Before Winter. Nancy Wallace K.

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ spoken with her, too, or he might have doubted his own sanity.

      A few hours after midnight, it began to rain, a damp misty drizzle at first and then a downpour, bringing Marcus upright, his blanket over his head. “What in God’s name!” he grumbled.

      Devin turned to look at him. “Sorry, I can keep watch but I can’t control the weather.”

      Marcus gave a shiver, pulling his sodden blanket around him. “It’s late. Why didn’t you waken me?”

      “I could feel the rain coming,” Devin answered. “I thought I’d give you a chance to sleep while it was dry.”

      “Not so great for you!” Marcus observed. “Where’s your blanket?”

      “I’m sitting on it,” Devin replied. “I thought I’d keep it as dry as I could. I’m worried about the journal.”

      “Why don’t you sleep against one of the trunks?” Marcus suggested. “Put the side of your jacket with the Chronicle and the journal against the tree. You can have my blanket, too, if you like.”

      “No, thank you,” Devin said, sliding over to hug the nearest oak tree. “It’s already soaked.”

      He moved to snuggle against the tree trunk and found the bark ridged and unyielding. He doubled his blanket over his shoulders and closed his eyes but the drip from overhead branches made sleep impossible. After several unsuccessful attempts, he watched a gray dawn touch the eastern horizon with Marcus.

      “Can we move on?” he asked.

      “If you’re ready,” Marcus answered. “This doesn’t appear to be letting up. We may as well be on our way.”

      The rain continued all day, leaving their clothes and boots soaked. Finally, by late afternoon the storm clouds scudded off, leaving the sky brilliantly blue and cloudless.

      “It’s going to be cold tonight,” Marcus predicted. “We need to find shelter – somewhere we can dry our clothes and get warm.”

      “Do you have any money?” Devin asked.

      “I picked the pockets of the men I dropped in the bay,” Marcus admitted. “What are you thinking?”

      “Finding an inn, perhaps?” Devin suggested. “If I tie this bandage around my eyes and find a stout stick, I could pretend that I am blind and you are my father. We’d hardly fit the description of the men the soldiers are seeking.”

      Marcus shook his head. “That’s risky, Devin. I think we need to stay out of any populated areas.”

      “A cave then?” Devin asked hopefully, thinking of the misery of sleeping outside on a cold night in wet clothes.

      “We’ll see,” Marcus said without agreeing.

      They crossed fields, slithered down into ravines, and clambered over stone walls, all to avoid the main road. As the light began to dim, Marcus spotted what looked like a low shelter for livestock at the corner of a pasture.

      “That looks promising,” Marcus remarked cheerfully. “Stay here in the hedgerow while I check it out.”

      He was only gone for a few minutes, skirting the field and soundlessly approaching the shelter from the back. For a man on the far side of forty, he moved like a cat, swiftly and silently covering the distance. Devin lost sight of him when he disappeared inside. A moment later he motioned Devin ahead.

      “Luck is on our side,” Marcus said with a grin. “This is a shepherd’s hut. There’s dry straw to sleep on and even a lantern filled with oil!”

      “Too bad there is no roast mutton hidden away,” Devin said as his stomach rumbled.

      “That I don’t have,” Marcus replied. “But there is time enough for me to hunt and you can read your precious journal tonight as long as you keep the lantern shuttered.”

      Devin dropped his pack and felt for the pages of the Chronicle in his jacket. They were warm and dry and so was the journal. “We’re lucky indeed,” Devin agreed.

      Marcus left his pack on the straw. “I’ll be back in a few minutes with something to eat.”

      Removing the journal, Devin took off his jacket and hung it to dry on one of the branches which had escaped the interwoven tangle of limbs which made up the walls of the hut. Though the structure was open on one side, the three remaining walls broke the wind. He propped his back against the corner and opened the journal.

      The first page recording the date was written in larger handwriting than the contents of the journal. Devin squinted at the first entry in frustration as the letters and words blurred together. He rubbed his eyes but no matter how he struggled, the words were as indecipherable as though they were written in a foreign language. What if this problem with his eyesight was permanent? He could never return to his work at the Archives. Of what use was an archivist who couldn’t read or copy manuscripts? He put the journal back in his jacket. He’d had little or no sleep last night, he rationalized. Perhaps that was part of the problem, and admittedly the light inside the hut wasn’t good either. He put his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. A short nap might improve things.

      Marcus entered, wakening him. He laid two skinned rabbits down on the hay. “I thought you’d be devouring that journal!” he said in surprise.

      Devin passed a hand over his eyes. “I guess my lack of sleep got the better of me. Perhaps we can read it together after dinner.”

      “Read it to me while I cut these rabbits up,” Marcus directed. “I think we might be able to roast them a bit over that lantern.”

      Devin slid forward. “I can’t, Marcus.”

      “You can’t what?” he asked, busy with his rabbits. “I know you don’t like raw meat. I just said I’m going to try to cook it for you.”

      “It’s not that,” Devin answered.

      “Then what’s the matter?” Marcus asked, sparing him an annoyed look.

      “I can’t read,” Devin blurted out. “My eyes are blurry all the time. I can’t see straight.”

      Marcus dropped his knife and turned around. “When you first mentioned this, I assumed it was temporary. You read the date in that journal to me yesterday.”

      Devin turned the book so he could see it. “The date and Father Sébastian’s name are written much larger. I was able to make that much out. But in the journal entries …” He turned a page and held the book up for Marcus, “the writing is much smaller. See for yourself.”

      “God, Devin, I had no idea! You should have told me,” Marcus replied. “It’s only been five days, maybe it will go away.”

      “Maybe,” Devin conceded.

      “Have the headaches stopped?”

      “Yes, and the dizziness, too. It’s only the blurriness in my eyes that’s remained.”

      “What can I do?” Marcus asked.

      “Read СКАЧАТЬ