The Weirdstone of Brisingamen. Alan Garner
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Название: The Weirdstone of Brisingamen
Автор: Alan Garner
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Детская проза
isbn: 9780007539062
isbn:
“Do svarts live in all the mines?” asked Susan.
“They do. They have their own warrens, but when men dug here they followed, hoping that Fundindelve would be revealed; and when the men departed they swarmed freely. Therefore you must keep away from the mines now, at all cost.”
Cadellin took the children from Stormy Point along a broad track that cut straight through the wood as far as the open fields, where it turned sharply to twist along the meadow border skirting the woodland. This, the wizard said, was once an elf-road, and some of the old magic still lingered. Svarts would not set foot on it, and the morthbrood would do so only if hard pressed, and then they could not bear to walk there for long. He told the children to use this road if they had need to visit him, and not to stray from it: for parts of the wood were evil, and very dangerous. “But then,” he said, “you have already found that to be true!” It would be wiser, he thought, to stay away from the wood altogether, and on no account must they go out of doors once the sun had set.
The track came to an end by the side of The Wizard Inn, and they had gone barely a hundred yards from there when they heard the sound of hoofs, and round the corner ahead of them came the shape of a horse and cart, oil lamps flickering on either side.
“It’s Gowther!”
“Do not speak of me!” said Cadellin.
“Oh, but …” began Susan. “But …”
But they were alone.
“Wey back!” called Gowther to Prince. “Hallo theer! Dunner you think it’s a bit late to be looking for wizards? It’s gone eleven o’clock, tha knows.”
“Oh, we’re sorry, Gowther,” said Colin. “We didn’t mean to be late, but we were lost, and stuck in a bog, and it took us a long time to find the road again.”
He thought that this half-lie would be more readily accepted than the truth, and Cadellin obviously wanted to keep his existence a secret.
“Eh well, we’ll say no more about it then; but think on you’re more careful in future, for with all them mine holes lying around, Bess was for having police and fire brigade out to look for you.
“Now up you come: if you’ve been traipsing round in Holywell bog you’ll be wanting a bath, I reckon.”
On reaching the farm Colin and Susan wasted no time in dragging off their muddy clothes and climbing into a steaming bath-tub. From there they went straight to bed, and Bess, who had been fussing and clucking round like a hen with chicks, brought them bowls of hot, salted bread and milk.
The children were too tired to think, let alone talk, much about their experience, and as they drowsily snuggled down between the sheets all seemed to grow confused and vague: it was impossible to keep awake. Colin slid into a muddled world of express trains, and black birds, and bracken, and tunnels, and dead leaves, and horses.
“Oh gosh,” he yawned, “which is which? Are there wizards and goblins? Or are we still at home? Must ask Sue about … about … oh … knights … ask Mum … don’t believe in farmers … farm – no … witches … and … things … oh …”
He began, very quietly, to snore.
On the crest of the Riddings, staring down upon the farmhouse as it lay bathed in gossamer moonlight, was a dark figure, tall and gaunt; and on its shoulder crouched an ugly bird.
The next day was cool and showery. The children slept late, and it was turned nine o’clock when they came down for breakfast.
“I thought it best to let you have a lie in this morning,” said Bess. “You looked dead beat last neet; ay, and you’re a bit pale now. Happen you’d do better to take things easy today, and not go gallivanting over the Edge.”
“Oh, I think we’ve seen enough of the Edge for a day or two,” said Susan. “It was rather tiring.”
Breakfast was hardly over when a lorry arrived from Alderley station with the children’s bicycles and trunks, and Colin and Susan immediately set about the task of unpacking their belongings.
“What do you make of last night?” asked Susan when they were alone. “It doesn’t seem possible, does it?”
“That’s what I was wondering in bed; but we can’t both have imagined it. The wizard is in a mess, isn’t he? I shouldn’t like to live by myself all the time and be on guard against things like those svarts.”
“He said things worse than svarts, remember! I shouldn’t have thought anything could be worse than those clammy hands and bulging eyes, and their flat feet splashing in the mud. If it’s so, then I’m glad I’m not a wizard!”
They did not discuss their pursuit and rescue. It was too recent for them to think about it without trembling and feeling sick. So they talked mainly about the wizard and his story, and it was late afternoon before they had finished unpacking and had found a place for everything.
Colin and Susan went down to tea. Gowther was already at the table, talking to Bess.
“And a couple of rum things happened after dinner, too. First, I go into the barn for some sacks, and, bless me, if the place inner full of owls! I counted nigh on two dozen snoozing among the rafters – big uns, too. They mun be thinking we’re sneyed out with mice, or summat. I’ve never seen owt like it.
“And then again, about an hour later, a feller comes up to me in Front Baguley, and he asks if I’ve a job for him. I didner like his looks at all. He was a midget, with long black hair and a beard, and skin like owd leather. He didner talk as if he came from round here, either – he was more Romany than owt else, to my way of thinking; and his clothes looked as though they’d been borrowed and slept in.
“Well, when I tell him I dunner need a mon, he looks fair put out, and he starts to tell me his hard luck story, and asks me to give him a break, but I give him his marching orders instead. He dunner argue: he just turns on his heel and stalks off, saying as I might regret treating him like this before long. He seemed in a fair owd paddy! All the same, I think Scamp had best have the run of the hen-pen for a neet or two, just in case.”
The wizard had told Colin and Susan to keep their windows closed, no matter how hot and stuffy their bedrooms might become, so the colder weather was not unwelcome, and they slept soundly enough that night.
Not so Gowther. The furious barking of Scamp woke him at three o’clock. It was the tone used for strangers, high-pitched and continuous, not the gruff outbursts that answered other dogs, birds, or the wind. Gowther scrambled into his clothes, seized his shot-gun and lantern, which he had put ready to hand, and made for the door.
“I knew it! I knew it! The little blighter’s after my chickens. I’ll give him chickens!”
“Watch thy step, lad,” said Bess. “You’re bigger than he is, and that’s all the more of thee for him to СКАЧАТЬ