Jarrod’s mouth looks dry. ‘I really need a drink, but …’
‘It’s been raining, so it should be fairly clean,’ I suggest.
Jarrod looks at me. ‘What about that plague? Bubonic wasn’t it?’
This comment actually has me laughing, relieving some of the tension. ‘You’re such a negative creature, aren’t you?’ I whack his arm lightly. ‘Assuming Jillian’s got it right, we should be a good hundred years too early for the Black Death. I guess that’s not a bad margin for error.’
Still, jokes and all, I too am reluctant to drink from the animal trough. But thirst in the end pushes aside any other doubts. ‘It’s not like we’ve got a lot of choice here.’
Jarrod scours around for something to break the ice-covered surface. He finds a small rock that satisfactorily does the job. I plunge my hand into the icy water and drink. It’s not too bad.
Jarrod drinks and we move on, a little more comfortably. I ignore my growling stomach, food is another thing that will have to wait. Hopefully we’ll be made welcome at Thorntyne Keep. I try not to think about how much can go wrong. While walking we revise our plan, airing doubts, double-checking our story. We’re only going to have one chance to get it right. If they don’t believe our first story they’re not going to sit and wait for us to come up with another, more plausible version.
Finally the fog lifts, freeing the sun, allowing it to shed a little warmth. We keep walking, the road inclining noticeably now. But it’s around noon before we get to the foot of the steeply-rising headland. Together we stand and stare straight up at the castle.
‘It’s for real,’ Jarrod mutters like it’s only now sinking in where and when we are.
‘Of course it is. I told you Jillian was good.’
We’re silent for a minute, taking it all in. I sigh in absolute awe, and wonder at the job it took to build the thing. It stands high on the top of the hill, a square tower from the main keep’s back corner reaching further into the sky. What a laborious task it must have been for the peasants to haul the massive amounts of stone up that headland. It would have taken years for sure. ‘Wow,’ I can’t help saying. ‘It’s magnificent. Just look at that wall and how it circles the entire peak. And those battlements. There are soldiers up there you know, probably looking at us right now.’
Jarrod gives me a shrinking look. ‘Thank you, I needed to know that.’
We decide to take a moment and rest our backs up against a tree trunk. The weedy grass is wet from last night’s soaking. I can’t be bothered worrying about my clothes any more, the whole lower half is mud.
I glance at Jarrod, and without even trying, feel his doubts. ‘Just stick to our story, we’ll be fine.’
His eyes roll. ‘What if they don’t buy our story?’
‘Stop being so negative. We can always go home.’
He attempts a smile, but it’s really pathetic. Going home before we’ve dealt with the curse would mean this whole exercise was a waste of time, and Jarrod would still have his problems.
‘Look,’ I try to lighten his mood. To carry this off, Jarrod needs to approach his ancestors with confidence not cowardice. ‘They’re not going to expect visitors from another time. They wouldn’t even understand the concept. And thanks to Jillian we’re suitably clothed in period costume, jewellery and all.’ I hold out my hand, fingers splayed, the ruby and gold ring gleams as if in confirmation. ‘So what if our accents are a little off? We’re supposed to have come from a distant country, remember? I swear, Jarrod, they won’t suspect a thing. Besides, didn’t that pigman say you look just like them?’
Jarrod’s eyes swing to mine, a glimmer of strength brightening them. ‘Yes, you’re right. Even though it’s probably no more than a coincidence.’
I pull myself up, eager to get this initial meeting over and done with. ‘Coincidence or hereditary, makes no difference at this stage. As long as they buy it.’
We’re both weary, having walked all morning without food, and little water. But this is the last part of our journey, which gives us an energy boost. We don’t talk much, are content with our own thoughts, battling our own doubts. Soon, speech becomes difficult anyway as we struggle with the climb in our mud-heavy clothes.
As we near the apex, the castle walls become clearer. I glimpse a portcullis, the iron bars forming even crosses, set within high stone walls. In front of this is a raised draw-bridge which creates a barricade to the entrance of the castle. On top stands a stone structure like a cabin. This has to be the gatehouse. There are guards – knights I assume; and these are the ones that have been observing us no doubt. It’s an irritating feeling, knowing they’re just standing there, watching, and armed. Glancing back down I see that from here there is a perfect view of the whole road, all the way across to the village in the distance. I see now why the castle was built on this hill, so close to the ocean. It’s perfect, strategically, and easy to defend from invading armies.