made when he walked. He paid more attention to how he was stepping, and soon found himself moving, if not actually quietly, then softer, at least. Ahead, the torches began to get brighter. Thomas could hear voices, angry and demanding.
“Come out of there, you little rat!” a man yelled.
The reply was muffled, but it seemed to anger the speaker.
“You think we won’t burn you out? I’ll torch that pretty wagon and listen to you squeal.”
“No need to torch it,” said a second man. “It’s a waste of a good wagon. I say we smoke him out. He’ll beg us to let him come out into the air.”
“There’s no time,” a third one said. “Bash in the door.”
The three friends reached the edge of a small clearing with a wagon path running through it. On the far side of the clearing a dark horse jerked nervously back and forth on its tether. There were three men standing in the clearing, all with rough faces that showed clearly the fights and privations they had survived. Their clothes were plain and dark, but not travel-worn or ragged as one would expect of bandits. Two held torches and daggers in their hands, the third had an axe. They were surrounding a large box wagon covered in colourful, swirling designs that the flickering yellow light made ugly and garish.
“We’re about a mile from the common,” George whispered. “That’s the juggler’s wagon.”
“What do they want with him, do you think?” asked Eileen, speaking no louder than George.
“Nothing good.” He looked around, “Never a stick around when you need one.”
“Last chance!” called the shorter of the two torch-bearers. “Come out. His Grace is waiting for you.”
“I’ll die before I go near him!” shouted Timothy from inside the wagon.
“No, but you’ll wish you had, I’ll bet. Billy, start on the door.”
“We have to stop them,” whispered Thomas.
“Three on two,” mused George. “I think we can do it.”
“Three on three,” hissed Eileen.
“Two,” said George, glaring at his sister. “I’ll not be risking your life.”
The axe sunk into the wagon’s door with a dull thud.
Thomas looked closer at the three men. “There’s only the one axe,” he said. “The other two just have daggers. Come on.”
“One moment.” George looked around him, then reached up and grabbed a low, thick tree branch some six feet long. The branch bent in his hand, then split from the tree with a loud “CRACK!”
“By the Four,” said Thomas. “Remind me not to get on your bad side.”
George grinned, and Thomas turned his attention back to the men in the clearing. The three men had all spun around, and were now peering into the woods. Thomas took the moment to step out of the woods and into the light of the torches, his hands on the grips of his rapier and dagger.
“Well,” Thomas said, raising his voice to fill the clearing, “here’s a bunch up to no good!”
No one moved for a moment, then the biggest of the men stepped forward. “Run off, lad, before—”
The metallic hiss of blade leaving scabbard stopped him. Thomas’s rapier and dagger gleamed yellow in the flickering light. “I think not.”
The other two men in the clearing shuffled nervously, looking to the big one. George stepped casually out of the woods beside Thomas, using his knife to strip the last twigs from the branch. Eileen stepped out beside him, doing her best to look defiant. George took his time looking over the three rough men before saying, “And what do you think you’re doing disturbing a guest of our village, then?”
“Leave,” Thomas said, “or my friend and I will keep you busy while the young lady runs back to town and fetches the watch.”
The big man sneered. “They’ll not reach here in time.”
“To save your lives?” Thomas asked. “Probably not. Want to find out?”
The man frowned, his face crushing in on itself. His two companions were not at all happy with the idea of a fight, to judge from the way
“Come out of there, you little rat!” a man yelled.
The reply was muffled, but it seemed to anger the speaker.
“You think we won’t burn you out? I’ll torch that pretty wagon and listen to you squeal.”
“No need to torch it,” said a second man. “It’s a waste of a good wagon. I say we smoke him out. He’ll beg us to let him come out into the air.”
“There’s no time,” a third one said. “Bash in the door.”
The three friends reached the edge of a small clearing with a wagon path running through it. On the far side of the clearing a dark horse jerked nervously back and forth on its tether. There were three men standing in the clearing, all with rough faces that showed clearly the fights and privations they had survived. Their clothes were plain and dark, but not travel-worn or ragged as one would expect of bandits. Two held torches and daggers in their hands, the third had an axe. They were surrounding a large box wagon covered in colourful, swirling designs that the flickering yellow light made ugly and garish.
“We’re about a mile from the common,” George whispered. “That’s the juggler’s wagon.”
“What do they want with him, do you think?” asked Eileen, speaking no louder than George.
“Nothing good.” He looked around, “Never a stick around when you need one.”
“Last chance!” called the shorter of the two torch-bearers. “Come out. His Grace is waiting for you.”
“I’ll die before I go near him!” shouted Timothy from inside the wagon.
“No, but you’ll wish you had, I’ll bet. Billy, start on the door.”
“We have to stop them,” whispered Thomas.
“Three on two,” mused George. “I think we can do it.”
“Three on three,” hissed Eileen.
“Two,” said George, glaring at his sister. “I’ll not be risking your life.”
The axe sunk into the wagon’s door with a dull thud.
Thomas looked closer at the three men. “There’s only the one axe,” he said. “The other two just have daggers. Come on.”
“One moment.” George looked around him, then reached up and grabbed a low, thick tree branch some six feet long. The branch bent in his hand, then split from the tree with a loud “CRACK!”
“By the Four,” said Thomas. “Remind me not to get on your bad side.”
George grinned, and Thomas turned his attention back to the men in the clearing. The three men had all spun around, and were now peering into the woods. Thomas took the moment to step out of the woods and into the light of the torches, his hands on the grips of his rapier and dagger.
“Well,” Thomas said, raising his voice to fill the clearing, “here’s a bunch up to no good!”
No one moved for a moment, then the biggest of the men stepped forward. “Run off, lad, before—”
The metallic hiss of blade leaving scabbard stopped him. Thomas’s rapier and dagger gleamed yellow in the flickering light. “I think not.”
The other two men in the clearing shuffled nervously, looking to the big one. George stepped casually out of the woods beside Thomas, using his knife to strip the last twigs from the branch. Eileen stepped out beside him, doing her best to look defiant. George took his time looking over the three rough men before saying, “And what do you think you’re doing disturbing a guest of our village, then?”
“Leave,” Thomas said, “or my friend and I will keep you busy while the young lady runs back to town and fetches the watch.”
The big man sneered. “They’ll not reach here in time.”
“To save your lives?” Thomas asked. “Probably not. Want to find out?”
The man frowned, his face crushing in on itself. His two companions were not at all happy with the idea of a fight, to judge from the way
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