Roo helped Erik into the hut and gagged at the stench. Erik’s eyes watered and he gasped, ‘I thought Tyndal’s room was bad.’
Roo said, ‘Try breathing through your mouth.’
Gert knelt down next to Erik and said, ‘Let me look at that,’ motioning to his bloodstained shoulder.
Erik pulled aside his tunic and the rags. The rags pulled the skin where blood had dried and he gasped in pain. Gert probed at the wound with a filthy finger and said, ‘Sword wound. Seen a hundred of them. Swollen around it. Got the hot sickness in it. Going to kill you, boy, if we don’t clean it out. You got a strong stomach?’ she asked Roo.
He nodded, swallowing hard. ‘I’m here and haven’t thrown up yet, haven’t I?’
‘Ha!’ She almost cackled as she laughed. ‘There’s more to you than meets the eye, Roo Avery.’ She rose up as high as the low floor permitted and said, ‘I have just the thing to put you right. Be back in a jiffy.’
Roo lay back, glad to be resting despite the stench of the hut. He glanced around; enough gaps in the wall permitted light to enter, and he saw what looked to be a water jar with a long neck. He moved the clay vessel and heard a promising sound of liquid. Pulling the cork, he sniffed and got no odor. He sipped and was rewarded with fresh water. Drinking a huge mouthful, he suddenly realized he was ignoring his sick friend.
He put the neck of the jar to Erik’s lips and he drank several mouthfuls, then sank back into the pile of rags. A fly began to buzz around Roo’s head and he absently swatted at it.
Erik drifted off into a difficult slumber, his fatigue overwhelming his fear. His breathing came heavily, and perspiration continued to pour off his brow.
Roo tried to relax, wondering if they could trust this strange old woman but knowing that further flight was next to hopeless. Then suddenly there was the sound of barking nearby, and Gert’s shriek cut the air.
Erik came awake with a start at the sound. ‘What …?’ he began, but Roo grabbed his arm.
Dogs could be heard barking nearby and Gert shouted, ‘Shoo! Away with you!’
Then horses approached and the boys heard Gert shout, ‘Get these miserable curs away! They’ll be bitin’ old Gert in a minute.’
A commanding voice said, ‘Have you seen two men, one large and blond, the other short and dark?’
‘And if I did, what’s it to you?’
‘They’re wanted for murder.’
‘Murder, is it?’ There was a long pause, punctuated by the sounds of the dogs sniffing the area and the occasional odd yelp of inquiry. ‘What’s the reward?’
Erik felt Roo’s hand tighten on his arm at that, and the answer was, ‘The Baron’s offered one hundred golden sovereigns for their arrest.’
‘That’s a tidy bit, isn’t it?’ said Gert. ‘Well, I haven’t seen them, but if I do, I’ll want the gold.’
‘Check inside the hut,’ ordered the leader.
‘Here, now!’ Gert began to protest.
‘Stand aside, old woman.’
Erik backed away, trying as hard as he could to push himself backward through the dirt wall, while Roo drew the ragged, filthy blanket up below his chin.
The leather door was swept aside, and the light was almost blinding after the darkness. ‘What a stench!’ said the soldier, drawing back.
‘Go on,’ commanded the leader of the troop.
The soldier stuck his head back inside and blinked against the darkness, then looked directly at Roo and Erik. He looked to one side and then the other, and at last pulled his head back out. ‘Nothing in there but filthy rags and some pots, Captain.’
Roo and Erik exchanged glances of wonder in the gloom. What magic was this?
‘What’s the matter with the dogs?’ asked the captain.
The man who must have been the Houndmaster said, ‘They seem to have lost the scent. The charcoal must be confusing them.’
‘Then let us go back to the last place you know they had it, and begin again. Lord Manfred will have our ears if those murderers escape.’
The dogs began to bark as the Houndmaster blew his whistle, commanding them to follow. The horses rode away, and Roo let out his breath, held since the soldier stuck his face into the hut.
‘What caused that?’ asked Roo.
Erik said, ‘I don’t know. Maybe it was too dark to see.’
‘No, it was a spell. This Gert is a witch of some sort.’
Erik said, ‘The captain said “Lord Manfred.” My father is dead.’
Roo didn’t know what to say. He glanced at his friend; in the gloom he saw that Erik had leaned back and closed his eyes.
After a few moments, the leather door was pulled back. Instead of Gert, a young woman appeared before them, tall enough to have to lean forward to enter. Her hair was dark, black in the gloom of the hut, and her features were masked, as she was silhouetted against the daylight.
‘What …?’ began Roo.
‘Say nothing,’ she replied, then turned to Erik. ‘Let me examine that wound.’
Something in her manner caused Roo to feel uncertain. Her clothing was nondescript, at least what he could see of it: a simple dress of some middling color, perhaps grey, perhaps green or blue; it was difficult to tell in the dark hut. Her features were partially visible now that the door was again shut. She had a high forehead and a regal nose, fine features that would have looked pretty had they not been set in an expression of concentration.
She pulled back Erik’s tunic and glanced at the wound. ‘This will have to come off. Help me,’ she ordered Roo.
He helped Erik stay upright as the woman gathered up the bottom of the tunic and pulled it up and over Erik’s head, causing him no little pain. He lay back, perspiration running off his body, panting as if he had exerted himself in hard work for hours. She touched the wound and he grunted in pain, teeth clenching.
‘You’re a fool, Erik von Darkmoor. Two, three more days, and you’d be dead from blood poison.’
Roo got a good look at the woman and thought she was beautiful, but something very offputting in her manner made him view it as a distant, unobtainable sort of beauty.
‘Where’s Gert?’ asked Roo softly.
‘Off on some business for me,’ came the answer.
‘Who are you?’
‘I told you to say nothing, Roo Avery. You need to learn there are times to speak and times to listen, and which time is which. When you have need to speak, you may call me Miranda.’
She set about tending Erik’s wound. From somewhere in the cluttered hut she produced a bag from which she fetched a small vial. Opening it, she poured the contents over the wound, and Erik gasped at the pain. Then he relaxed. She next pulled the cork from a flask of liquid and said, ‘Drink this.’
Erik obeyed and made a face. ‘It’s bitter.’
