The Lost Stories (21 page)

“Go away and grow up a little,” he had said, adding as an afterthought, “both of you.”

Because he hunted to provide food and not from any sense of pleasure in the kill, he wasn't disappointed with his lack of success, but accepted it philosophically. Jenny had other meat she could offer on her menu. It wasn't as if people were going to go short. So he was in a relatively good mood as he rode back to Redmont.

Relatively. There was one matter that was nagging away at him. The more he thought about it on the return journey, the more bothered he became.

As he was unsaddling Tug and putting the tack away, the little horse looked curiously at him.

Why the long face?
Tug had never really understood the principle behind that old joke, Will thought.

“That's supposed to be my line to you. After all, you're the horse. The joke is, a horse walks into a tavern and the innkeeper says, ‘Why the long face?'” he said. Tug shifted from one foreleg to the other, his equivalent of a careless shrug.

“It's this speech I'm giving at the wedding,” Will told him, rubbing him down with a dry piece of old blanket, then looking around for the brush to curry him with—Tug's coat had picked up a lot of burrs as they had pushed through the undergrowth in their fruitless search for game. “It's got me worried.”

“Horses don't have weddings either, so far as I know,” Will told him.

Tug's ears pricked forward with appreciation of his own wit. He emitted the horse equivalent of a snigger. Will sighed.

“You don't get any better, do you?” he said, and continued plying the brush. Tug stood still for a few minutes, enjoying the contact and the pleasantly abrasive feeling of the stiff bristles working through his coat.

“Halt wasn't very impressed with it,” Will said after a few minutes' silence.

Halt and Tug had a history of disagreement, which stemmed from Halt's beliefs about how many apples were good for a horse.

“That's true. But I asked Pauline, and even though she didn't say so directly, I don't think she liked it either.”

He waited, pausing between brushstrokes. But there was no response. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. Maybe Tug was trying to find a tactful way of saying that if Pauline didn't like it, he might have a problem. Then, when he thought about it, he realized that Tug was rarely tactful about anything. He leaned to one side to get a look at the horse's face. Maybe he'd fallen asleep standing up. Horses could do that, he knew. But the big brown eyes blinked and looked back at him.

An idea struck Will. A possible way to settle the question in his own mind. He finished the last of his brushstrokes, stepping back a pace to admire how neat the horse's normally shaggy coat looked.

“Maybe I could read a bit of it to you,” he suggested. Tug shifted from one foot to another again. But now the movement was more wary than before.

“No. But you'll know something good if you hear it,” Will told him. He set down the brush and reached for his inner pocket.

Tug rolled an eye doubtfully.
What if I don't?

“What if you don't know something good?” Will asked.

Will was taken aback by this lack of faith.

“Oh, you will,” he said stiffly. “Just listen to this.”

“You can have it when you've heard my speech.”

“It's several pages now. But it's so good, it won't seem long. You'll be begging for more at the end.”

He looked at the horse and was surprised to see a skeptical expression on his face. Will had no idea that horses could show such an emotion. It was unsettling. He unfolded the sheets on which he had written the speech, smoothed it out and cleared his throat.

“What?”

“I didn't sneeze. I cleared my throat. Like this.” He did it again. Tug blinked several times.

“It was not a sneeze and it's not the plague. You're going to hear this speech whether you like it or not,” he said firmly. Then he hastened to add, “Although I'm sure you will like it. It's really good.”

Tug emitted a deep abdominal rumble. Will looked sidelong at him. It had sounded like criticism, he thought. Then he realized it couldn't have been, as he hadn't begun the speech yet.

He smoothed the pages once more and began reading.

 

“. . . It would be contumelious of me not to pay tribute at this juncture in time to a multifarious assemblage of persons who, by the assiduous attention to the needs of . . .”

Will paused. He had been reading for several minutes and Tug hadn't stirred. Now he wasn't sure, but he thought Tug had made a noise—a deep, droning noise.

“What was that?” he asked. But there was no immediate reply. Shrugging, he looked back to the sheet of paper in his hand.“Where was I? Oh yes . . . to a multifarious assemblage . . .”

The noise came again. This time he was sure it came from Tug. It seemed to be centered in his throat and chest. Then the horse's entire body shuddered. Will looked at him curiously. Perhaps his beautiful words had reduced his old friend to tears, he thought. He stepped around to face Tug as the droning noise came once more. The horse's eyes were tight shut and his knees were locked. He was fast asleep. Will realized, as the droning noise came again, that he was snoring.

“You faithless wretch,” he said. Tug snored again.

Disgusted, Will folded the sheet of paper and returned it to his inner pocket. He turned on his heel and strode from the stable. As he reached the door, the regular droning sound stopped. He glanced back at Tug.

He glared at the horse. “I'm sorry. I don't have one. Perhaps you could dream one up.”

He walked out of the stable, his back stiff, every line of his body showing how affronted he was by his horse's behavior. He reached the front of the cabin, where Ebony lay sprawled on her side in the sun. As he mounted the steps to the cabin, one eye opened and her heavy tail thumped once on the boards of the verandah.

He regarded her for a moment. Dogs were never judgmental, he thought. A dog would stick by you, right or wrong. In a dog's eyes, you could do no wrong. A dog would always give you an honest opinion.

“Good girl, Eb,” he said, and the tail thumped again. He sat down on a bench set against the wall of the cabin. Ebony watched him, craning her head back to see him without moving her body. He clicked his fingers at her.

“Come here, Ebony. Come here, girl.”

With a grunt, she rolled onto her belly, then stood and shook herself. Then she came to him, head lowered, tail sweeping slowly.

“Down.” He gestured and she sank onto her belly at his feet, her eyes fixed on him. He took the paper from his pocket once more and looked at those big beautiful eyes. One deep brown, the other a slightly manic blue.

“I'm going to read you a speech, Ebony,” he said.

The tail thumped once.

“And I want your honest opinion.”

The eyes never wavered from his. He unfolded the paper and began to read. After a few paragraphs, Ebony sighed and dropped her nose onto her outstretched forepaws, but she continued to watch him, seemingly without blinking, as he read the beautiful phrases of his speech. Finally, he reached the ending, a part he was particularly proud of. He read it out, then read it again for emphasis.

“Well,” he said, “what do you think?”

The eyes continued to stare at him. The nose remained resting on the forepaws. There was no movement. But at least, he thought, she was awake.

“Did you like it, Ebony?” he asked, and the tail thumped once on the floorboards. He smiled at her, reached down and ruffled her ears. A good dog would never let you down.

“It's pretty good, isn't it?” he asked. There was no reaction from the dog.

“Is it good, Ebony?” The tail thumped on the floorboards again and Will was assailed by a terrible doubt. He stared at the dog, their gazes locked.

“Is it good?” he repeated. There was no reaction.

“Is it good, Ebony?”
Thump
went the tail.

“Is it the biggest load of rubbish you've ever heard?” No reaction.

“Is it the biggest load of rubbish you've ever heard . . . Ebony?”

Thump
went the tail. He glared at her.

“You're just reacting when I say your name, aren't you?”

No reaction.

“You're just reacting to your name, aren't you . . . Ebony?”

Thump
.

Will stood, shaking his head in annoyance.

“I just can't trust anyone to give me an honest answer. Well, blast Tug. And blast you too, Ebony.”

Thump
went the tail.

In high dudgeon, Will went into the cabin and shut the door firmly behind him. On the verandah, Ebony lay watching the door for a few seconds. Then, when Will didn't come out again, she rose, shook herself and walked to a patch of warm sunlight. With a groan of pleasure, she flopped onto her side, legs outstretched, head tilted back, and went to sleep.

Will shrugged and made a check mark beside
Excellent.

Part of any Ranger's job was to periodically assess the fief's Battlesschool and report to Castle Araluen on the quality of training, the proficiency of Battleschool members and the overall state of readiness in the event of an attack. Redmont's Battleschool was one of the best in the country and Will's assessments were almost always in the
Excellent
range. He sometimes wondered why he couldn't just write “see last assessment,” but the King's Battlemaster demanded detailed answers each time. He sighed as he saw the next question.

He couldn't answer this with a simple check mark. He'd have to write something justifying the rating. He tried to remember the wording of his previous report. As he did so, the door flew open suddenly and Halt entered the cabin.

“Hullo. Didn't hear you coming,” Will said.

Halt gave him a satisfied nod. “Good. Every now and then I try not to blunder around like a blind man in a pottery shop. I'm surprised Tug didn't hear me.”

“Tug's sulking. I didn't give him an apple yesterday.”

Of course, they both knew that if it had been anyone other than Halt approaching, Tug would have given a warning signal, sulking or not.

“Good. He eats too many apples anyway.” Halt looked at the papers on the desk before Will and a wary expression came over his face. “You're not working on that speech, are you?”

Will sighed. “No. Doing my Battleschool assessment for the Royal Battlemaster. I don't know why I have to spell it all out. They should know by now that there are no problems at Redmont Battleschool.”

Halt shrugged. “An army runs on paperwork,” he said. “Anyway, you can forget about it for now. We've got a job.”

Will sat up and took notice at that. “A job?” he said. “Where are we going?”

There was a large-scale map of Araluen on the wall of the cabin and Halt moved to it, tapping his forefinger on a spot in the southwest coast, a little above the border with Celtica.

“Hambley,” he said.“We've had reports that there are moondarkers working their way down the coast. Hambley is their next logical target.”

“Moondarkers?” Will hadn't heard the term before. Halt wasn't surprised. It had been many years since any organized gangs of moondarkers had operated in Araluen.

“Wreckers,” he explained. “Ship wreckers. They work in the dark of the moon and light false beacons on dangerous stretches of the coast. Ships passing by see the beacon fires and think they've reached port. So in they sail, and before they know it, they're on the rocks. The ship breaks up and the moondarkers help themselves to the cargo.”

“What happens to the crews?” Will asked.

“If they survive the wreck, they come ashore. Usually, they don't survive that.”

“These moondarkers sound like nasty people,” Will commented.

Halt nodded. “Exactly. And they're hard to track down because the locals are usually frightened of them.” A frown crossed his face. “Or in some cases, they're in league with them.”

“They share in the spoils,” Will said.

“That's right. There's a lot of stuff the wreckers don't want—timber and cordage, for example. Casks of dried food. Canvas, metal fittings. All the sorts of things that a poor village would find invaluable. Now let's get a move on. The dark of the moon is only a week away, and that's when they'll come out of hiding. I want to be on the road this afternoon. I've sent a message to Gilan and he'll keep an eye on things here while we're away.”

“I'll get my travel gear,” Will said. He hesitated, looking at the unfinished assessment form. “I suppose I could do this while we're on the road,” he said.

Halt picked up the form and tore it in half, before Will's cry of protest could stop him. “Better idea. Leave Gilan a note saying the assessment is due but you haven't got around to it yet. Then he can do an assessment of his own and fill out the form for you.”