The Land of the Silver Apples - Farmer Nancy (книги бесплатно txt) 📗

Ethne was radiant in a white gown sprinkled with diamonds. Ratface was dressed as a proper knight’s squire, which took away some of his weasel-like demeanor. “There’s a heap of swords, belts, and pennants next to the lake,” Brutus said. “We can pick them up on the way.”

But for Pega and the hobgoblins there was nothing. “I can’t go in this,” Pega cried, pointing at her threadbare, secondhand dress.

“The Lady must have forgotten about you,” Brutus said.

“She didn’t forget!” fumed Jack. “She’s taking revenge. Partholis must have told her about the candle.”

“Don’t cry, dearest. It’s much nicer to wait here,” said the Bugaboo. “Hobgoblins can’t go into town anyway. Mud men throw rocks at us.”

Pega wiped her tears away. “They are mud men, aren’t they? Oh, how I hate them! And the Lady, too!”

“I’ll tickle up some trout, and the Nemesis will build a fire. When it’s safe, we’ll go to St. Filian’s and see your Brother Aiden.”

“You’re so good to me,” she said, sighing.

“And who would not be?” the hobgoblin king declared.

It was easy rounding up horses—they seemed relieved to find owners again. Thorgil rode her pony, and Jack found one too. He had never been on a horse, except with King Yffi’s men, but he had some experience of donkeys. A pony was exactly the right size to learn on. He turned to wave good-bye to Pega and the hobgoblins. All three were hidden in the grass, and if Jack hadn’t known exactly where they were, he would have missed them.

The band set off with Jack and Ratface bearing green pennants that fluttered in the breeze. Jack was pleased with the new and extremely well-made sword at his side. It was short and light enough to be used easily. To no one’s surprise, Ethne turned out to be an excellent horsewoman. She had only to ask, and the beast did exactly what she wanted as though it understood her speech. Brutus rode a coal black stallion with neat hooves and flashing eyes. They made a glorious pair, with Father Severus going ahead to announce them. Ratface plodded behind on a heavy-footed nag he was afraid of.

“Brutus will charm all the women, and Ethne will charm all the men,” observed Thorgil as she and Jack brought up the rear. “Perhaps they should marry.”

“Ethne wants to be a nun,” said Jack.

Thorgil laughed. “You might as well ask a butterfly to haul rocks. I know little of nuns except that Ethne would make a bad one.”

“She’s allowed to try.”

“I wonder. In some ways she’s like Frith and Yffi—oh, not cruel or vicious like them. But she’s caught between two worlds. Such creatures often go mad.”

“Father Severus will watch over her,” said Jack uneasily.

The entry into town was all they could have hoped for. Everyone was gathered in the market square, for all had heard that Din Guardi was no more. A pair of shepherds, looking for lost sheep, had watched its destruction. “It were a dragon!” one of them told the excited crowd. “All breathing sparks and whatnot. Horrible noises, just horrible!”

“We daren’t stick out a toe all night,” the other exclaimed. “Else we’d be gobbled up too. In the morning there was nothing. Not… one… pebble.” The tidiness of the destruction impressed everyone.

It was then that Father Severus rode up on his steed, crying, “Make way for the new Lord of Din Guardi!” Everyone scattered to make room. Brutus followed, cheerfully raising his hand in greeting. “Look fierce,” hissed the monk, and so Brutus frowned adorably.

“Coo! He’s a handsome one,” a woman said.

“What about her?” said a man. Ethne made her horse lift its hooves delicately, as though it were dancing. It was a pretty trick that caused many a shout of approval, but of course the prettiest trick of all was the glamour that shone all around.

“You tell me if that looks like a nun,” Thorgil said to Jack.

“Behold the man who rules Din Guardi after the death of the vile usurper Yffi!” cried Father Severus, raising his crozier. “In the night, destruction fell on that fortress. All evil was swept away, and now is the time of new beginnings.”

“Begging your pardon, sir,” said a man who seemed to be a local leader, “you mean a dragon didn’t tear the place up?”

“There are no dragons here,” the monk said scornfully. “It was the wrath of God that fell on Yffi.”

“But He had help, right?” insisted the man. “By the way, I’m the mayor.”

“Well, mayor of Bebba’s Town, God chooses His instruments where He pleases. Behold Brutus! Rightful heir to his father, Lucius, of the line of Lancelot!”

Again Jack found himself admiring the monk’s skill. Not once did he actually lie. God hadchosen His instruments of destruction: yarthkins. But by proclaiming Brutus, Father Severus left the impression that the unreliable, good-natured, and lazy ex-slave had done it. Ethne’s dazzling presence did no harm either.

“Hurrah for King Brutus, Lord of Din Guardi!” shouted the mayor, which was then echoed by the crowd. A feast day was declared, bonfires built, beer kegs rolled out, and unfortunate chickens chased for the festivities. In no time the trappings used for fairs were unpacked. A charming pavilion was erected for King Brutus and (as the townspeople assumed) his future bride, Ethne. Father Severus lost no time in informing everyone that she was a princess.

It was a grand celebration that went on late into the night. Jack worried about Pega and the hobgoblins, but Father Severus said it was better to leave them alone. “The Bugaboo will take care of her,” he said. “I hope her heart has inclined toward him since his near escape from death. She’s a good child and deserves a better fate than she’d receive here.”

But Jack thought about her horror of being underground without the light of the sun.

Chapter Forty-nine

ST. FILIAN’S WELCOME

In the morning they set out for St. Filian’s, leaving Ethne behind in case of trouble. A large crowd of townspeople insisted on coming, which was what Father Severus had wanted all along. “Believe me, the real problem lies with the monastery,” he told Jack as they rode side by side. “Those monks are little better than pirates, and there’s a lot of them. I quite look forward to sorting them out.” He smiled ominously.

“You, sir?” inquired Jack.

“Brutus is putting me in charge. Brother Aiden is the most forgiving man in the world. He’d rescue a drowning rat even if it bit him, and would bless the little brute afterward. Father Swein’s flock needs a different sort of shepherd.”

Jack saw a patch of white beyond a grove of pines on a hill and recognized St. Filian’s. Beyond, to his amazement, stretched a large lake filled with reeds. But where before Jack’s heart had lifted at the sight of beautiful white walls and buildings buzzing with activity, the monastery now seemed curiously dead. “It hasn’t been raided?” he said.

“Not from without,” said Father Severus. The grounds that had been carefully tended were now in squalor. Weeds grew everywhere. A rubbish heap was piled outside a door, and a latrine had obviously not been cleaned for a long time. Two monks—or slaves (it was hard to tell from that distance)—lay snoring on the heap. A pig rooted around them for scraps.

Some of the damage had come from the earthquake. Great cracks ran down some of the walls, but they should have been mended by now. “It’s like the vision I had,” murmured Jack.

“Blow the trumpet, Ratface,” commanded Father Severus. Ratface had been taught the skill at Din Guardi, to muster soldiers. What he lacked in musical ability he made up for with zeal. The trumpet shook the air again and again. The monks jumped up from the rubbish heap and ran into each other in panic. The pig dashed for the woods. Cries came from within.

“That should do it, Ratface,” Father Severus said. The boy grinned and wiped the spit off the mouthpiece.