Vespers Rising (The 39 Clues #11)(25)

Madeleine turned. Ducking through the door was an older man, holding a riding crop. Glancing at Madeleine, he grinned. “Well, I’ll be a two-headed buzzard — ’tisn’t often that a jousting partner arrives this early. Fearless fellow, eh? Let me know when ye’re in yer tournament armor, and we can begin straight away. Make sure this man has a fine mount, McGarrigle!”

Madeleine could feel her chain mail clatter as she shook. “Mount?” she said in her deepest voice to McGarrigle. “As in … mount?”

“It won’t be so bad,” the boy said, approaching her with a heavy set of metal armor, “as long as ye’re protected wiff these.”

It took about twenty minutes for Madeleine to climb into the armor, with the boy’s help. It felt as if she were wearing a small building. “I’m supposed to move in this?” she asked.

“It’s the least ’eavy suit we ’ave.” The boy, who was examining the teeth of the two horses, took the reins of one and brought it closer. “This old nag may stay on its feet for a few moments at least,” he said. “Good luck jousting wiff the old fellow.”

“But —” Madeleine said.

“Step on this,” McGarrigle said, pushing her onto a wooden platform, which he raised with a massive winch.

Madeleine felt herself rising in jolts of motion until her knees were the height of the horse’s back. With a swift move, McGarrigle slid her leg off the platform and out over the horse. She landed on the horse’s back with a thud, causing its knees to buckle.

“Sorry, I has to do this wiff all his partners,” McGarrigle said, adding with a rueful sigh, “but never the same feller twice, if ye know what I mean.”

Madeleine felt the blood drain from her face. “Let me down!” she protested. But McGarrigle thrust into her hand a lance that felt as heavy as a tree, and her shoulder was nearly wrenched out of its socket.

“We’ll share a cup afterward,” the boy said, “if yer head’s still attached.”

“Wait — this is a m-m-mistake!” Madeleine stammered, lifting her visor.

“You bet yer sweet buzzard it is,” the boy said, giving the horse a good, hard kick.

Madeleine’s visor slammed shut as the horse galloped into the sunlight. She fought to stay upright, to keep her lance from drooping to the ground.

The field was long and dusty, with a few rows of empty seats on either side. At the far end, her opponent sat tall atop a black steed whose leg muscles bulged and glistened. “Ah, grand!” he shouted, clutching his helmet to his side. “It’s not often the Spanish ambassador arrives early for a joust. I was expecting not to see you at all!”

Spanish ambassador?

Madeleine recognized the voice before she could see him through the slits of her visor. It was King Henry.

In his armor, he appeared to be the size of two men. He handled his own lance as if it were a willow wisp. With a grin, he raised the visor of his helmet. “I have received word of your … disapproval of my desire to annul my marriage. You know my position, and you know my right as king. Yet still you protest. Perhaps we shall decide this matter on the field?”

Madeleine tried to think of something to say, but it was enough just to keep upright. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a distant fancy carriage approaching — probably the real ambassador.

“I take your silence as an agreement!” the king bellowed, lowering the visor. His horse dipped its head twice, impatiently striking the ground with its hooves. As steam puffed from its nostrils, it looked more bull than horse.

“Readyyyyyy!” King Henry called out, raising his lance high.

I’m dead, Madeleine thought.

If he even so much as swung that lance, its wind alone would knock her over. She had to get away. Now.

“About f-f-ace!” she said to the horse, flailing with her boots. “Into the barn, please. It’s time for some tasty hay! Haaaaaaay!”

The horse took off like a shot, toward King Henry. The king seemed surprised, as if he wasn’t expecting her to go just yet. “Cheating does not work in England,” he hissed.

He kicked his horse. The steed dug in hard, sending up storm clouds of dirt. The king’s eyes blazed through the visor as he slowly lowered the lance.

It was pointed at Madeleine’s heart.

No time to think. She lifted her lance, too, but it was far too heavy. Even if she could strike him, the torque alone would pull her off the horse.

King Henry was forty yards away … twenty …

Madeleine’s shoulder was falling. The tip of the lance was nearly to the ground. And her horse was headed directly at King Henry instead of to his side.

“Blast it, what are you doing?” he cried.

Remember, smartest always beats strongest.

Olivia’s words were like a trumpet call. Madeleine ungritted her teeth and let out a scream.

The tip of her lance dug into the soil. It bent into a taut C. She felt her body lifting out of the saddle. She pulled back on her boots, releasing them from the stirrup. Freeing her from the horse.

The weight of her suit almost broke the lance, but instead she vaulted high into the air.

From below her came a bloodthirsty yell. She felt the whoosh of King Henry’s lance as it passed beneath her feet and over the top of her horse’s saddle. Her lance twanged as it grazed the royal steed’s flank. She held tight. As the pole retracted and straightened, for a moment Madeleine was suspended in the air.