Matt shouted as he leaped back into the gully.
He sprinted back toward the Merovencian border, not daring to look back until he shot out the other end of the drawlet. Then he whirled to look back, just as the yowl ended in a curse as the monster hit the ground. It bounded up again instantly, heading straight for him-but it moved so slowly that before its hind legs had fully cleared the earth, it had time to shout, “I shall be revenged! My master shall banish this spell in an instant!”
“Just glad I had it ready to shout,” Matt said with a shudder. He turned his back and walked away, leaving the manticore suspended in midair. Twenty feet more and he heard a sudden thud and a yowl of victory, followed by a SPLAT! and a howl of rage. Matt could almost see the manticore suddenly speeding up to normal, landing, and charging straight at him, but slamming into the Wall of Octroi again. He kept going. If King Boncorro was so determined not to have fellow magicians come visiting, maybe Matt ought to let him have his own way and be lonely-at least, intellectually. But he didn’t quite have it in him to quit. It was that same dogged persistence that had brought him to Merovence in the first place-he wouldn’t stop trying to translate an untranslatable fragment of manuscript, had just kept repeating its syllables over and over again until they had made sense-and had found himself in an alien city, understanding a language that had never been spoken in his own universe of universities and political offices for out-of-work actors. Now, for the same reason, he kept prowling about the border, feeling weariness drag at him more and more heavily-but every time he looked south around another rock, there stood the manticore, glaring balefully at him with glowing eyes and glinting teeth. The sky lightened with false dawn as Matt’s eyelids weighted with fatigue-so he wasn’t looking where he was going, or stepping as lightly as he might have, which was no doubt why he tripped over something that jerked bolt upright with a shout of fear and alarm. “Sorry, sorry!” Matt backed away, holding up both palms in a placating gesture. “I didn’t mean to wake you, didn’t mean to trip over… Pascal!”
“Why, it is the Knight of Bath!” Pascal threw his blanket back, rubbing his eyes. “How came you here?”
“Trying to cross into Latruria for a, uhm, visit, but I’ve got a stumbling block…”
“Aye-my leg!”
“I said I was sorry. Now it’s your turn.”
“What-to say I am sorry?” Pascal stared, trying to decide whether or not to be offended.
“No-to tell me what you’re doing here!”
“Ah!”Pascal nodded. “I,too, am seeking to cross into Latruria-for a visit.”
Matt smiled, amused. “Well, we seem to be going in the same direction. But why did you camp out on this side of the border?” He wondered if the young man had met the manticore, too. “There was no reason to hurry ahead, and there was a stream nearby,” Pascal explained. “But why have you not yet crossed? You set out a day ahead of me!”
“I’ve encountered a problem. What made you start right from the count’s castle, instead of going home first?”
“Ah.” Pascal’s face clouded. “As to that, there was some disagreement with my father.”
“Oh.” Matt instantly pictured a howling fight, ending with a box on the ear followed by a slamming exit. “About… Charlotte?”
“Aye. He was not happy to learn that I had told her I did not wish to marry. Her father, too, was angry, and had spoken ill of me to my own father.”
“He couldn’t understand that not being in love is a reason for not marrying?”
“Not when it was not he who would be doing the marrying,” Pascal said bitterly. “He told me that folk do not fall in love, they grow to love one another, as he and Mother had. I asked him if that was why there had been so little joy in their marriage. ‘Twas then that he struck me and I stalked out.”
“Afraid you might hit him, huh?‘
“Even so.” Pascal looked up, surprised. “You have had an argument much like that?”
“Several. My father didn’t see any sense in studying literature. Your father did have one point, though-Charlotte’s a pretty girl, and she certainly seems sweet.”
“Yes, she is!” Pascal said quickly. “A surer friend I could never hope for-but she is not the one I love.”
“Oh.” Matt lifted his head slowly, pursing his lips. “Yes, that would make Charlotte less fascinating, wouldn’t it? So your lady love lives in Latruria, and you’re traveling south to see her. What did you say her name was?”
“She is a lady of rarest beauty and grace.” Pascal gazed off into the distance with a fatuous smile. “Her hair is golden, her eyes the blue of the sea, her face a marvel of daintiness and sweetness.”
“Sounds like love, all right.” Personally, Matt thought Pascal was doomed to disappointment, if the girl really was that beautiful. The squire’s son was downright homely, with a long face, thin lips, and gaunt cheeks. His only claim to attractiveness was his eyes, which were large, dark, and expressive. Frankly, Matt thought he’d been fantastically lucky to attract Charlotte as much as he had. Of course, her father’s orders had helped… “How did you say you met this gem?”
“At a gathering last summer. Our Latrurian cousins guested us-and I met Panegyra! One look, and I was transported!”
Not far enough, Matt guessed. “Love at first sight, eh?”
“Aye, and ‘twas hard to find a moment to speak to her alone, so hemmed in was she with duennas and sisters and aunts! But I contrived-I bided my time and caught her in a quiet moment, with others far enough distant for me to tell her my name and praise her beauty. She laughed, calling it flattery-but I saw an answering spark in her eyes! She feels as strongly toward me as I toward her! I know it!”
“Lovers know many things that are not true,” Matt said slowly. “I seem to remember something about being cousins…”
“Aye, somewhere low on our family trees-third cousins at least, more probably fifth or sixth. Surely it could not matter!”
“Nothing does, to a lover-at least, not until after the wedding. So she hasn’t told you she loves you, and you haven’t proposed?”
“Nay, but I am sure she does, and I shall!”
“Seems pretty thin grounds for walking out on your family and heading south to see her.”
“But I must!” Pascal raised feverish eyes. “For yesterday, one of my southern cousins told me that sweet Panegyra has been betrothed! Nay, worse-she is to be wed within the month! I must stop her! I must tell her of my burning love, that she may turn away from this gouty old vulture her father would force upon her! I must save her from such a fate!”
“Oh. He’s older than she is, then?”
“Aye-twenty years at least! A dotard with rotting teeth, a swag belly, and a breath like a charnel house, I doubt not! How could they entomb so sweet a breath of spring as Panegyra in so foul a marriage, and she but eighteen?”
“Do you really think she’ll just cut all her family ties and elope with you?” Matt asked gently. Pascal’s shoulders sagged. “Nay, I fear not. What have I to offer, after all, save a gift for crafting verse, and a heart that would ever be true to her?”
“And love,” Matt said softly. “Love that should set the world afire! Love that should bind her to me forever! Love that should bear her aloft in bliss for all her life!”