people. The farmer sat patiently, holding the ox reins, whilst the dispute outside the gate
carried on.
Karay's voice rang out. "Five centimes? That's daylight robbery! It was only two centimes
apiece and one for the dog last time we came here! Go and get the comte, he'll be glad to let
us through for free!"
The tallest of the two guards, who was little more than a runaway farmboy, laughed at the
girl's claim. "Hoho, personal friends of the comte, are we? Listen, girl, we may be new t'this
job, but we ain't soft in the head. Entrance fees to the fair have risen, how d'you suppose the
sergeant can make up our wages, eh?"
Arnela's voice replied with a dangerous edge to it. "You keep a civil tongue in your head,
boy, or you'll feel the back of my hand. Where is your sergeant? Go and fetch him—he'll
certainly know what to do!"
The smaller guard was even younger than his comrade but was polite and serious. "Marm, the
sergeant's having his meal in the big house kitchen. You'll have to wait until he comes back
here, neither of us is allowed to leave his post. If you pay us the entrance fee, then I'm sure
he'll be glad to sort out the difference with you later. Sorry, but 'tis more than our job's worth
to let you in free, you understand, marm?"
Karay's voice chimed in. "So, then, how much d'you want?"
The taller guard took up the dispute again. "Well, er five centimes apiece for the two ladies,
an' five each for the boys, an that, er, other person. Let's see, that's twenty centimes all told, if
y'please."
Karay's scornful laugh rang out. "Where did you learn to count?"
The guard continued, pretending to ignore her. "We'll call it three for the dog, and er, say, one
centime apiece for those goats, when we've counted 'em!"
Arnela pushed forward, her temper growing short. "Enough of this foolishness, let us in!
We've got business with the comte. Stand aside!"
The guard's spears crossed, blocking her path. The big woman pointed a warning finger at the
tall guard.
"D'you want me to take those spears and wrap them around your necks and give you both a
good spanking, eh?"
The farmer's wife came walking through the gate and entered the dispute. She took coins from
her purse, offering them to the guards. "Let these folk through, take these five francs!" She
turned to Karay with a smile. "Remember me, Veronique?"
The quick-witted girl recalled everything in a flash. She recognised the lady as the pancake
seller whose fortune she had told when they had first come to Veron.
"Oh, Madame Gilbert, what a pleasure to see you again. Thank you so much for paying our
toll. I'm, er, with some friends at the moment. We're a bit short of money, until I get a
fortunetelling engagement, you understand."
The farmer's wife nodded knowingly. "Of course, my dear Veronique." She winked at Karay.
"After what you did for me that day, 'tis the least I can do. I'm no longer Madame Gilbert. I
married the farmer. I'm Madame Frane now, and very happy to be so. I acted on the good
advice you gave me. That's my husband and our daughter Jeanette in the cart. I sold the
pancake business at a handsome profit. My life is so happy now, thanks to you. Well, I must
go, we've got a long journey back to the farm. Good-bye, Veronique my dear—that is, if your
name really is Veronique?"
Karay whispered in the good woman's ear as she kissed her cheek. "Only when it suits me.
Bless you, Madame Frane."
Garath had delivered the comte to his bedchamber. He sat in the kitchen, watching Mathilde
crimp the edges of a large plum pie as he worked his way through the tray of food that the
comte had left untouched. "Mmmm, that plum pie looks good. Maybe he'll eat a slice for his
supper, eh?"
Mathilde made some chevron slits in the centre of the pastry. "I hope he does, Garath. I'm
worried sick about the man— he's fading away from lack of good food. That, and the troubles
he's created in his mind."
A timid rap on the kitchen door interrupted Mathilde's woeful musings. She raised her voice
irately. "Yes, who is it?"
The smaller of the two guards poked his head around the door, respectfully pulling off his hat
and revealing a tousled mop of hair. "Marm, I met the sergeant in the square and he told me
to bring these people to see the comte."
Mathilde wiped floury hands upon her apron. "People, what people?" A billy goat pushed his
way past the guard and wandered into the kitchen. "Maaaahaah!"
Mathilde grabbed her rolling pin, shouting, "Yaaah! Get that beast out of my kitchen! Garath,
help!"
The guard was brushed aside as, knocking the door wide open, a herd of goats came bleating
into the room, followed by Ned and the rest of the party.
Mathilde immediately shouted at Ben, Dominic and Karay, brandishing the rolling pin. "You
three, I might have known it! Gypsies, assassins, get out of my kitch—waaaahi"
She clapped a hand to one cheek. The pie was spoiled as the rolling pin fell into it. Mathilde
swayed, grasping the table edge as she stared at the man clad in bearskin.
Garath saw him too, and his voice trembled as he spoke. "Monsieur Edouard... you're alive?"
Mathilde recovered herself quickly. "Fool! That's not Edouard, 'tis his son, Adamo... but...
but... he's a grown man!"
Adamo pushed his way through the goats to the cook, who had been his nursemaid in infancy.
"Oh, 'Tilde!" He swept her up in both arms and lifted her onto the tabletop.
Mathilde would not let go of Adamo and rained kisses on him. "See, Garath, he knows me.
'Tilde! That's the name he used to call me when he was little. Adamo! You've come back to
me! My Adamo!"
The unbaked plum pie had been swept off onto the floor. Pantyro, Clovis and Ajax the Less
began making short work of it, as Arnela watched them ruefully. "I'd have enjoyed a slice of
that pie if it had been baked. It's years since I tasted a nice home-baked plum pie."
It was quite a time before order was restored to the kitchen. Arnela herded her goats out into
the garden, where they immediately began eating flowers, grass, leaves and anything that
resembled food to them. Mathilde seated the five travellers at her table and began producing
food like magic. Each time she passed Adamo, she would hug him fondly.
"Here, my love, have some of this almond cake, and a dish of my vanilla custard. The beef
stew in the oven won't take long to heat, and the baked carrot and turnip. Garath, bring more
ale, and milk, too. Oh, I must pop some of that raisin flan in to warm up. Eat, all of you!
Come on, eat, eat!"
Crimson twilight of early autumn evening flooded through the kitchen windows as Garath lit
the lanterns. He kept turning to look at Adamo and shaking his head. "We can't have you
walking in on the comte in that state, sir."
Mathilde changed her juice-stained apron for a clean one. "I should think not, 'twould frighten
the poor man to death! Garath, tell Hector to get hot water and fill up that big tub you keep in
the stables, put lavender water in it, too. I'll sneak up to Monsieur Edouard's old room—
there's a whole wardrobe of his clothes still there. He was almost as big as Adamo, they
should fit well enough. Then you can take that horrible bear's hide and burn it!"
Ned looked up from beneath the table, where he was munching on an enormous pork chop.
"Maybe Adamo would like to burn it, eh Ben?"