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31.1: RUPERT UNRAVELLED (part 1)

In which there may or may not be romance.

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"Then I galloped up to the castle, raised my sword to the sky, and yelled to my enemy to show himself."

"Ooh!" said Harriet.

Rupert tried to decide if this was, in fact, the worst ride of his afterlife. He thought back to that first bumpy cart-ride with Harriet, when he had cut his mouth approximately fifty times on his own fangs. Without doubt, that had been pretty miserable. He recalled the flight on the broomstick, when his stomach had threatened to escape through his mouth. That had also been singularly unpleasant. But this, he decided, this might just be worse.

"But the villain was too cowardly to face me. So I charged straight at the castle gate, whence they were trying desperately to raise the drawbridge."

Rupert was pretty sure that wasn't what 'whence' meant.

But, "Ah!" said Harriet.

"They were too late to stop me. My valiant steed leapt over the moat, cleared the drawbridge, and brought me to a halt in the courtyard."

"Goodness," said Harriet.

Rupert wished he were currently capable of rolling his eyes. They had been travelling on the King's Highway all day long and the knight had passed the time by reciting his gallant exploits for Harriet's benefit. Harriet was enraptured. Rupert was bored stiff. After the first hour of this, he had slipped down from Harriet's shoulder and tucked himself into her breast pocket, all the better to sulk in peace, but had quickly realised his error when he felt Harriet's heart beating through her ribcage. Now, Rupert didn't know an awful lot about beating hearts, but he was still faintly alarmed at the rate Harriet's was going.

So Rupert was thankful when Sir Faltar paused in his latest tale to survey the landscape. They had long left the forest behind, and the Highway was now flanked by rolling hills and small, wooded vales. The weather had behaved itself since Sir Faltar made his appearance, and here it did not look as if it had rained at all. Rupert himself had almost dried out completely, though he could still feel a damp patch somewhere deep within his torso. This did nothing to improve his mood.

"Miss White," said Sir Faltar. "Would you be agreeable to the idea of stopping for the night? I see a spot that would make a most excellent campsite."

"Stop here?" Harriet looked out at the countryside. Rupert could guess what she was thinking: after a night spent curled up among a wolf pack, she would hardly welcome another night outside on the hard ground.

"Of course, I propose nothing that would be detrimental to your safety, or indeed your modesty," Sir Faltar put in. "I am more than equipped for a comfortable night. I make sure to carry not one but two bedrolls with me as a matter of course, both made from the finest of phoenix-down."

"Sorry," said Harriet. "Did you say phoenix-down?"

"Why of course, fair lady. Phoenix feathers make both the lightest and softest beds, and as such are perfect for travel. I collected them myself, of course-" Of course, Rupert thought. "-from the phoenix nests of the Western mountains." Sir Faltar slipped from the horse's back and, turning, put a hand over Harriet's. "Miss White, you shall have all the comforts afforded you that are befitting to a lady. I give you my word."

Rupert was dismayed to feel Harriet's heartbeat accelerate even more.

"Thank you, sir," she said. "That... That sounds... fine."