CHAPTER 6

In which the plot thickens

Wisps of fog clung like tattered rags to the trees, and then the forest cleared. But so thick were the pines that the morning sun barely touched the ground.

Hold-Your-Nose Billy pushed aside a low branch, revealing a rickety timbered hut with a moldy thatched roof.

"There's our castle, Your Young Majesty," he said, chuckling. "Accept our hospitality! I hope you won't mind sleeping on the floor."

The floor was hard-packed earth. Braided garlic bulbs hung like knotted ropes from the rafters.

"I'm hungry," announced Prince Brat.

"And feast you will," said Hold-Your-Nose Billy. "Cutwater, serve 'em up our finest bread and herring."

Jemmy had made many a meal on bread and herring, when he was in luck, and felt hungry enough to ask for seconds.

Prince Brat bared his teeth. "I'd sooner eat mud!" He reached for the wicker basket, but Cutwater snatched it back.

"What we got here?" muttered the bone-thin man, and threw back the lid. "Roll your eyes at this, Billy! Meat pies, looks like, and fruit tarts—and a brace of roast pheasant! We'll eat like kings!"

"Hands off—that's mine!" the prince cried out.

"Was yours," yapped Cutwater.

Lawks! Jemmy thought. Hadn't the prince run away in royal style! He had even brought a China plate, a silver spoon, and a silver knife for himself.

Digging around deeper in the basket, the garlicky outlaw called out to Cutwater. "Bring the lantern closer! What's this?"

In the gloom of the hut, the big man lifted out a golden crown.

"That's mine!" bleated the prince.

"Was yours," corrected Hold-Your-Nose Billy, placing the crown on the tangled red nest of his hair.

"Prince Hold-Your-Nose Billy!" Cutwater burst out joyously. He began to scratch himself as if his shirt were crawling with fleas, which, Jemmy thought, it probably was. "We're dog rich!"

"That crown? A trifle," scoffed Hold-Your-Nose Billy. "We can be richer 'n dog rich."

The empty-headed prince! Jemmy thought. Why had he brought along his crown? To cock it on his head and expect vagabonds and cutthroats to fall to their knees?

The big, raw-faced outlaw grabbed Prince Brat off the ground and took the heft of him as if he were weighing a sack of potatoes.

"Fifty-five pounds, by my reckoning," he said. "We'll write the king a command, Cutwater. Fifty-five pounds of gold coin in trade for his royal tadpole."