“Er, Gracie, the fate of the kingdom is at stake,” Edward murmured, but she ignored him.
“I offered you ten sovereigns for it,” Archer said. “You could buy a hundred knives with that.”
“A knife?” Edward gaped at Gracie. “The bounty was over a knife?”
“My knife.” Gracie’s hand went to the pearl-handled knife strapped to her hip. “I can’t give it up. I won’t.”
Jane thought all this fuss over a knife was a bit excessive, even if it was an attractive weapon, to be sure. But then Edward sighed and touched Gracie’s shoulder. “All right.” He turned to Archer. “There must be something else I can give you.”
Archer’s eyes went back and forth from Edward to Gracie, stopping at where Edward’s hand rested on the girl’s shoulder. He scowled. “I want the knife. There is nothing else I desire.”
“The knife is not mine to give. It’s Gracie’s,” Edward said. “But there must be something else. A task, perhaps. Something I could do for you.”
There was a heavy silence throughout the room. Finally, Archer laughed and said, “All right, then. Kill the Great White Bear of Rhyl.”
Jane scoffed. “That’s an absurd demand. The Great White Bear is a myth. I’ve read every book on the subject, and all the experts agree that the beast is nothing more than a fiction.” Legend had it that the Great White Bear was tall as the Cliffs of Dover. As wide as the English Channel. Mothers and fathers often told their children the Bear would come after them if they didn’t go to bed on time or do their chores, but that was all. An old wives’ tale. A fable.
“Oh, the bear is real, all right.” One of the men at a table pointed to a set of long scars that ran down the side of his face. Claw marks. “It doesn’t live but a few miles from here. It attacks this village regularly. Steals food. Plunders far more than the Pack does.”
Archer gave a rueful grin. “That’s my condition. Kill the bear. Take it or leave it.”
“Excuse us for a moment.” Edward gestured for Bess, Gracie, and Jane to join him in the corner. They huddled together and spoke in low voices. “What do you think?”
“The GWBR?” Jane shook her head. “I don’t believe it exists.”
“Or it does exist, and Archer’s just trying to get me killed for his own amusement,” Edward said grimly.
“Either way, it’s a diversion.” Bess frowned. “We have France to see to. A country to regain. We don’t have time for a goose chase—or a bear hunt.”
Edward nodded. “I know. But if it’s the only way to get the Pack on our side . . .”
“What about the knife?” Jane snapped. “Let’s just give him the stupid knife.”
Grace straightened. “My knife is not stupid. It’s the only thing I have left of Ben. Archer only wants it because he knows that.”
“You’re not giving him the knife.” Edward reassured Gracie. Of course. He liked her. He was showing off. And Archer was competition. But this was not the time to go around proving his dominance.
“The question remains.” Bess kept her eyes on her brother. “Do we do it?”
“You said before—we probably don’t have enough men to take on Mary’s army,” Edward’s jaw tightened. “We need them. Whatever it takes.”
He stepped out of the huddle and faced Archer once more. “Very well. I’ll do it.”
Archer glanced from Gracie to Jane to Bess to Edward, and at last gave a slow, easy nod. “Fine. We have a deal.” He slammed a fist down on the bar. “Time to celebrate!”
While the others passed drinks all around, Jane went outside to move the horses into the stable, and to tell Gifford the news.
They were going to fight a mythic bear.
TWENTY-FOUR
Gifford
As soon as the sun touched the horizon, G flashed into a human, and Jane hurried him inside and started talking. Fast.
“You heard me tell you we’re going to kill the GWBR?” He nodded, and she embraced him quickly, for their time was short. “Good. Now, I’ve saved all my bear knowledge for when you’re human so you’ll remember easier. Firstly, bears are always hungry. So when you encounter the bear, don’t act like food.”
“Huh?”
“I read it in a book last summer, called—”
G held up a hand. “Don’t tell me the name! No time.”
“Right. As I was saying, bears are always hungry. Try not to act like food.”
“How does one act like food?”
“I’m simply telling you what I know.” Anticipating her change, she adjusted her skirt underneath her cloak, and in her haste, she flashed G the briefest of glimpses of the milky white skin of her leg.
G stopped breathing.
“The next thing you should do is try to make yourself appear bigger than you are.”
G didn’t say anything; he still wasn’t breathing. Because, soft skin.
“Maybe hold your cloak above your head. Or puff out your chest. G, are you listening?”