The Brave Apprentice by P. W. Catanese Page A

might poison them.”
    “Poison?” Mannon snorted. “And how do you plan to get them to take it?”
    “What good would it do to poison one or two ofthem?” someone at the far end of the table said.
    “We would poison them all,” said Patch.
    “Ridiculous,” said another knight, while others murmured.
    “Quiet, all of you,” said the king. “Young tailor, how could we poison them all?”
    “That’s what I’d like to know,” Mannon grumbled under his breath.
    Patch looked around at the staring faces. Even the steward was hovering close, listening curiously. Addison raised one eyebrow, as if to say,
I warned you not to speak.
    Patch cleared his throat, which had gone dry. “Well, I was thinking about how the trolls attacked the wagon with the king’s wine. And how they all broke open the casks and drank it on the spot. We could send another wagon down the same road. But this time, the wine would be poisoned.”
    The men around the table looked at one another and turned to see how the king would respond. Milo leaned back slowly in his chair and scratched at his temple with one finger. Ludowick nodded and gently rapped the table with the knuckles of one fist. Addison had a distant look in his eyes.
    “What if poison doesn’t work on trolls?” asked Mannon.
    Ludowick responded before Patch could speak. “Then the devils will never be the wiser.”
    “Fine, but what if it just makes them sick?”
    “If they were all sick at once, they might be vulnerable to an attack,” Ludowick said, his voice quickening.
    “Yes,” the king said. “Yes.”
    There was a long moment of silence, until Gosling spoke.
    “It’s not a
noble
plan, is it?”
    “It’s a nasty trick,” agreed Mannon. “Should we stoop so low?”
    Milo stood up slowly, pushing against the plush arms of his chair. He looked left and right, meeting the eye of everyone at the table. “Gentlemen. Stay in your seats, all of you. Allow me a moment alone to consider this.” The king clasped his hands behind his back and walked, with his head bowed, around the curtain that was hung behind the great table.
    The knights muttered quietly to one another. Gosling leaned close to Patch and whispered. “Seen this before. Takes a walk to clear his thoughts when there is a great decision to ponder. He’ll have his mind made up in a moment.”
    Sure enough, Milo emerged a few minutes later. He stood in front of his chair, made fists of his hands, and pressed them against the tabletop.
    “Desperate days call for dark deeds,” the king said at last. The troll skull had been set on the table before him; he reached out and spun it to look into the face, all gaping eye sockets and thorny teeth. “I would never consider this way against a human enemy. But we poison maddogs and rats, don’t we? If we can find or brew the quantity of poison this plan requires, we will try it.”
    “I’ll gladly drive that wagon,” said Ludowick.
    “Then I have a bit of advice for you, Ludowick,” Griswold said. “Take a dog with you. Dogs make excellent sentries; they sniff out the presence of trolls before we can.”
    Patch tried to smile at Mannon, but the knight simply glared at the ceiling. He looked to Addison instead, and when he saw the cold stare that the nobleman had fixed on him, he shrank down in his seat.
    When the meeting ended, the knights walked out of the great hall, discussing what they had heard. Patch stayed alone at the table, admiring the arching space over his head, so high he wouldn’t have been surprised to see clouds drifting along.
    “Clues,” said a weak, rasping voice behind him. Patch turned. Will Sweeting, still sitting in his chair by the fire, was looking at him with clear, sharp eyes.
    “What—what do you mean, sir?” Patch said, walking over to him.
    The ancient man held out a trembling hand, and Patch took it. It was colder than it ought to have been, so near to the fire. “I heard clues,” Sweeting