“So these maps and papers…” Sir Edris sat on the bed next to Reg, its mattress sagging with his added bulk. “You’re sure they showed the altar in the cathedral? Absolutely sure?”
“Oh, yes!” said Natalie. “I went into the cathedral to have a look around. One of the sketches is of the chancel; they’re an exact match.”
Sir Edris stroked his neatly trimmed beard in thought. “The chancel…”
“Nat!” a hoarse whisper called from outside.
Natalie rushed to the window. “He’s here! Give me a second!”
“Who’s outside?” Sir Edris asked Reg.
“Not a clue. Boyfriend, I suppose.”
“You didn’t ask? That should always be your first question.” Sir Edris got to his feet. “It would appear we’ve been focusing too much on military matters, and not enough on more important things.”
“He isn’t my boyfriend!” Natalie returned to her chair. Reg smirked. “He isn’t!”
“I believe we’re drifting off course,” Sir Edris said, as he fiddled with one of the swords Reg had cleaned. “Are you absolutely—”
“Yes!” Natalie cried. Then, remembering herself, she adjusted her tone. “That is, yes, sir. I’m absolutely sure it was of the Cathedral of the Stars.”
“The chancel?” Sir Edris twirled the sword by its hilt as he wandered about the room. “Why there?”
“Can you help me?”
“Protect you from Brago?”
“In exchange for the maps and things,” Natalie replied eagerly. “I’m sure they’ll help you on the quest.”
“Perhaps.” Sir Edris parried an unseen foe.
“They must contain everything you need to find the harp. Why else would he want them back so badly, badly enough to burn down Henry’s livery?”
Sir Edris thrust the sword in a counterattack. “Because Brago is a mean, spiteful little man.”
“Please help me—please!” Natalie wondered if crying would help, but found she was doing it anyway.
Sir Edris looked at her. “How old are you? Eighteen? Nineteen?”
Natalie dabbed her eyes with the handkerchief Reg had given her. “I beg your pardon?”
“How old are you?”
Natalie prayed he wouldn’t suggest she get married. “Sixteen, sir,” she replied as pleasantly as she could.
“Really? My judgment’s a bit off. Odd. I’m usually fairly good at such things.” He paced for a couple of more strides, polished sword propped on his shoulder. “If I protect you,” he said, “you can’t say a word about lending me Brago’s things. It wouldn’t be seen as…well…appropriate.”
“I understand, sir. I understand completely. I won’t tell a soul!”
Sir Edris resumed pacing, now using his sword as a walking stick. “Hmmm…”
“We could hide her at Baron Hugo’s guest house,” Reg offered. “He hates Brago.”
“Everybody hates Brago,” Sir Edris replied. “He’s a menace.” He stopped and stared through the window at the clouds gathering on the horizon, tinted purple by the rising sun. “Oh, how I’d love to humiliate that bastard again.”
“With the maps and—”
Sir Edris waved for Natalie to be quiet. “The chancel?” he mused. “Nothing’s there. I’ve been in the chancel at least a hundred times.”
He turned to Reg.
“Very well. Go with the young lady here and retrieve the items she acquired. If they are as she says, we’ll see what we can do for her. At the very least, we can get her some clothes that don’t reek of manure.”
“With all due respect, sir”—Natalie stepped forward quickly—“you could give me all the money and fancy clothes in the world, but they aren’t going to mean a thing when I’m dead.”
“Quite right! That’s a valuable lesson many of even the most brilliant scholars have yet to learn. Very good! Still, I first want to see what’s so important to Master Brago. If it is what I believe, I’ll make sure no harm comes to you.”
“How?” Reg asked.
Sir Edris flipped the sword and caught it by its hilt. “Simple. We’ll pass her off as one of my bast—” He pivoted back to Reg. “Can girls be bastards, do you think?”
“I believe so, sir. The term seems to apply to anybody who’s not legitimate.”
“Really?” Sir Edris considered this. “Are you sure about that?”
“But I don’t want to be your bastard daughter!” Natalie chimed in. “No disrespect, sir, but I…I have a family! What would my mother think if she heard such a thing? And my friends—?”
“Well, my dear, I’m not sure how else to protect you. If we claim you are one of my children, and under my care, Brago wouldn’t dream of touching one hair on your frizzy head. If he did, he’d know I’d have to kill him.”
“There’s no other way, Natalie,” Reg said sympathetically. “Unless you want to hide for the rest of your life.”
Natalie felt a headache coming on. Certainly pretending to be Sir Edris’s bastard child would afford her some protection, though she doubted anybody would believe it. Even before having seven children, her mother wasn’t exactly the type of woman a famous knight would bed—not unless there was a lot of wine involved.
“This is all so crazy! Me, your daughter? Nobody would believe it.”
“You only have to convince one person,” said Sir Edris.
“Brago,” Natalie muttered.
“Precisely! Now, go back to your quarters with Reginald and bring me the books and papers. Once I have a look at them, I’ll decide what to do.”