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he?”
    Corlin jerked his head towards the stables. “Roosting in the tack-room. Plenty of creepy-crawlies for him to feast on, but he likes some chopped apple now and then; oh, and a hard dry biscuit for his beak.”
    The innkeeper nodded, and the two men shook hands again. Pulling a wide-brimmed felt hat onto his head, Corlin turned Megan’s head towards the end of the street and trotted away. As they rounded the corner he looked over his shoulder. A grey shape in a pool of yellow light, Ned stood watching him leave. Corlin raised a hand in farewell, then urged Megan towards Fore Street, where only yesterday he had stood with Ned and enjoyed, if not fully understood, the hectic and noisy game of barrel-ball.
    * * *
    With the stable doors once again barred and bolted, Ned made his way back to the kitchen. Molly was up and dressed and already had kindling alight under the oven.
    She looked up as Ned came in. “Has he gone?”
    The innkeeper looked worried. “He has, but I’ve got a feeling we might see him back here in a few days’ time.”
    Molly dropped sticks on top of the blazing kindling. “Why’s that then?”
    Ned rubbed his hands over his face and sat heavily on a kitchen stool. “He’s going to Tregwald. It seems that Otty has told him the tale of the duke’s gimalin.”
    Molly chuckled. “Well, if the tale’s true, I reckon our Corlin Bentfoot’ll be the one to play it.”
    Her worried husband reluctantly agreed. “Yes; if it’s true. But what is true is ‘The Whispering Forest’. Travellers have been in here that got too close, and they reckon they’d heard it. If Corlin is successful and gets held up at the castle, he might try and make up some time by cutting through instead of going round.”
    While Ned, lost in thought, picked at some rough skin on his finger, Molly cut chunks of bread, cheese and sausage onto a plate and put it in front of him. “Give him credit for a bit of sense. He’s got too much at stake. I don’t think he’ll take the risk.
     

8 - At Castle Tregwald
    Nobody took much notice of him in the two small villages he passed through. Both had a full water trough, but only the second one had a small, ramshackle sort of a tavern where he was able to quench his own thirst. He didn’t hang about long, a decision prompted by his being over-charged for a chunk of coarse brown bread and a thick slice of spiced sausage. He was glad he had given Megan some oats before they left.
    In complete contrast to the previous day, the sky was a dull and overcast leaden grey, and the north-easterly wind had a cruel edge. He breathed a sigh of relief when, some two miles past the last village, he rounded a bend in the rutted, stone-packed road and saw, straight ahead of him, dark against a darkening sky, the silhouette of Tregwald castle. He kneed Megan into a fast trot until half a mile further on, in the middle of the road, two mounted soldiers in half armour raised their hands to bring him to a halt.
    Corlin smiled and nodded as he recognised one of the soldiers. “Well met Jouan!”
    Jouan returned the nod, but not the smile. “Well met, minstrel. The Duke of Tregwald is expecting you. We’ve been sent to escort you to the castle.”
    Corlin’s mouth gave a wry twist. “Would I be right in thinking that Duke Tregwald’s amazing foreknowledge night have something to do with you Jouan?”
    The soldiers turned their horses and drew alongside him. Jouan shrugged. “It is possible that something slipped out in conversation.”
    Corlin gave a short derisory laugh. “And is the lord Duke in the habit of engaging in conversation with common soldiers? I think rather that you couldn’t wait to get back here and blab to your liege; a boon in the offing was there?”
    Jouan scowled but offered no reply. Corlin decided not to mention the note with the name that had worried Ned so much. It seemed possible that Jouan hadn’t sent it after all. Another mile at a steady jog brought them to the