With that, the man turned and disappeared into the keep. Kevin hesitated, toying with the idea of hurrying after the guard and insisting he be admitted to the oowxt at once!
Oh no. Not only would something like that destroy what little was left of his dignity, it would probably get him thrown out of the castle!
Kevin’s shoulders sagged. So much for being able to rub elbows with nobility!
“I’m supposed to wait here.”
“That’s what I was told,” little Am answered. “In the squires’ quarters.”
“But here?” the bardling repeated. “There’s nobody —Am! Wait!”
The boy had already scurried away. Kevin, feeling helpless, stood looking uneasily about. The squires’ quarters was nothing more than this long, dark, chilly hall broken up by a row of cots and clothes chests. The high roof was supported by thick columns, and the only light came from narrow windows set high in the walls. The silence was heavier than anything back in the forest.
The bardling sat down on (he edge of one of the cots to wait. And wait. And wait.
Kevin had just about decided he’d been abandoned, and was wondering what would happen if he went hunting for Count Volmar himself when he heard a sudden rush of cheerful voices and sprang to his feet. A crowd of boys in their late teens came ambling into the hall, all of them in blue livery.
These must surely be the missing squires. Kevin watched them in sudden uneasiness, painfully aware that his secluded musician’s life hadn’t given him many chances to spend time with anyone his own age.
A stocky blond boy stopped short, staring at Kevin with bright blue eyes. “Holla! Who’s this?”
“My name is Kevin,” the bardling began, “and I—”
“You’ve got a lute. You a minstrel?”
“No!”
“You seem kinda young to be a Bard.”
The boy’s voice was brusque, but a hint of respect shone in his eyes. For a moment Kevin toyed with the idea of claiming that yes, he was a Bard. But he could picture his Master’s disapproval only too well. A Bard, after all, was always supposed to be truthful. With a sigh. Kevin admitted:
“I’m not. Not yet. I’m apprenticed to a Bard, but—”
“A bardling,” someone said in a scornful voice. “He’s nobody.”
The squires turned away. Blatantly ignoring him, they set about changing their clothes or cleaning their boots, chattering and joking as though he wasn’t even there.
“Did you see me in the tilting yard?”
“Sure did. Saw you fall off, too!”
“The saddle slipped!”
“S-u-r-e it did! Like this!”
He pounced on the other boy and they wrestled, laughing. Watching them, totally excluded, Kevin ached with a loneliness more painful even than what he’d felt in the forest. As the horseplay broke off, he heard the squires argue over which of them was most skilled with sword or lance, or who would be the first to be knighted. A great surge of resentment swelled up within him. Listen to them boast! I bet there isn’t one of them who knows anything but weaponry and fighting, the empty-headed idiots.
But as the squires began to boast instead about the exploits of the knights they served, of Sir Alamar who’d taken on an entire bandit band and bested them, or Sir Theomard, who might be aging but who had still managed to slay three enemy knights in battle, one right after the other, Kevin’s heart sank. These boys who were his own age had already done more than he’d even imagined. As squires to their knights, they had almost certainly shared in those mighty deeds. They would probably soon be heroes themselves.
Kevin bit his lip as resentment turned to envy. No wonder the squires scorned him! Here he was, a bardling, a mere music apprentice, someone who hadn’t done anything. He must seem like a weakling to them, a coward, no better than a peasant.
A small hand shook his sleeve and he started. “Bardling?” It was little Arn. “Follow me, if you would. Master D’Krikas, Count Volmar’s seneschal, wishes to speak with you.”
D’Krikas? What an odd name!
Who cares how odd it is! At least I haven’t been forgotten.
The bardling followed Am through a maze of corridors, across the rush-strewn stretch of the Great Hall, and up a winding stairway, stopping before a closed door. “Here we are,” Am said, and scurried away once more. Kevin took a deep breath and knocked on the door.
“Enter!” a scratchy voice commanded.
Within was a cozy room, hung with thick hangings of deep red velvet and furnished with a scroll-filled bookcase and a massive desk, behind which sat a truly bizarre figure. Although it sat upright and had the right number of arms and head, it most definitely was not human. Kevin stared at the shiny, chitinous green skin, set off by a glittering golden gorget, and the large, segmented eyes and gasped out:
“You’re an Arachnia!”
“The boy is a marvel of cleverness,” the insectoid being chittered. “If he has satisfied his curiosity?”
“Oh, uh, of course—I’m sorry, I—I didn’t mean to stare.”
“Why not? You have plainly never seen one of my kind before. Why should you not stare?”
“I...”
Kevin blinked. The Arachnia had snatched what looked like a handful of sugar cubes from a small bowl on the desk and popped them into its beaked mouth. The crunching sound reminded him uncomfortably of praying mantises devouring beetles. In fact, now that he thought of it, the being did look a good deal like a giant mantis ....
“Now you wonder anew.” The dry chitter might have been a laugh. “Have you never heard that my kind are always hungry? For logic as well as food. Boy, time is a precious thing, and we have already wasted enough of it. I am, as I am sure you have already realized, D’Krikas, seneschal, major-domo if you wish, to Count Volmar.”
“My lord.” Belatedly, Kevin bowed, but D’Krikas, writing busily in a huge open ledger, hardly seemed to notice.
“Here are the arrangements that have been made for you. Yes, yes, I know why you are here. You are to be housed and fed with the squires, and you will be permitted to copy the manuscript in the library between dawn and dusk. You are not to intrude upon the count’s private quarters. You are not to bother any of the knights. You are not to interfere with any of the castle personnel. You are not to handle any weapons. You arc not to enter the tilting grounds. You are not to interfere with any of the servants. You are not to steal food from the kitchen ...”
As the list of prohibitions went on and on. Kevin thought wryly he could almost wish he was back with his Master—at least there’d been fewer rules!
I can’t stand this place! he decided suddenly. The sooner I finish the stupid job, the better.
“Master D’Krikas,” Kevin asked as soon as the being fell silent, “is there any reason I can’t continue my copying after dark? I mean,” he added cajolingly, “it would save precious time.”
“No, no, no!” the seneschal snapped. “Have you no idea of how expensive candles are? Have you? No! Burning candles so a human can do some copy work would be a waste of good wax.” D’Krikas stood, gray cloak swirling, tall, thin body towering over Kevin. “And no one your age, boy, can be trusted with open flame around so many fragile manuscripts!”