“You won’t go amiss with a pair of his boots.” Her speech did the trick. The guards muttered under their breaths about us wasting their time, then walked to the tables and spouted off their order to the innkeeper’s wife.
Hudson didn’t need to nudge me forward again. I hurried out the door and down the street. I made it to the stables, ahead of Hudson, who kept looking over his shoulder to make sure we weren’t being followed.
In front of the carriage, a teenage boy was hitching up the new horses. He hardly took note of us as we climbed inside. I was shaking as I sat down. I moved the curtain a sliver in order to peer out the window. No one had followed us, but I didn’t see any sign of the wizard.
“Where’s Bartimaeus? Do you think he saw the men ride in?” 293/356
“From now on,” Hudson said, “if I’m jabbing my thumb into your back, that’s your cue to run.”
“It worked out better this way,” I said.
“Only because the innkeeper’s wife saved us. You didn’t know she was going to do that.”
“You’re right,” I said, giving Hudson the full force of my gaze, “but that’s how life is. You never know how it’s going to turn out, and you can’t plan for everything. You just have to do your best dealing with things as they come and hope people forgive you when you make a mistake.”
He grunted and peered out of the window. “That makes a lovely moral. Why don’t you write it in the book and see if it sticks?” I did. I handed the baby to Hudson and got out the book. A new illustration showed Hudson and me traveling in a much nicer carriage, one with cushioned seats and backrests. I wrote the moral on the last page. I thought it would work this time—I had learned something important.
It still didn’t stick.
A tapping sounded from the door.
Hudson and I looked at each other, but neither of us moved.
Enemies weren’t supposed to be able to see the carriage, but Bartimaeus wouldn’t bother to knock on the door. He would just check to make sure Hudson was inside, then take off. Whether I was there or not was probably optional to the wizard.
“Pardon me,” a girl’s voice whispered through the door, “but my ma sent me to give you this.”
The innkeeper’s daughter. I opened the door, and the girl handed me a cloth napkin, folded into a bundle. I could tell by the smell that food was wrapped inside. “You had to leave some of your food on the table,” she said. “Ma didn’t want you to go hungry.” 294/356
I took the napkin. “Tell her thank you for helping us.”
“Knights,” she said in disgust. “They’re nothing more than thieves. A few days ago they came through and took half the village’s straw. Taxes, indeed.” She looked back over her shoulder, then continued. “Now they’re bothering our patrons, searching for some maiden who’s supposed to marry King John. They’ll take every blond woman who can’t prove she’s not the one.” The innkeeper’s daughter looked at the wimple covering my hair. Perhaps she guessed what color it was.
“You best be careful.”
She turned to leave, but I reached out for her. “Wait, I have something for you too. Let me put this food somewhere so I can return your napkin.”
I expected Hudson to try to stop me, but he didn’t say anything as I pulled a golden acorn from my pocket and wrapped it in the napkin.
“Have your mother open this later tonight when the knights are gone.
Don’t let anyone else see it.”
She gave me a questioning look, but thanked me and left.
A minute later, the wizard returned. He opened the door and glared at me. “King John’s men are everywhere. From henceforth the woman stays inside the carriage.”
He slammed the door.
For once, I agreed with Bartimaeus. I was staying put until we reached the rendezvous point.
Moments later the horses clopped down the street, gently jostling us back and forth. Hudson shifted the curtain to see if anyone followed us. “I hope your gift doesn’t come back to bite us. If the knights find out about the golden acorn, they’ll know which way we’re headed, how we’re dressed, and that we’ve got a baby with us.” 295/356
He was right, but I didn’t regret what I’d done. “What’s the point in having this enchantment if I don’t help people who deserve it?
That’s worth the risk, isn’t it?”
I didn’t think he would agree, but his gaze rested on me and his expression softened. “Yeah. Some things are worth the risk.” It may have been the gentle tone of his voice, or the way his eyes held mine, but I felt he meant me, that he was saying I was worth the risk. And the sentence warmed me in a way I hadn’t expected.
“You’re into me,” I said. “I can tell.” He smiled and didn’t deny it.
“Of course you might still like Sister Mary Theresa better …”
“Well, I might if she weren’t a nun and about fifty years old.” Hudson looked at the ceiling, contemplating the matter. “It’s a close call, but you still have all your teeth.”
“In that case, I win.”
“You win.”
I switched benches so I sat next to him, and he put his arm around me. It felt so comfortable. So right. We sat that way for a long time, talking and keeping the baby entertained.
At one point, while Hudson was holding Junior-Edward-Stetson, I said, “Would you forgive him if someday he grows up and goes to the wrong kind of party?”
Hudson nodded. “Yeah.”
“Even if he called the party to warn them it was about to be busted?”
He nodded again, slowly this time.
“Your dad still loves you. I think the only person who’s not forgiv-ing you is you.”
He didn’t say anything about that. He just held the baby closer.
296/356
A while later when the baby went to sleep, I took out the magic book again. Some things are worth the risk. It was a moral. Probably not the one the book wanted, but another one that had written itself onto my heart. It was worth the risk to trust people. And to let people back into your heart. And to love new people.
When Clover first gave me the magic book, I had worried I wouldn’t be able to think of a moral for the story. Now I couldn’t turn around without bumping into one. They were hanging in the air in front of me, waiting for me to snatch them. Had these truths always been there and I just hadn’t ever seen them before?
Some things are worth the risk.
The gold ink glimmered and disappeared. I shut the book and flicked the cover angrily. “I don’t care what you say; I think that’s the moral of the story.”
The book didn’t respond.
“Stupid book.” I was talking to inanimate objects again. My pathetic-o-meter numbers were probably skyrocketing. I shut my eyes and tried to think of more morals. I had learned so much I was already brimming with self-realization. What else could I possibly take from this experience? Words tumbled around my mind to the rhythm of the jiggling carriage, and I drifted off to sleep.
• • •
I woke up to Hudson’s voice, speaking into the walkie-talkie. “Can you hear me? Out.”
I sat up and tried to orient myself. The carriage was going slowly now. Only dim light and cool air drifted through the windows. It was nearly night. The baby sat on Hudson’s knee, grabbing for the walkie-talkie, while Hudson held it out of his reach.
297/356
I waited to hear if my father would answer Hudson’s question.
Only static came through the speakers. “Are we to the meeting point?” I asked.
“We’re close. We might have to wait for an hour before they respond though.”
I knew this. I had been there when Hudson told my father to turn on his walkie-talkie for five minutes every hour. Still, the static filled me with dread. What if something had happened to my family? King John’s men had been looking for me. What if they found Robin Hood’s camp instead? Would they have killed everyone on the spot for being with bandits?