Chapter Thirty-Eight
Thirty-Eight
Gabriel was awoken by someone knocking on a door.
It wasn’t his door, but it was close enough to his door that it felt like he was under attack.
Reasoning, once lucid, that an attacker was unlikely to knock, he went to poke his head out into the hallway and discovered that Adah was standing outside Gwen’s room, sweaty and armored.
Gwen emerged, and Adah said, “Bridget’s gone.”
“What do you mean, gone?” Gwen said. “She left?”
Adah shook her head. “I don’t think so. All her things are still at the cottage, except her sword.”
“Why would she wander off without her armor?” Gwen, still half asleep, sounded bewildered.
“She wouldn’t,” said Adah.
“You don’t think she’s…?” Gabriel wrinkled his nose, feeling bad for even asking the question. “I mean, didn’t you say you told her she shouldn’t be a knight anymore? Do you think she might have taken that … literally?”
“That’s not what I said at all,” Gwen said sharply. “And she wouldn’t just leave like this anyway. Ever. Something’s … something’s wrong.”
Sir Hurst appeared at the top of the stairs, looking to be in relatively good spirits, for a change. “The fisherman’s shown up,” he said. “Odd fellow. Says he wants to speak to the king.”
“We don’t have time for that right now,” Gwen snapped. “Bridget’s missing.”
“Ah.” Sir Hurst grimaced. “I see. I … Perhaps it might have been due to…”
“What, Sir Hurst?”
“I might have encouraged her to take a step back from our quest. She didn’t take it particularly well.”
Gabriel nodded. “So maybe she’s just gone to…”
“Ruminate,” said Sir Hurst. “Maybe she’s out walking.”
Gabriel thought this a likely explanation, but from the looks of consternation on Gwen’s and Adah’s faces, they disagreed. He’d been in their company too long to dismiss their concerns as trivial; they had a habit of being right.
“I’ll talk to the fisherman,” Gabriel said to Gwen, “and then we’ll have a look. We have guards patrolling the cliffs, she can’t have gone far without being seen.”
“I suppose not,” said Gwen, but she was chewing agitatedly away at her lip, a habit she’d long kicked except in times of deep distress.
Downstairs, the fisherman was waiting. He had requested a private audience, so Gabriel went to meet him with just the Captain of the Guard, and found him standing by the fire, wiry and white-haired.
“Oh,” he said, blinking. “You’re taller than I thought you’d be.”
“Thank you,” said Gabriel. He paused, awkwardly expecting a bow, and when none was forthcoming, said, “I was told you wished to speak with me? About the Grail?”
To his surprise, the man threw himself down at Gabriel’s feet, raising his hands beseechingly; Gabriel took a step back and braced himself against a chair, highly alarmed.
“Forgive me,” he cried. “They said they would kill my Posey.”
Gabriel’s eyes darted to Sir Hurst, wondering if this man had already been checked for weapons, and then deciding that, surely, he had.
“Who did? Who’s Posey?” demanded Sir Hurst.
“She’s my dog.” The man seemed quite overcome, and began to softly weep.
“Your dog?” Sir Hurst shook his head. “I’m not sure why you’re wasting the king’s—”
“Let’s start again,” Gabriel said firmly, sitting down in a chair, hoping it might put this man at ease. “You wrote to me that you’d found the Grail, is that right?”
“Yes,” said the fisherman, looking up and nodding enthusiastically. “That’s right. I did. I had. Found it, I mean.”
“And you’ve hidden it for safekeeping?”
“Yes.” He nodded again, more seriously this time, like he was reassuring himself of his veracity. “It’s safe. And now Posey’s there too. She’s smart, she got away. All safe.”
“So who was threatening to kill your dog?” Gabriel asked gently. “And why?”
The fisherman got shakily to his feet, steadying himself on the wall.
“Men came to me yesterday, and they hit me with sticks, and they hit Posey, and they said they knew of the coming of the godless round table, and that I must go to the dark-haired girl knight who pulled the sword and tell her of the Grail, and that … that she would not be able to resist the glory, and would follow me to see it. And so I did what they said, God forgive me, and I took her to the place, and now they have her.” His eyes filled with tears.
“I come to ask your pardon, sire, for I have been a terrible coward, and deserve any punishment you see fit.”
Comprehension dawned, and Gabriel stood back up very abruptly. “Someone asked you to lead Bridget away from town? And then kidnapped her?”
He exchanged a glance with Sir Hurst, who was now taking this very seriously.
“Yes,” said the fisherman. “Although I do not know that her name is Bridget, only that she had dark hair to the shoulder and stayed at the cottage and she wore the sword.”
Gabriel was halfway through the door, Sir Hurst at his heel, when he turned and said, “When? When did this happen?”
“An hour ago, sire, or two, I cannot say. Please, say that you will—”
“I forgive you,” Gabriel said hurriedly. “Don’t worry about it. You love your dog. I understand. I have a cat, I’d probably die for him. Excuse me.”
When he reached Gwen’s room, he knocked, and she opened the door fully armored in polished steel plate, Adah standing at her side.
“Bridget’s in trouble,” he said in a rush, and Gwen nodded, white-lipped and resolute.
“I know,” she said, sheathing her sword. “Let’s go.”
Peter the fisherman told them of the crack in the rock and the passageway beyond, a series of caves and tunnels used by smugglers that burrowed away from the village, right out from underneath all those carefully spaced guard patrols Sir Hurst had ordered.
It was the fastest Gabriel and his remaining knights had ever readied themselves, mounting up and heading northward.
When they summited the hill and cantered in a line across the wind-tossed grassland, twenty riders behind them, Gabriel thought they must have looked like a tiny invading force; a bannerless host, riding out to face an unknown enemy.
“Why her?” Gwen had said through gritted teeth, as they rushed to their horses. “Why not take a shot at you, or me, or any of the other knights? Why Bridget?”
Unfortunately, the answer to these questions was that Gabriel had absolutely no idea. He felt for Gwen, who was beside herself, and poor Neil, Bridget’s squire—he hadn’t said much, but he’d had a sick, frightened expression on his face since Gwen had gone to tell him what was wrong.
When they reached the place where the cave opened out, they followed the only road until they came upon a man riding toward them.
When asked if he’d seen any other riders, he shook his head, eyes suspicious beneath his knitted brow.
Next, they came to a farmhouse; the man inside shrugged and said nothing, his arms folded, watching them all warily as they trampled the grass outside his house to mush.
“I don’t believe this for a single second,” said Sir Hurst when they regrouped. “They know something, but they’re not telling.”
They were just about to hasten away when they heard shouting inside the house, a slamming door—and then one of the farmer’s daughters came rushing down the path.
“I saw riders no more than an hour ago,” she cried. “Heading east!”
“Thank you,” Gwen said, tossing her a bag full of coins; her father, watching from the doorstep, uncrossed his arms, suddenly very interested indeed.
They took the easterly turning, then came to a spidery crossroads.
“Which way?” said Adah, looking from each road to the next as if they might offer clues. “East, still?”
“We’ll split up,” said Sir Bowen. “Ride each road for around a mile, report back.”
So they parted ways, Gabriel riding with Sir Hurst and half the guard. The road they took was long and featureless, and after a while, Sir Hurst swore and turned his horse, and they returned to the crossroads.
Sidney, who had ridden off with Arthur, was waiting with a triumphant look on his face.
“Look,” he said. “We found this. She’s a genius, and my wedding has saved the day.”
The pale posy, crumpled, dead, and flattened now from days spent tucked away in some forgotten pouch or pocket, was undeniably the same as the one Gabriel had pinned to his own jacket.
They followed the road until a village came into distant view, looking like it sat at the end of the world, with nothing but cliff and sea beyond—at which point Sir Hurst pulled them aside into a copse of trees.
“They’ll see us from a mile off, here. If we ride in full force, they’ll know we’re coming and hide her.”
“How do they know we won’t knock down their doors and burn their village to the ground if they don’t hand her over?” said Sir Leonard, sounding surprisingly bloodthirsty.
“I’d like to think,” Gabriel said, “that I haven’t cultivated an atmosphere of village-burning.”
“Well, I’m going,” said Gwen. “And I’m afraid you can’t stop me.”
Arthur nodded. “In that case, so am I.”
“If he’s going,” Sidney said, “I have to go, to protect him.”
“I’m her squire,” Neil said forcefully, sounding almost tearful. “So obviously I have to go.”
“And I’ll need to go with them,” said Gabriel, with authority. He ruined it by following up with, “If that’s all right with you.”
Sir Hurst had the air of a beleaguered parent who’d weathered so many tantrums about procuring additional biscuits that he’d been worn down to a bloody pulp, and now gave out biscuits on command.
He didn’t tell them how bad an idea it was—he just sighed a very long sigh, and then said, “We’ll wait until dusk, and go by stealth.
That means”—he looked at Arthur—“that we’re going to need to be quiet. ”