I will go back to him when I have something conclusive, he decided. So he lifted his axe once more to his shoulder and approached the nearest door to renew his search.
Bryant arrived in the courtyard entirely breathless, his face bright red. He had wanted to return to the apothecary before the afternoon grew dark, but it seemed as if the low clouds and ailing sunlight were deliberately mocking him.
Sir Finistere and Sir Erical were touring the courtyard and reminiscing. The peon always thrilled at hearing their stories, for their words took him back to a glorious time.
“I remember the first time I ever stood here, Sir Erical,” Sir Finistere said, casting his fond eyes to the daunting heights of the white towers. “First as a peon, then as a squire, and finally as a knight preparing for battle. We lost a lot of good men in those days.” The men lowered their eyes.
Then Sir Finistere noticed Bryant labouring for breath nearby.
“Ah, boy!” he said. “Did you get everything on Sir Balladish’s list? He does have some very odd requirements.”
“I have it all here, sir!” Bryant’s words tumbled out. “The apothecary said that he must be wary of mixing them, for they could be blended to make a poison! I promised to inform him.”
Sir Finistere’s eyes narrowed.
“That is interesting” he commented mildly. “I’ll be sure to tell him when I give him the ingredients.”
Bryant handed Sir Finistere the brown box that he had been given, and prepared to run to his trunk to retrieve the money necessary to pay back the apothecary. He dared not ask a knight as distinguished as Sir Finistere for the funds. But as soon as he turned to leave, the knight stopped him.
“Where are you going at such a rate, lad?”
Breathlessly, Bryant told him how he intended to make things right with the apothecary.
“A noble cause, but you should know this-knights do not run about the streets looking red-faced and desperate. We must take pride in our appearance. Here!” He flicked Bryant a coin and took him by the shoulder. “That should cover the expenses. But before you return to his shop, I want you to run some water over your face and have a ten-minute sit down. And when you do return, you will walk and not run. Not for a single yard!”
With that, Sir Finistere turned his back on Bryant, nodding to Sir Erical as he passed him. “I will deliver this to Sir Balladish. Good evening, Sir Erical.”
The old knights exchanged genteel nods, and Bryant walked slowly away, intent on obeying Sir Finistere’s words to the letter.
A quarter of an hour later, having washed himself down and regained his breath, Bryant walked confidently across the courtyard and out of the castle.
I shall wait a while, until the right moment, the man thought to himself. Deftly, he ducked from one doorway to another, following the boy expertly. I am not so old yet that I cannot overtake a mere peon, he thought. His right hand massaged the hilt of the curved dagger that he had tucked into his belt.
It will be quick, he mused, but that is the only promise I can make, for the boy has learned enough to reveal my treachery.
Even if he doesn’t know it just yet.
The apothecary was about to shut the shop for the evening when he spied the peon crossing the street. He smiled and waved to him. It was good to know there were people in the world that could still be trusted. Whatever others might think of the knights and their fanatical devotion to Saradomin, he at least was thankful for their presence in the city.
The boy named Bryant apologised again for not having enough money in the first place, and then thanked him for his trust, even bowing as he left the shop.
How polite they are, as well, the apothecary thought as he watched the peon walk swiftly back the way he had come. Then he cast a wary eye skyward as he felt the first drops of rain on his bare face, and noted the hurried footsteps of all those citizens who were still out of doors as they rushed to get home before the downpour came in earnest.
He hardly noticed the tall figure in the red robes who stepped swiftly after the vanishing peon.
An ominous feeling crept into the traitor’s heart. It was a feeling born of experience that had kept him alive and undetected throughout his long career.
He watched Bryant enter the apothecary’s, and he observed the figure in the red robes standing on the opposite side of the street.
Something was very wrong. He did not know what it was, but his senses remained honed enough to detect another intelligence focusing on the boy. He stepped back into the shadows of the doorway and watched, waiting for a moment as Bryant paid the apothecary and emerged with a satisfied look on his young face. There had been too many people on the streets for him to strike during the journey so far, but he hoped that the winter darkness would give him his opportunity.
Now Bryant walked briskly across the street and back the way he had come.
The handle of the dagger was slippery in the traitor’s grasp. The anxiety of what he had to do was causing him to sweat, despite the chill of the evening.
The red-robed man also turned to follow Bryant. The traitor watched with a growing realisation that this figure was the source of his ominous fear. He decided it would be best to watch, rather than to interfere. Besides, he thought, Bryant’s information is only useful if I carry out my original plan.
Yet he knew also that if he did not act to silence Kara, then her knowledge of Justrain’s investigation would see him hanged for treachery.
He gripped the dagger tightly. If the opportunity presented itself, then the peon would die by his hand. Once he was dead, Kara would follow, and no one would have the knowledge to incriminate him.
The rain gathered strength and Bryant held his hand flat above his eyes to prevent the drops from obscuring his vision. People were beginning to huddle under doorways and to take advantage of whatever shelter they could.
His hair was becoming soaked and his clothing dishevelled. He thought of Sir Finistere’s words about taking pride in his appearance, and he knew he could not return to the castle in such a state. As he lifted his gaze to evaluate the rain, he decided its strength could not last. Surely it would exhaust itself in a few minutes. So he looked about for a place to wait it out.
Seeing that he was now nearly alone on the street, he identified several suitable shelters. He ducked into the nearest one available, beneath an overhanging rooftop that gave him easily enough room to avoid the inclement weather.
As he stood waiting for it to end, his thoughts turned to Lady Kara. He was envied by the other peons for having attracted her attention, and the title he had bestowed upon her had led many to think of him as one of her favourites. Although none would admit it, some were fervently jealous of his achievement. It was the first time in his life that he had actually outdone his fellow peons. Although they often were warned of the dangers of pride, he could not deny himself a congratulatory smile.
So caught up was he in his thoughts that he barely noticed the tall man in red duck under the overhang to share his shelter from the rain. Without a word, he moved along the wall to allow room for him.
Concealed behind a timber frame down the street, the traitor watched the two figures share their shelter. He observed the red-robed stranger step close to Bryant and noted with a feeling of sudden apprehension that the peon was in danger.
The rain suddenly sleeted toward him and he turned away from the street in order to draw his hand across his eyes. Above him the first thunder sounded, echoing off the high white walls and bouncing across the city rooftops. He blinked to clear his eyes and turned to look back toward the two figures.