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Lamorak.
    “Every time I went to see Bertram,” muttered Igraine. “He didn’t want to let me at first, but when he saw how well Lancelot and I get on, he said no more. And the Baroness never noticed a thing, because I only rode him while she was sitting in her room drinking spicy mead.”
    “But you can’t go to Darkrock, not now!” cried Albert. “The place is teeming with soldiers. And suppose you run into Osmund or his spiky castellan? Have you forgotten that they’ve both seen you before?”
    “Oh, no, they haven’t,” said Igraine. “They saw my armor, that’s all.” She took off her helmet and shook out her hair, which was as black as her mother’s. “I’ll put a dress on and ride to Darkrock on our donkey — taking my suit of armor with me, of course. Then I’ll go to the stables, get Bertram to bring me Lancelot, and I’ll be off again right away.”
    Sir Lamorak shook his head, looking anxious. “I really don’t like it, my dear,” he said. “I definitely don’t. It sounds very, very risky.”
    “Nonsense!” cried Igraine, stripping off her wonderful armor. “It’s nothing for me, Papa. Really and truly. Word of knightly honor.” Then she kissed her parents on their snouts, made a face at Albert, and went to the door.
    “She won’t be back!” moaned the books as she left. “The giant will tread on her. Or the Spiky Knight will skewer her — and we’ll have to work magic with Albert until our glue wears out! That’s what will happen.”
    But Igraine wasn’t listening. She was already on her way down the tower stairs.

9

     
    E verything had changed at Darkrock Castle. When Igraine last visited, the old Baroness’s cats had been basking in the sun on the battlements, and she had stumbled over chickens running about in the courtyard between the outer walls and the main keep. Now the battlements were swarming with guards, and knights were crowding outside the gate. The clink of weapons could be heard beyond the high walls, and wooden carts full of hay were coming up the narrow road from the village to feed the horses of Osmund’s army.
    The guards at the gate, swords at the ready, checked everyone who wanted to go into the castle. But when a girl of twelve rode up on a rather stout donkey, carrying a basket of new-laid eggs, they let her pass without any trouble. So Igraine entered Osmund’s castle.
    She had hidden her armor and her sword in the bundle of clothes hanging over the donkey’s back, and the basket of eggs she was using as camouflage contained one that Albert had enchanted. As soon as she was past the guards she cracked it on the castle wall, and out slipped a tiny gray bird. It would fly away and warn Albert the moment Osmund and his army set off for Pimpernel.
    Igraine watched the little spy flutter up to the highest of the castle turrets. Then she rode her donkey through the crowd of people in the castle courtyard, making for the stables. Bertram was sure to be there at this time of day. She took the donkey to the stables where the Baroness’s ponies were kept, near the clock tower. There were several donkeys there, too, and no one would notice that another had suddenly joined them. Lancelot’s stable stood opposite. Sweating grooms were shoveling muck out of the boxes, but Lancelot’s box had already been cleared. The stallion looked bored; he was nibbling the wood of his manger and prancing restlessly from leg to leg. Igraine opened the door of his box and slipped in.
    “Hello, Lancelot,” she whispered, blowing gently into his nostrils so that he would recognize her by her smell. “We’re going for a ride together, and you’ll have to gallop fast, very fast. Would you like that?”
    Lancelot butted her chest with his head and began nibbling her dress.
    “Does that mean yes?” Igraine whispered as she gently pushed the horse’s big nose aside. Then she slipped out of the box again and set off in search of Bertram, but the Master of Horse was nowhere