The Last Knight Read Free

must have taken him several days to find us—knights errant don’t exactly litter the countryside—but Sir Michael accepted the story.
    The lady thanked Sir Michael. He said it was his privilege. I wished they’d finish so we could leave.
    Evidently Hackle felt the same. “My lady, we must go.”
    “Do you want Fisk and me to accompany you?” Sir Michael asked helpfully.
    “No!” The lady and Hackle spoke together. Only a split second of self-control kept me from joining in.
    “You have done your part, Sir Michael,” the lady went on. “You have my gratitude.”
    “May I also have your name?” Sir Michael asked.
    Why hadn’t I wondered about that? Damsels in ballads weren’t required to give names, but really…I’d better get away from Sir Michael soon. All this chivalry was turning my brain to mush.
    The lady knew her ballads too. “Perhaps. Someday.” She smiled mysteriously and rode off, her men following.
    Sir Michael stood in the mud and watched them go, wearing the satisfied expression of someone who has fulfilled his knightly duty. I wished I could whack him.
    “Can we go now?” I asked instead. “And find a dry place to spend what little is left of the night?”
    “Certainly!” Sir Michael sprang into the saddle like the youth he was. Mind you, I was a youth too, but the shining enthusiasm on his face made me feel like a gaffer.
    “I noticed a farmhouse back down the road,” he continued. “We’ll sleep in their barn. Most folks don’t mind, as long as you pay in the morning. So, Fisk, what do you think of your first adventure?”
    In truth, it wasn’t my first adventure—not by any means. But it was my first good deed, so I thought about it. And what I thought was…
    “It was too easy.”
    “Too…You weren’t the one climbing that cursed rope!”
    “I don’t mean that. It went off too well. Nothing went wrong. Nothing disrupted the plan. When a con goes that smoothly, it’s usually because someone is setting you up.”
    Much too easy. I was beginning to get nervous.
    Sir Michael laughed. “This isn’t a con, Fisk, ’tis an adventure! A glorious one.”
    A glorious adventure. In other words, a disaster in the making.
    “You’re the knight, Noble Sir.”
     
     
    We slept in the barn loft, snuggled deep in piles of straw. The dogs had put up quite a racket, until Sir Michael made friends with them. I’ve noticed that a lot of nobles have the Gift of animal handling.
    Getting warm relaxed me. When I heard footsteps and jingling metal in the barn below, I pulled my blanket over my head and went back to sleep—until rough hands grabbed my ankles and dragged me out of the straw.
    I sleep on my stomach, so my chin hit the wooden floor with a painful thud. By the time I recovered, the hands had pinned my arms behind my back, holding me against the floor. Another set of hands ran along my sides, like someone was looking for a purse—or a weapon.
    “We don’t have any money,” I muttered, twisting my head and blinking the straw out of my eyelashes. In truth we hadn’t much, but I’d have said the same no matter how much coin we carried.
    The morning light, glowing dimly through the big hatch in the floor, was bright enough to show the triumph on the faces of five men-at-arms—with matching cloaks and armor.
    They hauled Sir Michael to his feet. He wasn’t very impressive, with rumpled, straw-filled hair, and his shirt hanging loose over his britches. But the length of his hair identified him as noble—and therefore the boss. Two men were holding his arms.
    “Is this your cloak?” The fifth man, who had patrol leader written all over him, held out a dirty, dark brown cloak. The seven oaks with intertwined branches embroidered on the corners were clearly visible. But Sir Michael’s saddle, which had the same device embossed on the skirt, was down below with the horses. There was a chance, a bare chance—
    “Yes, ’tis mine,” said my idiot employer. He was trying to