But Jane had a feeling that it was still anything but.
The group’s mood was somber as they approached the Shaggy Dog—Gracie had told them over and over that this was a bad idea. That it wasn’t going to work. That they were all going to die and become pillows and stoles.
“Well,” Bess said as they were finally making their way down the main street of the village toward the tavern. “If anyone’s inclined toward prayer, now might be the time.”
“Yes. Last chance to call it off,” Gracie said.
“You can still wait with the horses,” Edward said. “I can do this on my own.”
“Shut up, bird boy.”
There were five horses with them—four normal and one very special, in Jane’s opinion—and they tied the four real horses to a post. Then they were standing at the tavern steps. The sign over the door squeaked on its post—the image of a dog with vague scratches in the paint to signal shagginess. It looked different in the daylight. And smaller, now that she wasn’t a tiny ferret with blurry vision.
Still, Jane shivered. This was where she’d almost died just days ago.
Edward said, “Gifford—”
The fifth horse snorted.
“Call him G,” Jane translated.
“G, watch our mounts.”
Gracie began changing the knots on the horses’ leads. “This is a better knot for our situation. If we run out screaming, we—or G—can just pull the ends of these and flee.”
The whites around Gifford’s eyes shone.
“I agree,” Jane said to him, and turned to Gracie. “Do you think fleeing will be necessary?”
Gracie nodded toward a corner on the far side of the street where a man disappeared behind a butcher shop. Then to the rooftop of an apothecary. The streets were eerily empty for this time of day. “They know we’re here. Maybe they haven’t done anything yet, but they know.”
Jane petted Gifford’s soft cheek. He blew out a breath and dropped his chin on her shoulder, pulling her into what might have been a horse version of a hug. She put her arms around his neck for a moment and breathed in the warm scent of his fur.
“I’ll be fine,” she whispered by his ear. “They won’t recognize me. But if anything bad happens, you have my permission to kick down the door.” She rubbed his forehead before hurrying after the others into the tavern.
“I’m here to speak with Thomas Archer,” Edward called as the door swung shut behind them.
There were seven people in the taproom—five drinking at tables, one working at the bar, and one in deep conversation with the bartender—and all of them stopped what they were doing and turned to stare at Edward.
“Who are you?” asked the bartender.
“I’m the King of England,” Edward announced. “And I want to speak to Thomas Archer.”
One of the drinkers laughed. “The king is dead. So is the new queen. The new new queen sits on the throne now. Mary.”
“She is not the rightful queen,” Jane objected.
Bess bumped Jane’s arm in warning. Then, subtly, she nodded toward Gracie, whose gaze was fixed on the man sitting at the bar. The Scot’s hands were clenched into fists at her sides.
No question about it: that man was Archer.
His back was turned to them, but there was enough to reveal him as a young man. His form was slender and straight. Strands of black hair curled over his collar.
“He is the king,” Gracie said to him alone. “He’s telling the truth.”
Slowly, the young man at the bar turned around. He had a striking face, with sharp cheekbones and a strong jaw. He looked Gracie up and down. “So, the little fox returns. With a king, no less. You’re looking fine, Gracie. Did you miss me?”
“Not even a little.”
“Aw, now.” Archer grinned and pressed a hand to his chest. “You wound me, lass. Do it again.”
Edward reddened and strode up to the bar, pulling out a handful of coins, which he slapped down in front of Archer. “Ten sovereigns. To pay off the bounty on her head.”
Archer looked from Edward to the coins, and back. “Bounty? Is that what she told you?”
Edward pushed the coins toward Archer. “And now with that matter out of the way, I wish to recruit you to my cause.”
Archer remained sitting. “And what cause is that?”
“I want to get my kingdom back.”
Another drinker laughed. “Mary has an army, from what I hear. You have a fox, a grand lady”— he nodded respectfully at Bess—“and a redhead.”
“Hey, Jane’s hair isn’t that bad.” Edward ceased the truly inspiring defense of her hair and composed himself. “What I mean to say is, I intend to take back the throne, and as citizens of England, the Pack should be with me.”
Archer scoffed. “What has England done for us?”
“You’re E?ians,” Edward said.
“Guilty as charged. But I don’t see why that means we need to side with you, boy king.”