Vespers Rising (The 39 Clues #11)(24)

“Erm, yes, of course,” Madeleine said. She reached inside the shirt for her pouch. For the darts.

Williams was backing away. Suddenly he shouted, “Holworthy! Wigglesworth! Stoughton! Hargrove!”

Change of plans. Madeleine charged forward, sending Williams sprawling into the hall. To her left, an older man in a plaid nightgown and tasseled sleeping cap appeared in a doorway. “Guard!” he shouted. “We have an impostor in the palace!”

Madeleine raced the other way, ducking to the left down another long, straight section of the hallway. At the end of it was a square of dull amber light. The sun was beginning to rise. Soon the entire palace would be awake.

The hallway ended in a T, and men were approaching from either side. She wheeled around. The old man was padding toward her, followed by a gaggle of butlers and scullery maids brandishing wire whisks and serving spoons. There was nowhere to go.

Except one.

She leaned back, pushed open the window, and jumped.

Goat manure, though no one’s favorite substance, had the benefit of being soft. As Madeleine sprang to her feet, she wondered just how many more charms of King Henry’s court she would discover.

She had landed at the edge of the royal garden. Above her, the palace rang with commotion. She raced toward a barn. Ducking around a corner, she nearly fell into a large barrel.

Rainwater.

She continued her course into the barrel, feetfirst. The water’s color clouded fast, and when she jumped out she felt a bit more pleasant, and less fragrant. By now she could hear people running across the farm toward her. She headed toward the open barn door.

An ox-drawn cart emerged, laden with hay bales. The ox driver was gazing curiously toward the commotion, away from Madeleine. She dove onto the cart, nestling herself between bales.

The cart’s wheels creaked loudly beneath her as they moved. She peered out from the hay. In the distance, the sun struggled over the horizon, casting the grounds in a silvery predawn glow. One by one, darkened palace windows were flickering with light. A small arched door flew open, and someone rushed out, dressed in a servant’s black cloak. She squinted, trying to recognize the face before the figure rushed away toward the livery stable.

Hargrove. Heading in the wrong direction.

The cart was slowing now. From behind her, she heard the breathless voice of a guard grilling the driver. She didn’t hear the questions exactly, but she heard the driver’s annoyed reply: “Wha’ kind of palace is it where ye can’t keep track of yer own governesses? You skitter about after ’er, mate. I gots me work to do.”

Thank you, she thought, staying still as the cart trundled to who-knew-where. She was too afraid to poke her head up, but she finally did when the cart eventually came to a stop.

She recognized the destination. The jousting field. A few yards to the right was a large wooden shed where the knights prepared for practices. It was quiet now, and inside there was sure to be another change of clothes — dry and hayless.

As the driver began discussing the weather with someone, Madeleine slipped off the cart and into the shed. Hay stuck to every inch of her. A sleeping stable boy opened his eyes briefly and went back to sleep. In the morning light, Madeleine saw suits of metal armor, chain mail, pads, boots, helmets, full-body undergarments, saddles, stirrups, curry combs, tack of all sorts, swords, lances, maces, and weapons she couldn’t name. But she was most interested in the undergarments, some of which looked boy size. Quickly she changed into one, a black fabric suit that fit perfectly. It felt good to be dressed in something clean.

Tethered to a pole at one end of the shed were two flea-bitten horses, suited up and ready for the day’s jousting. They gazed lazily at her, then went back to chewing a meager scattering of hay.

“’Ungry, mates?” came the driver’s voice, just outside the door. “’Igh quality ’ay, comin’ yer way — and dry’s a bone!”

Madeleine panicked. No one in the kingdom would fail to recognize a young woman in men’s garments.

“Saints alive, ain’t they feedin’ yer nothin’ but crickets and mice?” the driver said as he entered, letting a bale of hay slip from each shoulder before the grateful horses. Outside, the king’s men were jabbering on about the missing governess.

” ’Ear that? Missing lassie! Meself, I don’t blame ’er. That Master Winthrop is worse than a stubborn nag — no offense.” He slipped the horses a couple of sugar cubes before exiting. “’Ere, put some fat on yer spindly bones.”

Madeleine watched it all through the slits of a helmet. She hadn’t imagined how heavy a helmet and a suit of chain mail could be. Or how hot. Or what a perfect hiding place it was.

By the time the voices began to recede, she felt like she was roasting. Through the slits in the helmet she could see the stable boy stirring. She would have to gain his trust. She lifted one leg and stepped forward. The chain mail clanked heavily. “Please,” she said, her voice sounding dull and muffled through the helmet, “wake up.”

The boy’s eyes flickered open and he sprang to his feet. “I’m — I’m sorry,” he cried out. “I worked through the night, I did. Only been sleepin’ a moment or two —”

Before Madeleine could reply, a deep voice thundered from the open door. “Good morrow, McGarrigle! Are we ready?”

“Er … almost, my lord,” the boy replied.