24

THE STOCKS

Resentment and fear streaked Tig’s face. He hung limp in the stocks, his hands and head secured in the three wooden holes. Before him, a man in a green cloak was bellowing a charge:

“And for this theft he shall spend two nights and two days in punishment. Let him learn the error of his ways.”

The crowd grumbled. Drest, who had hated every person within it, was surprised. Were they so tenderhearted?

But it turned out that the people in the crowd cared little for the boy: They were there to see what he had stolen. As if they were of one body, they followed the man in the green cloak as he strode away.

Drest pulled back from the throng and waited until they were well down the road before she ran to Tig’s side. “What happened, lad?”

Tig grimaced. “May he swallow that ring and choke on it. The goldsmith—the brute, the monster—he stole it from me. As soon as I held it out. I knew he’d try to trick me, but I never suspected he’d just take it! He took it and called the bailiff. I couldn’t escape.” Tig rattled the stocks. “I am not a thief! I never was!”

Drest pulled at the wood. It didn’t budge. “We have to get you out. We can’t wait two days.”

“Especially since they said they’ll hang me after that.” He gave her a grim smile. “It’s time for you to protect me.”

Drest walked around the stocks, tracing every crack and line with her fingers. The pieces fit together as tight as stone, secured by wooden pegs shoved into metal clasps. Drest found a rock in the dust and pounded at the pegs and clasps. But she could move nothing.

She sat back on her heels. There had to be a crack where she could slip in her sword, some place where the wood joined and would give. She saw only three such places: the holes that encircled Tig’s neck and wrists. It was dangerous, but Borawyn just might force that wood apart.

“I shall break this open with my sword,” Drest said.

“Is that wise?”

“I don’t know, but I’m sure I can do it. Hold still.”

The boy’s eyes had been following her as much as they could around the stocks, but at that moment, they widened.

“Duck!” Tig cried.

Drest ducked, and just in time.

“Get away from the prisoner.” A man in a cabbage-shaped wool cap launched a blow at Drest’s face.

She dodged, sprang past him, and scampered into an alley by the buildings around the square. The cabbage-headed man marched toward her, swinging a long staff.

Drest tried to think. She needed Emerick to distract the guard. Why was the young knight so useless? Worse than useless.

He’ll be useful enough when you reach the castle, said Gobin’s voice.

Tig’s guard was heading toward her, his staff thumping.

Drest circled around and went back to the road. Once there, she ran across, and waited in the shadows until Tig’s guard moved farther up the square.

She glanced up to see if Mordag was still watching Tig. To Drest’s surprise, the crow was on a different roof, looking in a different direction.

Where Emerick was waiting.

Drest ran past the market road to the spot where she had left the wounded man.

The ground was empty.

She walked farther, but the houses became unfamiliar. She returned to the market road, then traced her way back until she was once more standing on the spot where Emerick had been lying on the ground.

A flicker of movement appeared near the corner of a house, then was gone.

Emerick, Drest thought, and ran around the corner.

Emerick wasn’t alone. He was on his feet, his head forced back against Jupp’s shoulder. One of the bandit’s hands held him in place. The other held a dagger to his throat.