DragonKnight - Donita K. Paul [60]
Bardon sank into the chair N’Rae had sat in earlier.
What is the logical course I should pursue? I don’t think there is a logical course.
The harbormaster cleared his throat. “Ahem. Isn’t there something you should be doing, Squire Bardon?”
“I should be miles to the north of here, on the back of a faithful dragon, on my way to right a wrong, pleasantly ensconced in the execution of a quest of noble purpose.”
Mayfil looked a bit confused. “I thought you might want to join the search for the fugitive granny and her accomplices.”
“Yes.” Bardon stood. “Thank you, Harbormaster Mayfil, for your cooperation. I’m sure your nephew will return with an answer from Paladin. We have our arrangements for our departure, and I appreciate your efforts to extract Granny Kye from her legal entanglements.”
“Yes, very well said.” Mayfil stood, put a hand on Bardon’s elbow, and guided his visitor toward the door. “I can tell you’ve been spending your time in those fancy higher courts in the north. Why don’t you find that girl’s grandmother so I can finish the job of having her exonerated?”
The harbormaster left the squire outside his office. Bardon stayed where he had been deposited.
What is the logical first step? To look where she was last seen. Bardon started forward and stopped. I have to find N’Rae. He paused. Logical. I have to find Granny Kye first.
Rain still sprinkled the streets when he emerged from the three-story office building onto the wharf. His nose caught the unfamiliar odors of the sea, brine and fish, sodden hemp ropes and sun-bleached sails.
He bolted across the wet wood planks and into the stone street. Traffic posed no problem as he made his way across a third of the city. Most people had enough sense to stay out of the rain. Bardon did not doubt that he would eventually find the old emerlindian drenched and happy.
She is almost always content, and she doesn’t have the sense to get out of the rain.
At the jailhouse, he found no jailer but two women cleaning the office. Without speaking to them, he went to the desk cabinet. An easy blow to the latch with the side of his hand opened the door. He took out a key and went to the door where the tumanhofer had kept the next set of keys.
He heard one scrubwoman speak to the other. “Do you think he should be doing that?”
“Don’t worry about it, dearie. Even soaking wet, you can tell that one’s important.”
“He does look somewhat like a prince, doesn’t he?”
“It’s the fine clothes. Maybe he is a prince.”
Bardon crossed the room with the large, rusted key ring in his hand. “A knight, ladies. I’m to be a knight, not a prince. And I’m only a squire now.” He entered the opening to the stairway.
“That explains it,” said one of the women. “A knight would have the right to be messing about with the keys, don’t you think?”
Bardon raced down the steps and didn’t hear an answer. Walking much more quickly than they had the night before, he reached the end of the underground passageway. He unlocked the last door and swung it open.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, not bothering to keep the astonishment out of his voice.
“I was arrested, Bardon.” Granny Kye sat on the floor of her cell, combing a girl’s wet hair. “Surely you remember. You came last night and brought us food and these blankets.” She gestured at the folded piles. Three of the children sat on the small blanket towers. Two lay stretched out on the floor, playing a game with sticks and small stones. Bardon strode across the entryway and grasped the iron bars.
“You weren’t here. The harbormaster came to get you out, and”—he paused and spoke slowly, distinctly—“you were not here.”
“He came to get us out? How nice.”
Bardon sought to calm his voice, soften his voice, remove all vestige of emotion from his voice. Finally, he spoke. “Where were you?”
“Giving the children baths. Those nice women who were here yesterday were here again this morning. We all agreed the children needed washing. So we took them to the prison laundry room and bathed