Mandell led her inside and out to the ramparts where one of the Cauley brothers had arranged buckets and wrapped parcels along the floor.
Gretchen held her hand to her nose with a grimace. “I was wondering when the fish guts would come out. Where on earth did you get your hands on it in a place like this?”
He whipped his head around with a scowl and put aside a jar he was filling. “We kept it in a vacuum spell on the journey. Now, no time for stupid questions. We must go over the script and safety instructions.”
Mandell left them to get to work, and Gretchen pursed her lips.
“One more question. Where on earth is that wraith? I don’t trust him as far as I can throw him. And if he gets a chance to blow me into smithereens—”
“Sir Courtenay is in the watchtower minding his manners under threat of another deep freeze. I will keep him under strict surveillance while you are performing and will have a spell at the ready when the Prince encounters him.”
“And where’s your twin?” Gretchen held a hand to her hip.
“That was two questions, and he has moved further along to prepare the bridge set.” He pulled a makeshift leather vest out of its canvas wrapping. “Now. First prop is the goat’s blood.”
He pulled a swollen bladder out of a bag and rigged it between the leather cords. Gretchen wrinkled her nose and held the proffered gear at arm's length.
“When the Prince gets close enough to make a swing, you will pierce that with a knife.” He plucked a clay ball from a bucket. “Just after you throw this on the ground at his feet. It will befuddle the Prince’s senses and create a cloud of smoke.”
“Won’t it befuddle my senses?” Gretchen sniffed the clay ball and weighed it in her palm.
“Most likely. But by the time it does, you will have ‘expired’ on the ground bleeding out.”
Gretchen raised her eyebrows and nodded. “And the fish guts?”
“All you need to do is push the bucket over as you tumble, so it washes down the wall.”
“Right…” Gretchen rubbed her chin. “This is going to take quite the coordination.”
The Cauley brother squeezed his eyes shut with a scowl. “Had you been here at sunup, we would have had time for more than this one rehearsal.”
Gretchen hefted the vest and pointed.
“Fine. Avert your eyes and I’ll get this thing on. You got something written down? Cue cards or something?”
He turned as Gretchen unbuttoned her shirt and heaved a sigh. “It’s hardly a monolog. But keep in mind the performance is for the party waiting below. The scribe will take notes to account for the Princes deeds, and although they won’t see much, the acoustics will carry down to them.”
Gretchen wiggled into the vest and gave the bladder a pat before buttoning her shirt again.
“Okay. Prince’s party arrives, I hurl insults, and he storms the castle to cut me down. What do I say?”
He waved his hand dismissively. “It’s simple. Tell him he will never see his fair lady again and that she is locked away in the tower. Insult his manhood, do whatever you need to, and when he takes a swing, backpedal as fast as you can and do as I said.”
He stooped to pick up a stick and walked past her toward the door. When he turned to heft it, Gretchen’s eyes widened.
“Now listen here, you young popinjay. That girl is done for! Mark me, she’ll be dragon jerky by sun fall. Why, I’ll turn you into pickled prince is what I’ll do—”
The Cauley brother rolled his eyes and lunged, and with a hiss Gretchen scuttled backward and tripped over her feet. The clay ball flew in the air and landed at her feet and she cracked her head on an empty bucket which toppled over the wall.
She sat up rubbing her head and frowned. “I think your party popper fizzled on the trip.”
“That was a prop.” He leaned on his stick and bent to pick up another. “This is the real deal. Mind you don’t drop it by accident.”
A horn sounded below, and they both scrambled to peer over the wall. A haze of red creeping over the tree line followed the dull sound of an explosion in the distance.
“Almost showtime. Help me clean up this mess.”
They both hustled to get the supplies out of sight, and as the Cauley brother stacked the last crate in the makeshift storeroom, Gretchen’s eye caught on a case filled with sparkling blue vials—just like the one used on Sir Courtenay. With deft fingers, she secreted one up her sleeve and dusted her hands.
“Time to get this show on the road. Don’t you worry about me, just keep that ghost where you can see him.”
The Cauley brother gave her a tight nod and rushed up the stairs ahead of her as Gretchen returned to her post to keep her eye on the courtyard below.
Chapter 8
The Prince’s party threw up a cloud of dust as they reigned their mounts in at the fort. Gretchen swallowed and took a deep breath to still her nerves. She wasn’t sure what she had expected, but the sight of the gangly Prince, who looked like a stick figure in plated armor, made her lips twitch.
“Jeez, the kid looks barely old enough to wipe his own ass.”
His eyes found hers and he recoiled. Gretchen let out an almighty cackle and grinned. “So soon, young Prince? What a shame. You’re already too late!”
The scribe pulled out a notebook from his breast pocket and rolled his eyes. One of the Prince’s companions gave him a sharp nudge. Gulping, he clattered down from his mount and drew his sword.
“No vile witch will stand in my way. I will rescue my beloved from your foul clutches!”
Gretchen backed from the wall as the Prince advanced into the fort and double-checked her supplies. Fishing her pocketknife and the clay ball from her pouch, she faced the door ready to spring to action. The clanging of the plate armor announced his arrival before he opened the door, and Gretchen’s cackle turned almost to a screech.
The door burst open, and the Prince held his sword at the ready.
“Give her up, witch, or I shall cut you down where you stand.”
She fought the urge to laugh at the sight of his spotty face and wispy beard. “You’ll never see her again, kid.” She tilted her head to include those below in her speech. “The mighty Viragh will grind her bones. And as for you, I’ll boil you down into a tonic of eternal youth!”
Impressed with her own performance, Gretchen shifted her weight from foot to foot in readiness. “What are you waiting for, kid? Scared of the powerful sorceress before you?”
The Prince glared and lifted his sword over his head. Gretchen squeezed the clay ball in her palm and turned the pocketknife over in her palm. The sword wavered.
In his juvenile eyes, Gretchen saw fear. Her jaw dropped. The sword stayed fixed in the air.
“Take a swing, kid,” she hissed pitching her voice low. “It’s time to play the hero.”
The Prince's face crumpled as he dropped to his knees. As his sword clattered on the stone, Gretchen drew a sharp breath through her nose and improvised.
“Arrrgh. It burns. Save me from this brawny foe! “She crouched by the Prince and glared at him nose to nose. “You’re supposed to be smiting me. Get on your feet and start stabbing.” The whisper turned to a squeak, and the Prince frowned.