For a giddy moment, Jimmy thought, this riding business isn’t so bad if you keep your wits about you. Then the horse decided it was tired of running, and it was only Jimmy’s uncanny reflexes and superior sense of balance that kept him from launching from the horse’s back, landing on the hardpan road with painful consequences. As it was, he ended up in front of the saddle, hugging the animal’s neck. The horse seemed irritated by the unexpected display of affection and with a snort began to trot, returning Jimmy to the teeth-rattling again.
Jimmy pushed himself back into the saddle, and started his rocking motion for a trot. He was about to try another gallop, when the horse crested a rise.
Beyond the next hill was a large, fortified manor house—practically a castle—with a moat around it; it lay among rather neglected-looking gardens and there was a low wall around those with a wrought-iron gate at the end of a lane that gave off from the main road. The two men headed for it like lost chicks to a mother hen.
Jimmy pulled up suddenly, or perhaps his horse did. He could feel a wrongness, almost exactly as if something very dead and very cold had drawn a hand down his spine and then pushed the hand inside him to clutch at his gut. He yelped without volition and the horse whinnied in protest, then suddenly he found himself headed back towards Land’s End at a gallop without any instructions he could remember. It was only with difficulty that he managed to pull up, leaning back in the saddle, bracing his feet in the stirrups and hauling down until the horse’s mouth nearly touched its chest.
He looked around, panting, and Coe was right on his heels, looking pale and grim, if more in command of his mount.
‘What was that?’ the young thief asked. ‘Ruthia, what was that?’
It was a long moment before the older man answered. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. He gave Jimmy a quick look. ‘It’s good to know I wasn’t the only one to feel it, though.’ He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. ‘We should get out of here in case they send someone out looking for us. I’m fairly certain I could handle those two brigands, but I’m not willing to take on a dozen household guardsmen.’ He started down the road, then looked over his shoulder. ‘You staying?’
Jimmy looked at him, then back toward the manor house. ‘No sir,’ he said and followed.
‘Where have you been? I wanted him here last night!’
Rip didn’t recognize the voice. It sounded like a very crabby old man. He felt funny, like when he had been sick last winter and slept all the time. He felt too warm and too wrapped up but when he thought to move, he discovered he was too tired to do anything about it. He couldn’t be bothered even to open his eyes. Besides, his hands wouldn’t move, and his feet were tucked under him and he just couldn’t seem to think of what to do next. But he could listen.
‘Sorry, m’lord. But the boy’s place was a long way away. We left Land’s End at dawn this morning, sir.’ This was the growly voice he’d been hearing lately. He’d never heard him sounding so nice before.
‘Dawn you say! And it took you half a day to get here! Did you carry your horse on your back? Did you walk on your hands like a mountebank? Five hours!’
‘Well but, sir, if we was too late by not ‘aving ‘im ‘ere last night wot does it matter if we babied the ‘orses this mornin’? The poor creatures is that tired, me lord.’
That last was the weasel voice, or so Rip thought of it. And even now he didn’t sound nice, but wheedling and whining and nasty.
‘Impudence!’ cried the old man. There was the muffled sound of someone being clouted. ‘Take your money and go!’
There was a clinking sound muffled somewhat, like coins in a sack dropping to the ground. Then there was a silence that went on too long. Rip shifted uncomfortably and wished everyone would shut up and go away.
‘Thank ye, sir,’ the growly voice said at last.
Rip felt himself lifted, and sensed he was being carried. It wasn’t uncomfortable and this person wasn’t talking, which was a relief. He heard the click of a lock being undone, then a door being opened. Then more walking, followed after a while by the sound of another door being unlocked. Then he felt himself being lowered onto something soft. He relaxed and settled down to sleep at last.
Rip woke as if swimming up from a dark place. He blinked and stirred, not knowing where he was. Then he felt a presence and sat up, rubbing his eyes.
‘He’s awake!’
Rip’s eyes opened in surprise. A girl with dark eyes and curly brown hair was in front of him. She seemed a year or two older than Rip, though she was petite enough she wasn’t a half-head taller. She grinned. ‘I’m Neesa,’ she said. ‘Who are you?’
He was in a room—a big room, bigger than his family’s whole house! And the bed was big too, bigger than Ma and Da’s bed, with smooth sheets. There were hangings on the wall, cloth with pictures in them, pictures like old stories.
He was taken completely by surprise when a boy roughly his own age hopped up on the bed and began jumping up and down.
‘What’s yer name? What’s yer name? What’s yer name?’ the boy shouted gleefully.
‘Stop that, Kay!’ an older girl said, giving the boy a shove that knocked him onto his back. ‘You know what it feels like when you wake up.’