Cart and Cwidder. Diana Wynne Jones

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СКАЧАТЬ “Look the snares out tomorrow.”

      By the end of the following day the landscape had begun to change. The rolling grey-green slopes gave way to higher, greener hills, and there were more trees. It was like a foretaste of the North. Moril began to feel pleasantly excited, although he knew that they were only entering the South Dales. Tholian, Earl of the South Dales, was reputed to be a tyrant fiercer even than Henda. It was still a long way to the North. Beyond these green hills lay the Uplands and Mark Wood, before they came to Flennpass and the North at last.

      Nevertheless, budding apple trees made a pleasant change from rows of vines. The nights were slightly cooler, and rabbits were plentiful. Every night Dagner went off to set snares round about the camp, and to Moril’s surprise, Kialan made his first helpful gesture and went with Dagner.

      “It’s only because he likes killing things,” Brid said. “He’s that type.”

      Whatever the reason, Kialan was surprisingly good at catching and skinning rabbits, and Lenina was good at rabbit stew. Since they had wine as well, they fed very well for the next few days. Moril was almost grateful to Kialan. But Brid was not in the least grateful because every time they stopped in a town or village to give a show, Kialan would put on his act of not being interested and announce that he would meet them outside the town. And every time, unfailingly, they would see him among the audience, as interested as anyone there.

      “Two-faced hypocrite!” Brid said indignantly. “He’s just trying to make us feel small.”

      “That wouldn’t do you any harm,” Lenina said, in her dry way. Brid was more indignant than ever. It was becoming clear that Lenina rather approved of Kialan. Not that she said anything. It was more that she did not say any of the things she might have done. And when Kialan tore his good coat in the wood, Lenina mended it for him with careful neat stitches.

      Kialan seemed far more surprised than grateful when Lenina handed him the mended coat. “Oh – thanks,” he said. “You shouldn’t have bothered.” His face was red, and he seemed actually a little scornful of Lenina for doing it.

      “Nothing to what I am!” said Brid. “He can go in rags for all I care.”

      The day after this they entered the part of the South Dales which was the lordship of Markind. They never gave shows in Markind. Brid’s dislike of Kialan came to a head while Olob was patiently dragging the cart up and down the steep little hills of this lordship. The reason was that Clennen, who never disdained an audience, began to explain to Kialan exactly why he always hurried through Markind without giving a performance.

      “I took Lenina from here, you see,” he said. “From the very middle of Markind, out of the Lord’s own hall. Didn’t I, Lenina?”

      “You did,” said Lenina. She always looked very noncommittal whenever Clennen told this story.

      “She was betrothed to the Lord’s son. What was his name? Pennan – that was it. And a wet young idiot he was too,” Clennen said reminiscently. “I was asked in to sing at the betrothal – I had quite a name, even in those days, and I was a good deal in demand for occasions like that, let me tell you. Well, no sooner did I come into the hall and set eyes on Lenina than I knew she was the woman for me. Wasted on that idiot Fenner. That was his name, wasn’t it, Lenina?”

      “He was called Ganner,” said Lenina.

      “Oh, yes,” said Clennen. “I remember he reminded me of a goose somehow. It must have been the name. I’d thought it was his scraggy neck or those button eyes of his. Anyway, I thought I’d rely on my looks being better than his and deal with Master Gosler later. For the first thing, I concentrated on Lenina. I sang – I’ve never sung better, before or since – and Lenina here couldn’t take her eyes off me. Well, I don’t blame her, because I don’t mind admitting that I was a fine-looking man in those days, and gifted, too – which Flapper wasn’t. So I asked Lenina in a song whether she’d marry me instead of this Honker fellow, and when I came up to get my reward for my singing, she said Yes. So then I dealt with him. I turned to him. ‘Lording,’ I said, most respectful, ‘Lording, what gift will you give me?’ And he said ‘Anything you want. You’re a great singer’ – which was the only sensible thing he said that evening. So I said, ‘I’ll take what you have in your right hand.’ He was holding Lenina’s hand, you see. I still laugh when I think of the look on his face.”

      While the story went on – and it made a long one, for Clennen went over it several times, embroidering the details – Brid and Moril walked by the roadside out of earshot, watching the fed-up look settle on Kialan’s face. They had both heard the story more times than they could remember.

      “I suppose the thing about being a singer is that you like telling the same story a hundred times,” Brid said rather acidly. “But you’d think Father would remember Ganner’s name by this time.”

      “That’s all part of it,” said Moril. “I always wonder,” he added dreamily, “what would happen if we met Ganner while we were going through Markind. Would he arrest Father?”

      “Of course he wouldn’t,” said Brid. “I don’t suppose it’s true, anyway. And even if it did happen, Ganner must have grown into a big fat lord by now and forgotten Mother ever existed.”

      Since this was Brid’s true opinion of the matter, it was a little unreasonable of her to be so angry when she found Kialan shared it. But one is seldom reasonable when one dislikes someone. They stopped for lunch, and Clennen, thoroughly in his stride, went on embroidering the story.

      “Lenina’s a real lady,” he said, leaning comfortably against the pink and scarlet wheel of the cart. “She’s Tholian’s niece, you know. But he cast her off for running away with me. And it was all my fault for playing that trick on Gander. ‘Lording,’ I said to him, ‘give me what you have in your right hand.’ Oh, I shall never forget his face! Never!” And he burst out laughing.

      Kialan had heard this at least three times by then. Moril had rarely seen him look so fed up. While Clennen was laughing, Kialan got up quickly to avoid hearing any more, and stumped off without looking where he was going. He nearly fell over Moril and Brid and became more fed up than ever.

      “Blinking bore your father is!” he said. “I’d be quite sorry for Ganner if I thought there was a word of truth in it!”

      “How dare you!” said Brid. “How dare you say that! I’ve a good mind to punch your nose in!”

      “I don’t fight with girls,” Kialan said loftily. “All I meant was I’m sick of hearing about Ganner. If your father remembers it that well, why on earth can’t he get the poor fellow’s name right?”

      “It’s part of the story!” screamed Brid, and threw herself at Kialan.

      Kialan, for a second or so, tried to keep up his claim not to fight girls, with the result that Brid punched his nose twice and then boxed his ears in perfect freedom. “You spiteful cat!” said Kialan, and grabbed both her wrists. It was in self-defence. On the other hand, he squeezed her wrists so painfully that he hurt Brid rather more than if he had hit her. She lashed out at his legs with her bare feet, but finding that made no impression on Kialan, she sank her teeth into the hand round her wrists. At this, Kialan lost his temper completely and punched Brid with his free hand.

      Dagner never let people hit Brid. He surged up from his seat in the hedgerow and fell on Kialan. Moril, since Dagner seemed to be doing his best to strangle Kialan, thought he had better get Brid out from between them and entered СКАЧАТЬ