Sword of the Rightful King by Jane Yolen

mage...”
    â€œLike the Witch of the North...” Gawen added.
    â€œ... my secrets
could
be discovered.” Merlinnus did not add what they both knew, that if young Gawen was a spy, the secrets were already compromised. But he did not for a moment believe that behind such an innocent face stood a wicked master, no matter what else lay hidden in the boy’s past. And if he were wrong about the boy—well, boys disappear all the time and no one finds them again. He shuddered. It compromised his magic to think that kind of thought.
    Â 
    T HE BOY and mage worked well into the evening, hauling bottles upstairs to the tower room, settling them into the oak livery cupboards. Then they took down hanging herbs to be wrapped in soft cloth and stuck in the cupboards as well. All the scrolls that had been littering tabletops were rolled tight, tied with ribands, and stacked in a large wooden chest that was carved with runes of power. A covering of wool and silk topped the scrolls. It was heavy for just the two of them, but they managed.
    â€œWhy was this not all put away when the stone was first brought down here?” the boy asked.
    Good question
, Merlinnus thought.
I like a boy who asks good questions. Such a boy will listen to answers
.
    Aloud he said, “It was only a simple stone when it was carried here, and well disguised. It could be dropped with no more than a broken toe to result. Besides, I had much still to do before the stone was ready to receive the sword. And after—well, I had no boy to help me clean up.”
    â€œBut now you have a boy to do the work?” Gawen’s smile eased the sting of what he was saying.
    â€œYour coming is clearly a godsend. I do not have much time.” He did not say how little. Sometimes saying such out loud proved it true.
    Gawen nodded, clearly at ease with this explanation. He glanced around the room as if studying it.
Not like a spy
, Merlinnus thought,
but like a contented housewife checking her work
.
    â€œA bit more, my boy, till we are done.”
    When all was put away to his satisfaction, Merlinnus had the boy sweep the floor of the tower room and carry the detritus upstairs in a basket. There they emptied it over the wall, scattering the pieces to the winds.
    â€œNow go to the kitchen and fetch me some dinner.”
    As Gawen went out the door, he added, “And something for yourself as well.”
    Â 
    T HE KITCHENS had the wonderful yeasty smell of bread. There were several dozen loaves of good-quality white cooling on a long table near the ovens. About the same number of black were just now being taken out of the ovens with the long bread paddles. On another table sat the trencher breads made for the servants. Gawen was unsure which Merlinnus would want.
    Ale had been recently brewed, too. The heavy malt smell attested to that. Gawen had also passed barrels of wine, marked WHITE or RED or MALMSEYN .
    Fresh game hung in a separate room: rabbit and pheasant and geese and woodcock, and large hams and mutton and joints of beef as well. Soon it would be time for the early lambs to be slaughtered. In a smaller pantry were rounds of cheese and vats of milk ready to be skimmed, as well as amphorae full of olive oil. A castle had many mouths and, Gawen knew, all of them were hungry.
    Coming into the main kitchen, Gawen spotted the cook, a broad man with a spectacular wen on the side of his nose. The cook sat on a chair that reminded Gawen of King Arthur’s throne, and he was directing his minions rather than doing the actual cooking himself. His face dripped with sweat, even though he was stripped down to his camisia and leather breeches.
    â€œCook,” Gawen shouted over the noise of the kitchen, for there was no other way to be heard in the place, “Magister Merlinnus would like his evening meal.”
    Cook nodded. “Hungry from all that plottin’ and plannin’ is he?”
    Gawen nodded back.
    â€œI’ll gie