Page 69 of Charmless
The surge forward was countered by the Border Scutcheons bracing themselves, prepared to drive back the crowd with lowered pikes. Horatio cursed, ordering them to put up their weapons, commanding the crowd to fall back, but no one was listening to him.
This ragged angry mob would be no match for the well-trained Border guards with their fearsome weapons. I was sick with terror at the thought that I was about to witness a massacre. I felt so useless, not knowing what to do, longing to rush to Horatio’s side. I began tugging at the women nearest me, begging them to go home.
Some of them were frightened enough to listen. Encouraged by even this small success, I kept at it until I noticed there was someone else moving along the back of the crowd, doing the same thing.
I heard a low voice rapping out orders.
“Get back to your homes and shops. You can accomplish nothing here today except get yourself killed. This is not the time.”
I twisted around, catching a glimpse of a figure in a gray woolen cloak, the hood pulled forward. I could not see his face, but I recognized the voice. Mal! He cuffed ears, jerked on collars, yanked at arms, all the while urging retreat. I was astounded to find him here issuing such commands, even more surprised to see that these rough-hewn men reluctantly obeyed him.
Mal’s grandmother had always said that Mal could charm a pixie into surrendering her dust and it was true. I had often seen Mal work his roguish magic upon women, but I would never have imagined he could exert such influence over a mob of angry ruffians. I had to be mistaken. The man in the cloak could not be Mal. What would he even be doing here when we were supposed to be meeting at his shop later? Mal had a firm policy of steering clear of any trouble that might involve confrontations with armed Scutcheons.
“I am a lover, not a fighter,”he often jested.
Whoever the cloaked man was, I felt grateful to him for achieving what the Border commander and Horatio could not. The crowd began to melt away, except for one rash boy. I was startled to recognize Tom Piper.
His young face a mask of fury, he drew back his arm to hurl a rock, but was prevented by the man in the cloak. He seized hold of Tom. As the boy struggled and kicked, the man’s hood fell back. ItwasMal.
As I absorbed this fresh shock, Mal lifted Tom off his feet, hauling him away amid the dispersing crowd. I whirled about looking for Horatio. He had succeeded in gaining control of the Border Guards, persuading them to raise their pikes, but he was locked in another furious argument with Bluntvale.
With the angry crowd’s retreat, Horatio was no longer in any danger other than losing his temper and flattening the pompous Border commander. I should alert Horatio and tell him that I spotted Mal. But Horatio would be vexed that I had disregarded his command to seek safety. By the time I managed to explain to him and offer my excuses, it might be too late.
From the direction Mal had taken, I realized he was not heading toward his shop. Mal had to have seen Horatio in the lane with the Border Scutcheons. Perhaps he had even seen me arrive with Horatio and guessed that something had gone wrong with our plans. Mal might consider his best course was to disappear and return to meet me another day when it was safe.
I couldn’t allow that to happen, not if I was going to persuade Mal to relinquish the orb in time for Horatio to get it back to Mercato before sunset. If I took off after Mal, Horatio would feel as though I had deceived and betrayed him.Again.Yet what choice did I have? Mal could vanish at any moment and getting that orb back was my only chance of saving all three of us.
With one last despairing glance toward Horatio, I hurried in the direction I had last spotted Mal. As I threaded my way through the straggling remains of the crowd, I craned my neck, fearing that I had dithered too long. Much to my relief, I glimpsed Mal’s gray cloak not too far ahead. He still had Tom in tow. Before I could overtake him, he hauled Tom out of sight behind a cobbler shop.
Seizing the boy by the shoulders, Mal gave Tom a brisk shake, admonishing him in a low terse voice. I was not close enough to hear what Mal was saying. Tom continued to look defiant before subsiding into tears. Mal bent down and enveloped the boy in a fierce hug.
Undoing his purse, he slipped a coin into Tom’s hand, imparting some further instruction. The boy mopped away the last of his tears and nodded. He raced off down an alley behindthe shops. Mal hurried in the opposite direction from where I approached.
“Mal!” I shouted, but my voice was lost in a sudden clap of thunder.
Mal glanced up at the sky, scowled and tore off running. I groaned as I raced after him. I tripped on the hem of Horatio’s cloak and fell hard onto my hands and knees. Although my kneecaps throbbed with pain and my palms stung, I scrambled to my feet. Hitching the cloak up higher, I staggered after Mal. Misty Bottoms was a maze of twisting lanes and alleys. Mal was familiar with all of them and could disappear at any moment.
I panted with my efforts to overtake him as the sky grew darker. Mal hastened down a worn path that led to the river. Why was he headed there? Surely Mal would not be mad enough to take out a boat in this weather.
“Mal!” I called out to him again, but my words were whipped away by the rising wind.
He came to a halt at the end of a small fishing pier, the only building in sight, a forlorn-looking cottage. I was too out of breath to shout again. The wind whipped at my cloak, and I had to fight to keep my grip on the woolen folds lest the long garment trip me up again.
After his rush to get to this deserted spot, Mal stood there, staring out across the river. I could not understand what had brought Mal here until I was close enough to see what drew his gaze. The pier offered a perfect view of the bridge that spanned the Conger River.
I could discern a troop of figures moving along it, the Border Guard driving their prisoners across the bridge. From there, the Hanson and Bafton families would be forced out into the wild swamp lands beyond, forbidden to ever return to Arcady. I clenched my teeth, blinking back angry tears as another clap of thunder sounded, closer this time. Could not that wretchedBluntvale have given those poor people a reprieve until the storm had passed? I could see Horatio among them, arguing with Bluntvale, no doubt trying to buy the Hansons and Baftons some time. But from this distance, I could not tell how much success Horatio was having.
Mal dragged his hand across his bald pate, something he often did when frustrated. The gesture was familiar to me. The expression on his face was not. It was a hard, angry look I had never seen before on Mal’s carefree features, his eyes as turbulent as the river waters slapping against the pier.
I felt unsettled by it, recalling the way Mal had moved among all those rough men in the crowd, ordering them to retreat.
Now is not the time.
It was what I recalled the stranger saying during my father’s midnight meeting with Mal’s grandfather. My memories of that night were fragmented but vivid enough to make me fear that Papa had been involved in some conspiracy against the king.
Horatio had long suspected the same thing about Mal, that he was the leader of a rebel group plotting to overthrow the kingdom, but I had refused to believe it. I knew Mal’s faults well enough. He had no qualms about breaking the law, dabbing in illegal magic, brewing fake elixirs, smuggling and other kinds of mischief.
Mal had denied being part of the League of the Lost Heir and he certainly would never have tricked me into abetting such a dangerous enterprise, I told myself. But it was getting harder and harder to believe that. I felt as though I was walking along a cliff’s edge that threatened to crumble beneath me at any moment. I clung desperately to my faith in Mal with both hands.
