The Royal Ranger: The Missing Prince

by John F. Flanagan

  “She is that bad,” Cassandra finally said.

  Gilan eyed her suspiciously, suspecting that she might be using this as a pretext for excluding Maddie from the mission. Seeing that he was unconvinced, Will decided the best way would be to let Gilan see for himself.

  “If you send for Maddie, and have someone fetch my mandola, I’ll show you,” he said.

  Gilan dispatched his assistant, Nichol, a second-year apprentice, to fetch the instrument and Maddie. Nichol arrived back with the instrument five minutes later. Maddie was a few minutes behind him.

  Will was tuning the eight strings of the mandola when Maddie arrived, curiosity written all over her face. She assumed that the group had come up with an idea as to how she and her mentor would travel through Gallica. She looked at the mandola in Will’s hands with obvious interest.

  “There’s a suggestion that we might travel as jongleurs,” he said, “with me playing and both of us singing.”

  Maddie nodded enthusiastically. “Sounds good to me.”

  Will looked down at the instrument to avoid her enthusiastic gaze. Like so many tone-deaf people, Maddie had no idea that her singing was totally off-key.

  “Remember ‘The Whistling Miller’?” he said, and she nodded. He struck a chord. “Come in on the chorus.”

  He played a clever little introduction, then began singing.

  “The whistling miller of Wittingdon Green

  had the loudest whistle you’ve ever seen . . .”

  He got no further. Halt held his hands up in protest. “Whoa! Whoa! Back up the hay cart there!” Halt said.

  Will looked at him, puzzled. “Problem?”

  Halt nodded explicitly. “Yes. Problem. How can you see a whistle? I take it it’s not an actual instrument, it’s the noise this miller person makes?”

  “That’s right,” Will agreed.

  “Then he should have had the loudest whistle you’d ever heard.”

  “It doesn’t rhyme that way.”

  “Well, it doesn’t make sense your way,” Halt said, with some heat. “It’s ridiculous.”

  “It’s a song, Halt. It’s poetic license.”

  “People always say that when they’re being dumb. This is a dumb song.”

  “I could always do ‘Graybeard Halt’ . . .” Will suggested. For a long moment, they locked gazes. Halt hated that song. He finally made a gesture of defeat.

  “All right. Go ahead with this ‘Visible Whistler,’” he said.

  Will continued from the spot where he’d stopped.

  “He’d whistle all night and he’d whistle all day

  and if anyone asked him, he would say . . .”

  Halt held up a hand once more and Will stopped, a little annoyed. No singer likes to be constantly interrupted and he suspected Halt was doing it on purpose.

  “What now?” he said tersely.

  “If anyone asked him what?” Halt asked.

  Will scowled at him. “We’re about to get to that,” he told his old mentor. “If you’d stop interrupting, you’d know what they asked.”

  “Well, get on with it,” Halt said unapologetically, and Will, taking a deep breath, continued.

  “I’ll teach you to whistle, it’s easy, you know,

  just purse your lips in a kiss and blow.”

  He nodded to Maddie to join in on the chorus. She did so with considerable energy.

  “Whistle high and whistle low,

  it’s easy to whistle once you know.

  Whistle high and whistle low,

  just purse your lips and blow and blow.”

  Will hit a final chord and the song came to an end. Maddie looked at the audience expectantly.

  “Well, what do you think?” she said.

  Nobody spoke for a moment, then Gilan said softly, “Good grief.”

  9

  Will gestured to the door leading to the anteroom outside Gilan’s office.

  “Maddie, perhaps you could step outside for a minute while we talk?” he said. She shrugged and let herself out. Once she had gone, the others exchanged a look. Halt, whose own ear for music wasn’t the strongest, frowned thoughtfully.

  “I take it that wasn’t exactly good?” he said.

  Cassandra raised her eyebrows. She was a mother, and mothers never want to say anything negative about their children.

  “Maybe she’s got a little bit better than she used to be,” she said tentatively.

  Horace gave a short bark of derision. “Do you think?”

  Cassandra reluctantly shook her head.

  “So she’s no good?” Halt said.

  “It’s not as if she doesn’t try,” Cassandra said. “She’s very enthusiastic.”

  “For which read loud,” Horace put in, and Cassandra gave him an angry glance.

  “Put it this way, Halt,” Gilan said. “Maddie couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket.”

  “She has what they call a cloth ear,” Will added. “We sometimes sing together after dinner in the evening. And I’ll grant you she is enthusiastic. And loud. And totally off. She doesn’t sing on the note. She doesn’t even sing very near it.”

  “All right!” Cassandra snapped. “We’ve established that she’s not the best of singers. Can we leave it at that, please?”

  “Sorry,” Will said, making a pretense of holding his hands up in self-defense.

  “Well, if she can’t travel as a singer, what can she do?” Halt asked, sensing that this conversation was getting into dangerous waters. Again, there was a long silence in the room.

  “Maybe Malloy could help,” Gilan finally suggested.

  “Malloy? Dad’s jester?” Cassandra asked.

  “He’s a little more than that,” Gilan told them. “Malloy’s in charge of all entertainment at the castle. He hires entertainers for the King. And he’s quite talented himself. He’s a jester, of course. But he also dances, and sings quite well. And he juggles too. Maybe he’ll have an idea about what she might do.”

  Will shrugged. “It’s worth a try.”

  Gilan rang the small bell on his desk that summoned Nichol. The young apprentice opened the door and stepped in. Behind him, Maddie was looking expectantly at them.

  “Just a few more minutes, Maddie,” said Gilan. Then, addressing Nichol, he said, “Nichol, can you fetch Malloy here, please.” He reconsidered that statement. Nichol was sixteen, and sixteen-year-olds aren’t renowned for their tact. “Give him my compliments and ask him if he could spare us a few minutes of his time, please,” he amended.

  Nichol was sixteen and was imbued with all the ennui that a teenager can muster. He was an adept at eye rolling and sighing. He did both now.

  Fetch Maddie. Fetch the Ranger’s mandola. Fetch Malloy, the twin gestures seemed to say.

  “Yes, sir,” he replied heavily, and withdrew once more.

  “He’s a ray of sunshine, isn’t he?” Will said.

  Gilan nodded. “It’s no fun for him being stuck here as an administrative assistant,” he said. “I’ll have to get him some field experience soon.”

  “Send him to me.” Will glowered. “I’ll give him field experience.”

  Gilan grinned. A few weeks with Will, and Nichol mightn’t feel so put upon here at Araluen, he thought.

  “I might just do that,” he said. “He’s a good kid at heart but this job can get pretty boring.”

  “Hah!” Will snorted.

  Cassandra smiled at him. “When did you become a grumpy old man?” she asked.

  Will jerked a thumb in Halt’s direction. “About five minutes after I met him,” he replied. “He taught me everything I know.”

  “Fortunately,” said Halt, smiling, “I didn’t teach him everything I know.”

  Several minutes later, Nichol returned, tapping at the door and then ent
ering.

  “Malloy the jester is here, sir,” he told Gilan. Perhaps he had sensed Will’s annoyance because he was brisk and businesslike now and his eyes stayed solidly in one plane.

  Gilan smiled at him. “Thanks, Nichol. Show him in, please. And send Maddie in as well.”

  The jester was tall and lean, with an athletic build, slim hips and broad shoulders. He had prominent cheekbones and an aquiline nose. His hair was short cropped and he was clean shaven. He wore a subdued version of the traditional jester’s outfit—a red-and-green-quartered jerkin and yellow hose, but without the extra tassels and bells and long, pointed shoes. His short-cropped hair was beneath a felt cap, rather than the traditional headgear adorned with bells and baubles.

  He was well muscled and moved gracefully. Studying him, Will felt Malloy was a physical match for any warrior he had ever seen—and he was right. Malloy, when necessary, could wield a sword with frightening speed and precision.

  Gilan made the introductions. Malloy, of course, knew Cassandra and Horace. And he recognized Maddie, although he maintained the popular protocol that she was merely an apprentice Ranger and not the second in line to the throne. Since Dimon’s unsuccessful attempt at a coup, most of the senior palace staff knew about Maddie’s dual identity. But it was tacitly agreed that they would not acknowledge it or discuss it. When she was dressed as a Ranger she was known as Maddie. When she appeared in court attire, she became Princess Madelyn.

  “We need your advice, Malloy,” Gilan said. “Will here is going on a mission disguised as a jongleur. He plays the mandola and sings.”

  Malloy nodded in Will’s direction. “I’ve heard you’re quite capable, sir,” he said.

  Will smiled. “I get by.”

  “Maddie will be going with him,” Gilan continued. “But we need to find her some sort of role as well.”

  “I can sing with Will, can’t I?” Maddie interrupted, looking around the assembled faces. Nobody answered for a few seconds.

  Then Halt, with a tact he rarely exhibited, answered her. “You’ve got a nice voice, Maddie. But it’s not really . . . up to professional standards.” He was very fond of Maddie and didn’t want to see her embarrassed.

  She looked a little crestfallen, but nodded her acceptance. “If you say. But I’m willing to practice if you think that’d help.”

  “Let’s see what Malloy suggests,” Halt told her. “He’s the expert.”

  Malloy nodded briskly. In his years at the castle, he had heard Maddie sing from time to time. He stood in front of her now, sizing her up.

  “Hmmm. You look fit enough,” he said. “How about tumbling? Are you any good at that? That’s something I could teach you relatively quickly.” He looked to Gilan. “I take it there’s some urgency about this?” he asked. There usually was when Rangers were involved, he knew.

  Gilan replied. “Yes. We need to get her ready in a few weeks.”

  Will held up a hand before Malloy could go any further. “Tumbling and acrobatics might be a problem,” he said. “Maddie’s certainly fit and has excellent balance and agility, but she was hit by a javelin some years ago, and her hip is a little stiff.”

  “Does it cause you pain?” Malloy asked.

  She shrugged. “Not generally. But when I get tired or exert myself a lot, it does stiffen up.” She spread her hands apologetically. “Sorry.”

  “Not your fault,” Malloy said. “I’ll have Sanne look at that.”

  “Sanne? Who’s that?” Maddie asked.

  “She’s one of my people. She’s a triple threat—juggler, tumbler and knife thrower. I thought I’d get her to coach you. Maybe she can teach you to juggle—although with this time frame we wouldn’t get past the basics. We’d need something else if people are going to believe you’re a professional entertainer.”

  “Maddie can throw a knife,” said Gilan, and Malloy’s interest was piqued.

  “Really? How well?”

  Maddie looked at Gilan questioningly. He indicated a portrait of one of Duncan’s ancestors hanging on the wall behind his desk.

  “Show him,” he said.

  Maddie’s hand went to the double scabbard on her left side. She drew back her arm in one smooth movement, then jerked it forward. Her throwing knife caught the light as it spun across the room, thudding to a halt exactly halfway between the eyes of the elderly knight in the portrait.

  “That well,” said Malloy. “I think we could work with that.”

  “Great-Uncle Hesperus is looking a little the worse for wear,” said Cassandra.

  Gilan grinned. “Never liked that painting anyway.”

  10

  The following morning, on Malloy’s instructions, Maddie was waiting in the armory hall on the keep’s second floor. She looked around as she waited. She hadn’t been in this long, empty room since her mother’s final practice duel with Dimon before the Red Fox Rebellion. The room was a vast space, well lit by tall windows that lined the southern wall. At one end, racks held practice arms and armor—wooden swords, axes and halberds, padded jerkins and leather helmets equipped with metal mesh face protectors. There was a rack of steel swords for more realistic training.

  She noted the rounded points and blunted edges on the swords. Not too realistic, she thought.

  The floor was timber, well worn by the movement of thousands of feet over the years, as warriors practiced their skills with the various weapons in the racks. The floorboards were scarred and gashed where overenthusiastic strokes had missed their mark and damaged them. The gashes had been sanded and filled, but were still visible.

  “Good morning. I’m Sanne. Malloy asked me to work with you.”

  Maddie turned at the voice. Sanne was a young woman in her mid-twenties. She was petite but well muscled, and fit-looking. She pronounced her name as Sahna. She had pleasant, regular features, and her shoulder-length light brown hair curved down in a heavy wave on the right side of her face.

  She was dressed in a thigh-length jerkin, in a diamond pattern featuring the traditional jongleur’s colors—red, green and yellow. Below the jerkin she wore yellow hose and ankle-high red leather boots. Maddie noted that her shoes were not fashioned in the usual entertainer’s style, with long, curved tips and bells. Then she recalled that Malloy had said Sanne was a tumbler. She guessed that long, pointy-toed shoes would be an encumbrance for tumbling.

  Before Maddie could reply, Sanne continued. “You’re Princess Madelyn, right?”

  Maddie grinned and shook her head. “Call me Maddie,” she said.

  She stepped forward and offered her hand. Sanne shook it briefly. Maddie noted the strength and firmness of Sanne’s grip as the jongleur studied her with some curiosity. Maddie was dressed in an outfit similar to Sanne’s—a thigh-length jerkin over tights. But the colors were more subdued, dull green and brown as opposed to the bright diamond pattern on Sanne’s clothes.

  “You don’t look like a princess,” the entertainer said.

  Maddie shrugged. “I’m spending my time these days as an apprentice Ranger,” she explained, then added, “But that’s to be kept confidential.”

  Sanne frowned. “Oh yes,” she said. “You were the one who spoiled Dimon’s little game eighteen months ago, weren’t you?”

  Her curiosity was now tinged with a certain level of respect. Maddie sighed. After she had played such a prominent role in the downfall of the Red Fox Clan, she had known it would be difficult to keep her identity a complete secret—certainly not among the staff at Castle Araluen.

  “There were a lot of people who spoiled his game,” she said. “My mother was one, in particular. But as I said, we keep my role as a Ranger confidential.”

  Sanne nodded, understanding the reasoning behind the instruction. It could be dangerous if too many people knew about Maddie’s double identity. Rangers, after all, preferred to maintain a low profile, and having
people bowing and scraping to Maddie would be a continual nuisance—and one that could identify her as a member of the royal family and imperil her life.

  “I’ll bear it in mind,” she said. Then, with the matter of Maddie’s identity dealt with, she said, “Now, what can I do to help you? Malloy said I was to train you as a jongleur.”

  “I’m going on a mission with my mentor, Will Treaty,” Maddie began. She noticed Sanne’s eyes widen slightly at the mention of Will’s name. Her teacher was a famous figure in Araluen—almost mythical, in fact, as Halt had been before him—although few people could actually claim to have seen either one of them. As a result, there were wild rumors about the two Rangers: People said they were tall as giants, broad-shouldered and heavily muscled. The less educated folk of the country also said they could appear and disappear as they chose, and they were skilled in the art of magic.

  The truth was, while both men were heavily muscled in the arms and shoulders from long practice with their powerful war bows, they were, like most Rangers, somewhat shorter than the norm. Their reputation for appearing and disappearing at will was due to their training and field craft, and the use of their cloaks, which were mottled green and gray and helped them merge into the forest background. All Rangers knew that the real key to remaining unseen was to remain still, even when you were sure that an enemy had spotted you. Nine times out of ten, he hadn’t.

  Maddie was always amused by the reactions of people who met Will for the first time. There was an air of disbelief and even disappointment.

  Can this be the mighty Will Treaty? their expressions seemed to say. Surely not!

  “We’re traveling undercover,” she continued, “disguised as entertainers. Will is posing as a minstrel. He plays the mandola quite well and sings.”

  “What about you?” Sanne asked.

  Maddie hesitated. “I don’t play the mandola,” she said. She didn’t mention the singing. She was beginning to suspect that her singing wasn’t all that it might be. She was relieved when Sanne didn’t press the point. The young woman looked her up and down appraisingly, then walked in a small circle around her.