Sir Apropos Of Nothing Part 20

"Yes."

She shook her head, and there was that same smirk. "What," I inquired, "are you saying you didn't?"

"I think I'd rather not tell you," she replied. "I somewhat prefer the notion that you don't know what to expect of me."

"You mean you would prefer that the person who is supposed to be your protector should be afraid to turn his back on the woman he's protecting, for fear that she's so unstable that she might knife him at the first opportunity? Oh yes, Princess, by all means, that sounds like a superb way to travel." I cut another piece. From a few feet away, the rabbit's head-which I had naturally cut off and discarded-looked at me in silent accusation. He got off lucky. At least he didn't have to put up with Entipy.

But something in her expression changed and then, very softly, she said, "Thank you."

I was caught off guard. Part of me thought that that was what she was trying to do. "For what?" I asked.

"For referring to me as a woman. I don't know that anyone's ever done that. Even Tacit always called me his 'beautiful girl.' "

"Yes, well, I'm not Tacit," I said pointedly. "For one thing, I'm here, and he's not."

"But he will be."

I shrugged. Privately, I sure hoped that she was wrong. Because if he did show up, he wasn't going to be any too pleased with me.

Imperiously, she gestured to the rabbit's remains. "Let me try some. And wipe your mouth. It's disgusting."

I obliged by dragging a sleeve across my bloodied lips. "Change your mind?" I said. I jammed the knife into the remains of the animal's carca.s.s, giving it a "handle" by which it could be held, and then tossed the entire thing over to her. It landed on the ground a foot away from her, and she picked it up delicately. "Sure you're up to it?"

"If you can take it, I can take it," she said defiantly. I'll say this for her: Once committed to the idea, she didn't take it in half measures. She bit forcefully into it, tearing a piece away with her teeth. She chewed it and almost managed to swallow it before she retched up the entire thing. I tried not to laugh, but was only partly successful. She glowered at me. I don't think I was particularly her favorite person in the world at that moment. Determined, she bit off another piece and actually managed to get it down. Before she could take another, her stomach revolted, and this piece exited with even greater force than the previous.

"I see how you manage to maintain your girlish figure," I observed.

"Shut up" was her weary response as she continued to try and keep some portion of the "meal" down.

I should have felt sorry for her. Surprisingly, I even wanted to. But I didn't. Because let us be candid: If it weren't for her, none of those knights would have died, because if she hadn't been such a loon, her parents never would have sent her away in the first place.

After a few more attempts, a couple of which were actually successful, she slid the carca.s.s off the dagger blade and tossed the dagger over to me. I would have expected that she would hurl it at my chest. Instead she simply lobbed it and it fell to the ground in a most unthreatening manner. I picked it up, cleaned it as best I could, and we started off.

I wasn't even going to try and retrace the path that the phoenix had overflown. I knew what lay in that direction: considerable forest, the remains of the Harpers Bizarre, and a revenge-driven Tacit. I had no clue as to what waited ahead, but it was the cla.s.sic case of the devil you know versus the devil you do not.

Our journey pa.s.sed with a minimum of conversation, which was fine by me. At least Entipy did not complain about things that couldn't be changed, such as her feet hurting or her dress being torn and snagged by the brambles and brush. I kept hoping we would stumble upon a road, which would be a sign of civilization, not to mention much easier to navigate, but none seemed forthcoming.

She had to be getting thirsty, though; I was confident of that because I was myself. Every so often I saw her licking her lips, and once I noticed that she was looking to me in a sort of hopeful manner. I, however, was too busy being a nervous wreck over our surroundings. Every time I heard the slightest rustling from around us, I worried that the Harpers had picked up the scent, or Tacit was going to come springing out at me like a great, wounded monster, or maybe the Journeymen were back, or maybe it was something else entirely that was going to have a go at us.

The sun moved overhead without seeming to have much interest in us. At one point, we came across a river, moving briskly but not particularly deep. It provided us our first fresh water in what seemed like a millennium. Entipy crouched on the edge of the bank and sipped from it, but I waded in. If she hadn't been there, I'd probably have stripped down. I'd've done it even if she was there, just to get a reaction out of her, but I was rather certain that the reaction I'd get would simply be derisive laughter and therefore saw no point to it.

I stuck my head under the water, refreshing myself. I came up, opened my mouth, drank deeply, went under again. I liked paddling around. When I was in the floating environment of water, it helped ease the frustration of my lame leg. I felt almost like a . . . there's no other way to put it . . . normal man.

I lost track of time as I enjoyed myself, feeling relaxed for the first time in ages and thinking that maybe, just maybe, things were going to work out.

I had no idea how much time had pa.s.sed before I realized that she was gone.

"Entipy!" I shouted, took a step forward, fell and submerged. I splashed back to the surface and waded to the sh.o.r.e. Quickly I surveyed the surroundings. My staff and sword were where I'd left them, and there was no sign of a struggle. That answered my first and most immediate worries. Apparently the brainless little twit had gone off on her own. Still, maybe it was nothing to be concerned about. She might just be going off to seek out some privacy in order to attend to nature's call.

That was when I smelled smoke.

Oh my G.o.d, she did did decide to burn down the forest decide to burn down the forest was my first panicked thought. was my first panicked thought.

I clambered onto the water's edge, nostrils flaring, trying to pinpoint precisely where the smoke was coming from. It took me no more than seconds, because my sight backed up what my nose had already told me: It was coming from the north, not more than half a mile by my guess. I saw a plume of smoke wafting into the air, but even as I set off in that direction, I realized that I was not dealing with a raging fire. It was too controlled. Not only that, but I was starting to detect-ever so faintly-cooking meat. It was a fire coming from some sort of pub or tavern. Apparently my young charge had decided that that place was better than this place, and headed off without so much as whispering to me that she was leaving.

As I made my way through the forest, I began to shiver so fiercely that my teeth started to chatter. Mist was rising from my mouth. As incredible as it seemed, the temperature had dropped precipitously in the past half hour. Considering that my clothes were sodden, obviously that was something of an inconvenience. Memories of how I had fallen ill when I was subjected to varying elements upon my arrival at the castle flooded back to me. I had no desire for a repeat performance, for I have little doubt that I wouldn't get off quite as lucky should such a thing recur. Naturally, though, I had left my cloak behind when I'd gone in, so it was bone dry. I drew it more tightly around myself, my breath coming in ragged and cloudy gasps.

The woods were thinning out, and I realized that the smoke had inadvertently brought me to the place that I'd been seeking all along: the outside of the forest. I drew closer and was able to make out the structure that was the origin of the smoke. It was belching out of a chimney, situated on top of a building that was rather unremarkable. In many ways it reminded me of the pub in which I grew up, and for an instant I felt a sudden surge of horror. What if, through insane happenstance, I had wound up right back at Stroker's somehow? I didn't know for sure where I was, but I would have bet that it was a geographical impossibility that I could have wound up there. But then cold reason (along with cold air, which seemed to have dropped even more in the last seconds) took hold. Stroker's and my old life were miles away. It was simply that such roadside places were somewhat generic in their construction.

I saw a sign hanging off the edge, swaying in the stiff wind that was cutting through the air. I caught the name of the place as it swung. Apparently I was about to visit the Forest's Edge Pub and Inn. Considering the place was at the edge of a forest, I wondered how many long minutes it had taken the genius who'd named the place to come up with that one.

There were other structures as well. Weapons shops, a butcher, weapons shops, a baker, weapons shops. As you might surmise, the abundance of weapons shops left me a bit concerned that we had wandered into a territory that was less than friendly. People were wandering about on their errands, dressed in heavy and ragged furs, barely nodding to one another as they pa.s.sed. They were far more interested in dealing with whatever business they had to attend to than engaging in social niceties. Apparently all social congress was reserved for the inn, from wherein I heard rough and raucous laughter. It seemed a bit early in the day for drunken revelry, and that indicated two possibilities to me. Either the people hereabouts were hard and heavy drinkers . . . or else they had found something that was particularly hilarious to engage their attention.

I had the sick feeling that I knew exactly what that source of hilarity might be, especially when my sharp ears were able to detect a raised female voice. My every instinct told me that the only intelligent thing to do was turn around and get the h.e.l.l out of here, and leave the little fool to whatever situation she'd gotten herself in. But I had gone too far, had thrown far too much of what I laughingly referred to as my self-esteem into the bargain. Like it or not, I was committed to getting her home.

A notice was tacked up on the door that said HELP WANTED. I made a mental note of it as I opened the door to the inn carefully. The noise from within practically blasted me back. I saw therein the scene that I had suspected I was going to see. There was Princess Entipy, standing in the middle of the inn, and a.s.sorted rough-hewn men were at their various tables, laughing their collective a.s.ses off. Entipy was trying to talk above them, but they were chortling so loudly that it was difficult to make out anything she was saying. The only person in the pub not laughing was a heavyset woman behind the bar. She had a glare as hard as coal, and a heart to match by the look of her surly face. She was cleaning a mug and seemed most unamused by the proceedings.

"This is the last time I'm going to say this," Entipy fairly shouted, her fists clenched and quivering with barely restrained anger. "We want you to bring a commweaver to us immediately. It is a matter of utmost urgency! And we require your best accommodations while we wait for the weaver to be brought." Since she'd entered without me, I could only a.s.sume that she had reverted to using the royal "we." Unsurprisingly, the men-about a dozen in all-didn't seem the least bit stirred to action by her demands.

"All right, girl," the woman from behind the bar called. She walked around it carrying a mug in either hand and set it down near two behemoths at the table nearest Entipy. "Enough foolishness for one day."

"Our commands are not foolishness," shot back Entipy. "Do you have any idea who we are?"

I started to move across the tavern as quickly as I could at that point, but several men got up at that ill-timed moment, pushing back their chairs, and I was temporarily blocked.

One of the behemoths looked up at her in amus.e.m.e.nt. "Who are we?" he asked, the phrasing of his question alone getting peals of laughter from his companions and the others in the tavern.

"We are royalty!" Entipy informed him.

"What you are is a royal pain," said the bartender/server. "Now get you gone."

"Ohhhh, Marie, don't be so hard on the girl," the behemoth said. "She's a comely thing, and might provide pa.s.sing amus.e.m.e.nt. I've never had royalty before." And he drew back a hand and slapped Entipy on the rump. The smack was resounding and there was more laughter.

Entipy did not hesitate. She grabbed up the mug of ale that had just been set down and hurled the contents into the behemoth's face. It hit him square on, the contents cascading all over his face, down his thick, bristling beard, and down into his breeches.

Oh, my G.o.ds, we're dead, I thought, and even as I did, the words I thought, and even as I did, the words What do you mean "we"? What do you mean "we"? came to mind. came to mind.

The behemoth started to rise, letting out a grunt of anger. Entipy windmilled her arm around, still holding the solid metal mug, and slammed it into the top of his head, knocking him back off the chair and sending him tumbling to the floor with a crash.

I would have thought a roar of fury would have arisen as a result, but we had a small fragment of luck, because the sequence of events instead struck the rough men as remarkably funny. In retrospect, I can see why: This slip of a girl comes in, tosses orders about, and when a man twice her size and three times her width takes liberties with her, she promptly gives him what-for.

The victim of her attack, however, clearly failed to see the humor of the situation. He was on his feet, towering over her. If she'd tried to swing the mug at his head she would have missed.

"Let's try that again," he snarled.

"Simon!" snapped the bartender, whom he'd addressed as "Marie." "She's not worth wasting time on! She can't hurt you-"

The words had barely left her mouth when Entipy swung the mug again. This time she was aiming at his crotch. Not a bad change in tactics, except he was ready for her and caught her by the forearm. She let out a screech of rage as he shook the mug loose from her grip, and it was at that moment that I started seriously considering backing out the door and distancing myself from the whole mess. Naturally that was the moment that her gaze fell upon me.

"Apropos!" she shouted. "You are my protector! Protect me!"

All eyes turned to me, and never had I wanted to be someone else, anywhere else, as I did at that moment. I was hoping to get out of the situation on the strength of my not inconsiderable charm. I waved. They seemed determinedly uncharmed.

My mind racing for inspiration, it nearly froze up as the gargantuan Simon took a step toward me, bristling with fury. Suddenly, inspiration seized me. Ignoring the staff in my hand and the sword strapped to my back, instead I grabbed a long spoon off the table next to me, dropped my voice to as deep a level as I could, and bellowed in a purely comic style, "I'll save you, my lady! I, your valiant knight, am here!"

Well, naturally I looked nothing like a knight. Wild-haired, sopping wet, lame of leg, I came across as much like a knight (or a hero, for that matter) as Entipy did a princess. I continued to advance, waving the spoon as if it were the most lethal blade in the land, and declaring, "I am coming, Your Highness! Ho, varlet! Knave! Wretch! Have at thee! Ha! Yah! And yah again!" I stomped on the floor and thrust forward again, maneuvering around Simon, who was simply staring at me, stunned, since I offered about as much practical threat as a pile of leaves. I heard some initial chuckling from nearby, which was exactly what I was hoping for. I got to Entipy, grabbed her by the wrist, and swung her unceremoniously behind me.

"What are you doing?!" she whispered sharply in my ear.

Simon was still watching me, and the laughter was starting to build. Marie, the bartender, still looked suspicious.

I grabbed her by the back of the head and brought her ear to my mouth. I spoke very quietly and very quickly. "Now listen to me, you little git," I whispered right back. "I've got one blade and I count a dozen in potential opposition . . . plus Simon here could kill me bare-handed. The only way we get out of this alive is pretend we're playacting, and if you don't go along with this, we're dead. We've one chance at this; don't muck it up," and with that I raised my voice and cried out again, "One side, varlet, for a princess of the realm! Hah! Double hah!"

For just a moment, Entipy's instinct for arrogance warred with her interest in self-preservation, and suddenly she cried out, "Ha! Arrogant knaves! Now thou shalt know the wrath of my true man-at-arms!"

Pushing it as far as I could, I lunged and jammed the spoon against Simon's ma.s.sive chest. I made a mental note of the fact that it was like pushing against a stone wall, but simply acting as if I'd scored a hit, I shouted, "Ha! He is down! Let no one else muck with a knight and his lady!"

Simon still didn't make a move against us. He had never seen any display quite like it. In this manner, we "hacked" our way through the crowd, shouting and making as much brouhaha as we humanly could. Laughter began to build, feed upon itself, and I heard people saying "They're mad!" and others countering with "No, don't you get it? They're performing fools!" In reality, it might well have been a bit of both.

We made it all the way to the door, and I threw it open.

Snow was falling.

I don't mean some light, gentle display; it was cascading, a solid white wall, coming down fast and furious. A fearsome wind was cutting through it. Snow was already acc.u.mulating at a horrifyingly rapid rate. If we went out into that, we'd be dead in no time.

Without even a second's hesitation, I slammed the door back, turned and threw my arms wide so quickly that I almost smacked Entipy in the face in doing so. "My good friends!" I shouted, dropping the bombast, "we are the Royal Players! Let us have a round of applause for Simon, who's been a terrific sport! Simon, take a bow!" and I limped toward him, grabbed his hand, and raised it up.

There followed thunderous clapping from all around. The confusion slowly seeped from Simon's mien, to be replaced by an appreciative smile and a chuckle as if he was in on the "joke" the entire time. I grabbed up a napkin and helped him dry himself off, saying "Well done!" the entire time.

Entipy was glaring at me. I couldn't have cared less. My concern was our survival, not winning her approval. And I could only a.s.sume that she shared that sentiment to some degree, because although she was glowering, she was doing nothing to pierce the veil of our little charade.

The crowning touch was Simon buying us two mugs of mead and treating us as if we were his new best friends. As astounding a development as that was, on some level I could almost understand it. Men like Simon didn't exactly get a great deal of acclaim, so a roomful of people singing his praises for a job well done was heady stuff for him.

The mead felt terrific going down, suffusing me with inner warmth while the fire I huddled near helped to dry out my clothes. Entipy sat a few feet away. She was gulping the mead down. Say what you will about her; at least she could hold her liquor. She was not, however, giving me any favoring looks. That didn't bother me.

A shadow loomed over me. For one frightening moment I thought it was Simon, thinking better of his generosity and moment in the sun, and deciding instead that what we really needed was a good pummeling. But I looked up and saw instead that it was Marie. She pulled a barrel over and sat upon it, bringing us to eye level.

"I'm not so certain that you're traveling players, no matter what you've convinced these fools of," she said in a low voice. "I saw the prideful haughtiness in her eyes, and the panic in yours when she looked to you. No one walking this planet is that good an actor. Whatever you are, you disrupted my customers and put my place at risk of having a brawl." I noted the words "my place." So she wasn't just an employee; she was the actual pub owner. "I'm not going to bring that to their attention because it might prompt the very thing I want to avoid," she continued. "But I want you out of here, immediately."

"It's snowing, madam," I said,"and rather fiercely. We'll surely die . . ."

"That is of no consequence to me."

At that moment, Simon, our most unlikely benefactor, raised a mug and called out, "To our players!"

"Our players!" echoed the others.

Someone else shouted, "And to our Marie!"

"Marie!" came the call. She bobbed her head in acknowledgment, forcing a smile so that she could get back to the business of preparing to send us out to our deaths.

And then a third man shouted, "To our n.o.ble liege, the dreaded Warlord Shank!"

"To Warlord Shank!" came the call.

If I hadn't been cold before, I froze then.

Warlord Shank. The lord of the so-called Outer Lawless regions, who had risen against King Runcible and been driven back, but only at great cost.

I glanced at Entipy, but there was no registering of recognition in her face. The name meant nothing to her. No reason it should have, since Shank's incursion and the subsequent war had happened long after she'd been shunted away to the Faith Women and sheltered from news of the outside world. But it meant more than enough to me for the both of us. As incredible as it seemed, we had actually had a major stroke of luck. If these men were loyal to Shank, the acquisition of Runcible's daughter would have been invaluable. Shank could have blackmailed the monarch into practically anything. Either that or the king would have told them to go ahead and kill her, for which I wouldn't entirely have blamed him, except that it would have meant my demise as well (since she was quick to finger me as her "protector").

"So . . . this would be the Outer Lawless regions, then," I said slowly.

Marie looked at me oddly. "Know you not where you are?"

"We . . . became separated from our troupe, and have been somewhat lost recently," I said. "I wasn't quite certain. And if this is the Outer Lawless regions . . . then what I saw outside would be the start of the famed Outer Lawless winter . . . ?"

She nodded, grimacing in a resigned manner. She didn't seem any more enthused about it than I. "Seems more intense this year. Earlier. But that would be it, yes."

Well, we were well and truly screwed. When snow was dumped in the Outer Lawless regions, it came fast and fierce, and then it stayed. The natives of the land managed to get around on the snow-sodden roads, but neither Entipy nor I were natives. Nor did we have the requisite furs, snowshoes, or boots, or any sort of survival equipment. There was simply no way that we would manage to get any significant distance. We were, in effect, stuck there. Except the "there" wasn't being particularly hospitable.

"A commweaver," I said with growing urgency. "Do you know where there is one?"

"Down the road, straight east, about twenty miles. She serves the various n.o.bles and feudal lords. Goes by the name of Dotty, which is apt enough since she is a bit dotty. But she's been around forever; so long that folks hereabouts sometimes call her 'Ma Spell.' Charges a pretty sum for her services, from what I hear."

With the snow on the ground, twenty miles might as well have been twenty hundred. Walking wasn't an option. I would have not hesitated to steal a beast to carry us, but even if we got there, the situation was exactly as I thought: Such weavers charged mightily for their services, and we didn't have two sovs to rub together.

Our predicament didn't garner a scintilla of pity from the hardeyed Marie. "Now, as I was saying, out you go . . . unless you've money to pay for food or lodgings, which I strongly suspect you don't, since you didn't even have the brains to go around and solicit money for your 'performance' . . ."

I kicked myself mentally. I'd been so relieved that we were alive that I had missed an opportunity for profit. I was losing my touch. Inspired, I said, "We could stay here, be players in residence-"

"Dump alcohol on my patrons? Pick fights on a regular basis? And how long before I wind up the worse for it." She snorted disdainfully at the thought.

I remembered the sign on the door. "You need help. I know taverns. I grew up in one." The truth out of my mouth; G.o.d, I really was losing my touch.

"I don't need you two. Her, in particular."

I looked in Entipy's direction once more. She had downed the contents of the mug and was wavering slightly from side to side. I felt one good push would send her tumbling to the floor. "She is something of an annoyance, I'll admit . . ."

"I'll say," she grumbled. Nothing brings commiseration like mutual resentment for others. "A regular prima donna, right? So used to playing n.o.blewomen that she thinks she excretes gold."

"Actresses," I sighed. "What can you do with them?"

"I know what I'd like to do with one of them."

My eyes narrowed and I leaned forward conspiratorially. "And just think what you could do . . . with one in your employ. Lugging water. Cleaning tables. Hauling garbage. Slinging ale."

Marie looked at me thoughtfully and then at Entipy. A slow smile spread across her face. It looked rather odd there, as if it was an infrequent visitor and had no idea what to do having arrived. "You are a schemer, aren't you," she said.