adara clapped her hands in rare delight, and set to packing her things at record speed.

By the time everyone was ready to go, it was mid afternoon, and the adventures of the previous night were all but forgotten. Lancelot conjured up a pair of fine running horses from somewhere, as well as a packhorse and a spirited roan mare. He declared that he would walk, and loaded all of the party’s many bags, their weight considerably reduced by another of Lancelot’s spells, onto the complacent packhorse’s back.

“You must not walk, Lancelot, you’ll tire out far too quickly!” Adara protested, but Lancelot would not listen.

“And then who will carry the bags?” he retorted. “I do not suppose you would volunteer to bear a heavy load like that on your own shoulders?”

“Oh, never mind.”

“No, really. Would you like to offer to carry the bags? I am quite serious.”

“Lancelot! I said never mind. Leave me be.”

“Besides,” added Timeus, “could not you just conjure up another horse?”

“Actually,” Lancelot said, looking down his rather hawk-like nose at Times, “I could not. There are not any other horses for me to summon within close enough range.”

“Could not you just conjure a dog or something and then change it into a horse?”

“No. Definetely not. If you were a dog all your life, how would you like suddenly having hooves and being ridden as a horse?”

“Gods, I never looked at it that way!”

“Gods, will you two stop it!” Adara shouted, over the deep voices of Timeus and Lancelot.

“Yes ma’am,” Timeus said, lowering his eyes but smiling. Lancelot simply shrugged, and tightened the straps that secured the baggage to the packhorse’s back.

“We had best be going, now,” Clancy piped. Everyone was suddenly reminded that Alastair was Clancy’s father, as well as Adara’s, and he had just as great an interest in whether or not Alastair would be found as Adara did.

“I agree!” Lancelot declared in support of Clancy.

“Alright, now let us go!” Clancy walked towards the roan mare, and swung expertly into the saddle. He gathered the reins into one hand, and guided the mare around to face everyone else. “What’s taking you?” he asked, straightening on his mount’s back.

Timeus made a low sound that resembled a snort, and walked over to examine the horses. He was quite aware that Clancy was a significantly better horseman than he was, as was Adara. Alastair’s two children had spent a great deal of their childhood learning to handle the family’s fine horses. Timeus knew all this, but was determined that Clancy should not seem better than he in any way, shape, or form.

“A fine beast,” Timeus commented, stroking the muzzle of one of the two hunters, a tall Arabian stallion. “A real beauty.” This, at least, he could be certain in saying. He had learned that much: how to tell if a horse was of good quality. He examined the horse for several minutes, before moving on to the next, and doing the same. Clancy and Adara just watched. Clancy looked more and more irritated as time went by, but Adara was looking rather pleased. She liked seeing her overprotective brother get treated like this, sometimes. Lancelot waited but seemed impatient, and kept throwing worried looks over his shoulder.

“Adara, you may have the stallion,” Timeus pronounced, at last. “I think he is the better of the two. Do not you agree, Percival?”

“Yes, I think the stallion is probably the better built of the pair,” Clancy was forced to agree. Timeus showed Clancy his sweetest smile, and beckoned to Adara. She came to him, looking puzzled.

“Tristan? What is it?” she asked softly.

Shaking his head, Timeus placed his hands around her waist. “Let me help you,” he said, grandly. With that, he lifted her into the saddle.

“You really didn’t need—“ Adara began, but stopped when she saw the expression on Timeus’s face. “Ah, I see. Why, thank you, Tristan. It was most kind of you to help me.” Now she saw it. He had done that to seem like a very experienced horseman. It made her seem like someone who could barely ride, but she didn’t mind. Adara knew that Timeus’s intention had been to show off in front of Clancy. What a pity the two were not friends. Then again, sometimes a rivalry between her closest friend and her brother might, at times, prove useful.

“Ah, you are most welcome, Lady Isolde.” Timeus swept a deep bow, and Adara giggled.

“It was very good of you, Sir Tristan.”

“No, no, really, you are very welcome. I need no thanks.” Timeus glanced at Clancy, who was doing his best to look bored, and then climbed into the saddle of his own mount. He gripped the reins, and scanned the area for Lancelot. He found the sorcerer standing against a tree, arms crossed over his chest.

“Finally ready, eh?” Lancelot asked, stifling a yawn.

Adara shoved her nose into the air. “Yes, we are ready. The question is, are you?” she asked, imperiously.

“Yes! Of course I am! I have been ready for ages and ages.” Lancelot scowled, and took hold of the packhorse’s bridle. “Come on, children!” He led the packhorse away from the group, towards the faint brown streak of a main road in the distance.

“Children?” Clancy asked, kneeing his mare to a trot, and chasing after Lancelot, who was already several yards ahead. “I am twenty years of age, Lancelot! Wouldn’t you say I am a man?” His voice faded into silence as he got farther and farther away.

Adara and Timeus looked at each other. For one long moment, they held one and other’s eyes. Then Adara blinked, and the odd moment was broken. Timeus reached out to clasp Adara’s hand. She squeezed it, and peered at him.

“We must go and find your father, Isolde. We can do this.” His voice was steady and confident.

“We must, and we can,” Adara consented, and dug her heels gently into her stallion’s stomach, launching away at a quick pace. Timeus watched her disappeared over the crest of a rolling green hill, and then followed.

* * *

It was a relief to everyone to sleep in a solid, clean inn that night. It was a small, rather empty roadside place, but beautifully maintained and well kept. Best of all, it was guarded at night by a team of burly men at arms, in the employ of the innkeeper’s brother, who was, apparently, the proud holder of some sort of lowly government position. Now no one, not even the slightly paranoid Clancy, had to worry about secret nighttime attacks. Still, Lancelot placed various protection charms on everyone’s chambers before they all went to bed.

Sleep came quickly for Adara, as she lay on her comfortable, soft wool mattress in her small but elegantly furnished chamber. She slept deeply and well, and rose feeling wonderfully fresh. The innkeeper’s wife herself came in at dawn to help Adara bathe and dress. It was wonderful to soak in the warm, soapy water, a pleasure that had been denied to her since they had left Master Rolf’s inn. The innkeeper’s wife, a kind, motherly lady, scrubbed every inch of Adara’s body, until she was clean and pink from head to toe. Then she helped Adara into a comfortable green woolen tunic and leather breeches. The innkeeper’s wife was just pinning up Adara’s unruly curls when there was a knock on the door.

“Come in,” Adara called, reaching up to feel her hair, making sure it was presentable.

“Isolde.” It was Timeus. He stood in the doorway looking rather uncomfortable. He, too, had cleaned himself up. A gash of his arm that had somehow appeared over the course of the last few days had been neatly and expertly bandaged, and his normally messy blonde hair had been washed and combed. He walked stiffly into the room, and sat down on Adara’s bed, beside her.

“I had best be going,” the innkeeper’s wife said, patting Adara’s cheek and disappearing out of the room and down the hallway.

“Hello, Tristan. What tidings do you bring?”

“Good ones, I think, Isolde.” Timeus gave a sour smile.

“You think? I am intrigued. Please do go on.”

“Adara—can I call you Adara? It is so tiring to use these terrible false names all the time. How I long to hear the sound of my real name again on your lips… anyone’s lips, really. It is dreadfully dull pretending to be someone I am not.” He stopped when he realized Adara might take offence. “I do not mean to snub you. It is not such a terrible thing, being your wife. It is only… I do not know how to put it in words.”

Nodding, Adara helped him out. “It is odd knowing everyone besides Nicodemus and Clancy think we are married, even though we are not. It is odd when people address me as Isolde, when I am not Isolde. It is discomforting to realize that we are masquerading as people we know precious little about. Of course, they aren’t even real people. But that’s beside the point. How can I be Isolde, if I do not know who she is?”

“Yes, I understand what you are trying to say. I understand completely. And I agree wholeheartedly. I do not know if I ever told you this, but I did a bit of acting, in my youth.” At this, Adara burst out laughing.

“I’m sorry,” she gasped, between peals of laughter, “but you sound like an old grandfather telling the granddaughter he never before met about his ‘youth.’ It is very funny, really.”

“Er, it is fine, Adara. I see your meaning.” Timeus smiled sheepishly and ran his hand through his hair. For the first time since Adara and Timeus had met when she was twelve and he thirteen, she noticed this gesture in particular. How many times he had made that simple gesture, she could not count. But it was only now that she noticed it, and noticed that he did it when he uncomfortable for some reason or other. But why was he uncomfortable now, because she had laughed at him? But that had not been mean laughter, and she had apologized. She shook her head, willing those troublesome thoughts to free themselves from her head.

“I’m sorry, Tim, truly I am.” Adara smiled tenderly at her friend, wondering if he was really upset, just uncomfortable, or neither. Perhaps this was all a figment of her imagination.

“It is fine, Adara,” Timeus repeated. His words were not rushed at all, and were very kind, but a dark cloud passed over his face, hinting that he was getting impatient.

“Oh. Yes. Okay.” This was where Adara stopped. She knew they weren’t getting anywhere at all, so she tried to refocus the conversation. “So, you did some acting in your youth. Did you?”

“That is true, I did. Do you not know? I spent a summer with my cousin’s troupe of traveling players.”

“How lovely! Did you like in a colored wagon like gypsies and sit around a campfire every night?” Positively glowing with excitement, Adara leaned towards her friend, as she asked question after question. “And did you tell folktales? And dance and sing every day? Oh, Tim, do tell me all about it.”

“Easy, easy! I promise to go in to more detail some other time, but I have a point I am trying to get to.”

“Of course. Sorry.”

“No, do not apologize!” Timeus grabbed Adara’s hands between his own and clutched them to his chest. “Stop apologizing! You really do not need to.”

“I…” At a complete loss for words, Adara trailed off. She looked at Timeus, and then down at her lap. She was totally baffled. He was acting very strange. “Timeus, tell me what you were trying to tell me all along. Please do,” she said at last.

Timeus breathed a sigh of relief, and released her hands, letting them fall back to her sides. “Hear me out for a moment. Do not say a word,” he commanded.

“As you wish,” Adara mouthed, though she did not say the words. She watched as Timeus’s face broke into a grin, and lowered her eyes demurely.

“I must apologize myself. I have been acting odd lately. You need not accept my apology. Just listen. I am sorry.” He saw her opened her mouth to respond, but his fingers flew to her lips, silencing her. “Let us not dwell on this. But we are friends. Apologies are not necessary between us. We both know that if either of us hurts the other in any way, it is nothing other than an accident. I hope this will be the end of it.” Adara nodded in consent.

“Will you tell me about your summer with your cousins, now?” she asked.

“Aye. It was wonderful. My aunt kept a two quaint little wagons, both painted in bright colors and pulled by the most wonderful, patient draft horses.” He smiled at the memory. “We called them Milly, Mindy and Molly. If I recall correctly, the biggest of the trio were Molly and Milly, and they pulled the children’s wagon. They were truly the gentlest beasts I have ever seen. My aunt and uncle only needed one horse to pull their wagon, and that was Mindy of course. She was a dear as well. And, oh, it was such a pleasant, peaceful life. Someday I hope to visit them again. But, as I was saying, I did a bit of acting. That is the part I wish to tell you about.

“When we were acting, Uncle would always, always, without fail, prepare sheets for us ahead of time. I mean to say, before any play or dramatic work, he would make up sheets about the character each of us was to play. One time all us boys were knights, and my little cousin Mathilde was a damsel stuck in the citadel of an evil lord. Uncle made sure that every knight had a developed personality, and gave us scrolls that told us about the characters. It was wonderful. It truly was.”

“It sounds lovely! Tim, why did you never tell me about this before?” Adara closed her eyes, savoring the image her friend’s words had made in her mind.

“I did not think such a thing would be of interest. I guess I was wrong,” Timeus said simply. His voice was frank, but he picked at his fingernails in discomfort.

“Do not worry. I am not at all angry with you.” Saying this, Adara hugged Timeus, and stood up. “I do not know about you, but I would love some breakfast. I am ravenously hungry.” She smiled, and grabbed Timeus’s arm, pulling him to his feet. “Come, even if you are not hungry. Keep me company.”

“What are you saying? Of course I am hungry!” Timeus spun around, so that he was doing the pulling, and dragged her out the door. “Breakfast, here we come! Gods, I could eat a horse.”

Adara looked stricken. “Surely you wouldn’t? I have taken quite a fancy to my hunter.”

Laughing, he led her into the cozy room where the breakfast table was laid for four. “I was not talking literally, Adara.”

“I know. I am not as stupid as that, Tim.”

“No, naturally not. Here, lovely, porridge, toast, and fried eggs.”

“Delicious.”

“Yes, delicious.”

* * *

It was not until the next day that Adara realized exactly the consequences of their evening escapade those four nights before.

“We will never find my father!” she screamed in the middle of lunch.

“Nonsense. Of course we will.” Lancelot shot her a stern look and continued attacking his turkey drumstick.

“No, no we won’t! This is a hopeless cause. It was always insane, but I had the bad sense to realize it until now. We will never find Alastair. Never.”

“We will find your father. I give you my word,” Lancelot said solemnly.

“Adara, do not take it so hard. We will find your father, I am sure, do not fret,” Timeus added.

“We must,” Clancy breathed, not even looking up from his plate.

“We will not!” Adara screamed at the top of lungs, sending the innkeeper’s wife rushing in, asking if anything was wrong.

“No, nothing is wrong,” Lancelot growled. “This young lady just has no idea how to behave herself in public.”

“Oh, sir, surely not! She is a good girl. I have talked with her. She is a sweet child. Do not be too stern with her. She is your daughter?”

Lancelot raised her eyebrows in surprise. “No, my niece. You think she resembles me?”

“No, not really, I just thought—never mind. And who are the lads?”

“Her husband, and her brother.”

The innkeeper’s wife looked scandalized. “The child is married already? But she is so young. I know it is not my place to say such things, but really…”

“She is past marriageable age,” Lancelot snapped. “She is seventeen, her husband eighteen. There is nothing improper about that.”

“You are right, sir. I am sorry. I judged so quickly, it was wrong of me. Only, the child seemed so innocent always. But you say she is wedded and bedded?”

“Yes, with all the proper rites.”

“Very well. It is not my place to interfere.” She cast a pitying look at Adara, and bustled away.

* * *

After his talk with the innkeeper’s wife, Lancelot decided that leaving the inn directly would be the best thing. He commissioned a carriage, and they left at once, with amazing haste. Somehow they managed to get all their bags packed and loaded within scarcely two days.

Adara went to say a formal farewell to the innkeeper and his wife before they left. To her surprise, the innkeeper’s wife hugged her tightly and whispered in her ear, “Love, watch out. You are still young and beautiful. Do not let him hurt you, that Tristan.” She kissed Adara’s forehead, and then gave her a gentle shove towards the carriage. “Good bye, dear. Godspeed and good luck.”

For the greater part of the day, Adara turned over the innkeeper’s wife’s words in her head, trying to think what they could mean. Finally, it came to her. Of course, the innkeeper’s wife thought she and Tristan were married, just as everyone else did, aside from Clancy and Lancelot. But why would she say, “Do not let him hurt you, that Tristan.” It seemed an odd thing to say to a young newlywed woman. She felt the answer lay in what Lancelot had said to the innkeeper’s wife about their marriage, but she did not particularly feel like asking him. Instead, she asked Clancy’s advise.

Once she finished explaining the matter to her brother, he sighed. “Isolde, you are right. The answer to your question does lie in what Lancelot said. He said…” Clancy shifted his weight. Finally, it rushed out. “He said you were wedded and bedded. There, are you happy? Now you know.”

Adara flushed scarlet. “But we were only supposed to be betrothed, Cla—Percival.”

“Well, Lancelot took some liberties, didn’t he?” Clancy turned away to get a book out of his bag.

“Did you hear that?” Adara hissed, looking at Timeus, who was sitting across from her. She knew Lancelot could not hear, as he was too busy driving the truck to eavesdrop, but she still wanted to be quiet about this.

“Yes, I heard.” Timeus had an odd expression on his face that Adara could not decipher.

“Well?”

Timeus blinked. “Oh, I think it was very rude and bad for your reputation for Lancelot to say something like that,” he said, though he did not sound too terribly convinced.

“I should think so!” Adara fumed. “Can you believe he had the nerve to say all that? By the Gods above, I have never heard such dreadful talk about my own person.”

“Adara, it was not really dishonorable talk,” Timeus said gently. “There is nothing wrong with a husband and wife having such a relationship as Lancelot spoke of. He was trying to protect us, I think, not dishonor us. If he had meant to dishonor either of us, he would have said that we were secret lovers. He just wanted it to seem proper. There is nothing improper about a wife traveling with her husband without female escort. But it may sound improper to ears soiled by gossip to hear of a beautiful young woman traveling alone with three men.”

“Oh. I see your point. Gods, I am too ready to attack Lancelot these days. It is a very bad habit. I should not do it.”

“It is fine,” Timeus soothed, stroking her head. “No one blames you for it. You are under stress. Not many girls your age could stand living with their father lost, as you have, for so long. Not many girls your age could cope so well. No one is perfect. It is only natural that you must take your anger out somehow. Do not worry, no one is angry about it. I am sure.”

“Thank you, Tim. Thank you. I really do not know what I would do without you,” Adara said, a sob rising in her throat. Then she cried, letting the salty tears brimming at the lids of her eyes pouring down her white cheeks quickly. She did not make any noise; her tears came silently. She did not waste a lot of time crying; her tears came quickly and stopped as quickly as they had come. Timeus handed her his handkerchief, and she murmured her thanks and dabbed her eyes with the cloth briefly, before handing it back. “Thank you, again, Tim.”

“You are most welcome, Adara. Do not be afraid to cry. It is, my mother always said, the best but also hardest way to get rid of pain. It may be hard to cry, and you may think you are making a fool of yourself by crying, but that is all nonsense. Crying is good—good for the soul, and good for the heart. Never be afraid to cry, Adara.”

Timeus was rewarded for his speech but a quick smile from Adara. “I will keep that in mind,” she said softly.

* * *

“Where are we going?” Adara inquired of Lancelot when the group stopped for a midday meal later that day.

Lancelot looked amazed. “You do not know?”

“No. Why would I ask, if I already knew?”

Shaking his head, Lancelot said, “It is simple. Did you not hear Encyclopedia Bob? We are going to the castle of Baron Snout, where your father is being held.”

“Oh, I remember now.” Adara’s voice faded out and Lancelot could tell that she was sorting through her memories of that eventful night. “I remember,” she repeated, back in the present once more.

“Do you? That is very good. Do wish to know anything else?”

Adara could think of a hundred questions to ask Lancelot. She tried to pick the one she wanted to know the answer to most, but she could not. “No, I have no questions, thank you,” she lied.

“Very well then. If you will excuse me, I would like to make sure that the horses are properly cared for.” Lancelot stood, bowed, and walked away, towards the carriage.

“What did he speak to you of?” Clancy asked, coming to sit beside Adara.

“I wanted to know where we were going. He told me,” Adara replied, her voice curt but not unpleasant.

“I see. How do you fare, sister?”

“Never better,” she said sarcastically. “Never better.” Her voice was bitter now. “My father has disappeared, and I have little hope of seeing him ever again. Oh, how well I am!”

“He is my father, as well, Ady,” Clancy reminded her.

“I know! Do you think that makes it any easier? For it does not. There is nothing anyone can say to make me feel better. The only words that could make me smile would be those spoken from my father’s own lips—our father’s own lips. Oh, how I miss him. Do you not miss him?” Adara felt as if she was going to cry again, but she knew this would not be the time. She knew it was important to cry, sometimes. She agreed with Timeus on that much. But she also knew there were times when crying would make a situation worse. Now was such a time.

“Adara! Be quiet!” ordered Clancy, his voice loud. “There is nothing either of us can do, that I know. There is nothing anyone can do, yet. We must just be strong and wait until it is safe to recover our father in a safe, orderly fashion. Now you be quiet. You are making everything worse.”

“Am I?” Adara asked. She jumped off, brushing the mud off of her breeches as she moved. “Very well. I will go away, then, so as not make things worse.”

Timeus took the spot where Adara had been sitting, and took a long, hard look at her older brother, Clancy. The two young men had known each other for a number of years, but they had never got on very well together. Clancy was good enough looking, with a full head of orange hair and a long, sharply pointed nose. His pale face, only slightly pinker than Adara’s own, was dusted with freckles. He dressed elegantly, and, when at home, was never seen without the long robes of a university student. Just like Timeus, Clancy was a student at the royal university in Hockport. Though they were both students of roughly the same age, they were in totally different social circles at the university, and neither went out of his way to be friendly to the other.

“Hello,” Clancy said coolly,

“Hello,” said Timeus.

“Will you just sit here and stare until the end of eternity?”

Timeus continued to stare at Clancy. “No, I have better things to do,” he said finally.

“So how long will you sit here and stare?”

“Not long.”

“Really? I think I will take the liberty of ending this staring contest myself.” Clancy got to his feet with dignity, placed his feathered cap on his head at jaunty angle, and strolled in the direction of Lancelot and the carriage.

“Will we be getting back on the road again soon?” he asked Lancelot. Timeus listened for a moment, just long enough to hear Lancelot’s answer of “yes, soon,” before he left to find Adara.

As it turned out, he did not have far to go. Adara had found her way to a mighty oak tree. She was sitting in the shade of the tree, staring out into the distance.

“Ho, Adara!” he cried, regretting his loud voice the moment the words escaped his mouth.

By some miracle, Adara smiled at him, though she did not get to her feet. “Ho!” she cried in response.

“Both of us have sought out Clancy today, but neither you nor I has been able to speak to him without anyone getting offended,” Timeus commented. Adara nodded, and picked up a fallen oak leaf. She rubbed it absently between her fingers. It did not seem that she was paying much attention. Timeus, who felt no particular need to convince her to listen, was content to sit beside her in the shade of the oak tree.

“Everything changed so much for me,” Adara whispered. “I never thought I would miss Papa this much. But I do. I miss him so much it feels as if a part of me is gone. It seems wrong, almost. I mean, he hasn’t died”—she frowned—“or at least, I hope not. He is not dead yet, at any rate, I am almost certain. But still I miss him.”

“It is hard,” Timeus agreed. He felt he could sympathize with her, for his mother had died when he was nine. It had taken him many years just to accept that she was gone forever, and he stilled mourned her death, even after nearly ten years.

“Yes, it is very, very hard. But I must be strong, and I will be strong.”

“That’s right. I know you can be strong, and I know you can be brave. Just show me that you can be both strong and brave now, even when your father is gone. I am confident that if you are strong and brave, you will find your father soon enough.

“I hope so, Timeus. I truly hope so. It is my one wish, and I wish it with all my heart, to be able to see my father once more. I do not even have to see him many times, just once more.”

“Oh, Adara! You needn’t worry about that. Soon you will have him back as your father, and you will see him many times everyday.” Timeus wrapped one arms around Adara, and gave her a little half hug. “Take comfort.”

“If only I could be sure!” Adara felt herself crying again. This time Timeus did not just wait for her to finish, he cradled her as if she were a little child and he her nursemaid.

“Dearest Adara,” he whispered, “I promise that you will find your father before too many days pass. Do not be upset.”

“Oh, but I am!” she moaned through her tears, sobbing onto Timeus’s shoulder.

“Do not be. There is no call to be so upset. You have only to wait to get your father back. You have only to wait.” It was as if his words were lullabies. She drifted off to sleep in his arms. When Lancelot came to tell them that they were off, Timeus picked up his friend and carried her like a babe to the carriage, and tucked her under a blanket so that she would sleep deeply and well, and not wake from the cold.

Chapter Ten

2004-11-30T17:33:00.000-08:00

Chapter Ten:
In which someone pays a mysterious man pays a visit to our heroes

Sticking his thumb into the air in encouragement, Clancy smiled and beckoned to Adara and Timeus, as they ran towards the encampment. He helped them inside the tent he and Lancelot had hastily erected before nightfall, and lit a small fire outside the tent. Lancelot hurried to put a spell on the fire, to veil its light, so that they would not be noticed for miles ‘round.

“What happened?” Clancy asked eagerly, as soon as everyone was settled down.

Adara looked ready to cry, so Timeus answered for her. “We were greeted by a decoy version of your father, Alastair. He tied up Adara, but I was able to catch him unawares. Actually, I should say ‘she,’ for guess who the decoy turned out to be?”

“Er…” Clancy bit his lip, looking dejected. The news that his father still had not been found hit him just as hard as it had Adara. “I really have no idea. Please fill me in, Tristan,” he said, politely but without any heart at all.

“Cheer up, Percival!” Timeus said. “We shall find your father soon enough. You, too, Isolde—cheer up! Do not cry.” Addressing Lancelot and Clancy, now, he said, “You will never believe you the imposter was in truth. It was Encyclopedia Bob, that famous human reference book. And I tell you, she was as devious as ever.”

Lancelot leaned forward, his curiosity easy to read on his open, smooth face. “It was Encyclopedia Bob, you say? Really? Well I never… what did she look like, Tristan?”

“Not much!” Adara said, speaking for the first time since Timeus and she had arrived back from the inn. This comment was greeted with a few smiles, and even a short laugh on Lancelot’s part.

“But really,” Clancy persisted, apparently interested by this topic, “what did she look like?”

Timeus answered, this time. “Well, she is very short. She has brown hair, a deep mahogany color, much redder than Isolde’s, and lighter, as well. I think she has light eyes, a greenish blue, if I recall correctly. And you must have heard that Encyclopedia Bob is short. I believe she stands around four feet and six inches tall. I do not think she is even five feet… how tall is Isolde, five feet and seven inches tall? Yes, I would say Encyclopedia Bob is roughly a foot shorter than that, maybe a bit less. Still, the difference is quite remarkable. She is almost a dwarf, really. Of course, I do not mean to be disrespectful, but it is astonishing to see how short she is—though she more than makes up for it in brains and memory.” He grinned, and took a deep breath, recovering from his quick talking in only a few breaths of air.

“Tristan!” Adara reprimanded. “You are being very disrespectful, you know. It is not your place to comment on Encyclopedia Bob’s height.”

“She is against us, you know,” Timeus said, shame-faced, his creamy, pale cheeks turning a lovely shade of pink, that would have looked very becoming had it been the color of a garment, as opposed to his actual face.

“I know,” she snapped. “But honestly!”

“Fellow travelers,” Lancelot said with a yawn, “I think that perhaps it would be a good idea if all of us took a short rest.”

“Hear, hear!” Clancy took off his jerkin and folded into a pillow. “Anybody got some blankets?” he asked, lying down on his back, and crossing his legs.

“Blankets? Sleep? Did someone say either of those words?” Adara lay down as well, curling up into a small ball for warmth.

“Mmm…” Timeus, smiling, did the same as Clancy and Adara had done before him, leaving Lancelot to step outside the tent and fetch the blankets from the cart, which was laden with supplies and guarded with a number of magical wards, to prevent vandalism.

“Blankets? You want blankets? Here you go!” Lancelot said, crossly, tossing the blankets at the three of them.

“Thank you, Lance,” Adara murmured, wrapping his blanket tightly around her body, and resting her head on her hands.

This nickname sweetened Lancelot’s mood, and his lips curled into something that might have passed for a fatherly smile. “Good night, everyone!” He took his own blankets, and lay down as well.

“Sleep well,” Timeus called out, to no one in particular. With that, he squeezed his eyes closed, and drifted off to sleep.

“Sweet dreams,” Clancy added, before doing the same.

Soon every member of the odd little party was sound asleep, off in their own happy world of dreams and rainbows with leprechauns and pots of gold at the end.

* * *

As our quartet of heroes slept peacefully, a villain snuck through the bushes, nearing their campsite. A sorcerer, he stopped every few paces to perform a simple spell that would find even magically hidden objects. He saw the outline of tent, but it was so fuzzy that he became disoriented quickly. The tent seemed to be jumping around from place to place. It was obviously the work of a very, very powerful sorcerer.

The man shuddered, trying not to think about what might happen if he should meet this sorcerer. He pulled his protective, magicked hood closer to his head, against the shrieking, howling wind.

Nothing seemed to be on his side tonight, for he tripped several times over the gnarled roots of trees, a maze of branches, and toadstools arranged in a fairy circle. Shaking with fright—all the elements seemed to be against him—the man slipped his hand under the collar of his linen tunic, and pulled out a clay amulet. He gripped it so tightly that his knuckles went white, and held it in front of his body.

“Where is the tent?” he asked the wind. Then he turned to the trees, and asked them a similar question: “Do you know where I could find those that I look for?”

There was not, of course, any response, so he stared at the stars twinkling through the clouds, and asked them. No reply. He continued, stumbling forward madly. Before he knew it, he was right in front of the tent. Still, he could not see it. As he took one giant step forward, he entered the enclosed bubble of magic inside which the tent was hidden. Suddenly, everything that had been hidden from him was visible.

“Thank you, earth!” The man exclaimed softly. He knelt down and kissed the soft, moist soil. He fingered the short blades of lush green grass affectionately, and pet the pebbles surrounding the campfire as if they were small, tame animals.

Once the man was finished with his passionate display of love for nature, he entered the tent, drawing his knife. His orders were to be sure not to kill any of the people inside the tent, but he wanted a weapon just in case. He noticed a sheet of strong magic hanging in the air, and shivered. Yes, a very powerful sorcerer had worked on these protective spells. Knowing it was better to be safe than sorry, he slipped his knife back into its sheath beneath his sleeve, and drew his short sword. It was a sturdy weapon, but powerful, and excellent for hacking at enemies. The man tightened his grip on the leather wrapped hilt of his sword, and stepped closer to the plane of magic.

He could see it glinting, despite the darkness of the room, thanks to the vision amulet that hung on a cord around his neck, along with all the other charms he had. The man’s neck was, truly it was, like a human jewelry display rack. The particular amulet that was helping him now was one of his favorites, and he wore it always. The one problem with wearing amulets, the man found, was that everyone could instantly tell you were not a sorcerer. This could be very bad… very bad indeed. But then, you had to consider the upsides of wearing amulets. They had endless powers, and could protect you almost always. Plus, they helped the man on his missions, making every job easier. That reminded him that he had a job to do now.

Experimentally, the man reached out with his sword to poke the shining plane in front of him. Nothing happened, the sword simply sliced through the magic as if it was not there. This seemed very suspicious. After all, why would a sorcerer go to all the trouble to put in place a spell like this (for it seemed to be a very complex spell), only to let in someone like the man, who wished the occupants of the tent nothing but a distant, business-like sort of ill. It seemed to the man to be a very stupid thing to do. And what could the plane of magic possibly be for, except protection? He struck at the magic again with his sword. This time it would not pass through. He could hardly believe that it was just a plane of sorcery, invisible to the naked eye. From the jolt that went through his arm as his sword hit the magic, and also from the loud clank, it seemed like there was a metal fence there.

This idea appealed to the man. If it truly were a fence, even in magical form, it would have holes through which he could pass. Quickly, he touched that barrier. He felt metal, true, but it was so cold it burned. He drew back immediately. What should he do? He tried once more, reaching out, through the air. This time, he felt the same smooth metal, jarringly cold, flames of ice licking at his fingertips, searing his skin. He jumped back, and stared at his hand. The top layer of skin had been burnt away, to reveal scorched bright red palms. He felt sick at the sight of this, and stepped outside to vomit quietly.

Once he was finished, the man walked back into the tent. He took his heavy sack off his shoulder, and set it down in the ground. The man rummaged through the contents of the bag for a few minutes, until he found what he had been looking for. It was a roughly shaped crystal, a clump of jagged towers of mineral and rock, a translucent castle, small enough to fit into his palm. The man traced his fingers over the crystal, and it began to glow with a steady, soft blue light. Instinctively, the man reached up to feel the strongest of the amulets around his neck. There was a flash of blue light, and the crystal hummed and vibrated softly in his hand.

With a grim smile, the man pushed his index finger against the sharp crystal, pricking it and drawing a drop of blood. He let the blood drip down his finger, and blood on the ground. Once the pool was of a moderate size, he blew on his finger, and it immediately stopped bleeding. The man waved one of his amulets over the pool of blood, and a smoky image appeared. Leaning over, the man pressed his hand into the image, and, while it should have been bloody and red when he lifted it, his hand came up coated in a chrome-like coat of shining silver. He shrugged slowly, as if to adjust an uncomfortably hung garment, and then stepped towards the magical wall once more. This time, he walked through as if it were nothing more than a sheet of water, and got through onto the other side with almost no trouble at all.

“At last!” The man said to himself, very quietly so as not to wake any of the tent’s sleeping occupants. He shook himself, and the suit of chrome flew off in silvery tendrils, splattering to the ground in a heap. He shot them a reprimanding look, and the tendrils shrank back from him as if they were alive. The man shook one long, bony finger at the pile of tendrils. They shrank back slightly more, and organized themselves into something that looked like a neatly folded shirt, complete with detailed collar, buttons, and front breast pocket. The man beamed at the chrome shirt, just exactly like a father whose child had just performed an impossible task. Then he lifted his sword in preparation, and stepped towards the sleeping figures.

* * *

Lancelot blinked in the darkness. Under this breath, almost silently, he murmured a spell for night vision. The world turned into a forest of eerie green light and he was able to make out the figure of a mysterious intruder, clothed in a silver suit, walking through the powerful magical barrier Lancelot had cast earlier that night. Why hadn’t he thought of that? Of course, a suit of silver like that would deflect all the charms he had placed on the tent. He cursed himself, and tried desperately to think of a way to protect—well, everyone… himself, Adara, Timeus, and even Clancy, that annoying tag-along brother of Adara’s.

Raising himself up onto his elbows, Lancelot peered around, taking cares not to be seen by the intruder. Where was the pendant? He struggled to fight the tangled spider web in his brain, the remains of sleep. Ah, now he remembered. He had refused to give it to Adara, and it was still in his bag. Well, thank the Gods for that! But where was his bag? Muddled, he lay back down, sinking into his pillow—that was it! He had used the bag as a pillow. “What luck,” Lancelot thought, with more than a subtle hint of sarcasm. The intruder would surely find him, and that would ruin everything…

Gods, he was a sorcerer! He need not think so humbly like this. What stupidity! He opened his mouth to whisper the few words required to disarm the intruder (who, he could now see, was carrying a very dangerous looking sword), as well as cause the pendant to fasten itself around his neck. Alas, he was too late. The intruder had noticed him, and was advancing, sword waving forward in the darkness, illuminated with the soft green glow of Lancelot’s spell.

Jumping to his feet, Lancelot danced out of the intruder’s way. He rushed to let his knives slide forward in his palms, so he would be ready should the intruder get to close. Lancelot tried to remember where he had put his trusty broadsword, but failed hopelessly. Instead, he was forced to slam into the ground, tumble forward in a clumsy but nevertheless effective somersault, and slide across the dirt floor of the tent on his stomach to grab onto the hilt of Timeus’s rapier. Taking a huge risk, he bellowed a spell that made Adara, Timeus, and Clancy wake up.

The intruder shot each of the three young people a look of disdain, but did not try to attack them yet. This gave Lancelot time to bellow another spell, which placed them behind a wall of flowing coursing protective magic. Timeus, who seemed to have his wits about him—at least for the most part—unsheathed his knife, and instructed Adara and Clancy to do the same with their knives. Luckily, Clancy was able to dig up Lancelot’s broadsword, which he used to slice through the net of protective magic, and step outside, to help Lancelot.

Not to be outdone, Adara drew her own sword, a slim, finely made weapon of the deadly sharp blade of a rapier but the strong build of a longsword. As she did this, she said a spell that caused the tent to flare with light. It faded slowly, but the tent remained bright enough to see what was happening. With a menacing, catlike grin, Adara stepped carefully through Clancy’s tear in the magic, and out to join the fight.

Apparently, Clancy had very little skill with the sword, for he and Lancelot were engaged in fierce combat with the intruder, and were not doing very well. Lancelot kept casting fearful glances at his bed, for a reason Adara could not fathom, and Clancy was shivering with fear. In truth, Adara could hardly blame her brother, for even she had beaten him at the fencing lessons they had taken as children.

“Isolde!” Timeus called out to her, stepping through the magical wall. “We must surround the intruder. Then we can attack.”

Adara nodded brusquely, and brandished her sword in the intruder’s face. He merely shuffled backwards, and continued parrying madly. This frustrated Adara, so she leapt out and struck her blade against the intruder’s shoulder. Fortunately for the intruder, he was wearing a mail hauberk underneath his tunic, and the blow was deflected. Unfortunately for the intruder, Adara was quick to strike again. This time she swept her sword in a smooth arc above the intruder’s head, and chopped it down. The blow carried home, this time, and the intruder’s legs crumpled underneath him, and he fell to the ground.

“Good job, Isolde!” Timeus cheered heartily. He bent over the intruder, and examined him quickly.

“Will he live?” Adara’s question came breathlessly.

“You sound worried,” commented Lancelot, dryly.

“I am,” she said, taken aback. “I did not wish to kill the man.”

“Liar,” Clancy snapped. He was sullen, angered that his little sister had made the “winning move,” so to speak.

“What? I am not! I truly did not mean the man harm… well, I did, but I did not wish him to die.” She looked ready to cry, so Timeus ran to stand by her side.

“I do not think the man will live, he is pretty far gone,” Timeus told the group, quietly, He patted Adara’s arm. “Do not worry, my friend. What you did was for the best. Just think: if you had not saved us all, he might have killed us.”

“I killed him?” Adara asked, stunned.

“Er, well…”

Lancelot interrupted. “To put it bluntly? Yes, you killed him. Now settle down, girl. Someone would have had to do it.”

“I am becoming something terrible. I am becoming a monster,” Adara said. Her voice was even, but she swayed slightly.

“No, no, you are most definetely not becoming a monster!” Timeus grabbed out to support Adara, just as she fainted into his arms.

“That girl!” Lancelot muttered. He sighed, and helped Timeus and Clancy settle her back onto her bedroll. “If you gentlemen do not mind, I will just go out and bury the intruder.”

Neither looked up (they were too busy fussing over Adara), but Clancy nodded. Lancelot bowed, knowing they were not watching, and scrambled outside, dragging the body behind him.

Chapter Nine

2004-11-30T17:19:00.000-08:00

Chapter Nine:
In which our heroes follow a lead

Rocking back and forth slightly, Adara crouched behind the wall. Her heart was beating at a furious speed, in apprehension of what was to come that night. She was cloaked in the pitch black of the night. It was so late the moon set, and the twinkle of the stars had faded to a soft, distant glow. The utter darkness concealed her perfectly, though it helped that she wore a black woolen tunic. Her feet were clothed in soft cloth slippers, as opposed to boots, which would shine in any light they were exposed to. Her long auburn hair was braided and pinned on top of head, to keep it out of her face.

She heard the crunch of leaves, and reached for the long, thin dagger hidden in the folds of her tunic. She squinted, and was able to make out the very faint outline of her best friend, Timeus. She found she had been holding her breath, and exhaled with relief.

“What’s the word, Timeus?” Adara whispered.

He knelt beside her and cupped his hands around her ear. “We must be silent,” Timeus told Adara, his voice so soft she could barely hear it over the heavy thudding of her heart. “I will tell you, though, that there are no watchmen outside. Nicodemus… or Lancelot, as he now calls himself, wants to let us know that it is safe, or he believes, to enter through the dormer window.”

Adara nodded, failing to remember that Timeus could not see her motion in dark. “Let us go, then,” she said, her voice equaling his in quietness.

“Yes, let us go.” Timeus clasped her hand in his, and squeezed it in encouragement. Adara squeezed his hand back, before pulling away and reaching into her rucksack. She pulled out a length of rope, coiled neatly and tied together. She used her dagger to cut loose the piece of string that held the coil together, and unwound the rope. Her fingers worked quickly as she formed a sturdy lasso.

“Let me try this,” she murmured. She got to her feet, and stepped back. She looked skywards, at the inn’s roof. Adara swung the lasso around her head a few times, until it had gained sufficient momentum. She loosed it, and waiting as it spiraled through the air. The noose settled on the peak of the roof, and she smiled with satisfaction. “Success,” Adara said, gloatingly. She pulled on the end of the rope until it had tightened adequately. Then she tapped Timeus on the shoulder, alerting him to her achievement. He stood up at once.

“You climb first. Do not worry, I’ll catch you if you fall,” Timeus assured her. He carefully tied the rope around her waist, forming a makeshift harness. A giggle escaped Adara lips as Timeus’s hands moved across her stomach, but he shushed her hurriedly. When Timeus was finished, he gave an experimental tug on the rope, and then stepped away as she swung forward, braced her legs on the side of the building, and began to climb, heaving herself up, inch by inch, hand over hand. He could just see her lithe figure moving upwards. He was very tense, and could not relax. What if she fell? What if something else happened to her? He relaxed enormously when she reached the window, and perched on the ledge. She tossed the rope down to him, and disappeared through the window, into the interior of the inn.

Timeus’s hands were covered in sweat as he caught the rope, and gripped it firmly. He tied it quickly around his wait, and then, shaking with excitement, walked towards the side of the building, and swung up, pushing his legs against the wall. He pulled his torso upwards, frantically trying to avoid swinging out, away from the inn and into the horrible blackness of the night. With grim perseverance, Timeus moved let go of the rope with one hand, and then quickly placed it above the other. He repeated this with the other hand, and then did the same with his feet, until he had pulled himself up about ten feet above the ground. He continued steadily, perspiring from the stress and fear. He could not ignore the nagging thought in the back of his head that reminded him that the higher he got, the farther he had to fall.

When he finally reached the window, relief washed over him like a sheet of cool rain. Timeus hoisted himself up, grabbed onto the ledge, and collapsed into the room on the other side of the window. In a final effort, he grabbed his own knife from the inside of his boot, and severed the rope that attached him to the roof of the building. He lay on the floor like that for a moment, gasping for breath. It was almost as dark inside as it had been outside, but a dim light came from somewhere in the hallway. From the way it flickered, he figured it was a candle or torch.

Presently, Timeus gained the energy to sit up, and then actually get to his feet. He leaned against the wall for support, still panting, and surveyed the room. At once he noticed that something was not quite right. It was a rather obvious thing.

Adara was not there.

Cursing, Timeus tapped into a hidden reserve of energy, and ran down out of the room and down the hallway. He moved as quietly as he could, but was nevertheless conscious that the floorboards squeaked loudly as he ran across them, and his footfalls were not silent in the least. Gathering his wits, Timeus tried to think where Adara could possibly be. There was a very, very remote possibility that she had decided to explore on her own, but it did not seem likely. Timeus preferred not to the about the worst-case scenario. He came to a bend in the hallway, and heard a muffled cry. It was a female’s voice, he was sure.

“Adara!” Timeus turned the corner, and spotted a door. It was slightly ajar, and he could see a bright light through the crack. He pushed it open and stepped inside, hugging the wall. Alastair stood in the center of the room, his back to Timeus. Adara was crumpled on the floor, bound and gagged. She saw Timeus as he entered the room, and shook her head, her eyes widening. Somehow, Timeus got the feeling that the man who looked so much like Alastair was not actually Alastair. He slid his knife into the sheath on his belt where he kept it when it was not in his boot, and drew his sword.

Timeus was especially proud of his sword. It had a long, thin blade, and a deadly sharp point. It was a rapier, and could not kill as easily as a broadsword, so Lancelot had smeared a strong poison across the end of the blade. He swished it through the air once, quickly, to get his arm adjusted to holding it. Then Timeus stepped forward, and pointed his rapier the man’s neck. He dug the point just far enough for the man to notice its sharpness, but not far enough for the poison to take effect.

“Do not dare move,” Timeus said, in the gruffest voice he could muster. It was terribly hard work, trying to act like an experienced warrior.

Somewhat to Timeus’s surprise, the man obeyed him. He did not move a single muscle. Timeus grabbed for his dagger, and, lowering his rapier, pinned the man to the wall. Hastily, Timeus sawed through the ropes that tied Adara’s arms behind her back, and her feet against her stomach. She undid the gag herself, and smiled, before getting to her feet to assist Timeus.

“Who are you? You are not my father,” Adara said, holding her own dagger against the man’s throat, threateningly.

“That is true,” the man gasped, flattening himself against the wall from terror. The knife had left a thin line of red blood across his collarbone, though it was not deep enough to actually harm him.

“I know it is true! You must tell me who you are!” Adara barked. She was doing a much better job at interrogating than Timeus could ever do, and he relaxed, though he still held the man in place, his arm twisted behind his back.

“I am Gerard, a humble farmer. Please do not harm me, I beg of you!” As he said this, Gerard looked pleadingly at Adara. For some strange reason, he took her to be the weaker of the two. Really though, it would have been much more likely for Timeus to have broken down at this remark than Adara. She stared stony-faced at Gerard, her eyes telling him to go into greater detail. And Gerard did. “You know it, my lady! You know it! I am not a farmer, I admit. I am an agent. But I can not tell you who I work for, or I am afraid I will have to kill you.” He smiled menacingly.

“Oh, please!” Adara laughed dryly, and pressed her dagger against Gerard’s neck. “You really think you have any chance whatsoever of killing us? I think it is the other way ‘round.”

“Forgive me, my lady—“

“And do not call me your ‘lady.’ I am no noble.”

“But, my lady—“

“Quiet. Either you tell me whom you work for, or I slit your throat. Your choice,” Adara explained, smiling cheerfully. “I must know. And why, oh why, are you impersonating my father?”

“But I am not—“

“You are not to argue with me!”

“I am sorry, my lady. Er, I mean…”

“Isolde,” Adara said, using the name Lancelot had given her.

“Ah. And who is this young man, Tristan?” Gerard burst out laughing despite the puzzled but still angry looks on the faces of Adara and Timeus.

“Yes, I am Tristan,” Timeus said, looking like a lost tourist on a hot summer’s day. “But this not the time for jokes, Messer Gerard. This is serious business.” He coughed, wondering just how serious it was.

“Of course, of course!” Gerard stopped laughing, though he still looked exceptionally jolly for someone who was being held with a knife at their throat a run-down inn at three o’clock in the morning.

“Good, I am glad you understand.” Adara had taken over once more. “Tell me who your employer is. Or I am afraid things are going to get nasty. Now talk, man, talk!”

This, just as Adara had expected, set Gerard talking. And he talked at a frantic pace—scared for his life, the poor man was.

“Well, you see Miss Isolde, I was hired by a team of men. I do not know all of their names, I am afraid, but they are mostly lesser barons of Hadiya. The man who hired me, specifically, was called Snout.”

Timeus blinked in surprise. “Baron Snout? The eighth baron of the Pigshead line?”

“Aye, that’s the one. Nasty little man, looks just like a pig, really. He reminds me of my good old dad. A right porky one, my dad was.” Gerard sighed at the nostalgic memories that suddenly came floating into his head. “If he could only see me now, he’d have a fit, he would. “Gerard,” he would say, ‘you have gotten yourself into some mess, young man!’”

“Really! This is no time—“

“I was jus’ getting to my point, Miss Isolde! You wait one moment and you will see.”

“Will I, know? That is quite surprising. Why do not you just get to your point now? I have little time to spare for you, my friend.”

“Easy, Miss! Well, as I was saying, my employer is Baron Snout of Pigshead. A very jolly fellow, if I do say so myself. He has a tendency for playing at cards, turning the tables, if you get my meaning, eh?”

“Wait,” Adara cut in sharply. “You mean to say that Snout is a gambler?”

“Well I would not put it quite that bluntly, but—frankly, yes. He is forever setting out to do this or that, and he comes back with twice the amount of money he had before.”

“So how do you know this is gambling?”

“Well… now, that is an interesting thing to say, Miss Isolde, because I thought about it a bit myself, and you know what I thought? Just for a time, mind you, just for a time I thought this. But I thought to myself, ‘Gerard, you must know better than to just assume the Baron is gambling.’ And so I decided that maybe it was something else. I thought, ‘Gods! That Baron Snout sure is obvious about it all.’ I mean, would you believe it, the Baron went to the same place every night. It was the castle of another baron, a Baron Trainee, or something.”

Here, Timeus interrupted. “Baron Chay’nee, was it, do you think?” As a university student, he was very well schooled in the politics of the realm.

“Ah, that is the one! Chay’nee… not a very good fellow, you know. He has some sort of organization, or confederation, or alliance. I think he meant to overthrow the duke, yes I do. Seems very dark, does it not? Well, Chay’nee was never a good one. Hate to think poor Baron Snout associates with him. Friendly, the two are. But not as friendly as Chay’nee is with Snout’s wife!” Gerard snorted through his nostrils. “Very friendly, Chay’nee and Lady Lorelei are. They know each other very well, if you catch my meaning.

“But Snout, stupid git, is oblivious to the whole charade, being led on like a donkey with a carrot dangling in front of its nose, always out of reach. Of course, I do not mean to insult my master, but truly, he was a bit of an idiot at times. Though I must say, he could not help that. In the blood, stupidity is. Especially in the Snout family. It may not have been the wisest thing for Chay’nee to do to know Lady Lorelei so well, because temper and stupidity go and hand in hand, and I have no doubt Snout will throw a bit when he finds out little baby Snout is not his, but Chay’nee’s. Still, I can not say I blame the man. Lorelei is a real pretty one; you know the kind I mean? Dark hair, a bit like yours Miss Isolde, and wide green eyes.”

“She looks like me?” Adara asked, taken aback.

“Aye,” said Gerard, cheerily. “There is really an uncanny resemblance between you two. Quite odd, actually.”

“Hang on.” Timeus’s brow was furrowed, and it was easy to see that he was thinking hard. “You said you work for Snout, who, you claim, is one of Chay’nee’s cronies.”

“That’s right.”

“But Chay’nee is, er, having an affair with Snout’s wife, this Baroness Lorelei.”

“That’s right. Lady Lorelei, actually, not Baroness.”

“How is that? The wife of a baron is always a baroness, is that not so?” Adara looked confused.

Timeus shook his head. “Not when she has a higher rank. This Lady Lorelei must be a member of the ducal family.”

“That’s right! Sharp boy, that one is!” Gerard gave a crow of delight, and spread his lips in a toothy grin. It looked as if someone had swung a series of unfriendly punches at his mouth fairly recently, for Gerard’s teeth were crooked, and a few were even missing. Where teeth were missing, his gums were swollen and bloody.

Adara, who had noticed Gerard’s mouth, looked at him with an expression of distaste. “How did Snout manage to secure a wife from the Hadiyan ducal family? Isn’t a baron several ranks below a duke?”

Apparently, this confused Timeus as well, for he did not answer, leaving it to Gerard to do the talking. “Well, Miss Isolde, I believe she was disgraced from the ducal court a number of years ago. Her father, one of Duke Tiernan’s cousins, could not give her away even to the lowliest count, after that mishap. In the end he gave up and sold her to the highest bidder. This happened to be Baron Snout, as she didn’t catch Chay’nee’s eye until much later.”

“That’s a sad tale,” Adara murmured. “Poor Lady Lorelei. What in the world did she do to disgrace herself like that?”

Gerard smirked, but refrained from speaking.

“You do not want to know, Ad—Isolde,” Timeus said. It seemed he knew exactly what she had done, but did not think it the proper thing to talk of to a young and at least somewhat respectable lady.

“Fine, then do not tell me!” Adara said, angrily. She fiddled with her dagger, flicking the point at Gerard’s collarbone, just so that the tip of her dagger nicked his skin.

Looking terrified, Gerard tried to back up, but found that he could not back up any farther, as his back was against the wall already. He was shaking with fear now, but managed to say semi-smoothly, “Miss Isolde, please, do not harm me! I have nothing against you, really. Could not you let me go for good behavior?” He flashed a grin. Seeing the hatred in Adara’s hazel eyes, his smile faded and then disappeared altogether.

“Isolde,” said Timeus, his voice smooth as marble, “let him go. I do believe him, even if you do not. Perhaps it is not the right time to let him go altogether, but let us at least take out knives away from his throat. It is indecent.”

Adara made a face, but obeyed, sheathing her dagger. Timeus did the same, and led the trembling Gerard over to the other side of the room, where a wooden stool sat.

“Take a seat,” Timeus offered, rather warmly, all things considered.

“Thank you my lord…” Gerard trailed off, waiting for Timeus to fill in his name.

Timeus obliged him. “Tristan.”

“Ah, yes, I remember now!” The man smiled secretively, and folded his hands across his lap and crossed his legs. This was a very lady-like gesture for any man to make, and Adara cocked an eyebrow at him.

“Messer Gerard, do you require a gown, as well as a stool?” she offered, teasingly.

“Er, no, thank you, Miss Isolde.”

A look of understanding appeared on Adara’s face. Suddenly, she spoke a few gibberish words, and the man had looked so much like Alastair was replaced with a brown-haired woman of short stature.

“Encyclopedia Bob?” Timeus asked, incredulously.

The woman looked down at herself, and laughed. “This girl here is a very strong sorcerer,” she commented.

Adara blushed. However, she quickly regained her composure. “’Gerard’ is a shape shifter. Her true form is this one, she was masquerading as Alastair, but thought it would be funny to act like a male farmer, as well.”

“I know she is a shape shifter!” exclaimed Timeus, drawing his dagger once more. “Surely you know who Encyclopedia Bob is… and everyone knows she is a shape shifter?”

Realization dawned on Adara, and she stared at the short, unremarkable woman in awe. Encyclopedia Bob was a well-know noblewoman who supported the cause of the Confederation of Barons, a secret political group dedicated to overthrowing the duke of Hadiya, and gaining more power for the barons of the realm. This woman, in particular, though, was renowned for being a bottomless well of information. It was said there was no question Encyclopedia Bob could not answer, no trivia she could not supply others with. She was like a walking, talking, living, breathing book of the world. Hundreds of years later, Hadiyan astronauts would travel to our Earth, bringing with them tales of this extraordinary woman, and giving us the word “encyclopedia.” Needless to say, Encyclopedia Bob also gave the Hadiyans that same word, though it did not come into common use for a few hundred years—but enough of this talk.

“You mean… this woman is the true Encyclopedia Bob?” Adara asked, blinking.

“Well, naturally. Who else would I be?” Encyclopedia Bob crossed her arms and stared skeptically up at Adara.

“Sorry, it is just a bit of a shock, you know?” In the short time that Encyclopedia Bob had been talking, Adara had gathered her wits together, and drawn her dagger, just as Timeus had. As she spoke, herself, she lunged at Encyclopedia Bob. The woman had sensed Adara’s intentions, and tumbled sideways, but Adara was too fast for her, and pinned Encyclopedia Bob to the floor by the sleeve of her shirt. The dagger had sunken into the floor when Adara had lunged, cutting through the cotton of Encyclopedia Bob’s shirtsleeve, and attaching Encyclopedia Bob to the floor. “Tell me where my father is, and I will leave you alone. Refuse, and the world will be rid of you forever,” Adara threatened.

“There is no in-between?” When Adara shook her head, drawing another dagger, Encyclopedia Bob’s face fell. “You sure?” she asked, just to clarify Adara’s response.

“No!” Timeus thundered, moving to block the exit.

Encyclopedia Bob stuck out her bottom lip, pouting, but finally gave in. “Your precious papa is at the castle of Baron Snout. Satisfied?”

“Almost. One thing more.”

Encyclopedia Bob shrugged in agreement. Adara was about to say that “one thing more” when a plump woman of about sixty walked into the room, and stared about, looking startled.

“What are you doing in my inn?” she demanded, hands on hips.

They all knew this was a cue to conveniently disappear. Encyclopedia Bob shape shifted into a tiny fly, which took advantage of its small size, and buzzed out the window. Not to be outdone—or, for that matter, out-magicked—Adara said some gibberish again, and she and Timeus vanished with pomp in a tremendous puff of smoke and a few colorful displays of fireworks.

Chapter Eight

2004-11-30T17:09:00.000-08:00

Chapter Eight:
In which Adara receives her first magic lesson

“Okay. What will you teach me first?” Adara asked.

“Wait, wait! Let me do the talking!” Lancelot insisted.

“Fine, then. You do that talking. I will just sit back”—with this, Adara took a seat—“and listen to your rant… entertaining though I am sure it will be, please do not mind if I fall asleep.”

“No, no! You mustn’t do that!” Lancelot looked hurt. “I am sure you will like my lesson very much. But you must, must, must pay attention.”

“If you wish.” Adara pretended to sulk.

“I am not falling for your tricks, young lady! Listen up!”

Adara sat up straight in her seat, and leaned forward, attentively. “I am all ears, sir.”

“Very good. Now, you know a bit of magical theory, thanks to that excellent grimore. Really, I must read it over myself—first class resource that one is. Anyhow, this will get us nowhere. Onward, to the lesson.” Adara nodded in agreement, but said nothing. “First thing’s first, you must learn how to draw out your power.”

“You mean you want me to take my raw magic out of power?” Adara asked, tentatively.

“Yup. That is exactly right. It may sound easy, but it isn’t. As you are just a beginner, at the moment, it will be fairly difficult. As you progress, it will become easier and easier. Really, sorcery is all in the theory. So, first, close your eyes.” Adara obeyed him. “Now, pay attention closely. Picture your power. Can you do that? Good. It should be a bright star in your mind’s eye. Got that? Excellent. Imagine some of the glow of your power extracting itself, and moving into your hand. Good, good. This is your magic. You have to remember how it looks. Your magic will always look like this, to you. Never try to change how it looks, or no amount of chanting and spelling will help you summon your power. What you see now, with your eyes closed, you will see with your eyes open. Say that. In your own words.”

“I shall see my power, when my eyes open. It will be in my hand, just as I pictured it,” Adara murmured. Or, actually, that’s what it sounded like to her. In fact, she was speaking a chain of gibberish.

“Good!” Lancelot exclaimed. “Very good! You have amazing ability. Open your eyes, girl.”

Adara opened her eyes, and was both pleased and amazed to see a golden star, twinkling in her palm. Sure enough, it was exactly as she had pictured it.

“It is… beautiful!”

“Is it?” Lancelot smiled.

“Well, I think so. Do not you?” Adara was taken aback.

“I can not see it. Only you can see your raw magic. And it is up to you whether or not others can see it when it is dancing or stale. You are very powerful, I can tell that. You have only to say what you want to happen, once your magic is drawn out, for it to happen.”

“So I do not have to do any rituals?”

“Oh, of course. But they will not be nearly as complicated as most beginners’ rituals. What talents do you have, lass?”

“Well, I can paint, and I… attempt poetry, sometimes.” Adara was being very modest. She was a fairly famous painter; at least in Hockport, and once the line for one of her poetry readings had stretched around the block. She could do more paint; she could create stunning pieces of art from a blank canvas and oils. And she did not simply dawdle in poetry. She wrote poem after poem after poem, never lacking in inspiration. Or, at least, these things had been true a month ago. Now, she was not so sure. Adara had not even sketched in over a week. She had not a set a pen to paper with the thought of writing a poem in an equally long time.

But it seemed enough for Lancelot. “Can you, lass? That is more than I hoped for. Very good, very good.” He said a gibberish word, which she understood, now. It meant, ‘tools.’ And a sketchpad and stick of charcoal appeared in front of Adara. “Sketch your father, will you?”

“Of course. But why?”

“The spell we are going to attempt will try to locate him. I did try the spell on Alastair’s tunic, back in Hockport, but, alas, his aura had worn off. But your drawing might work. Let us try it, at least. I want to see how you work with spells.”

“Very well, then.” Adara picked up the charcoal eagerly, and made a few soft lines on the paper. Lancelot watched as she quickly formed a likeness of her father on the paper. It really looked incredibly like him, with his square face and wide set eyes. With amazing accuracy, if you knew what Alastair looked like, Adara recorded each and every one of his reddish gold curls. She finished the sketch by adding a twinkle to Alastair’s eyes, making it seem as if he were truly alive. The twinkle made Alastair seem like an intelligent, three-dimensional human being, as opposed to a few lines drawn on a sheet of paper. “There you go,” Adara said, when she was finished, tearing the drawing out of the pad, and handing it to Lancelot.

“No, no, you, keep it,” Lancelot told her.

“Why?” She was confused. After all, she was just a beginner. Surely he would not ask her to cast the spell all on her own. “You are doing the spell, for the most part, are you not?”

“No, no. I am only helping. You can do it, Isolde. Talk to the drawing as if it is your father. Ask him where he is. He will tell you.”

Dubiously, Adara stared at the sketch. “Papa, where are you?”

“No, no, no!” For the first time that evening, Lancelot was furious. “Lass, you need to want to find your father. Say it with feeling. The magic will work only if you want it to, need it to. Magic is dominated by feelings. It is not the magic’s right to work, you must convince it to work.”

Adara gave a meek nod, and looked at the drawing again. She narrowed her eyes, and tried to imagine the picture coming to life. She could see her father now, smiling at her. “Papa, tell me, where are you? I must know. Oh, show me where you are, Papa! I need to see you again… do not hide from me forever… oh, Papa!” Her father’s mouth moved slightly.

“Dearest daughter, you must come to me,” said the sketch. “I am at an inn. Not the inn where you are now, but another inn. Let me show you what it looks like. Draw it and commit it to memory.”

“Yes, Papa, of course I will!” Adara picked up the charcoal once more. A vivid picture appeared in her mind, and she set down every line on the paper, just as her father showed it to her.

“I must leave, now, daughter. I await you…” His voice faded into silence, and his face disappeared. The paper with his drawing on it singed at the edges, and was then consumed by a magical fire.

Adara sat back, exhilarated. “That was amazing! How wonderful it felt… as if lightning was running in my veins. And now we know where Papa is!”

Lancelot grinned at her. “Magic is, for sorcerers, elating. You will get used to it in time. Now, let me see that drawing.” Adara handed him the drawing of the inn. He examined it. “We should be able to find this. There are mountains in the distance. They must be the Dusk Mountains. And there is a river, too, I see. So it is on this side of the Dusks. Good, only a day’s travel, perhaps a little more. We must leave at once, I think.”

“Yes. Let us leave at once. How to we get back to the inn?”

“That is easy enough.” Lancelot got up, and walked over to the far wall. He tapped on it, said a few words, too softly for Adara to hear. A door appeared, where a moment ago there had been nothing but stone wall.

“How did you do that?” Adara asked, gaping at the door. It was a very ordinary door, really. Well, except for the fact that it had popped up out of nowhere. This was perhaps the oddest bit of magic she had seen so far that day.

“You just have to want it, lass. With magic, you can do anything… or, at least, almost anything if you want to do it, and you are confident that you can do it. It is all in the theory. Of course, the more advanced the magic, the more aides you will need. For instance, say you want to erase someone’s memory—“

“Like you did to Master Rolf, Mistress Gerda, Leyna, and the other staff at the inn?”

“No, I just changed their memory. I did not erase it. There is a difference.”

“I see. Go on, then.”

“If you wanted to actually erase someone’s memory, especially if you wanted to do this against their wishes, you would need to perform complicated rituals stabilize the magic, and control it properly. Magic is a powerful thing, and rituals are, for the most part, intended to help control it. Anyhow, if you wanted to do something very advanced, you would need a ritual, but for something simpler you might just give a few commands, and perhaps draw a picture or something.”

“I see.”

“Do you?”

“Yes—well, almost. Er, yes.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Er, I do not know, sir?”

“Is that a question?”

“Yes, sir?”

Lancelot hooted with laughter. “You need not address me as ‘sir,’ you know,” he said, when his laughter subsided. “And I must say, you seem very uncertain today.”

“Do I, sir—I mean, Lancelot? Er, what should I call you?”

“A sorcerer’s tutor is much like any other tutor. What do you call your other tutors?”

“I do not have any tutors any longer. I am seventeen, too old for tutors, sir…”

“’Too old for tutors’? Nonsense! There is no such thing as being too old for tutors. Surely Alastair sent you to the university, as he did your brother?”

“No, he didn’t. He doesn’t think it is necessary for a girl to get educated once she has reached marriageable age. After all, how would I meet a husband if I studied all day?” Adara’s tone was slightly bitter, and it was easy to tell that she did not agree with her father at all. But she knew she had to respect his wishes.

“Zounds, lass!” Lancelot exclaimed. “You mean you haven’t had a tutor since you were… what, thirteen?”

“No,” Adara said sullenly.

“What in the world was Alastair thinking? That is just—I can not believe it!”

“Really? Well, I was a bit annoyed, too. But I needed to obey my father.”

“Naturally, but this is just insane! I must hire you a tutor, once everything is settled down again.”

“Really? Would you? That is very nice of you. Though I am not sure Papa would allow it.”

“Nonsense. Of course he will,” Lancelot scoffed.

Adara was not so sure about this, but kept her lips clamped shut.

“Oh, dear girl. You must learn that your father is not always right. You have your own opinion—share it. You are your own person—be your own person. You have never been and never will be the same person as your father. You must be more assertive.” Lancelot reached out to pat her head. “Really, now, we must go tell Percival and Tristan that we are leaving.”

“Aren’t Percival and Tristan coming with us, though?”

“Well, they could, I s’pose…”

“But surely was can not just leave them here?”

Lancelot tugged at his beard. “Perhaps not. If you like, they can come.”

“Thank you. I will tell them.” With that, Adara stepped through the door, and back into the inn.

Chapter Seven

2004-11-30T17:06:00.000-08:00

Chapter Seven:
In which our heroes revisit Master Rolf’s inn

In the wave of frustration and despair that had followed the group’s fruitless trip to the monastery at Wynn, they had returned to Master Rolf’s inn. Everyone who worked there was quite perplexed by Mary Poppins’s alarming change into Lancelot, but he explained it by doing a good deal of extremely fast talking. However, when Mistress Gerda became suspicious of the transformation of Jane, Michael, and John into Isolde, Tristan, and Percival, Lancelot was forced to perform an odd smell that altered the inn workers’ memory slightly.

Once they had all settled in, Clancy ran off in search of Leyna. Adara followed him, wondering how he would like her walking in on his and Leyna’s conversation, much as he and Mary Poppins had done a few days earlier.

Clancy at last found Leyna in the kitchen, stirring a pot of soup absently, and humming to herself. Adara stood by the door, listening, but only peeking out, so as not to be seen.

“Percival! How nice it is to see you,” Leyna greeted, happily. Her memory had, of course, been altered, so she thought Clancy’s name had always been Percival.

The image of the obsessed lover, Clancy performed an elaborate bow, and dropped to his knees. His long mane of carrot-colored curls fell into his face, and he rushed to brush them away. “Oh, Leyna! My pearl, my gem, my goddess! You look lovely today. Your eyes are like giant sapphires, and your cheeks as pink as rosebuds in May.” Adara could not help laughing quietly at this simile. Clancy did not seem to notice the foolishness of his language, and continued. “O, my Leyna”—his “O” was very poetic. Not a simple “oh,” but an “O”—“You look like a nymph on a midsummer’s morning, clothed in silk and flower chains.”

“How kind of you, Sir! You flatter me.” Leyna blushed prettily.

Adara had to disagree with Clancy’s assessment of her. She was looking particularly bad today. Perhaps she had a cold, for her eyes were swollen, her nose running slightly and unnaturally red, and looked rather puffy about the face. She did not look at all like a “nymph on a midsummer’s morning, clothed in silk and flower chains.” Quite the contrary, in fact. Leyna looked like a mortal girl with a cold, clothed in a long tunic and apron. Nothing about her appearance seemed worthy of stimulating such a passionate response. Well… maybe that wasn’t one hundred percent true. Leyna was lovely, if rather dim. According to the standards of society, her blank face and flaxen hair achieved her the title of “beautiful girl.” Not that Adara thought Leyna was particularly beautiful, but she could almost see why her brother did.

She poked her head out a few inches, so she could get a better view of Leyna and Clancy.

“Not at all, not at all, my Leyna,” Clancy was saying. Oh, so she was his Leyna now, and not Leyna’s Leyna.

“You really are too kind, Sir. So, how was your trip? Where did you disappear to?”

“Er…” Clancy was uneasy. “To visit a… uhm… a friend—or a relative rather?”

“Your wife?” Leyna asked, blinking stupidly.

Clancy looked appalled. “No, most certainly not!”

“Oh?”

“I have no wife. Or, at least, none yet,” Clancy said, reddening.

“Oh?” Leyna pressed, again.

“Gods, she really is stupid!” Adara thought to herself. “She must be pretty darned slow not to know what my brother is talking about. He is stupid as well, proposing to her here and now.”

“I have no wife as of yet, though that may change soon,” Clancy said, grinning broadly at Leyna.

“Oh?” At this point, Leyna was sounding suspiciously like a broken record.

Just as Adara had feared, Clancy threw himself to the ground. Then she pushed himself up onto one knee, and clasped Leyna’s hands. The two were the very image of romanticism. Clancy brushed Leyna’s long, white fingers against his lips. “O, Leyna, goddess of goddesses, queen of queens, be my wife!”

Leyna looked astonished, to put it mildly. She jerked her hand away hastily, and stared at Clancy, wide-eyed and gaping, in disbelief. “Sir, I apologize, but I am rather dismayed,” she said. “You do not, surely, mean to marry I, Leyna?”

Watching from the sidelines, Adara was sure she saw Clancy roll his eyes, ever so quickly.

“Of course, I mean to marry you, my dearest! You are the light of my life, the apple of my eye… oh, Leyna, please accept.”

A giddy laugh escaped from Leyna’s mouth. “I can not, Sir, I am afraid. You will have to ask my mother from my hand. I fear I can not decide such matters myself.” She smiled sweetly, and then went on, apparently quoting something, “I am a ‘stupid, silly, foolish girl, and not capable of making decisions.’”

Wondering whom Leyna was quoting, Adara slipped forward a few inches, to get a better view. This was getting very interesting, very interesting indeed. She felt a twinge of sympathy for her brother, Clancy. After all, this conversation was not going at all in the direction Clancy had most likely meant it to go.

Not surprisingly, Clancy did look rather crestfallen. There was a long silence. Finally, Clancy said, “I shall ask your mother for your hand directly. Just tell me, Leyna, do you love me?”

“I do not know,” Leyna said, quite automatically. “Ask my mother that, too, won’t you?” She bent down, kissed Clancy on the cheek, and darted off, giggling.

From her hiding spot, Adara could hear Clancy speak a chain of eloquent curses. “Why can not she just say, ‘yes, Percival, I will marry you.’ Why must she force me through this elaborate process? I am Clancy Alastairsen, an artisan’s son, not some noble who is used to arranging marriages.” He punched the wall furiously, and stomped off.

Her eyes dancing with delight, Adara stepped out of her hiding spot into the open, and stretched. “Good going, Clancy,” she told the wall, pretending it was her brother. Then she ran away, smiling.

* * *

By the time a week had passed at the inn, Adara’s good humor had worn off. She was tired of being cooped up in the inn, though it was comfortable, and wanted to be back in Hockport. Also, she had grown tired of Lancelot’s excuses. He was constantly pushing off the search for her father. She wanted Alastair back, and soon. Adara was not prepared to wait weeks, months, maybe even years to see her father again.

One morning, she stormed into Lancelot’s bedroom, and threw herself randomly into a chair.

“Lancelot, we must locate my father!” Adara said, matter-of-factly. “If we do not find him soon, I am convinced I will go insane.”

Laughing nervously, Lancelot walked over to Adara’s chair. “Easy, easy, Isolde.” He smirked conspicuously when he said her pseudonym. “There is nothing I alone can do, at the moment.”

“What do you intend to do to placate me, then? For I will not rest until my father is tracked down! You are leading us on a wild goose chase. It is not fair, Lancelot!” Adara’s voice was unnaturally cold and harsh, and her words were jumbled out with so much feeling that the words themselves almost disappeared, leaving Lancelot only with their meaning, and the emotion behind them.

To Adara’s surprise, Lancelot made an offer. “I’ll tell you what,” he said, slowly, fiddling with his closely cropped beard of dark, curly hair.

“What?” Adara was a bit taken aback by the sarcasm that dripped into that lone word. “Er, sorry, Lancelot,” she said, softly. “What?” This time her tone was much more gentle.

“How about this.” Lancelot clapped one large hand across Adara’s shoulders. He seemed to be in a very indulgent mood. “I shall give you your first magic lesson. Then perhaps we, together, can locate your papa, Alastair. How does that sound?”

Adara nodded reluctantly. “All right, fine. It is a deal.” She forced a smile, trying to keep in manner with Lancelot, who was grinning now.

“Excellent, excellent!” He raised a leather wineskin, and chuckled. Lancelot retrieved a pair of twin drinking cups from the table, and poured wine into each. “A toast, a toast! To sorceress Adara and her dear pa, Alastair!” Lancelot handed Adara her cup. They clinked glasses quickly, and Lancelot took a deep swig of wine.

“Er, thank you.” Adara stared into her cup, wondering what it was, exactly. Some sort of red wine, she could tell that by looking. But what kind of wine was it? She took an experimental sip, and cocked her head. It was decent wine, not too terribly cheap. She took a few more sips, and then placed her tankard back on the table.

“Not too good?” Lancelot asked.

“Actually, it is fine, thank you very much.” Adara took another bold sip, and then stopped, waiting for Lancelot to finish. But he did not. He took gulp, after gulp, after gulp, after gulp of wine, until Adara was sure he had drank at least a cup’s worth, or maybe several. Out of politeness (for Adara had been brought up very well), she did not ask Lancelot when he would be done, but simply sat there, staring at the wall, waiting for him to finish.

After what seemed like an hour at the very least, Lancelot took one last gulp of wine, and set down his cup with a loud clatter, as the hard, roughly shaped tin spun and toppled on the wooden table. He righted his cup somewhat shakily, and Adara could see that he had drunk much too much wine. She sighed, and crossed her arms. It was not very kind of him at all to promise her magic lessons, and then get into such a state as this.

“One… moment, please, madam.” Lancelot swept a deep bow, and tripped slightly. She watched interestedly as he stumbled over to the mantelpiece, and took down a small crystal jar of smoky green liquid. “Ah, here ‘tis!” Lancelot said, his words slurred slightly. He twisted the lid off of the jar, and took a deep gulp of the liquid. Then he sat it down, and walked towards where Adara was sitting. He sat down, as well, and closed his eyes. She was sure he was going to fall asleep when he blinked, and sat up straight. “Do forgive me, Isolde,” Lancelot said, his words sharp and clear once more, and his tone courteous. “I was not in a very fit state. I do apologize.”

“Oh! That is fine, Lancelot,” Adara said, with a small smile. “Just tell me, what did you do exactly?”

Lancelot let out a below of laughter. “Ah, what a question, miss! What a question!” He gave her a comradely slap on the back, and leaned forward in his seat, intently. “To tell you the whole truth, miss, and nothing but the truth, I am forced to admit that I drunk myself to the ground.”

“Yes, yes,” Adara said, impatiently. “But what was in the vial? A potion?”

“Ah, I was jus’ getting’ to that, jus’ getting’ to that. It was, most certainly, madam. It was most certainly a potion. It was essence of rakweed, in fact.”

“Was it?” Adara was fascinated. Of course, she had grown up hearing tales of the amazing properties of rakweed, the herb that could be manipulated to assume all sorts of magical properties, but she had never met someone who had actually used it, or seen it used, first hand. “Rakweed? Really? What did you have to do to it to get it to assume the necessary properties?

Lancelot gave her an indulgent grin. “You are a sharp one, aren’t you? Well, what I did was, I picked some fresh rakweed on the first of spring last year, and soaked it in May dew, and—“ He stopped when he saw the stern expression on Adara’s face. “I am kidding you, I’m kidding you! Actually, I had to buy fresh rakweed, and cure it the strongest liquor I could find. Then I said a series of spells over it, and bottled it up. Over time, the rakweed leaves disappear, and you are only left with the pure essence, as well as a strong potion. Keep that it mind girl, do not you go forgetting things like that. They come in handy, sometimes, you know?”

Adara nodded emphatically. “I will, sir! I swear I will! I promise by this, my—“

“Quiet girl! I believe yah! Now let us get down to this ‘ere business, or so they call it. Right, then. Magic lessons, that’s what we’ve got in store for yah. Are yah ready?”

“For the magic lessons? Yes, naturally!” Adara was practically jumping up and down with excitement.

“Okay, then. Girl, follow me!” Lancelot tapped twice on an ornate mirror suspended from the wall. It swung backwards, with a lurch, revealing a wooden door. Lancelot had the key strung on a ribbon around his neck, and he pulled it out, and opened the door. This led into a small workroom. He walked inside, and Adara followed suit. “Welcome, Isolde, to my workroom! It may look shabby at the moment, but so would you, if you were in Hockport and this inn at the same time, eh?”

“I—sir, I—“ Adara was unable to talk, from astonishment. She simply stared around, gawping at everything. “Wow!” she managed to exclaim. “This place is—I mean… wow!”

“Do not go about giving yourself a heart attack!” Lancelot said. “Calm yourself down. There’s nothing to worry about, you know.”

Adara somehow left her frenzy of astonishment, and simply stared at the workroom, looking around and taking in every detail.

It was a large room, certainly bigger than her father’s artist’s studio. Bookcase upon bookcase lined the wall, towering to the high, arched, gothic cathedral-like ceiling. The bookcases were loaded with heavy, old-looking tomes, as thick or thicker than the span of Adara’s hand. Though most of the shelves were filled with books, a few contained other magical items. One shelf held glass, shatterproof, spelled containers filled with colorful liquid. Other shelves contained tiny animal, floating in a clear bluish jelly. Adara noticed a unicorn’s horn on a stand, prominent in the back of the room. There was also a gigantic set of pan-balance scales, that Adara felt sure was big enough to weigh humans or large animals on.

The oddest thing, perhaps, about the room was that it was shaped not like a square or rectangle, like most rooms, but was a large octagon with a high, vaulted ceiling. Fat columns were placed in each of the eight corners. The columns were made of a translucent material that Adara would have bet a great sum of money was glass, until she asked Lancelot, and he informed her that they were actually made of solid diamond. This sent her into a wave of awe, and she kept away from the columns after that, for they frightened her.

Because the ceiling was so high, the room had many different levels. Beautiful ironwork staircases led up to the roof, adding layer upon layer of narrow walkway, leaving just enough room for a slim figure carrying a pile of heavy books to get by. On the topmost tier of the room, there was a ladder extending to the roof. Adara could see the vague outline of a trapdoor, and wondered if it led to the roof of the building, though that seemed rather dangerous, considering the odd shape of the roof. She was quite certain anyone who tried to walk about on it would slip and fall to their death.

On the ground floor of the workroom, there were many wooden tables, each with a variety of different tools laid out it. At the back of the workroom, near the unicorn’s horn, there were four doors, which Adara presumed led to closets full of equipment.

“This is amazing, Lancelot!” Adara said, still in awe.

“Thank you,” Lancelot said. His voice sounded very humble, considering he had such an amazing workroom. He did not seem proud of it at all.

“Aren’t you proud of this marvelous space?” Adara asked, perplexed.

“Why, yes. Of course I am. But it is nothing like I had hoped.”

“Really?” Adara raised her eyebrows.

“No, not at all. I’ve always wished for a quiet little house in the country, surrounded by olive grooves, with a peaceful brook running across the property. I’ve always wanted a cozy place of my own, but I am afraid I will never have such a thing.” Lancelot looked so downtrodden that Adara could not help feeling sorry for him.

“Why do not you simply buy a cottage?” she inquired, timidly.

“It just wouldn’t be the same without T’kome!” Lancelot said, sadly.

“Oh, I see.” Adara’s heart went out to the man, bad fellow as he was. She still pitied him, despite all his bad qualities.

“All right, now!” Lancelot’s manner was now brisk and efficient. Nothing in his tone showed a trace of his previous sadness, though his eyes were still miserable and held a hint of forlorn despair. “Your magic lesson…”

“I do not know any theory…” Adara began, helpfully.

“Ah, yes, magical theory! Well, we’ve no time for that, lass.” Lancelot walked towards one of the towering bookcases, and took down a heavy volume. “Here you!” he said, cheerfully, handing it to Adara. “Read up on this, and well will be set for your first lesson.”

Adara could say nothing. She simply stared incredulously at Lancelot, staggering under the weight of the gargantuan tome.

“Do not you go looking so frightened, lass. I’ll stop time while you read. And it is not the whole great book, either, just the first few chapters.“

“I do not?”

“No, of course not! Just read until you have a basic understanding… hold on a sec!” Lancelot ran to one side of the workroom, took out a clay vessel, and inserted one hand into the opening. When he took his hand out, it was filled with a sparkling power. Lancelot said a few gibberish words, and time stopped. There was a faint rushing sound, as time all over the world halted. Everyone was frozen in his or her actions, except for Adara. Even Lancelot was frozen.

Completely in awe of this miracle of magical power, Adara hurried over to one of the many desks in the room, and opened the book. It was hand written, and hundreds of tiny, elegant words were crowded onto each page. A full color illustrated plate was featured on every first page. Adara focused her attention on the plates, as opposed to the words, first. The first plate was a diagram of how magical power resides in the human body. It depicted a male and a female figure. Each had a glowing star next to their heart, where their power was stored. When Adara deciphered the miniscule caption, she saw that it read:

The Power of a Sorcerer is located in next to the Heart. The Power is an organ, although it is frequently mistaken for something obscure and nonexistent. In fact, the Power is just as much an organ as the Lungs, Heart, or Liver.

Intrigued (for Adara had not known that this was so), she sat to reading the first chapter, at the very least. It was written in a dull, old-fashioned style, but the content was interesting that Adara ignored the style completely. The first chapter mostly talked about the location of the “Power of the Sorcerer.” Because the book was so old, many words were capitalized that should not, most definetely, have been in a more modern work.

Studiously, Adara read passage after passage, trying to record each important thing she learned to memory. After a while she gave up, and went in search of a notepad, stylus, and ink. All three of these items were conveniently located under her desk, and soon she was back to her work once more. She took notes avidly, not caring whether the things she wrote down were of any importance whatsoever. Adara read excerpts from letters written by the famous sorcerers of history, as well as pieces from their diaries, journal, and other writings. She winced more than once as the awkwardness of the sorcerers’ elaborate writing, each sentence filled with such abominable words of the past as “thee”, “thou”, and “ye.”

Despite the gauche words, Adara found pleasure in the amazing intricacies of the theory behind it all. She was essentially a scholar, having been best friends with a university student since she was twelve, and having a scholarly father, though he was an artisan by profession and brush. She had grown up in an environment of learning and culture, and none of the complex technicalities were lost on Adara.

As she completed the first page of the tome, she let out a sigh of delight. Never before had she been exposed to such a meaty, theoretical text. Nothing she had read in the past was anything like the book she was reading now. It was wonderful to read, and an actual challenge, compared to most of the things she skimmed her eyes across. Adara savored every word, thinking of the many possibilities of what it could mean. Each sentence was a new mountain to climb, and then cruise down once she had mastered it. Though Adara’s primary interest was painting, she now thought would enjoy being a scholar, too. It was all in the understanding of the words. Once she knew what they meant, she was filled with a warm, pleasant sensation of satisfaction. Of course, it also helped that each impossibly convoluted sentence hid marvelous secrets about the art of sorcery.

Before she knew it, Adara had finished the whole first chapter. That single chapter of little more than five pages, each filled with concealed knowledge, had covered things that had never before in her seventeen years crossed her mind. It taught of the basic theory. To simplify the theory, it was all about focusing magic. First magic had to be drawn from the power (this could be done through a complicated ritual, or a simple verbal command, or, for a real master, simply thinking the magic out). Second, the magic had to be “focused” to do a specific thing. For example, say you wanted to levitate a chest of drawers. First, you would need to take out enough magic to physically lift the chest of drawers. Then you had to focus the magic (usually by performing a ritual) to do what you wished. There were three kinds of magic: raw magic (what it was called when it had been taken out, but not used yet), dancing magic (what it was called when it was being used in a spell), and stale magic (what it was called when it was done with and held no power and longer).

The act of manipulating raw and dancing magic was what was known as sorcery. Learning that sorcery was no more than, essentially, a special, complicated focusing and manipulation of “magic,” the force that sorcerers used, exhilarated Adara. A sorcerer or sorceress was someone who had the ability to manipulate and focus magic. Everyone had power, but only some people had the natural ability to use it. The techniques for focusing magic were taught to apprentice sorcerers, but the actual magic ability was natural and, in fact, hereditary. The simplicity of this all, once she understood it, made Adara grin. For all these years, she had thought that sorcery was an obscure, difficult-to-master talent, while the truth was it was a genetic ability. She wished had this book to read in the privacy of her own room. Pouring over its pages here was helpful, but she wished she had more time to study the book. After all, she could not keep Lancelot waiting forever. Besides, she was getting tired of all this reading, fun though it was.

As if on cue, there was a sudden lurching, and time continued. Lancelot shook himself, and walked over to Adara.

“Enough for today, I think,” he said knowingly. Lancelot’s eyes twinkled as he watched Adara stifle a yawn. “How ‘bout no magic lessons for today, but keep the book, and look at it when you get a chance, eh?”

Stunned by this generous offer, Adara blinked rapidly. “You mean… you want… me… to keep the book… to look at?” Her words were stumbling and confused. It was insane to lend such a valuable tome to her!

“Yes, I do mean that.”

“Are… you… sure?”

“Naturally. Why would I say you could keep it if I did not intent to let you keep it?”

“But—but—“

“No ‘buts’! I know what I am saying.” Lancelot nodded towards the bookcases. To Adara’s amazement, another copy of the book had replaced it on the shelf.

“What…?”

“A simple duplicating spell. No too hard.” He shrugged. Seeing the shock on Adara’s face, he burst out laughing. “We must start our lesson soon. The sun is setting. We do not have all eternity for this. But before we do that, though, do you mind if I supply you with a bit more reading material?”

“Er, not at all, sir.” Adara struggled to get to her feet. Her limbs were heavy from so much sitting still and reading while the time was stopped, and her legs and feet tingled with pain from being in the same position for so long.

“Stop!” Lancelot commanded. “You need not get up, lass. I will fetch the books.” He winked at her, and dashed up the stairs. She watched him as he scurried around on the various different tiers of the soaring workroom. At each tier, he selected a few volumes, and piled them up on a cart. The cart was apparently magicked, for it followed Lancelot up the stairs, without any sort of tugging on Lancelot’s part. The cart simply moved like a metal dog, following its master devotedly. The humor of this analogy, as it appeared in Adara’s mind, caused her to laugh.

Adara found the energy to stand up, and walked over to the bookcase. She stroked the spine of each book gently, reading the titles out loud to herself, letting them roll of her tongue. A few times she tripped over the words she so lovingly pronounced, but continued all the same. She had a feeling at the back of her mind that Lancelot had stopped collecting books, and was waiting for her. Never the less, she continued until she had finished reading each and every title on that shelf. She tried to think what each book could be about, but some titles were so obscure that she could not. One especially odd volume was called Adelphi’s Book of Shadows: Being an Instructional Look at Sorcery Practitioning. Adara imagined that this was a guide to sorcery by Adelphi (whoever he was)… but could not he have picked a more normal title? Perhaps not.

At last she finished, and turned to face Lancelot.

“Thank you, sir, for waiting,” Adara said. “It was… important. I do not know why, I am afraid. I just know it was important.” She smiled in apology.

“Yes, I know. I did exactly the same thing when I first came here.”

“Did you? I mean, I did not understand that you did not build this place with your own hands, in a matter of speaking.”

“Gods, no!” Lancelot laughed. “I could never be so dedicated, so patient. It was my sorcery tutor, and his tutor, and his tutor, and so on. Great sorcerers have labored for millenniums to build this library. It is not the work of a single man. Oh, no. There is no man who could do such a thing.”

Adara’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “Aye, sir, but is there a woman?”

“Eh?”

“Is there a woman who could do such a thing?”

“Clever girl, Isolde. Perhaps there is, after all, someone who could do such a thing. Perhaps there is a woman. You are right, lass, absolutely right. Clever lass, you are.” Lancelot positively shook with laughter. He gasped for breath, and shook his head. “Clever lass,” he said again.

Reddening, Adara giggled slightly with embarrassment. “Really,” she reprimanded herself, silently. “You should at least be able to control yourself!” She frowned, and tried to calm herself down.

Lancelot seemed to sense Adara’s unease, for he swiftly changed the subject. She had to admit; he handled so manners with amazing grace. No matter what guise he was in, he worked out everything perfectly and with amazing manners and social sensibility. “All right, to the magic lesson!”

Chapter Six

2004-11-30T17:03:00.000-08:00

Chapter Six:
In which word is received of Alastair

The letter came at breakfast. Mary Poppins was sipping tea quietly, Adara was buttering an enormous slice of toast, Timeus was waiting for Adara to finish with the butter so he could use it, and Clancy was waiting for Timeus.

“Miss Poppins?” inquired Mistress Gerda, popping her head into the private parlor where the group was dining.

Mary Poppins looked up from her tea and raised her eyebrows. “Yes?”

“It is a letter for you,” Mistress Gerda said warmly, handing Mary Poppins a crisp white envelope.

“Oh! Thank you very much.” Mary Poppins took the letter. She waited for Mistress Gerda to leave, and then inspected it closely. There was no return address, and it was addressed simply to “Miss M. Poppins.” No specific location was given. Adara wondered briefly how in the world it had gotten here, and then remembered that a messenger had probably carried it.

“Go on, Mary Poppins, do open it,” Adara said, anxiously. Who would write to Mary Poppins? She really could not think who would.

“All right then.” Mary Poppins opened the envelope carefully, and pulled out the letter inside. She scanned the contents, and stood up at once, nearly knocking over the table.

“What is it?” Clancy asked, forgetting to look bored and casually detached.

“No time for questions,” Mary Poppins said curtly. “We must leave at once.” She signaled to one of the servants that worked at the inn, and asked him to prepare their coach. “Pack as quickly as possible,” Mary Poppins advised the group. “Now go!”

And so they did. Adara went up the stairs two at a time, and, once she was inside her room, threw her belongings at random into her trunk, and set about lugging it outside. Luckily, Timeus and Clancy came to her rescue. They helped her get the trunk downstairs and outside, and then loaded it onto the roof of the carriage that had been prepared. Then they all tumbled inside, and waited.

Despite the hurry, Mary Poppins took her time instructing the coachmen (for it was a larger coach, now, with four coachmen instead of one solitary coachman), clothing herself in a long coat and her best hat, and seeing to it that everything was loaded atop the carriage with the utmost care and amazing balance. Finally, she climbed inside the carriage, took one last look at the inn, and shut the door.

“Well, what’s going on? Do tell us.” Timeus was quick to pounce on her.

“Ah, yes.” Mary Poppins smiled sweetly. “One moment, and I shall tell you, I promise.” She closed her eyes, and all of a sudden she began to change. It happened so quickly that afterwards Adara was not sure how it had happened. But Mary Poppins how somehow changed into a tall, bony gentleman wearing a long blue robe and matching hat. He examined himself, and shook his head sadly. “Sorry about that…” Then he changed again. He became a warrior in a suit of mail, a tunic buckled over the chain. He smiled with satisfaction. “Much better!”

“Er, who are you know: Nicodemus, or Mary Poppins?” Clancy touched the mail to make sure it was real.

The knight gave a rumbling laugh. “That there’s a good one, sir! Yes it is!” He chuckled again. “Why, neither, neither.” He pointed to each of them in turn, starting with himself, “I am Lancelot; you, Adara, are Isolde; Timeus, you can be Tristan”—here he smothered a laugh—“and you, Clancy, shall be Percival.” He laughed once more, very heartily, slapping his mail-coated knee with one gauntleted hand.

Though Adara did not completely understand Lancelot’s joke, as the names were unfamiliar to her, but his eyes implied something that made her blush furiously. Timeus failed to notice this, and looked at her with concern, but she just shook her head.

“Tristan and Isolde, are to be newlyweds, accompanied by Percival and I, Isolde’s brother and uncle, to visit your parents for a second marriage ceremony,” Lancelot explained.

“You can not be serious, surely?” Adara inquired, covering her cheeks with her hands to hide the redness of her face.

“What’s wrong, girl?” Lancelot snarled.

“Adara and I are to be man and wife? But… we…” He was just as embarrassed as Adara, now.

“Call her ‘Isolde,’ young man. And yes. Please do as I tell you or I shall be very angry. It is rather indecent to have an unmarried girl trekking across the kingdom with no female chaperone. The easiest way to take care of that is to marry her to someone.”

“But not truly? You will not have us be truly married? We shall just say we are married,” Adara tried to confirm.

“Whatever you like, girl. Just never say you are anything but Isolde, wife to Tristan.”

“I see. Well, I suppose,” Adara still looked uncertain, but could not think of any excuse that would not make her even more embarrassed.

“So,” Clancy began, ignoring the very pink Adara and Timeus, “what’s going on, exactly?”

“Yes, yes, I was just coming to that.” Lancelot looked a bit annoyed, but answered anyway. “I received word of your father, Isolde.” The color in Adara’s face vanished when she heard those words.

“Is Papa hurt?” she asked, very quietly, so quietly that her words became muffled and indistinct.

“No,” Adara sighed with relief, but paled again when Lancelot continued, “well, I do not know, for sure.”

“What word of my father did you receive?” Clancy said, stiffly.

“Your father is in the city of Wyth. Do you know it? Beautiful city, Wyth is. There truly is nothing like Wyth in the early hours of the morning, just around dawn. The canals shine with purple and gold light, and a lovely light is cast over the squat little townhouses, all built of the same sandy yellow stone—but I must not go off on a tangent… Alastair is currently in residence at a monastery just outside the city, actually. He is living with the monks. Whether or not he will still be doing so when we arrive is a completely different matter.”

“I presume we are going directly to Wyth, then?” Adara looked hopeful, for the first time in several days, of seeing her father again.

“Yes, directly. We are not far from the city, in fact. Just a day’s travel, and we will be there.”

“Good.” Adara settled back in her seat, visions of being reunited with her father already filling her eyes.

* * *

“Look!” Timeus pointed excitedly out the window of the carriage. “We are nearing the city.”

Adara looked up and gasped.

Percival had been right. Wynn was glorious, a smudge of gold and blue on the horizon. It was a twisting, labyrinthine city of canals and narrow alleyways. Its streets were lined with houses of some sort of odd yellow stone, and all had roofs of dark grey-blue slate. They were still a few miles from the city, but Wynn’s splendor was unmistakable, even from this far off. Adara found herself wishing they could visit the city for an extended stay. “Perhaps,” she thought, “we can stay at an inn in the city, once we find Papa.” That sounded fine to her. Now, if only they could find her father. She hoped and hoped with all her heart that Alastair would, indeed, be at the monastery.

Completely forgetting about the view, Adara went into a fit of daydreaming about her father. How strong and handsome he was, his red-gold hair, so much lighter than her own, and his muscular build. Also, Alastair was very wise. He was well learned in many areas of study, and also had an incredible mind for humans and how they reacted to each other. Of course, Alastair’s main talent was his art. He was, primarily, and artisan, after all. He had only to pick up a brush dipped in paint, and beautiful things would come forth. Above all, she loved him. Alastair was her beloved father—of course she held him in high regard. For all her life, he had cared for her, and she had been devoted to him. Her world had been ripped apart when her father had disappeared. Adara would be, happy, she was sure, if only she could find Alastair.

Once again, Timeus pointed excitedly out the window. “Isolde! We’re here!”

She blinked, and looked out the window. The monastery was a long building, made of the same yellow stone the houses of Wynn were made of. In addition to the great amounts of orange-yellow stone, there was also an excess of tall marble columns, painting a shimmering golden color. They managed to look very bright and very dull at the same time. Perhaps it was the garishness of it all, or perhaps it was simply that Adara was too worried about her father to actually take pleasure in her surroundings any longer. In any case, Adara felt a sudden hatred of the monastery. It was far too bright and cheerful to match up even in the slightest with her shifty mood.

Wasting no time at all, Lancelot got out of the carriage, and beckoned for the group to follow him. They did so, and he led them inside and up to a monk dressed in a mustard-colored golden robe. There was something most definetely wrong about a monk clothed in velvet, but Adara kept her mouth shut, letting Lancelot do the talking.

“Excuse me,” Lancelot said. The monk stopped, and nodded. “Do you know where I could find Alastair Irvin?”

The monk looked puzzled. Adara wondered if perhaps he had taken a vow of silence.

Clancy added a description, to help the monk out. “He is a tall, broad-shouldered man of middle age with fair hair… an artisan.”

“Ah!” The monk grinned, exposing two neat rows of very with teeth. “Come right this way.” So he had not taken a vow of silence, after all.

They traipsed after the monk, as he led them through a long series of hallways, all floored with that horrible golden marble. Murals of astonishingly poor quality were frescoed across the rough stone walls, depicting scenes of the various gods and goddesses of the area, as well as the more common ones. A few marble statues of gods and goddesses were there as well, and Adara had to admit that those were half decent. But really, the quality of the art was embarrassing.

The monk led the small party around so many corners and bends that they were sure they would never find the way out again. The situation began to look quite disparaging, until Adara realized that Lancelot was silently keeping track of the turns they made. She only realized this, to be quite truthful, because Lancelot whispered, “left” out loud one time. To her relief, he did not say it aloud for all of them, or else she was sure the monk would catch him at it. For no particular reason, she viewed the monk as an enemy, though he had been perfectly friendly. It must have had to with his velvet robe. Exactly the color of mustard it was, too. Needless to say, Adara was not a big fan of mustard.

After what seemed like an eternity, they at last reached the room the monk had been leading them to. He bowed the second they entered, and scuttled away. The room was in a state of disarray, though it was just as fancy and gold-covered as the rest of the monastery. A bald man in another mustard velvet robe sat at a desk, writing furiously.

Lancelot coughed. “Ahem… pardon me, sir…?” he began. To Lancelot’s great annoyance, he received no reply. He coughed again. In the end, the only way he got the man to look up was no fault of his. The tip of the man’s quill broke, splattering ink all over the page. He shook his head, and made a loud grumbling sound. “Ahem, hem!” Lancelot coughed, very loudly this time.

The man looked up, startled. Adara noticed with distaste that an assortment of jewels was sewn quite erratically across his robe. The man’s eyebrows shot up. “Yes? Can I help you?” he asked, in a very high, nasal voice. Adara was tempted to cover her ears—so irritating was the sound. Naturally, she restrained herself, but still, it was a horrible sound.

Lancelot looked relieved that the man had acknowledged him. “Actually, yes, I think you can. Do you have a Mister Alastair Irvin, and artisan of considerable wealth, staying here at the moment?”

The man rolled his eyes. “So many have been asking that lately. Yes, we did, we did.”

Adara’s breath caught in her throat. “You mean… you no longer do?” she wheezed, trying desperately to catch her breath.

“No, no longer. He has left,” the man confirmed.

Knowing she would soon burst out into a torrent of tears, Adara turned and left the room. The moment she was outside, the tears began to flow. Timeus came at once to comfort her, but even he could not do so easily, perhaps for the first time since they had met.

“Oh, Tim!” she wailed, crying onto his shoulder. “I’m sorry, I meant Tristan… Tristan, it is just so difficult. I never know if he is dead, alive, or somewhere in between. It is just so awful. Why can not we find him?”

“We will,” Timeus assured her, patiently. He repeated the phrase over and over, trying to comfort her. “We will, we will, we will, we will. We will find your father, sooner or later. We will, we will, we will, we will, we will. I know we will, I promise we will”

Adara hiccoughed loudly, and continued crying. “But what if we do not find him?” she asked, through her tears. “What if we do not?”

“We will. I am sure we will. Take comfort, Isolde. We will find your father, and all will be well. I am sure of it.”

“Are you absolutely, positively certain?”

“Of course. Why would I lie to you, eh?”

Finding the courage to sneak a smile, Adara put in, “That’s what I want to know.”

Timeus hugged her tightly. “And I as well.”

Chapter Five

2004-11-30T16:56:00.000-08:00

Chapter Five:
In which our heroes stay at an inn

Everyone, even Adara, who delighted in traveling in nature, was relieved when Mary Poppins permitted them to rest for a few nights at an inn. After finding Mary Poppins’s friend dead, everyone needed time to unwind and relax. The inn Mary Poppins chose was a pleasant, lively place. It was located along the side of a main road, and was inhabited by travelers of all professions and social classes. Though the inn was owned by a hobbling little man called Master Rolf, it was truly run and presided over by his sister, the buxom Mistress Gerda. She was the one who saw to it that patrons left with full bellies and happy hearts through her excellent cooking and tall tales of knights and their ladies. Mistress Gerda also had a daughter, a slender beauty of fourteen who went by the name of Leyna. She had long yellow hair, so pale that it looked white, and big, gorgeous blue eyes (like cow’s eyes, Adara thought).

Clancy was absolutely enchanted by her. He composed love poems to her feverishly, and paid her complements whenever she passed by. It was Adara’s opinion that Leyna was a rather dim girl, but she kept that to herself. She looked on with contempt when Clancy sighed over Leyna, hour after hour.

Other than that, though, Adara thoroughly enjoyed her stay at the inn. The beds were soft and comfortable, the rooms were large and spacious, and the food was hearty and delicious. She was kept busy during the evening, sometimes listening to minstrels, other nights watching jugglers and mimes perform, and sometimes dancing into the small hours. She was perfectly content, except for one thing: Adara found herself avoiding Timeus. She was not sure why this was, but she knew that she felt uncomfortable in his company all of a sudden. They were still on good terms, but began to talk less and less.

It was easy to see that this hurt Timeus. Indeed, sometimes Adara caught him looking at her with tears in his eyes. This only disturbed her farther, and she began to deliberately walk away when she saw him coming. To Adara’s surprise, this avoidance of Timeus made her long for his company. She knew not why, but when she was away from him, life seemed bleaker, and less enjoyable. Adara was frightened to realize that staying away from Timeus was physically affecting her. She began to have attacks of dizziness when she was away from him for too long. She knew she needed to talk to him. Something was not right.

Adara was very relieved when Timeus sought her out at last. He walked up to her, and touched her arm gently. This alone caused her to shiver, which convinced her further that something was wrong. She pulled back sharply, and asked him what was wrong.

“Oh, Adara!” Timeus’s eyes held hurt and pain. “Please, tell me why you do this?”

Adara looked at him, confused. “Why I do what?”

“If you will not tell me know, won’t you meet me in the garden behind the inn this evening at five o’clock? Please? For my sake, and yours as well.”

“Of course,” Adara consented. “I will be happy to.”

Then she disappeared into the crowd. She felt angry with herself for being so rude and abrupt to Timeus, but she was frightened by the way her body reacted to being in close proximity to him. She ran up the stairs, and found her room key buried in the depths of her belt purse. She somehow managed to get the key in the lock, turn it, open the door, walk into her room, and lock the door behind her before she burst out into tears, in the safety of her own room.

“Why have I been crying so much lately?” Adara asked herself, when the tears stopped. “It is not like me at all.” Was she changing? No, surely she would not change that much in just over a week. She shook her head, and decided to sleep until the evening came.

* * *

As the sun began to set, Adara awakened. She combed out her long hair, and let it flow loosely down her back. She changed out of her plain woolen dress, and into her favorite gown. It was a bit fancy for the occasion—a mere meeting, after all—but she wanted to look her best, for reasons that were completely beyond her.

The gown was light blue, trimmed with white velvet. It had a low waist, and was cut to perfection. Normally she would have worn a silver circlet with the gown, but decided against it. The circlet was simply too elegant for a garden stroll.

Adara peered at the clock that stood on the mantelpiece. It was almost five! She rinsed her face quickly, and then left the room. She tried not to notice the admiring glances men shot her as she crossed the main room, and simply held her head high. If only she hadn’t worn the gown, she would feel nowhere near as self-conscious as she did. Adara sighed, for it was too late to change, and set to finding Timeus.

She did not have to look long, as Timeus was sitting on a stone bench not far away. Adara took a deep breath, and walked towards him. She nodded her head in greeting.

“Good evening, Timeus,” Adara said.

“Good evening. Please, sit down,” Timeus begged.

She did as he asked, and sat down next to him.

“Why is it that you asked me here tonight?” Adara came straight to the point.

Timeus looked into her eyes for one long moment, and then clasped his hands over hers. “I have something to tell you. I thought you knew, but perhaps you do not. Please, promise me that if you do not like what I have to say you won’t be angry? Instead, we can just be friends as we always were.”

“I promise,” said Adara, anxious to find out what he wanted to tell her.

“Thank you! Oh, Adara!” Timeus voice was passionate and forceful. “You may never forgive me, I know you have been avoiding me—“

Here Adara cut in. “I… I am sorry for that. Only, I can not breath when I’m near you… truly, I can not. It is terrible.”

Amazingly, Timeus looked apprehensive. “You can not? That’s very strange.”

“I think so too. Oh, I am sorry.”

“Remember… the other day… when I wanted to tell you something?”

“Yes, I remember.”

“Well, I want you to know… that I think, truly I think…” Clancy wrung his hands nervously. “Oh, bother!”

Clancy had poked out from behind a tree.

“Jane?”

“Oh, John! You turn up at the worst possible times, always!” Adara threw her hands up in despair. Now Timeus would never tell her! “What is it?”

“Er, it is just that I thought I would remind you that that gown is your only good one. Do not soil it.”

“Really? That’s all you wanted to say?”

Clancy coughed. “And also, I wanted to remind you that you are a… er, respectable young lady. Take care not to spoil your reputation.”

“Thank you, John.” Adara glared at him.

“Oh, you are quite welcome! Since Father isn’t here, he can not remind you, but I thought I might.” Clancy’s demeanor was cheerful; despite the annoyed looks both Adara and Timeus shot him.

“How kind of you remind her, John,” Timeus said, coldly. “I’m just curious, are you implying that my company is not respectable? I would like to remind you that I am a student at the university in Hockport. That’s quite respectable, thank you very much! My father was the right, honest Leander Eudor. You may not know him my face, but I am sure you know him by name. He worked for the ninth duke of Hadiya, before he died. So I would appreciate you treating me with the respect I am due.”

“Your father worked for Duke Nestor, did he? What did he do, polish windows?” Clancy taunted.

“No, he was the duke’s personal secretary!” Timeus said, hotly.

Adara tugged on his sleeve. “Tim, calm down!”

“You’re right. Clancy Alastairsen does not deserve my anger.” He jumped up and stormed away, leaving Adara and her brother alone together.

“Well… that went well.”

“Adara, be careful about choosing your friends.”

“Oh? Papa approved of our friendship, before he disappeared.”

“Yes, but know I am the man the household! You must do as I say… cut off ties with him. He will bring you nothing but trouble.”

“Whoa, do not speak of such things. Papa is still alive. I know it. I would feel it in my blood, and in my bones, if he were dead. And besides, I shall chose my friends myself, thank you.” Adara rose, and swept away, her skirts rustling pleasantly.

As she left, she could hear Clancy swearing loudly. She shook her head. Clancy was getting above himself. It was not right. Her once gentle brother was becoming aggressive and cruel. What could be happening?

Chapter Four

2004-11-30T16:55:00.000-08:00

Chapter Four:
In which our heroes go in search of a sorcerer

Yawning and stretching, Clancy got to his feet. The top of his head banged against the roof of the carriage, and he let out a yelp of pain. He yelled a string of curses, most of which made Mary Poppins give him strongly disapproving glares. When he was subdued, he sat back down. Mary Poppins made a loud, “humph,” and crossed her arms over her chest. “My word!” She uttered with a frown.

“It is just that it is so terribly, terribly cramped in here,” Clancy explained.

“I like it,” Adara said, with a contented sigh. “It is very cozy. Or, at least, that is how I see it.”

“Yes, me too.” Timeus snuggled up against the heavy blanket that had been placed in the back seat for extra warmth. Adara giggled, and tweaked the top of his nose.

“Apparently, Clancy is the only one who does not like this little carriage. We win, seeing as it is two to one.” She giggled again, and pulled her blanket tighter around her body.

“You two are insufferable,” complained Clancy. He turned his attention to the view outside, looking through a small hole cut in the back of the carriage. The lovely rolling green hills and dramatic blue sky cheered him up, somewhat. He pressed his face against the canvas that covered the back of the coach, and took in a deep gulp of fresh, cold air. The icy wind exhilarated him, and he pushed his face out the small hole. “This is lovely,” he whispered to himself.

“Let me see, Clancy!” Adara shoved her brother backwards and looked out as well. She smiled at the view, and then resumed her seat. She noticed that Mary Poppins’s face had gone pale as milk. “Is something wrong, er, Mary Poppins?”

“Yes, yes, of course something is wrong. I told you that you are not to call any of us by our true names.”

“Sorry. I meant John, not Clancy.” Adara glowered at Mary Poppins. She felt her cheeks get hot, at being reprimanded for forgetting to do something so simple.

“Thank you for your apology,” Mary Poppins said primly. With that, she pulled a skein of wool and two knitting needles of rather lethal appearance out of her carpetbag. She began knitting at once, and soon the clacking of knitting needles could be heard over sound of the carriage wheels bumping over the badly paved roads.

In the silence that followed this exchange, Timeus drifted off to sleep. Normally, Adara might have shaken him awake, but she felt that he had earned his sleep. She did not bother trying to strike up a conversation with Clancy, for he had sunken into a state of miserable depression. This was not surprising, as he had a long, wiry build, and he was forced to sit in a very uncomfortable position in the carriage, with his knees knocking against his chin. Adara was determined not to fall asleep, for she felt she had slept far, far too much in recent days. She did not want to be driven to speak with Mary Poppins, either, as she felt she needed to boycott the shape shifter for a while.

Adara at last decided to devote her attention to thinking about what had been going on. It had been such an awful, confusing rush of events. First her dear, beloved father had disappeared. Then Nicodemus had manifested himself… though, admittedly, not without help from Adara and Timeus. And then, of course, the Sahiba pendant had been discovered. For some reason, though that was definitely a very important find, the subject had barely been touched. There seemed to be an odd significance to the appearance of the pedant, but try as she might, Adara could not think what it was. “What are properties of the Sahiba pendant, anyway?” Adara asked herself. She was astounded to find that she did not remember. She prodded her memory a little deeper. Suddenly, she was a child of ten…

“You are not attending, young lady!” The tutor cried, rapping Adara on the knuckles with her long, deadly rod. Adara jumped, and hurried to hide the scrap of paper she had been sketching on. She was too late. The tutor grabbed the scrap and held it up so as to see it better. “My goodness gracious, child! What shall we do with you?” The tutor grabbed onto Adara’s ear, and pulled her to her feet. “Stand like this and do not move until I complete the lesson.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Adara said, miserably.

The tutor smiled grimly and began. “The Sahiba pendant was made for the daughter of the first duke of Hadiya. Can you fathom who that might have been?”

“The daughter of Mikelos I, Lady Jala,” was Adara’s automatic response.

Nodding in satisfaction, the tutor continued. “Duke Mikelos loved his daughter greatly. He did not want any harm to come to her at all. So he paid a team of artisans to construct the pendant. The labored for one whole year, making sure that every detail was exact. Then a very powerful sorcerer called Dagmar placed a series of intricate spells on the pendant.” The tutor wrote something in very large, clear letters on the board. “These were the properties of the pendant.”

Adara read them carefully out loud. “First, it was a powerful protective charm. Second, it protected the ducal throne, as well as the heir. Third, it made the heir, if he or she was holding or wearing the pendant, very persuasive and able to tell remarkably believable lies. Fourth, it blessed the wearer with luck, happiness, prosperity, and fertility. Fifth, and lastly, it could be used as a weapon.” Adara stopped, and looked up at her tutor, questioningly. “I’m afraid I do not understand, ma’am.”

“Okay, let us review. The first is self-explanatory. The pendant would defend the heir from any attacks to their life, whether physical, magical, or by poison. The second is not very complicated, either. The pendant could activate powerful protective spells that were laid over the whole duchy. The third is simple, just what it sounds like. The fourth property was simply a complex blessing charm. You must remember that the reason prosperity was on the list of blessings was because the pendant was originally made for Lady Jala, who was, of course, a female. The last is, in a way, the least understood. All we know is that Lady Jala used the pendant several times to disarm or attack those who challenged her and her throne. Is that sufficient explanation?”

The memory faded slowly, and Adara was jerked back to the present. So, the pendant was very powerful. But it could not be used for very much at all unless the wearer had a claim to the ducal throne. She turned this over and over in her head. What had the pendant been doing in her father’s house? What was the significance of its appearance? How did the many pieces fit together? She hit dead ends every which way she turned. There was nothing she could think of to explain the events of recent, nothing at all. She sighed, and was about to abandon the matter for another time, when a thought occurred to her. She had not seen the pendant since they had first discovered it. But what had become of it since then? She could not remember.

“Where’s the pendant?” Adara asked, sharply.

“Hush!” Mary Poppins slapped Adara across the face. “Do not speak of these things so loudly, anyone could overhear.”

“Oh please!” Adara’s tone was sarcastic and rude. “Who is there to overhear us? The coachman?” She snorted.

“You never know,” Mary Poppins said, shaking her head. In the lowest voice Adara had ever heard, she said, “In my bag. Do not worry. It will be safe there.”

“Give it to me,” Adara demanded. “I want to wear it… around my neck, just as Lady Jala once did.”

“You do not know what you are speaking of, Jane. It is a potent and powerful charm. It is safe with me. Please try to be content with that.”

“Of course I know what I am speaking of. Give it to me. I found it, after all.”

Mary Poppins leaned forward in her seat, and clutched at Adara’s wrist. She dug her fingers into it so that the girl yelped with pain. “Girl, be silent. You will be allowed to hang it ‘round your neck soon enough. For know, though, I will not permit it. You must trust me. If you will not, nothing good will ever come of our alliance, and you will regret it.”

Shaken, Adara submitted to Mary Poppins’s overruling. She sank back into her seat. Her eyes fell closed, and she had no trouble at all assuming the state of sleep she had lived in happily for so much of the past two days.

* * *

It was Mary Poppins woke Adara and Timeus when they reached the village. She reached out one white-gloved hand and twisted it in an elaborate circle. She opened their eyes at almost exactly the same time, and looked about, startled.

“Hello,” Mary Poppins said, cheerfully. “I hope you two have enjoyed your naps. Now, if you please, we have a sorcerer to visit.”

“Who is this man, exactly?” Inquired Timeus, as he straightened his shirt and ran a hand through his messy blonde hair.

“I can not tell you his name,” Mary Poppins said, “but I will tell you this much: he is a great friend of mine, whom I have known for a great many years, and I’ll thank you to be the images of politeness and good-rearing when you appear before him.”

This remark seemed to be aimed at Adara, and she frowned. A witty comment seemed on the tip of her tongue, when Timeus gave her a look, and she lowered her eyes and clasped her hands on her lap. “I will do as you wish,” Adara said, sounding remarkably subdued.

“Good!” Mary Poppins made one of her customary humphs, and put away her knitting. The carriage stopped before anyone could get too riled up, and Mary Poppins descended from the door nearest her with amazing grace and poise. Adara, Timeus, and Clancy jumped out after her, all equally relieved to be free of the confining carriage. “Remember,” Mary Poppins hissed through her teeth, “you are Jane, Michael, and John.”

She then set about to making sure that everyone looked perfect. She made Timeus, who was now Michael, put a stiff doublet over his shirt. Mary Poppins also insisted on braided Adara’s hair and twisting it around her head in the latest style, but pronounced Clancy the model of perfection, in his ivory tunic and golden hose. As a finishing touch, Mary Poppins exchanged her own plain hat for one with pink roses surrounding the brim. Adara thought this looked very foolish, but neglected to comment, seeing as it was Mary Poppins’s friend they were trying to impress, and not hers.

Once everyone was looking what Mary Poppins considered perfect, they descended towards a tiny cottage. The roof was thatched with hay, and the walls were constructed from mud, stones, and logs. It was put together very haphazardly, and looked as if it were about to collapse any second. Adara had great doubts about whether the inhabitants of this tumbled-down shack could possibly care whether or not their visitors were wearing doublets or had not, but she kept her mouth shut, trying to be somewhat obliging to Mary Poppins.

The group assembled in a row, with Mary Poppins at the front and Adara, Timeus, and Clancy behind. Mary Poppins walked boldly up to the door, and knocked on it loudly. A nervous feeling hung over the group, and Adara shifted from foot to foot, nervously. They waited there for about five minutes, with no answer. As each second slipped by, Mary Poppins looked progressively worse and worse. Adara almost began to pity the woman. At last, Mary Poppins said a spell word, and streaks of colored fire shot at the door. It collapsed into a neat pile of wood shards. Mary Poppins did not seem to care that she had just ruined her friend’s door, and stepped inside the little house.

At once Adara knew that something was not right. She was not sure why, but she knew. She followed Mary Poppins inside, and gasped when she saw the sorcerer. Her first thought was that he must have been in terrible, excruciating agony when he died. For the sorcerer was most certainly dead. He lay sprawled on his back, and his body looked perfectly natural, save for the gigantic splotches of browned blood on his pale grey robes. His face had been crushed in, as if by a heavy club or mace. None of his features were any longer visible, so had the blow destroyed his face. Adara felt as if she was going to vomit. She pushed outside, past Timeus and Clancy.

“What’s wrong, Ad—I mean Jane?” Timeus called.

But his words were in vain, for she was out of hearing. Adara hurried away from the house, wanting to get as far away from the disaster scene as possible. Determined not to be sick, as she had been fainting far too many times in the past two days, Adara stopped to collect herself. She sat down on a log, and gazed out at the misty landscape. It was so beautiful, here, away from the bustle and noise of crowded Hockport. It was hard to believe that so heinous a crime could have been committed in so peaceful a setting. It did not matter that Adara had never known the poor sorcerer, she still felt very sorry for him.

Feeling very foolish, Adara laid her head in her lap, and she began to cry. Presently, Timeus came along, as she had known all along her would, and sat down beside her. “Bless him,” Adara thought to herself, for he said not a word. He had a great understanding of her, better than she had expected. Rather than talking, which could have been disastrous, he simply gave her a quick hug, and sat beside her as she sobbed mournfully. Timeus’s presence comforted Adara greatly, and soon the tears that had so readily flowed down her cheeks stopped coming. She shifted her weight to lean against Timeus’s warmth, and basked in the pleasure of his company.

“Thank you,” Adara said, finally, her voice hoarse from crying. She realized that her face must be puffy and red, as well, but preferred not think about it.

“You are quite welcome.” With a smile, Timeus gathered her into his arms, and rocked Adara back and forth, gently.

She felt like a small child again, being soothed to sleep on her nurse’s knee. She looked gratefully up at him, and then somehow found the heart to return his smile. Her heart was beating rapidly now, and she reproached herself. “Stop it,” a voice inside her head snapped. “He is just your friend. There’s no need to get so excited.” Adara’s heart refused to listen to her arguments, and continued to beat at a very improper pace.

“Adara,” Timeus began. She nodded, encouragingly. “I—oh, never mind.”

“What is it, Timeus?”

“It is nothing, really.”

“If you say so…” Adara’s voice was uncertain, but she did not protest further.

“I think—I mean to say, I…” Timeus trailed off, looking uncharacteristically confused. Instinctively, Adara reached up to stroke his cheek. She did not know why she was doing it, and it seemed a very odd thing to do, but she found herself doing it nonetheless. “What I’m trying to say is,” Timeus said, his voice stronger now than before, “I think, well, I mean, you—“

It was then that Mary Poppins, who had been searching for them for sometime, spotted the two of them. “Jane! Michael! Stop it at once! The indecency… really!”

Clancy appeared close at her heels, looking disgusted. “Honestly, Adara!”

Startled, Timeus and Adara jumped apart. Adara fell off the log, and went tumbling to the ground. She struggled to her feet, and began stuttering excuses. “I—we weren’t… It is not what you think! I just… he was trying to comfort me! I was upset because of the dead man, the sorcerer. We—it is not… Oh dear!” Adara stopped talking, and simply buried her hands in her face.

Meanwhile, Timeus was standing a few feet away, his face bright red with embarrassment. He did not even bother to speak. He just stood there, wishing he could disappear.

“Jane,” Clancy said, disparagingly, “what would Father say?”

Timeus gathered the courage to defend Adara, who was still hiding in a bubble of misery, refusing to meet her brother’s eyes. “Leave her alone, John! The last thing she needs at this point is your disapproval.” He glared at Clancy, and moved to stand protectively in front of Adara.

“Timeus—er, Michael, you needn’t defend me. I will be all right,” Adara said, in a small, barely audible voice.

“I have had quite enough of this!” Mary Poppins said sharply. “Let’s go. This is leading absolutely nowhere. Let us just forget it all.”

They all agreed heartily, and headed back to the coach.

Chapter Three

2004-11-30T16:22:00.000-08:00

Chapter Three:
In which our heroes depart

Taking a last glance around the room, Timeus brushed his hands together to get the dirt off of them. He was standing in Adara’s small yet comfortable bedroom. He had just finished packing almost all of her clothing and worldly possessions into a gigantic trunk. In a few minutes, they would depart, leaving the bustling town of Hockport behind. Timeus’s gaze turned to Adara, who still lay, sleeping, on her bed. Nicodemus had decided that it was urgent for Adara to leave the city, though Timeus was not quite sure why. Well, at least he would be coming along, to protect her from foul play. Timeus still did not completely trust Nicodemus. The man talked rudely, and was not a very kind person. It came to a point where Timeus began to doubt that Nicodemus was actually a friend of Alastair’s. He had known Alastair, Adara’s father, for a number of years, and he did not seem at to be the kind of person to like Nicodemus’s type of penny sorcerer at all.

Nicodemus was, it seemed to Timeus, the kind of cheap magician typical asked to perform at children’s birthday parties. But Adara seemed to tryst the sorcerer. Still, Timeus wanted to stick to her side, just to be sure. Something about Nicodemus’s nature made him instantly suspicious. He could not help it the natural suspicion. Timeus felt it was somehow wrong and unjust not to trust Master Alastair’s friend, but he managed to content himself, to some extent at least, by thinking of the many people he did trust.

“Are you done yet, lad?” Nicodemus asked, popping his head into Adara’s room.

“Be quiet!” Timeus whispered loudly. “You’ll wake her.” As he said this, he nodded towards Adara’s bed.

“Well, excuse me. I’ll be going then.” Nicodemus glared at Timeus stomped away, huffily.

Timeus offered up a quick prayer as soon as Nicodemus was out of earshot. “Dear gods, keep him away from me. He has done nothing for me but make my life more complicated, and I am truly afraid he will harm Adara.”

Adara, who had woken up a few minutes earlier, heard this. She had an extremely difficult times suppressing a laugh, and in the end gave herself away by snorting rather loudly.

“Adara?” Timeus jumped noticeably, and spun to face her. “Are you awake?”

She sat up in bed, or almost did. Adara was still rather tired, so she more propped her head and shoulders up against the headboard than actually sat up. “Yes, I’m awake, I admit it,” she said playfully. She twirled a curl of her auburn hair around one long, delicate finger. “Really, Tim, you are just too thoughtful. You even pray to the gods for my sake. I am surprised, to tell the truth.”

“Er… is that so?” Timeus glanced uncomfortably at Adara.

“Yes, I am surprised.” She was feeling quite energetic now. She hopped lightly out of bed, and twirled across the room. Her long white nightshirt billowed out around her slim frame, swirling this way and that as she danced. Adara let out a joyous cry, and jumped up into the air. Then she fell, giggling hysterically, into Timeus’s arms. He stared at her, looking almost frightened.

“Are you okay, Adara?” His voice was higher-pitched than usual, and his features were twisted into a perplexed expression.

“I am fine. In fact, I have never felt better in my life.” She rolled her head backwards onto Timeus’s shoulder, and fell backwards. He caught her just in time, and, bracing himself against the trunk, pulled her to her feet.

“Adara?” There was no response. Furious, Timeus bellowed down the hallway. “NICODEMUS! COME HERE RIGHT NOW!”

Nicodemus appeared in the doorway looking flustered. Noticing the heated expression on Timeus’s face, he backed away slightly. “I really haven’t got time right now, boy,” he said rapidly, easing backwards.

“Do not you dare, Nicodemus. Come back here this instant. Give me answers. I want answers. What has happened to Adara?” The sorcerer looked at Timeus quizzically, and then noticed the girl Timeus was holding up.

“Oh, dear,” Nicodemus said. “She’s been fighting my spells, again.”

“What? What is going on, Nicodemus? What spells? What has she been fighting?”

“My spell, of course. I put a sleep spell on her, and she fought it valiantly. Apparently, she broke it temporarily. I expect she started dancing around madly for a while before she collapsed.”

“I see.” Timeus pulled Adara’s limp body up into his arms, and carried her over to her bed. He pulled the blankets up to her chin, and patted down the sheets. “Sweet dreams, Adara,” he told her softly.

“No, wait! Stop!” Timeus turned to look at Nicodemus.

“What is it this time, Nicodemus?”

“We need to leave, remember? If we are to kind Alastair before he has been killed, or something similarly gruesome, we must depart with as quickly as humanly possible. One moment, please.” Nicodemus spun his hand in the air in a clockwise motion, apparently undoing Adara’s sleep spell, for she rubbed her eyes and sat up at once.

“ Good morning, Timeus,” Adara said cheerfully. She noticed Nicodemus, and added, “And to you, as well, sir.”

“It is not morning anymore, Adara, it is evensong,” Nicodemus informed her, his gruff voice unusually gentle.

“Really? How did that happen?”

“Well, I—“ Nicodemus started.

“He put a sleep spell on you!” Timeus cut in, disgustedly.

Adara cast Nicodemus a suspicious look. “That’s strange. And why did you do this, Nicodemus?”

“You do not understand! It was for your own good. We needed to leave, to find Alastair, and I did not want you to distract us. I did not want you to interfere. If only you hadn’t fought that spell, all would be well and we would all be well on our way to the house of a good friend of mine, who says he knows Alastair’s whereabouts.”

“Really? Who is this friend? Where is my father?” Adara practically fell out of bed, and ran over to Nicodemus. She clutched onto his shoulders, and hung onto him, looking at him imploringly.

“Patience, patience—all in good time. For now, we depart.”

“Yes, let’s. Come on, Timeus.”

For some odd reason, Timeus looked rather glum. “All right,” he said in a cheerful voice, despite his saddened expression. Adara did not seem to notice his expression. Instead, she hurried over to the big, heavy trunk Timeus had packed for her, and struggled to lift it. “Let me help you,” Timeus said, at once. He came over to the trunk, and helped her hoist it into the air. The two carried the trunk laboriously down the stairs, to the front door.

“Nicodemus, are you coming, or what?” Adara asked, cupping her hands around her mouth to make her voice carry farther.

“Look, Adara!” Timeus said.

A tall, matronly woman of at least thirty years of age came bustling into the room. She had black hair worn in a tight knot on top of her head, and blue eyes that Adara felt coolly appraised everyone and everything. The woman was dressed in a very odd, yet certainly expensive black dress. It fit her in a way that was not at all the style, though looked entirely becoming on her. She carried herself proudly, and stood up very, very straight. In one hand, she carried a bag that was made out of—could it be true? —An oriental carpet. Her other hand was devoted to straightened her odd hat on top of her head. Her feet were most curiously outfitted with ankle-high, button-up leather boots with heels about two inches high.

“Adara, Timeus, let us be going,” the woman instructed.

“Nicodemus?” Adara asked, incredulously.

“Yes? Oh, did I forget to tell you? I am a shape shifter. I would prefer that you call me Mary Poppins, in this form.”

Adara and Timeus exchanged a suspicious look, but then focused their attention back on the woman.

“Nicodemus? Er, I mean, Mary Poppins? Could not you change into something a bit more…” Adara searched for a word. “…Normal?”

“Sorry, how stupid of me.” The woman’s dress changed abruptly into a much more common-looking muslin gown. Her hat, however, stayed the same, as did her outlandish carpetbag. “Is this better?” the woman asked. Adara gave an approving nod. “Oh, do call me Mary Poppins!” the woman exclaimed. “You need not think of me as Nicodemus any longer. Besides, you will have to get used to me shape shifting. Okay? Here is the plan. Timeus, you and Adara must know act as brother and sister. You will assume the names of Jane and Michael. Very foreign sounding names, aren’t they? Yes, that’s fine. I am sure no one will notice. I am to be your governess, taking you to visit your parents at their villa. Please try to temporarily forget your true names. From now on we must inhabit our assumed disguises. I promise that soon you will be Adara and Timeus once more.”

“Wait a moment,” said Adara, “what about my brother, Clancy?”

“Yes, what about me?” Clancy pushed back a set of long drapes to reveal himself.

Mary Poppins looked puzzled. “Clancy? Ah, yes. You had better be John. You’ll be another sibling, naturally. We do not have Barbara, though.” She sighed, heavily. “Oh, never mind. That’s fine. Never mind. Come along, chop-chop.”

Adara, Timeus, and Clancy followed Mary Poppins obediently, all in a row, out of the door. A luxurious carriage, drawn by four beautiful grey horses was standing in front of the house.

“Pile in,” Mary Poppins said. Everyone did just as she instructed. The three of them fit just perfectly into the two rows of velvet seats inside the carriage, with room left over for Mary Poppins. While Adara, Timeus, and Clancy waited patiently, Mary Poppins saw to it that the heavy trunk Timeus had packed up earlier were loaded at minimal states of precariousness onto top of the carriage. Once she had cleared that matter up, she got into the carriage as well. The coachman cracked his whip, and the carriage set off, rumbling down the road at a brisk but comfortable pace.

“Where are we going?” Adara asked, as they disappeared into the distance.

“To see a sorcerer friend of mine. He knows where to find your father, I expect,” Mary Poppins answered.

Adara was not completely satisfied, but she gave the woman a break any way.

Chapter Two

2004-11-03T18:56:00.000-08:00

Chapter Two:
In which Adara finds out something about herself

When Adara awoke, she was relieved to find herself clothed in a nightshirt, and tucked neatly into her own warm, comfortable bed. It was apparently very early in the morning, for the room was fairly dark, though a few patches of lavender light poured in through the cracks in the shutters. She was stiff, and felt extremely weak. She experimented by trying to get out of bed. That was easy enough. Then she looked around the room. To her surprise, Timeus sat slumped in a chair next to her bed, his eyes closed in a peaceful sleep. Adara wondered briefly whether or not she should wake him, and then decided against it. Who knows how long her had been watching over her? It was best to let him get his rest.

She moved as quietly as possible to the door, and then walked downstairs to the kitchen, wincing at the coldness of the stone floors. Shivering slightly, she lit a fire in the enormous hearth, and set about making a morning meal. This was not too difficult, as someone had gone to the trouble to buy eggs and a fresh loaf of bread. All this left Adara with to do was fry the eggs, slice and toast the bread, and pile it all onto a plate. She carefully set aside half of the meal for Timeus to eat, once he woke up. For the mean time, she was far too hungry to wait for him. Instead, she ate her eggs and toast quietly, quickly, and alone.

It did not take long for Adara to finish her breakfast, due to her ravenous condition. When she was done, she climbed the stairs slowly, and tiptoed hesitantly into her father’s room. She was more than a little shocked to find Nicodemus sprawled atop her father’s bed. The Sahiba pendant was nowhere to be seen. Furious at the rudeness of this situation, Adara walked over to where Nicodemus lay.

“Sir, please wake up,” she said, in a steely tone.

Nicodemus opened one eye partially, and stared at her. Immediately, he shut it again, and shifted onto his stomach. Angrily, Adara grabbed hold of his broad shoulders, and shook him awake. He rolled back onto one side, with incredible reluctance, and opened both eyes. He let out a heaving sigh, and sat up with difficulty.

“Wait, I can explain—“ Nicodemus began. He shut his mouth abruptly when Adara glared daggers at him.

“There’s no way you can possibly explain this!” Adara practically shouted, gestured madly around the room. “I summoned you to help me find my father. He trusted you! He trusted you enough to tell me to trust you… and what do you do, you sleep in his bed, and steal the pendant!”

“Er…” Nicodemus looked around the room as if searching for a way to escape. Upon finding that there was none, he continued shakily. “Okay, let’s talk this over. You are very angry, but I believe that I’ve done nothing wrong—“ The look Adara shot him caused him to change strategies. “Of course,” he said, loudly this time, “I could always go back into my wood block, and leave you to locate your dear papa on your own.”

“You do that!” Adara was tempted to tell him. Somehow, she stopped herself. Instead, she gave him a chance. She considered it a very noble thing to do. “Fine. Explain yourself then, if you please.” It was all she could do to keep herself the picture of politeness, even if her tone was venomous.

Nicodemus mumbled a string of words that Adara could have sworn were, “Wonderful poise, just like her mother.”

“My mother?” Adara said sharply. “What do you know of my mother? And if you know anything at all about her, you should know that she has terrible poise. She’s quite clumsy, in fact.”

“What?” Nicodemus jumped. “I said nothing! Nothing, you hear!”

“You are such a liar. I am positive you said ‘wonderful poise, just like her mother.’” Adara scowled at him. He had been acting exceedingly suspicious lately. Nicodemus was not at all the sort of man she would have expected her father to trust. But there was no time to bring her father into it, now. She would just get teary-eyed and make a fool of herself.

“I did not say anything of the kind, I swear it on the gods!” Nicodemus was becoming desperate.

“Explain yourself, Nicodemus, you have taken too long. Far, far too long.”

“I—I… yes, of course.” Nicodemus lowered his head, and looked at the ground. Just when Adara was sure he was on the verge of explaining, he snapped his head up, and shouted out, “Derandius!”

Adara knew, the moment the word left Nicodemus’s lips, that he was casting a spell. She braced herself, but was not at all prepared for the odd tingling sensation that filled her body as a result of the spell. She felt as if a thousand tiny pins had stuck themselves into her skin all of a sudden, coating every inch of her body. At first it was just a tickling feeling, but the pins got hotter and hotter until she was truly in pain. “Stop!” she screamed, shaking her body forcefully in an attempt to rid herself of the invisible pins. To her relief and delight, the pain stopped, and she felt as if the pins had loosed themselves from her skin. She breathed a deep sigh of relief, and rubbed her hands over her bare arms, just to be sure there were not, in fact, pins in her skin. There were not, as it turned out, and brought herself to smile.

“What a demonstration,” Adara complimented Nicodemus, sweetly. She raised her head to look at him, and was startled to notice that his mouth was wide open. Plainly, something had bothered him. She didn’t have to prod him with curious questions, however, for he had already begun to speak.

“Adara, I know you seek explanations from me. But, although I wish I could, I cannot offer them to you. I must admit I know some things you do not know about yourself. But I am obligated by someone much more powerful than I not to tell you of these things. Please accept my apologies. I promise, and this a true and honest promise, that someday, a day not too far in the future, you will know everything you desire about his matter, and more. For now, though, I have other news for you.” He folded his hands across his lap, and got into a comfortable position. “Take a seat, Adara. This may take a while,” Nicodemus informed her.

“Thank you,” Adara said gratefully, assuming a seat opposite Nicodemus on the large bed. “So, what is it you wish to tell me?”

“Just now, when I cast a spell on you, it should have caused you to suffer great pain, beyond anything else you have ever experienced in your life. I admit it was poor judgment on my part to cast such a spell, but you were trying to force me to disobey my… er… employer’s express instructions. This is not a matter to be taken lightly, so I acted without thinking. I am sorry for this. The spell should have set your limbs on fire. But it didn’t. Do you know why?”

“No, I cannot say that I do.”

“Well, I do. The reason this happened is because your magical powers stopped most of my hostile power, and redirected it. This would have caused a tingling feeling. A very uncomfortable feeling, true, but nowhere near as horrible as the spell should have made you feel.”

“Hang on,” Adara interrupted, “are you saying that I’m a sorcerer?”

“You are a sorceress, yes. This may come as quite a shock to you, but someone needed to inform you.” Nicodemus looked rather sullen. “Unfortunately, because I was the one to inform you of this, I will have to teach you magic, at least the basics. Do you feel you can stand lessons with me?”

“I just… I am so astonished. I mean, I, Adara Imogen Voletta of Hockport, a sorceress? It seems very surreal and hard to believe.”

“I sympathize with you completely. But there is nothing to be done. I am sorry. I do hope you understand the importance of this matter. Magic is very powerful when in the hands of the untrained, and drastic things could happen. You must understand this. Do you not?”

“No, no. I understand. Magic is very dangerous; I know that, of course. I learned it from my teachers when I was a mere child. I just never guessed that I could be a sorceress. Are you quite certain?” Adara was having problems coming to terms with her newfound powers. They scared her, amazed her, and pleased her, all at the same time.

“Yes,” Nicodemus said, exasperatedly. “I am quite, quite certain. Beyond all sparks of doubt. There is no question about the matter, no question at all. For your sake, I almost hope this wasn’t the case. It would be easier on all of us, for sure, if you did not have magical powers. You would not have to be trained, and I would not have to train you. Yes, things would be simpler if you were just an ordinary child. But life is never perfect. I am afraid to tell you, for fear you shall go quite insane from the stress of all these things piling up on you. But it is as true as true can be, you are a sorceress. Enjoy your powers. There is nothing you can do about them, and there never will be.”

“Why, that was quite a speech, Nicodemus,” Adara remarked dryly. She felt a terrible headache coming on, and put one hand to her head. “I fear I have a touch of the headache. Please excuse me.”

“Oh! I am sorry, Adara.” Nicodemus made a faint gesture with one hand, and Adara’s headache went away.

“What just happened?”

“I was accidentally laying my stress on you,” Nicodemus said, worriedly. “It’s better now, though, is it not?”

“Oh yes, it is quite fine now. I appreciate your help. I think I’ll take a rest now, if you don’t mind,” Adara said, casting Nicodemus a strange glance. “Good morning. Don’t let me sleep in too late.”

“I will not. You need not worry about that. Good morning.” Nicodemus nodded in place of a wave, and Adara left the room. She walked briskly up the stairs, and headed straight towards her room. When she reached it, she saw that Timeus was still asleep in the chair next to her bed. She felt a pang of gratitude for him once again, for being so caring the day before. Then she got back into bed, and went to sleep once more.

Chapter One

2004-11-03T15:13:00.000-08:00

Chapter One:
In which something sinister happens and an item of considerable interest is discovered

The day started out perfectly naturally… but just because it started out naturally, doesn’t mean it continued naturally. Adara woke just after seven o’clock. She dressed hurriedly, shivering in the frigid late autumn air. She washed her face and hands, and the padded out into the hallway.

“Good morning,” Adara called down the hall, cheerfully. There was an eerie silence. Puzzled, Adara yelled again. “Anyone awake yet?”

“Ady!” Adara’s older brother, Clancy, came running down the hallway. His freckled face was red as a tomato, and his orange curls a tangled heap.

“Has something happened, Clancy?” Adara came to her brother’s side, at once. “You look awful. Of course, that might just be because you haven’t had time to powder your face yet…”

Clancy glared at his sister. “It’s not funny, Adara. It’s not funny at all. Father’s disappeared.”

“What?” Adara snapped. “There—there must be some mistake. You just had a bad dream—maybe father left early to go somewhere. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m not kidding, Ady, he’s not here in the house, and he didn’t leave a note.”

“Oh, you know how Papa is, he probably just forgot to tell us he was going out. He must have run out to get some paints, or something. He’ll be back soon,” Adara said confidently. “And please, don’t call me Ady. You know I hate that tasteless little nickname.”

Taking a deep breath, Clancy closed his eyes. “Adara, why don’t you go sit down on your bed. I don’t want to alarm you.”

“What, do you think I’m going to faint? I’m not Brenna, you know,” she said, referring to their nine year-old sister.

“I’m serious. Go sit down, now.”

“Easy, easy!” Adara muttered, throwing her hands up into the air. She sauntered back into her bedroom, and flopped onto the bed. “So, what is it you want to tell me? I promise I won’t pass out. Though really, it is too kind of you to watch out for me like this.”

“Be quiet!” Clancy said, crossly. “You know, Father’s clothes are all in his closet. The only garment missing is his nightshirt. I highly doubt he would go walking about town, dressed only in his nightshirt.”

“Oh, Clancy!” Adara rolled on to her stomach, and buried her face in a pillow. “Something terrible has happened, hasn’t it? Papa’s been kidnapped, hasn’t he?”

“Yes, I think so,” Clancy said. His relief that Adara understood the severity of the situation was obvious. “Or perhaps…” he let out a great, hiccupping sob. “Maybe Father has been murdered.”

Adara sat bolt upright. “You don’t think—no, surely not. Why would anyone do a thing like that to poor Papa? He’s a good, honest man, a simple painter. Rich, he may be, but what would anyone want with him? Why would anyone want to—to kill him?”

“I don’t know, Adara. I don’t know what to think. I agree with you. Father is a fine man. Never harmed anyone. Not that I know of, at least.”

“Oh, curse it all, Clancy! This is horrid! I’m so frightened.” Adara pounded the mattress with her fists. Salty tears traced their way down her cheeks and dripping down her chin, onto her bodice.

“I know, Adara, oh, I know. I’m scared, too: scared for Father, scared for you, and scared for myself.” Clancy sat down on the bed, next to Adara. He wrapped one arm around her thin shoulders, and used the other to draw a handkerchief out of his pocket. Rubbing his hand up and down her arm, soothingly, Clancy applied the handkerchief to his sister’s face. “Even at scary times like this, we need to stick together,” he whispered in her ear.

“Oh, you’re so right.” A smile crept across Adara’s face. “Can I quote you on that?” she asked, mockingly.

“Ady…”

“I jest, Clancy Alastairsen! Lighten up.” Adara got to her feet. “Now, as you were saying, we need to stick together. But we must also have a plan. We shan’t just sit here moping all day, crying on each other’s shoulders. We need to do something. I don’t know about you, but I want Papa back.”

“Right, right. The question is, ‘how?’ How are we going to get him back? We have nothing to go on.”

“Ooh… this is just like a mystery novel!” Adara exclaimed, delightedly. “I’ll get out the magnifying glass, you make a list of suspects.” She clapped her hands together.

Clancy was sorely tempted to slap his sister, but he stopped himself just in time. “Adara Imogen Voletta, this is not funny in the least! Our father has disappeared, do you realize that?” He reached out and grabbed her shoulders. “He has disappeared, you hear? Disappeared!” He shook her violently.

Sobering, Adara squirmed out of his grasp. “Come on, Clancy, leave me alone. I’m just trying to brighten the mood, know what I mean? Yes, of course you do. You’re just too somber to laugh at a time like this. I see it, now. Not that I was blind before, or anything.”

“It’s not just that, Adara, your jokes aren’t worth a ha’penny. You think you are flaunting your incredible wit, but your jokes are just stupid.”

“Well, that wasn’t very nice.” Adara stormed out of the room. “I take my leave of you, Clancy. See you later,” she hollered over her shoulder.

* * *

“What?” Timeus, Adara’s best friend, exclaimed. He and Adara were sitting cross-legged on the dusty floor in the attic.

“He disappeared. I can’t think wear he could have gone,” Adara said, tearfully.

“That’s horrible. Oh, Adara, I’m so sorry! I would have come over at once, If only I’d known.”

“Oh, it’s fine. It’s not your fault.”

“Well, no, of course not. But, being your friend, I sympathize with you. I’m not apologizing for what happened, I’m trying to comfort you,” Timeus rattled, looking down his long nose at Adara.

She laughed. “You never fail to amuse me.” Her eyes clouding over, she sank into a cloud of philosophy. “Why is it that can make me—and most people—laugh, seemingly effortlessly, while I cannot even get my own obliging brother to smile at my jests.”

“You try too hard,” Timeus explained. “Your jokes are too obvious. Oh, maybe that’s not the right word. You like being a jokester, no?”

“That’s correct. There’s a certain thrill to making others laugh, smile, enjoy themselves. I savor that thrill.”

“But there are many ways to make others enjoy themselves!” Timeus said, surprised. “No one is perfect. You have your paintings, and your poetry. No doubt people smile when they read the more light-hearted of your poems. And I know many love to stare at your paintings. What more could you wish for?”

“Oh, but it’s so different!” Adara jumped to her feet. “I want to make people truly laugh. I want them to throw back their heads and free themselves from the strict patterns of our society. I want to change people, and how they think.” She made wide circles with her arms, illustrating her point.

“That’s rather ambitious, isn’t it?”

“See, see, that’s just what I mean. When someone says something like that, I feel a helpless giggle rising in my throat. It’s amazing, all-consuming. But it’s not enough for me to laugh at your jokes, and at other people’s jokes. I want other people to laugh at my jokes, for a change.”

“You’re so sincere!” Timeus said, gleefully. “Come on, Adara, think about it. Which is funnier: a straight out, ‘why did the chicken cross the road?’ or a something a little subtler, such as, ‘of course, chickens only cross roads to get to the other side.’ Oh, dear. What a poor example.” He looked up at Adara, and then beamed. “You know what I mean! I can see it in your eyes. No one will laugh at your jokes if they are obvious, they must be almost obscure.”

“Thank you,” Adara said in low voice. “I’ll think over what you’ve just said. Thank you.”

“Now, we need to think of a way to track down your father.”

“Ah, yes. Do you have any ideas?”

“Well, yes. I do. Though Clancy may object. He fears magic, does he not?” Timeus inquired.

“Very much so, that’s right. Something about it scares him. I think it’s just that he doesn’t understand it,” Adara informed him.

“He will not like this solution then.”

“Out with it, Timeus. What’s this idea of yours?”

“Well, as you may know, I studied magical theory and practical magic with my tutor.” Timeus paused. Adara nodded encouragingly, and he continued. “If you have, say, an old shirt of your father’s any sorcerer should be able to place a detection spell on it, to trace him.”

“Hmm… that sounds like a possibility.” Adara bit her lip. “Do you really think it will work?”

“It should. Of course, I am no sorcerer myself. We would have to hire a professional. It would be a little risky. We would have to handle the whole matter very discreetly. But I think we could do it.”

“Oh, you’re so helpful, Timeus. Thank you.” Adara massaged her temples and let her eyes close slowly. “I’m so tired, and so worried. I never dreamed anything like this would happen.”

“Adara!” Timeus got to his feet and hugged his friend. “Don’t worry, it will be okay.”

“Promise?”

“I promise. It will be all right. I am utterly confident that this matter will work out for the best.”

In the distance, the bells in the temple of Nazirah, the goddess of time, sounded three times. “Is it four o’clock, so soon?” Adara asked, amazed. “Do you need to leave here at a certain time, Timeus?”

“Why, no, I don’t. I have the whole evening free, for once,” Timeus told her, smirking.

“Excellent. You’ll stay for dinner, won’t you? I can easily cook a few sausages and make a salad. That is assuming you don’t mind such a simple meal.”

“No, no! That sounds wonderful. I accept your invitation gratefully. Sausages and salad are the food of the gods, compared to my normal evening fare.”

“I had no idea! This will be a treat for both of us, then.” Adara said, grinning. She began to pace around the room. “We must think of a clever way to convince Clancy to let us try your magical tracing method.”

“Why don’t you just ask him?”

“I could, I suppose. But I don’t think he would be able to come to terms with it, just like ‘that.’” She snapped her fingers as the she said the last word.

“Another thing to considers is, who would be the sorcerer to perform the spell?”

“Well, that’s easy, at least,” said Adara. “Papa told me how to summon a friend of his, a sorcerer, if I ever got into trouble.”

“Excellent. Do you feel we can trust this person?”

“I feel sure we can. Why else would Papa give me instructions for summoning her?”

“’Her?’ It’s a woman? Are you certain?” Timeus looked confused.

Adara was taken aback. “Well… no, I don’t know, to tell you the truth. I just though—I may be completely wrong, I apologize.”

“No, no. I’m not angry. It is just that, as you may know, few women have much of a magical aptitude.”

“I know. It’s one of the few things I learned from my teachers as a child.” Adara smiled. “My teachers certainly didn’t teach me very much else. Of course, I learned the basics: reading, writing, elementary mathematics, and more, er, womanly arts, such as dancing and other such things.”

Timeus groaned. “Please, spare me the details. Why didn’t you beloved papa send you to university? He seemed to want to educate you a good deal. But yet he did not even send you to university. It’s exceeding odd.”

“Well, no really. Not when you think about it. Not many females attend university. Papa just didn’t want me to suffer, being one of the only girls there.”

“That’s possible,” Timeus conceded. He shook his head sadly.

“Is something wrong?” Adara asked, furrowing her brow in worry.

“No, no, nothing at all.” Timeus smiled at his friend. “Okay, so do you know exactly how to summon this sorcerer friend-of-you-father’s?”

“Yes. I know every detail of the process. I don’t suppose you would want to help me…?”

Timeus laughed. “But of course! What do you need help with? If it’s a spell, I’ll warn you, last time I tried to perform a spell, I ended up in bed, unconscious.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem. Actually, I’d like you to buy a few things,” Adara admitted. She rummaged around the attic for a moment, before producing a pen and a scrap of paper. “I’ll make a list for you,” she told Timeus. She scribbled a few things on the paper, and then handed it to him. “Here you go.”

“My goodness!” Timeus’s eyes widened as he read over the list. “’One candle in each of the colors of the rainbow, a block of wood, a square of white velvet…’ Adara, how on earth are you going to manage this? The summons is based on a very powerful spell, one I studied at the university.”

“Humor me,” Adara said dryly. “Papa wouldn’t have taught me the summoning spell if he hadn’t thought I could manage it.”

“Fine. I guess I’ll have to place my trust on your father.” Timeus raised one hand in a farewell gesture, and ran down the attic steps.

“Good bye!” called Adara, as she watched him disappear. “Do hurry!”

“I will, don’t worry,” Timeus said, as he disappeared down the steps.

Adara waited, listening to the fading sound of his feet banging against the wooden steps. She knew he had reached the first floor when the footsteps stopped. Adara heard the distinctive creak of the heavy front door opening, and then the loud noise of it slamming shut. She walked over to the window, and watched the dark figure that was Timeus run down the broad street. She opened the window, and leaned out. The crisp air cooled her thoroughly. Once Timeus was out of sight, she closed the window, and set to work.

* * *

Breathing heavily, Timeus dragged himself up the attic steps. “Adara,” he panted, “I… got… everything… you… needed… I think.” He collapsed onto the floor, letting the brown paper-wrapped parcels he had been carrying fall out of his arms.

“My, my!” Adara exclaimed, standing up. Prior to this, she had been bent over, chalking symbols onto the ground. She walked over to Timeus, and knelt down beside him. She reached out to support him. “You didn’t run all the way, did you?”

“Yes,” Timeus replied, weakly.

“You didn’t need to rush that much, you know.” Adara bent over him and placed one hand on his forehead. “How about a nice, cold glass of water?” she offered.

“Please!” Apparently, exhaustion had confined him to monosyllables.

“Coming right up.” Adara someone managed to bustle out of the room, despite her slim, youthful figure. She reappeared some minutes later, holding a tin mug filled with ale.

Timeus gulped it down, thirstily, and then looked up at Adara. “Ale?” he inquired. “I thought you said you were going to get water? Or has a ‘nice, cold glass of water’ come to mean a mug of ale?”

“You’re recovering,” Adara remarked. “You have the energy to talk rudely, again.”

With a chuckle, Timeus raised himself onto his elbows. “How perceptive of you to notice.” He brushed a few unruly strands of Adara’s dark hair out of her face, and leaned in to whisper in her ear. “Very perceptive.”

“Thank you,” Adara murmered, suppressing a giggle.

“Your hair looks very red, illuminated,” Timeus commented, holding a few locks of her hair up so that the sun filtered through it. “You have beautiful hair. At times it looks dark, almost black, and other times it looks almost as red as your brother’s.”

Adara got to her feet, quickly. “We need to start the summons soon, or else we won’t finish before nightfall,” she said, so hastily that her words slurred together, slightly.

“Yes, yes, you’re right. As always.” Timeus looked at Adara fondly, and then stood as well.

“You don’t need to do much,” she told him. “I may ask you to hand me specific items at some point, but not yet.” Adara glanced at Timeus, and he nodded.

“I understand. It sounds easy enough.”

“Oh, it’s quite easy. At least for you.” Adara unwrapped the parcels Timeus had purchased, to reveal all of the many items she had requested. Working rapidly, she set up the candles at various places around and on top of the chalked designs she had been working on. Then she placed the square of velvet at the center of one of the designs, and the block of wood on top of it. Once this was completed, she began to chant softly as she arranged the rest of the items. She drew a piece of flint and a piece of steel out of her belt pouch, and struck them against each other, lighting the candles. When she was finished, she stood back.

“Done?” Timeus asked. “But you didn’t even ask me for anything?”

Adara shook her head. “Don’t worry. You’ll have your chance to participate. I haven’t activated the spell yet.”

“Oh, I see. I should have remembered that. We studied a spell much like this at the university.”

“I know. You told me already.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“Hush.” Adara closed her eyes, and held out her arms. She spoke a few words in a language that sounded suspiciously like gibberish, and clapped twice. “Nicodemus, come forth!” she ordered.

Timeus’s eyes widened as the block of wood began to change. Two arms sprouted out of its sides, and two legs pushed it up off the ground. In mere moments, the ordinary block of wood transformed into a rather short yet unquestionably human man. He stood about five feet tall, and was of a stocky build. He had a long beard of russet-colored hair, and bright blue eyes. His face would have looked kindly, had he not been scowling at the time.

“What is it?” he demanded, angrily.

“N—Nicodemus?” Adara asked, her eyes even wider than Timeus’s.

“Yes, yes, girl. I know my own name. But what is it that you want?”

Adara seemed to have lost all of her usual confidence, and was simply standing there, gaping. Coming to her rescue, Timeus said, “My friend has lost her father. She wishes to locate him.”

Nicodemus snorted. “And who, exactly, is your ‘friend?’”

By this time, Adara had come to her senses again, and was able to speak for herself. Proudly, she lifted her chin. “I am Adara Imogen Voletta, daughter of Alastair Irvin, artisan,” she rattled off.

“I’m sorry,” Nicodemus said, looking astounded, “are you the Adara Imogen Voletta, daughter of Alastair Irvin, artisan, who lives in Hockport with her brother Clancy Alastairsen?”

Adara completely forgot to be haughty in her utter amazement. “Y—yes, I am.”

“And you say your father, Master Alastair Irvin, has been… lost?”

“That’s correct. He just disappeared without a trace.”

“Gods above!” Nicodemus muttered, clutching his head wildly. “What has Alastair done?” he said, more to himself than to Adara and Timeus.

“Do you know where he is?” Adara inquired, nervously. She walked up to Nicodemus, as if to shake him gently, but stopped, apparently thinking better of it.

Nicodemus stared at Adara. “Do I know where he is? No, of course not!”

“Well, then, is there someway you could locate him? Perhaps using magic?” Timeus asked.

“And who are you, young man?” Nicodemus wanted to know.

“I am Timeus Orrin, a student at the university,” Timeus said, humbly.

Delighted, Nicodemus clapped Timeus on the back heartily. “Your mother was a most excellent friend of mine, if I am correct in assuming that she was the late Cressida Eudor.”

“Er, yes, she was.” Timeus was quite understandably startled. “Are you acquainted with all children’s parents?”

“No, no, my boy, only most,” Nicodemus said, laughing.

“Oh, I see.”

“Nicodemus, my father!” Adara reminded Nicodemus, anxiously.

“Ah, yes. Timeus is quite right. I could locate Alastair with a simple spell. That is, I could locate Alastair with a simple spell, provided that you have an article of clothing he wore recently I could use to cast my spell.”

“Of course,” Adara said. “Come right this way, please.” She led Nicodemus down several flights of stairs, and into her father’s bedroom. Timeus followed, close at her heels. “This is Papa’s bedroom,” she explained. “We should be able to find something Papa wore recently.” She started with the trunk at the end of his bed, rummaging through the piles of neatly folded garments. “Could you use any of these?” Adara asked.

“I’m sorry, but no.” Nicodemus shook his head, sadly. “None of them have an aura whatsoever about them. They’re useless, for our purposes.”

Adara nodded, and continued searching. When her father’s large trunk proved fruitless, she searched his other, smaller trunks. But Nicodemus pronounced each and every article of clothing Adara showed him to have “no aura whatsoever.” Just when they were about to give up, she spotted a small wooden chest in one corner of the room. Wearily, she opened it, and looked inside. She pulled out the few shirts that were packed on top, but Nicodemus shook his head.

“Keep looking,” Nicodemus encouraged. “I sense your father’s aura in the chest. There is something in there, I am sure of it.”

Heartened, Adara attacked the chest, tossing its contents out onto the bed. She held up a red shirt, but Nicodemus shook his head. Biting her lip, Adara continued searching. Finally, when she grabbed a turquoise tunic, Nicodemus nodded, grinning.

“This one has his aura,” Nicodemus cried.

“Oh, thank the gods!” Adara said, clasping her hands and staring piously at the ceiling.

Nicodemus took the tunic carefully from Adara. Just as he was doing so, something fell out of its folds. “What’s this?” Adara asked, diving to the ground to get hold of the object. It was a beautiful pendant. The stone was a black opal, set a piece of richly decorated silver, hanging from a silver chain. Adara, Nicodemus, and Timeus both stared at it in disbelief. They had seen the pendant many times before, but never in person. They had seen it in books many times, as well as in paintings. But never had they seen the actual pendant with their own eyes. For it was the Sahiba pendant, the jewel worn traditionally by the heir to the duchy of Hadiya.

“Adara,” Timeus whispered, “that’s the Sahiba pendant.”

She was too shocked by the pendant’s appearance to think of a witty response. Instead, she simply said, “No, kidding?”

“Now what’s this doing here?” Nicodemus said, inspecting the pendant carefully.

“I don’t know. I was hoping you could provide some explanation, but apparently you can not.” Adara looked faintly sick. Timeus came to her side, protectively. He gave off the feeling that he fancied himself her bodyguard, or something of that kind.

“It is not of my doing. You know that, surely, boy?” Nicodemus shot Timeus a strange, cold look that Adara could make hopelessly little sense of. She felt dizzy. She was losing her balance. She was very, very tired. All she wanted was to rest.

“Adara? You look terrible. Are you feeling all right? Adara!” Timeus rushed to support her as her legs gave way before her. The ground spun, and he fell backwards into Timeus’s arms.

“I’m fine,” Adara protested, even as she and Timeus went toppling to the ground.

“Nonsense, girl!” Nicodemus bellowed. “You’ve never been less fine your life.”

“I’m fine—“ Adara’s words were cut off when she got the wind knocked out of her as she hit the floor. Timeus landed on his back, and Adara on top of him. He recovered long before she did. He dragged her limp, exhausted body into his arms, and cradled her like a delicate treasure.

“What happened to you? One moment you were fine, and the next, you were falling backwards.” Nicodemus hovered over Adara.

“Be quiet, Nicodemus,” Timeus said, testily. “You may be a wonderful sorcerer. In fact, I am sure you are. But please, let me care for my friend.”

Nicodemus’s eyebrows shot up, practically getting lost in his hairline. “As you wish,” he said, skeptically.

Timeus opened his belt purse, and took out a small vial filled with a nasty-looking pink liquid. “Drink this,” he instructed Adara, as he the cork stopper out of the vial. He held it up to her mouth, and poured a few drops down her throat. The last thing Adara remembered before she fell lost consciousness was Timeus bending over her, an anxious expression on his face.