Chapters (76)
- Title Page
- Copyright Notice
- Dedication
- PROLOGUE
- PART I
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- PART II
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- PART III
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- INTERLUDE
- PART IV
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- INTERLUDE
- PART V
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- PART VI
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- INTERLUDE
- PART VII
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- PART VIII
- FIFTY-THREE
- FIFTY-FOUR
- FIFTY-FIVE
- FIFTY-SIX
- EPILOGUE
- AUTHOR’S NOTE
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
- Newsletter Sign-up
What followed would be one of the greatest things John had ever ignored. That was something of a pastime for him—ignoring responsibility. His favorite trophies were his memories of avoiding things. Going to a tavern instead of an important function, for instance, or making jokes about Waleran’s eyebrows while the man spoke, for nearly five minutes, without actually ending his sentence.
When a period finally came, John blinked. Myla had burrowed into the bed and watched in amazement. “That was a fine sentence,” John said. “You may say thank you.”
“Thank you.”
“I nodded off in the middle,” he teased, but unfortunately he had retained more of the sentence than he would have liked. “The castellan here, the castellan of Tickhill, his name is Baron Roger de Busli, did you know that? Baron Roger de Busli. But you talked about the Sheriff of Nottingham, Baron Roger de Lacy. You’re telling me that there are two Baron Roger de-somethings in charge of castles in Nottingham? That seems one too many Baron Roger de-something for me to keep track of. So I missed part of what you were saying while I was thinking about that.”
Waleran twitched, as though he had just prevented a violent sneeze.
“Don’t worry, I think I tasted the general flavor of your soup.” John tried to rise, but the world wobbled in three directions at once, which was two more than seemed advisable. The earl had the singular luck of being the only thing that John was currently capable of focusing upon. To Waleran’s benefit he had been impressive, but he had also put a definitive halt to John’s enjoyment of the day.
“So,” John continued, “I don’t know the Sheriff of Nottingham, so I don’t care if he goes away. You seem to think I hate the Chancellor enough to appoint someone else as the sheriff just to beat him to it.”
He probably should have expected that. He’d run into Chancellor Longchamp in London a month or so ago, and pulled a prank on him. The prank involved trapping the man in the Tower of London and convincing him he’d be killed if he left … and it may have gotten a bit out of hand after that.
“But see, I don’t care who is your next sheriff. So … I’m willing to let you purchase my decision.” The last few words he slurred, maybe on purpose, and he hoped it would sound unsettling.
Waleran appeared unsettled.
“Why don’t you tell me what you can do for me, and I’ll tell you if it’s good enough?”
The uncomfortable earl bristled.
“Oh, you can talk as much as you want. Myla, be a dear and count his sentences. I’ll pay you the debt.”
She made a delighted chirping noise and rolled off the bed, hiccupped something that was more than air, and rushed over to the edge to spit it over.