Overtime by Tom Holt Page B

call them - all through time and now I’m not there to sing at them. No wonder they’re worried. It’s not their money they’re investing.’
    Guy grinned too. ‘Awkward,’ he said.
    â€˜Exactly,’ said Blondel, tipping a little ash into a saucer. ‘But the last thing I want to do is get pinned down by them again. I’ve got to find the King.’
    â€˜Er,’ Guy said. ‘Has it occurred to you that he might be, well...’
    â€˜Might be what?’
    â€˜Well,’ said Guy, ‘that when he disappeared, or fell through time or whatever, that he might not actually be anywhere? I mean...’
    Blondel’s face became very cold; then he relaxed.
    â€˜Perhaps,’ he said. ‘But I’ve got to keep looking. After all, I did give my word. Now then, another bottle.’
    Blondel filled both glasses and they sat in silence for a while.
    Guy said, ‘So, er, where do your sisters fit in?’
    â€˜Sorry?’
    â€˜Your sisters,’ Guy repeated. ‘Mahaud and Ysabel and, er...’
    â€˜Oh yes,’ Blondel said. ‘I forgot, do forgive me. They very sweetly agreed to help out, at least to begin with. But you know what women are like. After a bit, you see, they lost interest, got the urge to settle down, that sort of thing. Mahaud and Ysabel met men they rather liked, got married, settled down. Can’t blame them, of course. I find that women have this terrible urge to be normal.’
    â€˜And Isoud?’
    â€˜Isoud’s still with me,’ Blondel said, ‘but probably not for much longer. She’s been getting terribly restless lately, I think she wants a change. I can recognise the symptoms. Once they start redecorating the place every five minutes, getting new curtains, you can be sure there’s something in the air. Oh well, never mind.’
    â€˜So, er ...’ Guy said.
    â€˜By all means,’ Blondel said. ‘You look a respectable enough sort of chap to me. You are, aren’t you?’
    â€˜Oh yes.’
    â€˜Well then, that’s fine,’ said Blondel. ‘I only ask because as head of the family I have to choose husbands for them, give my consent, dowry, all that sort of nonsense. We’re a bit old-fashioned in our family, you see. Or as least,’ he added, frowning, ‘we will be.’
    â€˜So...?’
    â€˜Absolutely,’ Blondel said. ‘Just so long as you do this one little thing for me.’
    â€˜Oh yes?’ said Guy. ‘And what’s that?’

‘Are you ready?’
    â€˜As I’ll ever be.’
    â€˜Got everything?’
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜Right. If the horse gets restive, give him a lump of sugar.’
    â€˜Understood.’
    â€˜You’re sure you checked the rope?’
    â€˜Positive.’
    â€˜Right then,’ Blondel said. ‘Here goes.’
    A single shaft of moonlight cut through the thick clouds and, like a searchlight, picked out Blondel’s hair and the silver mounts of his lute as he strolled up to the drawbridge of the castle. The drawbridge was raised, of course, but it was a narrow moat.
    Guy looked round the trunk of the large oak tree he was standing behind and tried to work out how he had got there. There was something about the cold, the darkness and the rather ominous look of the castle that made him want to go away, but since he hadn’t the faintest idea of where - let alone when - he was, he decided to stay and see what would happen.
    The horse, whose bridle he was holding, lifted its head sharply and flicked its tail. Guy immediately shovelled another sugar lump between its wet, smelly lips. He disliked horses, and this one in particular. He had an uneasy feeling that it was going to cause trouble. It had been bad enough getting it here, wherever and whenever that was; it had left malodorous traces of its presence in the corridors and had tried to pick a fight with the lift. He tried