Scorpion Mountain by John A. Flanagan

pretty,” he said, leaning down to peer more closely at them.
    â€œI’m not after pretty,” Hal said. Then, as he watched the jeweler stooping over the table, a thought struck him. “You’re shortsighted?”
    Geoffrey looked up at him. “Comes of spending my life working hunched over tiny pieces,” he said.
    Hal nodded. “Would you mind trying something for me?”
    Geoffrey grunted assent. He was still suspicious of this Skandian, but he was interested to know why the young man would want these two fairly unattractive pieces. Most people, if they chose tortoiseshell, wanted the pieces to be light and translucent. These were dark and opaque. He was quite pleased to be able to sell them at all. He’d planned to cut them into smaller pieces and use them as highlights in a design.
    Hal picked up one of the discs and pointed to the center of it.
    â€œCould you bore a tiny hole here in the center?” he asked. “I’ll buy the piece, of course.”
    Geoffrey shrugged. “Why not?” He picked a small auger from the clutter of tools on the table and held it up for Hal to see. “This small enough?”
    Hal examined the tiny drill and nodded. “That should be fine. Drill it right in the center.”
    It took only a minute for Geoffrey to comply. Then he looked questioningly at Hal, who motioned for him to hold the disc in front of one eye. “Hold it over one eye, close the other eye and look out the window,” Hal said.
    Geoffrey, shaking his head in puzzlement, did as he was asked. As he looked out the window, however, Hal saw his shoulders stiffen in surprise.
    â€œThat’s remarkable.” The jeweler took the disc away from his eye, looked out the window, then replaced the disc and looked again.
    Hal leaned forward eagerly. “What happens?”
    â€œI can see things much more clearly when I look through this tiny hole. It seems to bring things into focus.”
    A wide smile spread over Hal’s face. “That’s just what I wanted to hear. Now, how much do I owe you?”

chapter ten
    T he hunting party assembled outside the castle, on the outer side of the drawbridge. Stig, Thorn, Ulf, Wulf and Lydia emerged, and stood waiting for the princess to join them.
    Ulf and Wulf in particular excited comment.
    â€œWonder how their mother tells them apart?” said one of the sentries. His companion shrugged.
    â€œWonder how they tell themselves apart?” he replied. “They’re like two peas in a pod, they are.”
    The other member of the party who excited comment was Kloof. Stig had her on a short leather leash that was hooked to her collar. She pranced a little, pleased to be out in the fresh air after her time in the castle. But after a few minutes, she settled down.
    â€œNo need to go hunting, really,” said the first sentry. “They’ve brought their own bear.”
    Lydia had looked askance at the big dog. “She’s likely to scare off the game,” she said skeptically.
    Stig shrugged. “If she plays up, I’ll bring her back to the castle.”
    Before Lydia could comment further, Princess Cassandra emerged from the gatehouse and crossed the drawbridge. She was dressed for hunting, in dark green tights and knee-high boots, with a leather over-jerkin that came to mid-thigh. A wide leather belt held the jerkin in at the waist, with a sheathed saxe and a heavy-looking shot pouch on either side. She wore a long peaked hat with a green feather in it and had her sling hanging around her neck.
    Two muscular bodyguards, armed with swords, daggers and crossbows, marched a few paces behind her.
    â€œGood morning, everyone,” she called cheerfully. “Sorry I’m late.”
    Thorn and Stig mumbled a reply. Princesses were obviously allowed to be late.
    Lydia frowned slightly. In her book, nobody should be late when there was hunting to be done, princess or not.
    Kloof whined