The Silver Bowl by Diane Stanley Page B

with his grief. But after a while he turned back to me again.
    â€œI want you to go to the village and find out what you can. I would know for certain if my mother and sister are dead.”
    â€œTobias has already gone on that errand, lord prince. Only, he went to the market town and not the village. Folk come to market from many places, and so chances are better that someone will have news to tell. Also, we feared that in the village—well, Tobias is a stranger, and uncommonly big and tall. People would notice him, and we do not wish to draw attention to this house.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œWell, my lord, we thought—under the circumstances—it might be best if no one knows you are here. And country folk are curious by nature, as they have little of interest to gossip about. If they see a stranger in the village so soon after the tragedy up at the castle, they are likely to remember that Margaret is a wisewoman and—”
    â€œI see,” he said. “You fear they will disturb my rest.”
    â€œNo, sire. I fear greater harm than that.”
    He looked at me oddly. “I doubt the wolves will hear the gossip and come attack us here.”
    Oh, how could he fail to understand?
    â€œIt might not be wolves next time,” I said.
    Annoyance crossed his face. “What are you saying?”
    I bit my lip, feeling my face flush. “Your Grace, when the wolves came into the hall last night . . .”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œYou were not there to see it. You had left to use the privy. But . . . it was not as you might expect with a pack of wild beasts in a room full of people.”
    â€œYou said the king was killed.”
    â€œI did. But, Your Highness, only the king was killed, so far as I know. They walked past all those lords and ladies, and the pages, and the village girls who had come there to sing, and the dwarf couple who played the wedding farce. It was as though they only craved royal blood. They knew your brother and went straight for him. And when they had done their grizzly business in the hall, they went up the stairs, past yet more people, leaving them unharmed . . . looking for you.”
    â€œWhat are you saying?”
    â€œYou do not understand, truly?”
    â€œWe are cursed,” he said with a sneer in his voice. “Is that it?”
    â€œYes, my lord.”
    â€œEnough.” he said, and lay back and closed his eyes. “Be away with you. Good Margaret, I will take your potion now.”

Chapter 17
    What Was Said in the Market Town
    WE BEDDED DOWN in the hayloft, as it was not seemly for common folk such as us to share sleeping space with a prince. It mattered not to me. I’d been awake for most of two days and a night and would gladly have lain down anywhere. And I believe I did sleep for an hour or two, enough to take the edge off my weariness.
    Then I rose up with a start and looked around to see what had awakened me so suddenly. A noise, most likely, for the place was hardly quiet. From below came the soft breathing of animals, the shuffle of hooves, the occasional bovine sigh. Closer to hand, scattered around me in the loft, were nine human souls, tossing and snoring as people do in their sleep.
    Whatever it was, it had left me strangely uneasy. I felt—how can I describe it?—not entirely safe. And so I sat there, still as death, listening to the world beyond the barn: the chirping of crickets, the croaking of frogs, a rise of wind, the distant barking of a dog. Might there also be, among those commonplace sounds, something else? Something more sinister? The furtive footsteps of an assassin?
    The more I thought of it, the more uneasy I became. And so at last I gave up on sleep and crept down the ladder from the loft. I looked about for a weapon and found a scythe hanging on the wall. I took it down and carried it with me out into the moonlit night.
    I leaned against the great chestnut