oo, and so was King Luther. But some of King Luther’s men—no. So why was he thinking of the times he had seen King Luther? Then Blade had it. He chuckled incredulously and went to sleep.

In the morning he took Reville aside, well aside and out of hearing from anywhere, a hundred yards up the road. “What’s all this about?” Reville laughed. “Make it quick. I want my breakfast.”

“You’re an impostor,” said Blade. “You’re from this world. You shouldn’t be a Pilgrim at all.”

To Blade’s secret relief—because he suspected Reville was rather good with that rapier of his—Reville was simply amused. “And how do you make that out?”

“I’ve seen you before. You were with Querida and King Luther and High Priest Umru when Dad and I visited the White Oracle,” Blade explained.

Reville’s brows went down, and his lips pursed, though—again to Blade’s relief—he was still amused. “Score one to you!” he said. “And here was I, trained never to forget a face, and I’d clean forgotten you! After you put that cold spell on us, too! I’m slipping. Blame that awful beard. What do you want from me?”

“What are you doing here with this Pilgrim Party?” Blade asked.

Reville grinned and pulled up his left sleeve. Fastened all the way up his arm was a row of wristwatches, nearly twenty of them as far as Blade could tell. “Thieves Guild,” Reville explained. “These little clocks can fetch as much as a thousand gold each. People don’t have them here. The Pilgrims take them off with their other offworld gear and give them to the landlord to put back across the portal for them. He leaves them in his strong-cupboard until he’s got the lot. I walk in pretending to be another Pilgrim and pay the cupboard a visit. Bingo. Boringly easy—except that this time you gave me a bad moment looking me up on your list. I had to do some quick faking while your back was turned. And then I spot those two who refuse to be parted from their offworld stuff. She’s got that torch and that recorder and a hot flask, and I think she’s got a weapon, too. I haven’t discovered what he’s got yet, but you can understand the challenge, can’t you?”

“Yes,” Blade admitted.

“She watches all her stuff like a hawk as well. I can’t resist. But I’m here with Querida’s permission. If you want a deal to keep your mouth shut, it won’t be worth much,” Reville warned him.

“That depends,” Blade said cunningly. “Do you want me to tell Miss Ledbury who you are?”

Reville winced slightly. “It looks as if I don’t get breakfast today,” he said regretfully, “unless you want something I can—I tell you what! Suppose I offer to pry your bard away from that Geoffrey?”

Blade shook his head, equally regretfully. He knew Shona when she had made up her mind. He was going to leave that to Mum when the party reached her Lair. “No,” he said. “But I won’t say a word to anyone if you can take Sukey off my hands.”

Reville stared at him as if he thought Blade had gone mad. After a moment he said, “Let’s get this straight. Did I hear you correctly? You … don’t … want … Sukey?”

“Yes,” said Blade. “I don’t.”

“But wizards always get themselves the most gorgeous—it’s part of the perks. You should see some of the other wizards!” Reville said distractedly. “Ye gods! Are you sure about this?” Blade nodded vehemently. “This has made my day!” said Reville. “All right. It’s a deal.” He wrung Blade’s hand and, with a beaming smile on his face, set off at a run for where the Pilgrims were gathering around the campfire for breakfast.

Blade followed slowly, slightly bewildered. Reville was probably only about six years older than he was. Did six years really make that much difference to the way someone looked at Sukey? Blade hoped not, or not where he was concerned himself. If it did, then something obviously went seriously wrong with your mind in those six years.

“I can’t eat stew for breakfast, young man,” said Miss Ledbury. “I shall be ill.”

Blade sighed. Back to business. “It’s traditional,” he explained. “Ask the merchant.” Old Professor Ledbury was still in his long wrinkly underpants, he noticed. “I think your brother may have forgotten his trousers, Miss Ledbury.”

He escaped behind one of the merchant’s carts while Miss Ledbury bullyingly dangled the trousers in front of her brother and the professor blinked and said, “What trousers? Whose trousers are those?”

They went on after breakfast. The bandits did not attack that night.

The merchant was very irritated. He took Blade aside the next morning and explained that he was a busy man and, because this was the last tour, he had some real trading fixed up and due to start the following day. “With winter coming on, I can’t hang about here on these bad roads. I’d be mired down until spring. I’ve got to leave today and turn south.”

Blade consulted the black book. “It says ‘within three days’ here. They’re probably going to do it tomorrow morning as a surprise.”

“One more day then,” the merchant agreed grumpily.

The caravan journeyed all that day, into wooded, hillier country. It rained slightly most of the day, which made the merchant grumpier still. It rained again in the night, forcing the Pilgrim Party to sleep under the carts, but there were still no bandits. The Pilgrims got up wet and crotchety, except for the Ledburys in their waterproof bags. In fact, Professor Ledbury was the liveliest of anyone there. He swung his great old sword and invited Reville to a fencing match. Reville looked at the wide, rusty blade wavering in the professor’s hand and said politely, “Perhaps some other time, sir,” and turned back to Sukey. Blade was utterly grateful to Reville. Sukey barely looked at anyone else now and certainly not at Blade.

“What do these bandits think they’re doing?” the merchant hissed, grabbing Blade by the sleeve and pulling him behind one of the carts. “They’re still not here. And they get paid enough.”

“Perhaps they’ve forgotten there was one more tour,” Blade was suggesting when Geoffrey and Shona came in great leaps down the slope at the side of the road. Geoffrey was pale, and Shona was chalky.

“Blade, you’d better come up there and look,” Shona whispered.

“You stay. I’ll go with him,” Geoffrey said quietly. “It’s not nice.”

Puzzled and cross, Blade followed Geoffrey up through damp grass and sopping bushes, into woodland, where he caught hair and beard and robes on low branches while Geoffrey strode irritatingly freely ahead. They went a long way to kiss one another, he thought angrily. Then they came to the place. Blade stopped being annoyed with Geoffrey and was glad he was there.

Tags: Diana Wynne Jones Derkholm Fantasy
Source: readsnovelonline.net