Overtime. Part 9

'And Isoud?'

'Isoud's still with me,' Blondel said, 'but probably not for much longer. She's been getting terribly restless lately, I think she wants a change. I can recognise the symptoms. Once they start redecorating the place every five minutes, getting new curtains, you can be sure there's something in the air. Oh well, never mind.'

'So, er...' Guy said.

'By all means,' Blondel said. 'You look a respectable enough sort of chap to me. You are, aren't you?'

'Oh yes.'

'Well then, that's fine,' said Blondel. 'I only ask because as head of the family I have to choose husbands for them, give my consent, dowry, all that sort of nonsense. We're a bit old-fashioned in our family, you see. Or at least,' he added, frowning, 'we will be.'

'So...?'

'Absolutely,' Blondel said. 'Just so long as you do this one little thing for me.'

'Oh yes?' said Guy. 'And what's that?'

'Are you ready?'

'As I'll ever be.'

'Got everything?'

'Yes.'

'Right. If the horse gets restive, give him a lump of sugar.'

'Understood.'

'You're sure you checked the rope?'

'Positive.'

'Right then,' Blondel said. 'Here goes.'

A single shaft of moonlight cut through the thick clouds and, like a searchlight, picked out Blondel's hair and the silver mounts of his lute as he strolled up to the drawbridge of the castle. The drawbridge was raised, of course, but it was a narrow moat.

Guy looked round the trunk of the large oak tree he was standing behind and tried to work out how he had got there. There was something about the cold, the darkness and the rather ominous look of the castle that made him want to go away, but since he hadn't the faintest idea of where - let alone when - he was, he decided to stay and see what would happen.

The horse, whose bridle he was holding, lifted its head sharply and flicked its tail. Guy immediately shovelled another sugar lump between its wet, smelly lips. He disliked horses, and this one in particular. He had an uneasy feeling that it was going to cause trouble. It had been bad enough getting it here, wherever and whenever that was; it had left malodorous traces . of its presence in the corridors and had tried to pick a fight with the lift. He tried thinking of the deep blue eyes of La Beale Isoud, but somehow that didn't work.

The moon went behind a cloud, and Guy heard Blondel clear his throat and touch the strings of his lute. He was princ.i.p.ally worried about dogs, but that wasn't all, by a long way.

Then Blondel drew his hand across the lute strings and began to sing:

'L 'amours dont sui epris

Me semont de chanter;

Sifais con hons sopris

Qui ne puet endurer...' A dog barked.

'Et s'ai je tant con quis

Que bien mepuis venter...

A light went on. Then another.

'Quej'aipiec' a apris

Leaument a amer...'

There was a flash of silver in the air, and a sound. A sort of sploshing sound. Blondel stopped singing.

'And let that be a lesson to you,' came an angry voice from the top of the wall. 'There's people up here trying to sleep.'

Blondel walked slowly back to the tree. He was very wet.

'Right,' he said, 'we can cross that one off the list. Well, don't just stand there. We've got a lot more to do tonight.'

Guy reached in the saddlebag and produced a towel. He'd wondered why Blondel had insisted on packing one; now he knew.

'Does that happen a lot?' he asked sympathetically.

'Quite a lot, yes,' said Blondel, drying vigorously. 'Some people, you see, have tin ears. However, that's beside the point. Ready?'

They walked in silence for a while. Guy, who wasn't used to walking about the countryside in the dark, was concentrating very hard on where he was going, while Blondel seemed to be wrapped up in his own thoughts.

'I liked the song,' Guy said at last.

'Sorry?'

'The song,' Guy repeated. 'I liked it.'

'Thank you.'

'Not at all.'

'Personally,' Blondel said, with a savagery that took Guy quite by surprise, 'I'm sick to the back teeth of it. If I never hear it again, I shall be extremely happy. After all,' he added, rather more calmly, 'I have been singing it now for longer than I can possibly hope to remember. No wonder I've had enough of it. In fact, all music makes me sick these days. If ever I do find the King, I'm going to spend the rest of my life not listening to music.'

That killed the conversation stone dead for the next ten minutes, during which they walked quietly along, Guy following Blondel and hoping that he knew where he was going. An owl hooted somewhere.

Guy was just starting to realise that he was feeling hungry when a large white shape appeared out of a bush beside the road, dashed across their path and disappeared into the darkness. As far as Guy was concerned it was one of those incidents which are best left shrouded in mystery, but Blondel suddenly seemed galvanised into action.

'Don't just stand there,' he said. 'After it.'