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“Clothes, mainly. Or did you plan to go to court dressed like that?”
I looked down at my shorts and T-shirt, and then what he’d said registered. “We’re going to court?”
“Such as it is.”
“You mean . . . Arthur’s court? We’re going to Camelot?”
Rosier looked like he was about to say something, and then clamped his lips shut. “Yes. We’re going to Camelot. Happy?”
“No!”
“Why am I not surprised?”
“Why can’t we wait for Pritkin somewhere less . . . public?”
“Because, my dear, unlike you, my son bothered to learn something about his magic. Magic I do not have, remember? Approaching him on the road would be a very bad idea.”
“But he knows you. Oh, wait. I see what you mean.”
“He doesn’t know me yet,” Rosier snapped. “All he would see is someone who had disguised themselves as him, who was also trying to hex him!”
&nb
sp; “And he won’t see the same thing at court?”
“No. You’re going to go in and lure him out. I’ll hide and render him unconscious while he’s busy with you—”
“Yeah. ’Cause that worked so well in London.”
“—and then use some human drugs to keep him that way. No magic, see?”
I just looked at him.
“Do you have a better idea?” he demanded.
“Anything is a better idea. Trying to coldcock someone with Pritkin’s reflexes—”
“My own aren’t that bad, either!”
“—and why do I have to lure him out? Why can’t you just go inside and—”
“I’ll never get inside; there’s too much security. People are paranoid here, and for good reason. Place makes your Wild West look like Disneyland.”
“Then how am I supposed to—”
“Damn it, girl! You’re an attractive female! That’s a pass into virtually anywhere, if you know how to work it.”
I looked at him some more.
“And I will help you,” he said heavily. I started to comment, but he held up a hand. “You’re making this harder than it is. We go to court. We lure him out. We take him down. Getting here was the challenge; the rest is going to be easy.”
Chapter Fifteen
Easy, I thought mockingly, slopping along some “road” the next morning in the “shoes” Rosier had provided to go with my “dress,” all of which were ungodly ugly and didn’t even fit. And that included the “road,” which clung to the side of a mountain like it had been cut to go somewhere else.
Like somewhere that wasn’t at a forty-five-degree angle and located next to a cliff.
“I thought . . . Wales was supposed to be . . . chilly,” I panted, feeling sweat drip down my neck.
