Albertus opened another cupboard while Ebenezer looked on with great interest.
This is home to me. I recognise these smells and instruments.
“Here it is,” Albertus announced. “Just a small sample of phosphorus the light-giver. Stand back.” He held out a small stoppered tube containing a white powder. He approached a table, first filling a jug of water from a barrel nearby. Then he spilled the powder onto a dry cloth.
In seconds a pale smoke rose. It was followed by a flash of light as the cloth caught fire.
Ebenezer saw Castimir’s eyebrow rise in interest.
“That could be magic,” the wizard said. “Truly.”
“But it isn’t.” Albertus smiled as he doused the cloth in water. “It’s science. Now, is there anything else you would like to see?”
“Sally said you had experimented with black powder taken from the Kinshra weapons,” Ebenezer said. “Can we see those?”
Albertus smiled even more broadly as he returned to the cupboard.
“Here.” He held a metal tube up for their inspection. A fuse protruded from its top, and Ebenezer heard Castimir breath in sharply.
“But I don’t think we will do a demonstration down here,” Albertus warned, returning the explosive to its proper place in the cupboard. “For obvious reasons.”
5
When they finished training, as they did every morning, the twelve recruits made certain their equipment was cleaned and maintained. This was the part of the daily ritual Theodore’s men hated most of all, for there was no glory or excitement to be had in such a menial job.
But Theodore ignored their complaints as he too removed and cleaned his armour. The hard work and the duties of his mission helped to distract him from the nagging worry over Kara and her continued absence.
These men hope to become squires, and then maybe knights. And if a knight can’t look after his blade or check the rings of his mail, then he won’t be a knight for long.
However, he could see that the recruits were making a special effort today, for the Midsummer Festival was an opportunity for them to show off in a punishing melee fought against Varrock’s finest knights. The reputation of the order of Falador was at stake, and it lent new vigour to their efforts.
“Hamel, make certain the men drink enough water before we drill,” Theodore instructed a young man who stood nearby. “We might be standing under the sun for some time, and I would hate for any of them to lose consciousness.”
Hamel, a boy of sixteen, nodded enthusiastically. When he had first come to Varrock, Theodore’s biggest problem had been the sheer number of young men who wanted to become knights. Very quickly he had learned that he could not do everything himself, and so he had appointed Hamel as his aide. The boy could never be a knight, for his foot was clubbed. It had been ridiculous for him even to attempt to become one, and yet his dedication and his intelligence had impressed the squire.
After he had told the boy that his dream was impossible, Hamel had sat down and wept. But then Theodore had told him the story of Bhuler, who had also been denied his dream of knighthood, yet he had served Saradomin better than any knight in living memory. More so even than Sir Amik Varze himself.
When offered the opportunity to serve in his own way, Hamel had thrown himself into the task, and had never again questioned his fate. Since then, he had proved invaluable to Theodore.
They know now, these boys, he thought, watching his charges. They know that what goes on behind the armour, the organisation and the discipline, are a thousandfold more important than the strength of the steel or the sharpness of a blade.
“Squire Theodore,” Hamel said in his thick country accent. He nodded to the gymnasium’s entrance, where Theodore caught sight of William.
“Thank you, Hamel. Dismiss the men-though make sure they know that we are to meet here at two o’clock.”
William advanced with a faint smile on his lips, as though trying to appear natural.
He’s up to something.
“I know that look, William,” Theodore said guardedly. “You’ve some mischief afoot.”
“Oh, come, Theodore,” his friend protested. “That’s too cruel. Although Lady Anne was most distressed at your treatment of her in the throne room this morning.”
Ah-hah!
“She’ll live,” Theodore countered. “Somehow I suspect that if I hurled her into a pit full of vipers, it would be they who would crawl out first.”
“Now that really is cruel! But just so long as you didn’t throw Lady Caroline in with her, then I wouldn’t raise a hand to stop you.”
So that’s it.
“What is your plan this time?” he asked with a hint of amusement.
“Not mine, this time, Theodore. It’s Lady Anne who has a plan.” He paused, and looked uncomfortable. “She is waiting for you, right now. She wants you to partner with her tonight at the King’s dance.”
Not again. How obvious must I really make it to her?
“Very well,” he said. “Where is she?” A look of relief swept across William’s face.
“She’s waiting near the main staircase. Come, if we go via the galleries we will avoid her.”
“Thank you, William,” he said. “That would save me an uncomfortable moment. Lead on.”
“Don’t worry Theodore,” William said, flashing a smile. “What ever are friends for?”
The galleries of King Roald’s palace housed dozens of tapestries and paintings from many eras of Varrock’s history. They occupied the floor above King Roald’s throne room, and were scattered in numerous alcoves in the warren of passages.
Within his first week, Theodore had discovered the true value that lay in these galleries-they were very useful if you wished to avoid meeting anybody waiting on the floor below. True, it took longer to go up one of the many discreet stairways to the floor above, and to cross the castle via the winding maze of corridors, but it usually guaranteed secrecy.
The galleries were also frequented by youngsters of the noble houses, who used them for meetings of a more illicit nature.
Theodore followed William up a stone spiral staircase to emerge near the portrait gallery commonly considered the most boring of all in the palace’s collections, and hence far less likely to have visitors. It was an ideal path.
“I need your advice Theodore,” William said quietly as they progressed toward the southern end of the palace.
“With what?” the squire asked in equally muted tones. Austere and wrinkled faces of Varrock’s royal line stared down at him as they walked.
“Lady Caroline,” the young noble began. “She is pleasant enough to me, but I am at a loss of how to take it further. I am not a strong man, Theodore, as you know, so I cannot hope to impress her with any martial skill. In fact, violence scares me. I don’t know what to do,” he struggled finally, stopping near the entrance to the Salve gallery.
Through the door, in a dimly lit chamber, Theodore caught a glimpse of horrifying scenes depicting the events leading up to the battle of the River Salve. The undead of Morytania, led by the vampire Lord Drakan, had sought to cross the river and overrun the forces of the living. It was a gory chronicle.
“Have you tried poetry?” Theodore suggested lamely. “That seems to work in the romance tales.”
“Poetry?” William nearly choked. “I don’t want to torture her.”
Somewhere a clock chimed, signalling midday. Suddenly William turned, looking into the dark recesses of the Salve gallery.
His alertness made Theodore wary.
“What are you looking for, William?” he asked.
“Probably for me, Theodore.” Lady Anne’s voice carried along the length of the gallery. Suddenly, even the portraits of Lord Drakan’s undead seemed far less frightening.