Richard interrupted angrily. “Get away from that old man as quickly as you can. You have no idea how he will twist your life. Now leave me to bed. I no longer care what he wishes of me—or you for that matter.”
“Elizabeth,” Bran said simply.
Richard hoped he’d heard wrong but knew he hadn’t.
“What did you say?” he hissed.
“He told me to just say the name Elizabeth,” Bran stammered. “Said…said you would come, if I said that name.”
Anger flooded him. Richard tightened his grip on the coat and pushed him into the brick wall. It was all he could to do not beat sense into the boy.
“What kind of games are you playing? Who the hell do you think you are?!” he raged.
Unfamiliar fear crept into Bran’s eyes. Realizing what he did, Richard flung Bran aside and to the wet ground like a rag doll.
“I know,” he said. “You are only the messenger. This is a discussion best had with its owner.”
Before the boy could reply, Richard was already striding out of the alley. It took him less than a minute to cover the dead two blocks to Old World Tales. No one was about; no cars sped on the Viaduct above or on the streets of the Bricks. It was a silent world devoid of life. But when he turned the last corner, the lights of the bookstore blazed like fiery windows into hell.
Richard did not deviate. He burst through the front door with burning conviction.
The bookstore owner sat calmly in one of his plush chairs, legs crossed, his pipe smoking into the air above him. He eyed the knight with cool discernment. Over his shoulder, Arrow Jack sat perched and awake, the beady eyes of the merlin like a knife stabbing the knight.
“I am going to ask you this one time,” Richard snarled, pointing a finger at the old man like a sword. “Why the hell did you send for me!?”
“Annwn is on the rise,” Merle stated.
The old man’s serene manner only fueled Richard’s anger. “What the fuck does that have to do with Elizabeth!?” he roared.
“Everything. Or maybe nothing.”
“Riddles,” he spat. He turned to leave and in his fury, almost bowled Bran over. The boy didn’t move.
“Get out of my way,” Richard snapped venomously.
“Bran, you have played chess, yes?” Merle questioned.
“I used to play when I was a kid, yeah,” Bran said, looking uncertainly at the knight but still not getting out of his way. “My father taught me when I was about six.”
“Explain to Richard what happens at the start of a game.”
Richard had had enough. “Merle, don’t sit there an—”
“Tell him, Bran,” Merle cut in.
“Uhh, usually the pawns are moved forward.”
“Precisely,” the bookseller said. “Why?”
“They begin the game to allow other pieces into play.”
“A player moves a pawn; his foe counters with a move of his own,” Merle said, eyeing Richard. “The same is true in Annwn and this world. Pawns are moving, pieces being pushed into place with victory as the goal. All I know is those pawns must be countered. No matter what you may think, Richard, I do not entirely see the forces that move to imbalance the world, only a suggestion of them in the air, on the earth, and at the edge of my awareness.” He paused. “That suggestion moved me to have Bran find you tonight and bring you here.”
“You still have not answered my question,” the knight said.
“I will get to it,” Merle said. “First, I must discover how much Bran has learned during his reading this past month.”
“I knew it,” Richard scowled. “There is no reason to include him in this.”
“There is,” the old man disagreed.
“I am right here, ya know,” Bran said, although Richard detected a bit of fear in the boy’s voice. “I can make my own choices. And if this has anything to do with what happened the other night and I can learn just what the hell went down out there in the Bricks, I want to know.”
“Very perceptive of you, Bran,” Merle said. “We certainly mean you no harm.”
“If you believe that, boy, then you are not as bright as I thought you,” Richard said.