Chosen Ones by Alister E. McGrath Read Free Book Online Page A

beneath his mask. “It may be their last night alive.” CHAPTER
    7
    P eter woke with the dawn the next morning, opening his eyes to see light streaming through the window.
    He threw off the bedclothes and stretched, yawning deeply. No matter how menacing the Lords and their castle might be, they certainly knew how to make a guest comfortable. Peter was not one to decry the pleasures of a warm, soft bed, especial y after a night spent on the ground and a long walk over rough terrain. He looked around him and noticed that the ragged, dirty cloth he had arrived in had been replaced by a set of clothing fit for a prince. He fingered the rich material, noting with some surprise that a twist of paper lay atop the breast pocket.
    He picked it up and turned it over in his hand, final y realizing that it contained a handful of gunpowder. He’d forgotten about it until now—two nights ago, back in Oxford, he’d been experimenting with his chemistry set when his grandmother had announced that it was high time he get to bed. He’d scooped up the product of his experiment and twisted it into a bit of paper, then shoved it in his pocket and forgotten about it. Strange—that his original clothing had been replaced by a white robe, but this bit of powder had come along into this world.
    He changed quickly, pausing only to admire himself in the mirror, and shoved the gunpowder back into his pocket. One never knew when that sort of thing might be handy. Science—now there was something one could rely on. Nothing chancy or magical about science, was there? And then, deciding that he was going to do some investigation and clue col ecting, just like Sherlock Holmes, and figure out al the mysteries of this place, he went to go find Julia.
    She was already awake and dressed when he got there—awake and dressed and ready for business. She’d been wondering exactly what was going to happen at this meeting in the Great Hal and how on earth they were going to maintain this ruse about being emissaries from Albion, and, to that end, had already written the beginnings of a list.
    “Oh good, you’re up,” she said tersely. “Sit down and help.”
    Peter did as indicated.
    “Now: our object is to overthrow the lords and free the slaves.” She indicated this written at the top of her list. “So…”
    “Pardon me?” said Peter. She looked up.
    “What’s wrong?”
    “That’s our object?” he said incredulously. “How do we know that’s our object?”
    “Because…” She thought again of the garden, and the monk’s warning that Peter could be kept safest through his ignorance. “Because this isn’t how it should be. Slaves and tyrannical lords and al that.”
    “We don’t know that they’re tyrannical, Julia.”
    “What do you think they are—benevolent? With those horrible masks? The Jackal and the Leopard the and Wolf?”

    “I don’t know, and that’s just the point.” Peter paused for a moment, looking very puffed up and pleased with himself. “We have to use reason here.
    Observation. Look for facts, and use them to draw our conclusions.”
    “Oh, honestly.” Julia slammed her list down on the table in a huff. “Truth isn’t always logical, you know.”
    “Of course it is,” Peter said smugly. “I thought I’d start in the library—you know, do some reading on this place’s history.”
    Julia was about to say something snide and possibly regrettable about her brother’s capacity for reason when they were both startled by a knock on the door. Before either of them could answer the door swung open to reveal a red-robed, bejeweled figure: Anaximander.
    “Our Lords of Aedyn request your presence,” he said grandly, and with a sweeping gesture stepped aside and indicated the door. Peter and Julia rose and fol owed him, glaring at each other just for good measure.
    The Great Hal was empty but for the lords, whose masks were no less imposing than they had been the previous day. Peter and Julia went forward and