The Stoneholding

"Now surely Captain, there can't be need -- we've orders from the Mindal -- let's move along, it's late enough as it is." Though he feigned impatience, a chill passed down Frysan's spine. It was clear to him why they had resorted to such a password. No highlander, no matter how long he had been resident in Dinas Antrum, could pronounce r's like that without giving himself away with some hint of a telltale burr.

"But it's just a short phrase, Master Draper Dorassy, ever so short and easy. And I mustn't always be overriding my orders. Not good for the men. I can't have them getting the notion that when I issue an order I'm not serious, dead serious."

Frysan stiffened. His foot ached.

"Here, I'll make things easy for you. I'll speak the password again and you can say it directly after me. That way you won't tax your memory. We all know how you merchants feel about taxes. Come now, repeat after me, 'Terrible trials trouble robin redbreast's roosting rest.'"

"Very well then, Captain, since you insist," said Frysan with an air of gracious resignation. If he made some move now, he might still escape, especially if Eldor and his men lurked anywhere near. The mission, however, would be ruined, Arvon's last hope gone. It would be best to play along, to play mouse to Baldrick's cat for as long as he could, biding his time, waiting for a chance to salvage his mission. He must let Baldrick admit him into the palace first, to the Queen's apartments, if possible, and then he'd deal with the ...