I held the baby with shaking hands. “We’ll find another way. One that doesn’t end with you being killed.”
“Don’t argue with me. Just do what I say.” I would have argued with that, but I saw the pain that flashed across his face—the same pain I’d seen at our campfire. He wasn’t thinking of the future. He was back in the past on the night he’d lost his mother. It hit me with a sickening thud that he didn’t want to escape from these men; he wanted redemption—to die heroically. He would act now because he couldn’t forgive himself for the way he had acted then.
“Dying here will not bring her back,” I said.
Hudson flinched. My words hit home, but he didn’t acknowledge them. He stood up. “Let’s walk to the door like we’ve finished our meal.”
I stood up to follow, putting my hand on his arm. “Your mother wouldn’t want you to do this.”
“How can I know what she’d want?” His voice had a bitter edge.
“She’s dead.”
We stared at each other for a moment, then the emotion on his face vanished and he was all practicality again. He took my elbow. “At the first sign of trouble, bolt away from me and run to the carriage.” 291/356
He propelled me forward and we walked toward the door. The baby made happy gurgling sounds and looked at me with his big brown eyes. Hudson’s big brown eyes.
“I don’t want you to do this,” I said.
He sighed in frustration, but didn’t answer. The door to the inn opened and the knights entered. Hudson nodded to them, the way you might to any stranger you were passing.
They didn’t move. In fact, they stopped directly in front of us, sizing me up.
The first was a bear of a man, with a beard and mustache that covered most of his face. His eyes kept running over me. “Is this your wife?”
Hudson put his arm around my waist. “Yes, and the little one is our son.”
The man didn’t take his eyes off of me. “She’s tall and pretty. Is she blond?”
“She’s taken,” Hudson said with forced humor. “If you’re looking for a pretty maid of your own, I can recommend a few in the village.” Hudson pulled me to the side, trying to walk around the knight, but the man stepped in front of us again.
He pointed a finger at me. “Are you perchance a miller’s daughter?”
I couldn’t lie, but I could tell a safer truth. “My father works with books.”
“Books?” the man repeated with disbelief. “You mean he’s a monk?”
The second man stepped toward Hudson’s side. I knew it was a strategic move; if Hudson drew his sword he would have two fronts to fight on. The move also opened up a space I could dart through to get 292/356
out the door. Hudson nudged my back, and I knew he wanted me to run.
I couldn’t. I didn’t like Hudson’s chances. If anyone was going to sacrifice themselves, it was going to be me. It had to be. This trip to the Middle Ages was my fault.
One of the knights put his hand on the hilt of his sword. In another moment, Hudson would reach for his own. My breath seemed to lodge in my throat. Should I blurt out who I was? Would that stop them from hurting Hudson?
I hadn’t heard the innkeeper’s wife approaching, but she stepped over to the guards. She addressed them in a cheery voice, as though their swords weren’t about to scrape free from their scabbards. “Welcome, gentlemen. Are you here to eat or do you have business with our cobbler?” She looked at their boots, appraisingly. “He does some fine work, this young man. I’ve known him and his wife since they were no bigger than their own sweet babe.” She patted the baby’s arm, lovingly.
“You won’t go amiss with a pair of his boots.” Her speech did the trick. The guards muttered under their breaths about us wasting their time, then walked to the tables and spouted off their order to the innkeeper’s wife.
Hudson didn’t need to nudge me forward again. I hurried out the door and down the street. I made it to the stables, ahead of Hudson, who kept looking over his shoulder to make sure we weren’t being followed.
In front of the carriage, a teenage boy was hitching up the new horses. He hardly took note of us as we climbed inside. I was shaking as I sat down. I moved the curtain a sliver in order to peer out the window. No one had followed us, but I didn’t see any sign of the wizard.
“Where’s Bartimaeus? Do you think he saw the men ride in?” 293/356
“From now on,” Hudson said, “if I’m jabbing my thumb into your back, that’s your cue to run.”
“It worked out better this way,” I said.