The Tale of Mally Biddle by M.L. LeGette Page B

table to make room for two bowls of stew.
    “He didn’t seem too happy about me helping,” Mally replied uncomfortably. Would everyone else in the rebel group act the way Galen had? Would they all think she couldn’t handle the dangers of spying on the knights and the king?
    “Like I said, he worries too much,” Ivan said quietly, a kind smile on his face. “You’ll be fine.”
    Mally gave him a nervous smile and drank some more of her cider.
     
    It was just before Mally and Ivan had finished their dinner that the knights in the corner left. Just as Ivan had said, they simply rose with much talking and laughing and left. Galen and his mother stood at the bar and simply stared after them stone-faced. Mally watched Galen turn to his mother and say something, but she didn’t reply. Mally thought that her jaw was clenched.
    After dinner, Ivan went off in search of Olive to ask if there was a room available for Mally. He returned to tell Mally that a room was ready and paid for.
    “Paid for?” Mally repeated, turning slightly pink. “You didn’t need to pay for my room.”
    “I wanted to. It’s the least I could do”—he dropped his voice—“seeing that I’m asking you to risk your life and all.”
    Mally laughed, but it was a short one.
    “Where do I put Sam?”
    “There’s a stable that you can use. It’s down the next street. It’s”—Ivan looked suddenly embarrassed—“called Clip-Clop . Tell the fellow there—name’s Bob Kettle—that I sent you and that I’m paying for Sam’s stay.”
    Mally blushed even harder.
    “No arguments,” Ivan said firmly. Then he added, “I can go with you, if you want.”
    Mally stood up and Ivan had to take a hasty step back to give her room.
    “No, you’ve done enough for me,” she said, drawing her cloak around her shoulders. “Thank you.”
    “All right then. Shall I escort you out the door?” Ivan asked, bowing slightly.
    “Yes, you shall,” Mally replied, grinning and taking his arm.
    It was bitterly cold outside and Mally couldn’t wait to get back inside the Lone Candle. Sam nickered softly at the sight of Mally and she felt a stab of guilt at making him stay so long in the cold street. She quickly untied his reigns with numb fingers, said goo dnight to Ivan, and headed in the direction that he had indicated.
    The few shops down this long street were spaced much fa rther apart from each other and focused on tending to horses. Mally felt that she was walking toward the edge of the city’s walls. Trees and grass grew here and when she reached the end of the road, she found a large fenced-in meadow and yes, at the other side of the meadow ran the giant stone wall surrounding the city.  To her immediate left was the stable Ivan had mentioned, for in the dim light from the city wall’s torches she read from a wooden sign hammered into the ground: Clip-Clop. The words looked as though they had been carved into the wood with a knife.
    “Need a place for your horse?” asked a thin, wiry old man, who stepped into the light of one of the streetlamps. He was slightly stooped, and a great deal of white hair covered his head.
    “Yes, sir. I was told this was the place to go.”
    “If you want the best place for your steed,” the man e xclaimed, waving a knobby cane in the air. “This way, if you please!”
    Mally smirked at Sam who looked taken aback by the tiny, e xuberant man. Gently, she tugged him into the stable.
    It was well built and very roomy. The large framework and thick-boarded walls kept the cold at bay. The ground was a dense mat of straw and a few peaceful neighs drifted from the other stalls. Sam sniffed the air.
    “The name’s Bob Kettle, missy,” said the old man.
    “Mally Biddle,” and she shook hands with Bob, who had a su rprisingly strong grip.
    “Tha’s quite a nice horse ya got there, Mally,” Bob Kettle said with a wide, toothy grin, taking in every inch of Sam.
    “His name’s Sam.”
    “Fine name,” said Bob,