Geoffrey stared at him, then whirled to his father. "Thou dost lie!"

Magnus turned, too, though more slowly.

"I do not," Rod said evenly. "I am most definitely afraid of that castle."

Geoffrey lifted his chin. "Yet not so afeard that thou wilt not encamp in the shadow of its walls."

"You've noticed."

Geoffrey winced. "Be not so cruel to me, I pray! Tell me wherefore thou dost hesitate."

Rod just gazed at him. Geoffrey twitched, but held firm.

Softly, Magnus said, "Hast thou the right to hear it, brother, when thou hast lost faith in him?"

Geoffrey seemed to loosen a little. "I did not. Not truly, I did not—I but craved a reason to keep belief.''

Rod still gazed.

Finally, Geoffrey bowed his head. "Thy pardon, sir, that I did doubt thee."

"Why, of course," Rod said. "Question me all you wish, son, though you may not like the answer—but don't doubt me, please. I don't deserve it."

"Nay, thou dost not," Gwen said, musing. "Yet thou couldst have been more open, husband."

"I could, if I could have put words to it—but it took a few minutes to figure out what was bothering me. And really, it's simply this—I don't like surprises."

"Aye!" Geoffrey cried, relieved. " 'Tis even as thou hast ever said—to march ahead unknowing is most dire folly!"

Rod nodded. "Took me a few minutes to figure that out, though, since it isn't an army we're facing. That's why I told you I was scared. Emotions are there for reasons, and when I can't figure out exactly what I'm scared about, it's wisest to stand back—if I can."

"And in this, thou canst." Gwen nodded. "There is wisdom in this, husband. Nay, let us bide without for the night, and learn what we may on the morrow." She turned to Cordelia, who had been watching very intently the whole time, taking copious mental notes. "Come, daughter. Let us prepare for the meal, and the night."

"You heard her, boys," Rod called, "pitch camp."

The light of a campfire under a tripod and cauldron, and the smell of stew, cheered their spirits considerably. Firelight flickered on their faces, Fess, and, across from him, the family tent, which had grown steadily over the years until it had become a pavilion.

"How shall we begin to discover knowledge of this castle, Papa?" Magnus asked.

"Well, your mother and I already know a little, son."

Gwen nodded. " 'Tis not so far from Runnymede that folk there would have heard naught in all these years."

"Then what thou dost know is but gossip," Gregory objected.

Gwen nodded again. "And 'tis thereby faulted—yet there's oft a kernel of truth in a rumor."

"And what doth Rumor say?" Cordelia demanded.

"First," Rod answered, "we know that the name of the castle is Foxcourt. That, I think, we can take as fact, because that's what King Tuan called it when he enfoeffed me with it."

"Doth 'enfoeffed' mean aught like to 'encumbered,' Papa?"

Rod nearly choked on his stew. He wiped his mouth and his eyes and said, "Only in this case, Delia. Usually, it just means that the King is letting the knight live there and have the income from it. It's like gaining title to a piece of land, in reward for service to the Crown."

"Yet 'tis still the Crown's?" Magnus asked.

"In theory, yes—but for all intents and purposes, it belongs to the knight who's been given seizin of it, and to his heirs."

"What doth 'given seizin' mean?" Geoffrey asked.

" 'Enfoeffed.' "

"Oh." Geoffrey frowned, puzzled.

"There are many words in our language that have meanings so similar as to be nearly the same," Gwen explained, "though there are different occasions for their employment. Tis why its use doth become art."

"And defeats those who would treat it as a science," Rod agreed. "However, we are seized of this castle and the ten miles surrounding it, which is our fief, whether we like it or not—so, if there are some maleficent spooks disputing its ownership, we'd better take care of them for once and for all."

"And that doth begin with its name?"

Rod shrugged. "It's a starting place. If we can find out why it was named that, we may have a start at finding out what the haunting spirit is."

"The castle's name doth sound as thou 'twas famed for its hunting."

"Aye," Gwen agreed, "the more so as 'twas the hold of a noble family."

"But they also bore the name Foxcourt," Rod objected. "They'd have had to take the name of the castle for their own, if hunting was really its source."

" 'Tis common enough, is't not?" Magnus asked. "The Earl Marshall is fully Robert Artos, Lord Marshall—yet though his family's name is 'Artos,' all do speak of him as 'Marshall.' "

"True enough, but it's been known to happen the other way just as often. 'Tudor' is our neighbor Earl's family name, but he gave it to his demesne."

"Then the family of barons who dwelt here took their name from the castle?"

"They were counts, not barons—and yes, that's my guess. But it might have worked the other way around."

Cordelia gazed up at the walls, dark against the dusky sky. "How long did they dwell here?"

"Three centuries, which means the castle's been empty for two hundred years. Tuan says the family died out then, and Di Medici left the building to rot while he administered the county through knights and reeves."

Gwen frowned. " 'Tis unlike what we know of that family, to let a castle stand when it could be invested against them."

"And just as unlike our erstwhile Duke Di Medici to let a useable strongpoint go unused, when it could be tightening his hold over his peasants." Rod nodded. "You're right—something doesn't fit."

"Canst thou tell why?" Gregory asked.

Rod shook his head. "That's all the information King Tuan gave us."

"Where shall we gain more?"

"Where do we always go?" Rod turned to Gwen. "Do we have some extra stew?"

Gwen nodded. "Nearly as much as we've eaten."

"Then let's have company over for dinner. After all, Puck recommended we consult the local authorities." Rod turned to the surrounding trees, calling, "Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes, and groves! Care to take potluck? 'Tis the Lord Warlock who calls, and we'd love some company! Also some information…"

Cordelia's eyes shone, and she started to say something, but Gwen pressed a finger across her lips, and she subsided. Gregory watched, eyes huge, and Geoffrey fidgeted, but managed to stay quiet. Magnus tried to look bored, but failed.

Leaves stirred, then a head the size of Rod's fist poked out. "Art truly he?"

"I am, and these are my wife and children. We're all honorary elves."

"Is't as honorary as all that?" The elf missed Rod's glare, because he turned to Gwen as he scrambled to his feet and bowed. He wore hose and a jerkin of brown—bark, Rod guessed—and was almost as brown as his clothing. "We are honored that thou hast come, Lady Gwendylon. I am hight Buckthorn."

Rod breathed a sigh of relief; for a moment, he'd thought the manikin was going to start talking about Gwen's parentage.

The boys were staring at Rod, scandalized at the lack of respect accorded him, but Rod just held up a palm and watched.

Gwen smiled and inclined her head graciously. "Nay, 'tis thou dost honor me, Old One."

"Nay, for thou art wise and good. Hast thou come, then, to heal this festering sore on our mountain?"

Gwen darted a quick glance at Rod, then turned back to the elf. "We must, for this manor is given into our stewardship. Canst thou tell us aught of its past?"

"Aye, and most gladly!"

"Then do, I prithee. Yet first, call up such of thy fellows as may wish it, to partake of our supper."

"Aye, and right happily." Buckthorn turned back to the forest and made a sort of falling whistle, like the call of a night bird. It was answered by half a dozen like him, four in hose but two in skirts, who came out of the underbrush with shy and hesitant steps, to line up in a half-circle by Buckthorn. "These," he said, "are my companions—Hazelberry and Rose, first."