Ranger's Apprentice 12: The Royal Ranger (13 page)

But Jenny had been friendly and welcoming, and Maddie didn’t want to upset her. She tried to be tactful. Like most fifteen-year-olds aiming for tact, she was a long way wide of the mark.

‘Um . . . I’m not sure that it’s proper for you to call me Maddie,’ she said apologetically. ‘Really, you should call me “princess” or “your highness”.’

Jenny’s smile faded and she withdrew her hand. Will’s face clouded with fury at Maddie’s words. Jenny rose and said coldly, ‘I’ll bear it in mind.’ She nodded briefly to Will. ‘I’ll see you later, Will. I’ve got work to do.’

She walked into the restaurant, her back straight. Maddie looked at Will helplessly and spread her hands in a defeated gesture.

‘What? What did I do wrong now? I understand how it is between you and me. But do I have to let everybody speak to me as if I’m a nobody? After all, she’s just a cook.’

‘Jenny is one of your father’s oldest friends. And mine. We all grew up together. And she’s known your mother for years. If your mother feels it’s all right for Jenny to call her by her first name, I don’t see why you should be different.’

‘But things were different back then. After all, when my mother met you all, she was travelling incognito. It would have been pointless for you to use her title. But I’m not. I’m –’

‘You’re a spoilt and arrogant brat who needs to be taught a lesson. I’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this, but apparently it has. Follow me.’

He stood abruptly and swept out of the restaurant. Maddie went to follow, juggling boots, jerkin and shirts once more in a jumbled pile.

‘And don’t drop anything!’ he snapped back at her.

She followed his fast-striding figure up the high street and along the woodland path that led to the cabin. Once there, Will slammed the door open and made his way to the desk against the far wall, rummaging through the papers there until he found what he was looking for.

She stumbled in after him, shedding items of uniform across the verandah and the living room. She paused uncertainly as he turned to face her, an envelope in his hand. He unfolded the single sheet of parchment, then held it out for her.

‘Read this,’ he said.

She read the first few words on the sheet and started with shock at their content. She glanced quickly to the bottom of the page and saw her mother’s signature, and her father’s, written above their individual seals. There was no doubt. This document was genuine. She went back to the top of the page and read on, feeling the blood drain from her face.

Let it be known that we, the undersigned, hereby renounce all ties with our daughter, Madelyn, and revoke all her titles and privileges as a princess of the realm of Araluen.

She is disinherited as a princess and as our daughter and is to be accorded no privilege or respect
formerly due to her as a member of the royal family of Araluen.

Until any further notice, she is to be known and addressed simply as Mistress Madelyn Altman, or, pending the agreement of Ranger Will Treaty to act as her mentor, by the alternative title of Ranger’s apprentice Madelyn.

This is to take effect immediately, as of the date of this proclamation, and will continue indefinitely until such time as we may decide to reinstate Madelyn to her former position.

Given under our joint names and seals
,

HRH Cassandra
,

Princess Regent of the Kingdom of Araluen and all its territories

Sir Horace Altman
,

Premier Knight of the Realm
,

Royal Champion

The signatures were scrawled alongside the wax seals. Maddie looked at the date. The order had been written the day before she had left Castle Araluen to ride to Redmont. All the time she had been on the road, she realised, she had been disinherited – a common nobody. Her eyes filled with tears.

‘How could they do this?’ she asked, her voice breaking. ‘Do they really hate me so much?’

Will shook his head. ‘They don’t hate you. They’re simply at the end of their tether. They thought I might need to have this document to make you understand how serious this whole thing is. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to show it to you. But you made it necessary.

‘I’ve been telling you, Maddie. You are no longer a princess. And you can no longer behave as if you are. You are my apprentice. You are no better than anyone else here in Redmont – not Jenny, not the stable boy at the castle, not the youngest of the Battleschool apprentices.

‘On the other hand, you are no worse than any of those people, either. You’re an equal among equals.’

Maddie frowned. ‘But you said Rangers are among the highest ranking officers in the Kingdom . . .’ she began uncertainly.

‘Rangers are. Their apprentices are not. And you’re not officially an apprentice yet. You’ll have that as a courtesy title. But you will train for twelve months before you’re assessed and accepted into the Corps.’

‘Twelve months?’ She was aghast at the prospect. ‘Twelve months? I thought –’

‘You thought this would all be over in a week or two. Then you’d ride back home, say you’re sorry and convince your parents that you’ve seen the error of your ways and all would be forgiven. Right?’

‘Well . . . yes. I suppose so,’ she said. She realised how bad it sounded when he said it like that. She also realised that that was exactly how things had gone at least half a dozen times in the past. Her parents would punish her, she’d serve out the time for a day or a week, then apologise abjectly and things would go back to normal. And a few weeks later, she’d be back to her old bad behaviour.

‘You’ve done it once too often, Maddie,’ Will told her seriously. ‘Cassandra and Horace have finally had enough. Whether you like it or not, I’m your only hope now.’

Her lip started to quiver and she felt a tear forming in
her eye. He noticed it but gave no sign that he had. She’d had a shock, he knew, perhaps the biggest shock of her young life. And now was not the time to let her brood on it.

He pointed to the items of uniform, scattered around the room.

‘Gather this lot up,’ he said. ‘Find the best-fitting items. Just shirt, breeches and boots. No need for the cloak. Lace the boots up tight and be outside in five minutes.’

‘Outside?’ she said, stunned by the sudden change of subject. ‘What . . .?’

‘We’re going for a run. I want to see how fit you are. Five minutes!’

Without waiting for a reply, he strode out of the door, banging it behind him. She heard his boots on the verandah as he headed for the stable at the rear of the cabin, heard Tug call a brief whinny of greeting to his master.

Then she realised that time was wasting and she still had to sort out the best-fitting items of her new clothing. Scrambling to gather them together, she dashed into her room.

She emerged some minutes later. Whether she had gone over her time limit or not she had no idea. But at least Will didn’t comment. He was sitting astride Tug, waiting in the small clearing before the cabin.

‘You’re not running?’ she asked.

He raised an eyebrow. ‘I know how fit I am,’ he said. ‘I’ll ride. You’ll run. We’re going to Foxtail Creek. It’s a little settlement eight kilometres from here. Just a nice stroll there and back again.’

He indicated a path leading off through the trees. ‘Get going.’

She set off through the trees, head back, arms swinging, legs pumping. She ran smoothly and evenly, setting a good pace. Her stride was balanced and light. Will edged Tug along behind her. The little horse twitched his ears quizzically.

How did she take it?

‘Take what?’ he asked. Maddie heard his soft comment and turned curiously. He waved her on. ‘Keep going.’

Being disinherited. How did she handle it?

‘How do you know about that?’ This time, Will kept his voice low, so that it was almost inaudible.

I’ve told you. If you know it, I know it.

Not for the first time in his career, Will wondered whether his horse was actually talking to him, or whether he was simply talking to himself. He decided he didn’t want to know the answer to that.

‘Well, she wasn’t thrilled,’ he replied. Then he raised his voice. ‘Walk for three hundred paces. Then run again,’ he called.

Maddie nodded, without looking back. She slowed to a brisk walk, then, as she reached the three-hundred count, she began to run again. Will saw her shoulders go back and her head come up. There was a determined set to her body. He nodded approvingly.

‘She’s fit enough,’ he said. ‘And she’s got some of her mother’s steel in her.’

Tug rattled his short mane.
I knew she would have.

‘Oh really? And how did you know?’

I’m a Ranger horse. We understand good breeding.

And really, there wasn’t a lot Will could say in answer to that.

MILL AWOKE THE
following morning to the smell of bacon frying.

He frowned, sniffed the air experimentally and confirmed the fact. That was definitely bacon frying. His empty stomach rumbled in anticipation. He swung his legs out of bed, dressed hurriedly and opened the door into the main room of the cabin.

Maddie was standing expectantly by the stove, a frying pan in one hand and a large fork in the other. She smiled as he entered, rubbing the drowsiness from his eyes, smoothing his dishevelled hair.

‘I made breakfast,’ she announced. ‘I didn’t know how to scramble the eggs, so I fried them.’ She waved him to a seat at the table.

‘Well, this is a surprise,’ he said, and she placed a laden plate before him. The surprise increased as he looked at the bacon, fried to within an inch of its life and reduced to flint-hard strips.

The eggs were not much better – she had burnt the bottoms and the yolks were hard and dried out. He looked at them uncertainly, then picked up his knife and fork, determined to eat them.

She had tried, he thought. She might not have succeeded but she had tried, and he saw the sentiment behind the gesture. It was her way of apologising, and a more meaningful way – if a not completely edible way – than simply uttering the words.

He put his fork into one of the strips of bacon and it promptly disintegrated into a mass of sharp little shards. Maddie was watching carefully, so he picked up several of them and put them in his mouth, sucking on them to soften them.

‘Is it all right?’ she asked. ‘I’ve never cooked bacon before.’

‘Remarkable,’ he mumbled, past the splinters of bacon that filled his mouth. ‘A very commendable first effort.’

He swallowed the bacon with some difficulty, then tried the hard, crisp-bottomed eggs. The flavour of burnt egg-white filled his mouth. He chewed and swallowed.

‘I wasn’t sure about those black bits on the bottom,’ she said anxiously.

‘They add flavour,’ Will told her. He saw that she’d already collected the day’s fresh loaf from the bakery. He hurriedly tore off a piece, slapped butter on it and wolfed it down. He put more butter on the hard egg yolks. At least that would soften them a little.

Maddie took a seat opposite him and he looked enviously at the plate of fruit before her – an apple and some plump, juicy strawberries. She also had a thick slice of
buttered bread and jam. She took a deep draught of milk and a bite of bread and jam. He realised his own mouth was dry and clogged with the taste of burnt food.

He looked around for the water jug and a glass, but as he reached for it, she forestalled him.

‘I made coffee,’ she said.

Now that was a surprise. He’d detected no trace of the rich, fragrant aroma of fresh-brewed coffee. Although now she mentioned it, he was aware of a faint scent in the kitchen.

His old coffee pot was sitting on the stove hotplate, steam wisping from its spout. She picked it up, protecting her hand from the hot handle with a kitchen cloth, placed a mug before him and poured.

A thin stream of slightly discoloured hot water emanated from the pot into his mug. They both stared at it. Whatever it was, Will thought, it wasn’t coffee. Maddie frowned as she realised the same thing.

‘That doesn’t look right,’ she said doubtfully. ‘I’m sure I did it correctly.’

‘What did you do?’ he asked, picking up the cup and inspecting the faintly brown liquid inside it. He sniffed it. There was a definite scent of coffee there. It was faint. But it was there.

‘I filled the pot with cold water, set it to boil on the stove plate. Then, when it was boiling, I spooned in the coffee – three big spoonfuls. I thought that would be enough.’

‘It should have been,’ he said absently. Three spoonfuls should have produced a rich, dark brew. Not this insipid coffee impostor that confronted him. A thought struck him.

‘Where did you get the coffee from?’ he asked, thinking she might have reused old grounds. But she gestured to the pottery jar on the top shelf in the kitchen where he kept his coffee beans.

‘From there. Where I’ve seen you get it.’

Realisation was beginning to dawn on Will. ‘And you just . . . put three spoonfuls into the pot?’

She nodded.

‘You didn’t think to grind it first?’ he asked gently.

Maddie frowned, not comprehending what he was saying. ‘Grind it?’