Free The Witch's Daughter (Lamb & Castle Book 1) by J.M. Sanford Page B

picked up the trail and will find her again soon. Do we have permission to destroy the White Queen and her cohort?”
    Archalthus scowled. “No. They may yet save us the trouble of uncovering the Crown ourselves. Either follow them discreetly, or capture them alive.”
    The black-eyed gentleman looked hesitant. “But, they will have to be disposed of at some point before they reach the Crown, won’t they?”
    “Yes, most likely. But not now . We may need the White Queen yet, do you understand?”
    “Of course.” The gentleman hesitated and then asked, “May we take the opportunity to request some modifications to our anatomy? We believe some improvements could be made to our design in regards to hydration –”
    Archalthus shoved the device back at the Commander, and turned to the old Archmage. “I was told your creations were of the highest quality the world has ever seen – perfect in every detail,” he growled. “I should hate to think I’ve been deceived.”
    “A-are you questioning my craftsmanship?” the Archmage stammered, trying to look indignant. “Don’t you forget now, young man, that work of this nature has been forbidden for centuries, throughout the world. Very few Mages would have the nerve to defy the ban. My name could be erased from the Council’s records for this, you know, and you thank me by criticising the details? As for the duplication of the Crown, even if it were possible, I dread to think of the consequences –”
    “My curse weighs very heavily upon me,” Archalthus cut in, sinking onto the chaise longue with a great sigh of discontent, resting his handsome head on one pale and elegant hand. “It clouds my mind, and makes me do things that I’m ashamed of later… I have decided: attempting to duplicate the Crown isn’t a gentlemanly approach to this contest. I’m very weary,” he added, pointedly. “Perhaps it would be better for you to work alone, for now.”
    Archmage Morel took the hint. He gathered his notes and calculations in an armful of shivering rustling parchment, bowing his way out of the room.

     
    Back in Lannersmeet, the black-eyed gentleman closed his silver pocket device with a smart snap, the beginnings of a very worried expression on his face. “That is unfortunate,” he said. “It seems we have drawn attention to a fault in ourselves.”
    “It would have been wiser not to have mentioned it,” agreed his twin, absorbed in reading the dials of a small but intricate device that he held to the ground like a sleuth with a magnifying glass. “The snails travelled this way,” he said. “Shall we proceed?”
    His companion nodded. “After you.”

8: WHITE KNIGHT
    Another morning, and Amelia woke again to the steady rolling of the snailcastletank on its way, Meg still snoring softly in the top bunk, one arm hanging out over the side. Amelia, still in her nightdress, padded over to the balcony, where she opened the windows and looked down to see Percival in the driver’s seat. He sat so perfectly still and straight and silent that she wondered at times if there was anyone in there at all. The road stretched out ahead straight and broad, with endless miles of open grassland to either side, and the snails marched on. Unknown mountains bordered the horizon, pale and bluish in the distance. Leaning carefully out over the railing, Amelia could just about see down the road behind them, but could see no sign of the two black-clad gentleman assassins following. Thinking of her own unconventional mode of transport, she couldn’t imagine how they might be travelling… She scanned the sky, cloudless and empty and blue.
    Her stomach growled. What had Meg said? You couldn’t spend your whole life worrying: practical day-to-day matters generally needed attending to first. Breakfast never ceased to be important. But first… Amelia’s hair, as always, had come undone from its braids during the night, and she sat down at the modest dressing table to brush and