Ranger's Apprentice 12: The Royal Ranger

by John Flanagan

  She stayed in the shadows on the edge of the high street as she reached the village. Jenny’s restaurant was one of the first buildings on the street. It was brightly lit and she could hear the loud babble of voices from inside. The restaurant was a popular spot in Wensley and on a Saturday night it was likely to attract patrons from the countryside around the village as well. She kept to the far side of the street as she passed, hugging the cloak around her as she moved through the shadows.

  Trust the cloak, Will had told her repeatedly. She wasn’t sure if it was intended to help her in such a devious mission as the one she was on.

  So far as she could tell, nobody noticed her. That was hardly surprising. The restaurant patrons would be intent on their food and their conversation. And they were in a brightly lit room. It was highly unlikely that any of them might notice the dim figure slipping through the shadows across the street.

  As she neared the village inn, the babble of voices from Jenny’s restaurant died away, to be gradually replaced by another sound. There was a travelling minstrel in the inn, entertaining the people who had chosen to go there for the evening. As she listened, the music stopped and there was a burst of applause. Her friends had picked a good night for their party, she thought. There was plenty of activity in the village to mask any sounds they might make.

  Looking at the stable situated beyond the inn, she could make out the dull glimmer of a small fire reflected from the walls. She let herself into the saddling yard. Lucy, Gordon and another friend, Martin, were sitting round a small fire in the rear of the yard, a spot that was hidden from casual observers in the street. If she hadn’t known about the fire, she probably wouldn’t have noticed the dull flicker on the walls.

  But she did notice the delicious smell of grilling lamb. As she approached, her friends called a greeting to her.

  ‘You’re late,’ Martin said cheerfully.

  She shrugged an apology. ‘I had to wait till Will left. He seemed to take forever.’

  ‘Well, you’ve got some catching up to do,’ Gordon told her. He took two sizzling lamb skewers from the fire, put them on a wooden platter and passed it to Lucy. Lucy added a small game pie to the platter as she handed it along. Maddie sat cross-legged by the fire and took the plate. The lamb smelled delicious and her mouth was watering already. Carefully, knowing the meat would be hot, she bit into it.

  ‘Mmmmm! That’s delicious, Lucy!’ she said appreciatively. Her friend glowed at the compliment.

  ‘They’ve been marinating for nearly eight hours,’ she said. ‘That makes them nice and tender.’

  ‘Here,’ Martin said, handing her a wooden mug. ‘You can wash them down with this.’

  Maddie took the mug. Her heart beat a little faster as she sniffed the contents. She could choose to say no now and there would be no harm done. Sneaking out to meet her friends was a minor thing. But drinking wine was another matter altogether. This was crossing a big boundary and, if she were found out, she had no doubt that she would be in trouble.

  Gordon saw her hesitate and guessed the reason. ‘He’ll never know,’ he said, grinning a challenge at her.

  Abruptly, she decided, and took a deep swig of the wine. It tasted heavy and somewhat sour.

  ‘Mmm, that’s good stuff!’ she said, wanting to appear sophisticated and knowledgeable. In truth, she had no idea whether the wine was good. She had drunk wine before, on special occasions at Castle Araluen, when official toasts were being drunk. But that wine had been heavily watered and tasted nothing like this.

  ‘I only get the good stuff,’ Martin agreed cheerfully. He had no idea, either. In fact, the wine was rather poor quality. But, like Maddie, he wanted to appear as if he drank wine all the time and knew what he was talking about. ‘Here,’ he added, ‘have a top-up.’

  He’d decanted some of the wine from a small cask into a jug. He reached across now and slopped more of it into her mug, winking conspiratorially at her.

  ‘Bottoms up,’ he said and for a moment she was confused, wondering what he wanted her to do. Then she realised he was talking about the mug. She tipped it and drank deeply. The second mouthful was less sour, although to be honest, she couldn’t have said that she found it particularly enjoyable.

  Lucy and Gordon drank deeply from their mugs too. Maddie took another bite of the lamb, then a large bite out of the game pie. The pastry was flaky and delicious and the spiced, rich filling seemed to explode flavour into her mouth. Maybe wine made food taste better, she thought. Perhaps that was why people put up with the sour taste.

  As the evening went on, she noticed that wine seemed to have other properties as well. It seemed to improve one’s ability to converse and to say witty things. She found herself laughing at Gordon’s sallies, and replying in kind.

  I’ve never been this amusing before, she thought to herself. She had just made a remark about the Wensley innkeeper, and his fondness for fried food. It seemed to be a hilarious observation. Her three friends laughed uproariously, and she only just managed to prevent a snot snigger as she joined them.

  She peered owlishly across the fire at Gordon. His face seemed to be swimming in and out of focus. Must be the effect of the flames, she thought.

  ‘Any wine left?’ she asked Martin. He reached for the jug and overbalanced as he did so, narrowly avoiding falling sideways into the fire. They all howled with laughter. Maddie put her finger to her lips in a warning gesture.

  ‘Shhhhhhhh!’ she said. ‘Shomebody will hear us.’

  She paused, a little confused, then added: ‘Did I shay shomebody?’

  ‘You shertainly did,’ Gordon told her.

  ‘And you shaid “shay” as well,’ Lucy added, and they all exploded with laughter again. Maddie rocked back and forth, then lost her balance too. She toppled over sideways and lay on the stableyard earth. It seemed too much of an effort to sit up again, so she pulled her cloak around her and closed her eyes.

  ‘Nobody can shee me,’ she cackled. ‘Trusht the cloak.’

  Which profound witticism set them all off once more.

  ‘What the blistering blazes do you think you’re doing?’

  Will’s voice cut across their laughter, cold and angry. She opened her eyes and looked up. He was standing over her, his cloaked, cowled figure outlined against the dark night sky. She heard Lucy’s quick gasp of fear. Ordinary village folk knew that Rangers were not people to be trifled with. Gordon’s and Martin’s laughter had died away and they sat staring fearfully at the dark figure confronting them. The shadow of the cowl hid Will’s face, which made him appear more ominous. They had seen him before, of course, riding through the village or sitting in Jenny’s restaurant. But here and now, in the dark, shrouded by his cloak and with the fury evident in his voice, he was a daunting figure indeed.

  ‘Sit up, Maddie,’ he ordered, his voice cold.

  She scrabbled on the ground for purchase, became tangled in her cloak and finally managed to raise herself on her hands until she was sitting upright – although she swayed perilously.

  All four teenagers peered anxiously up at the Ranger. Will held out his hand and snapped his fingers at Gordon.

  ‘Give me that cask,’ he demanded. Gordon hurried to comply, nearly dropping the wine cask in his haste. Will stepped forward and took it. He shook it experimentally. The cask was a little less than a quarter full and they could hear the wine sloshing around inside it.

  Without warning, Will raised it over his head and hurled it with all his strength at the ground. The cask split into pieces, small planks of wood rebounding upward, the remaining wine fountaining up in a liquid explosion. The movement was so unexpected, so violent, that again Lucy let out a small bleat of fear. The two boys started in fright as well. Will pointed a finger at the three of them, moving it from one to the other as he spoke.

  ‘Your parents will be hearing of this,’ he said.

  Lucy rose on her knees, pleading with him, as tears began to stream down her face. ‘Please, Ranger W
ill, don’t tell my mam. She’ll beat me something terrible if she knows.’

  If her plea was meant to engender any pity in Will’s heart, it failed dismally. He glared briefly at her, then nodded. ‘Good,’ he said. Then he looked down at Maddie once more, sitting, swaying slightly from side to side.

  ‘On your feet, Maddie,’ he said. ‘We’re going home.’

  She rose awkwardly. If she had found it difficult to sit up straight, standing was even more so. She swayed, trying desperately to get her balance. But something was stopping her. Something was making the world spin around her. She realised she was kneeling on her cloak, pulled it free and staggered upright. Will jerked a thumb towards the entrance to the saddling yard.

  ‘On your way,’ he said. Then he glanced back at the others. ‘You three get home as well. Right now!’

  They obeyed, Lucy still sniffling piteously as she went. Once they had merged into the shadows, Will moved to where Tug was waiting for him. He swung up into the saddle with a creak of leather and pointed up the high street.

  ‘Get going,’ he ordered curtly.

  Maddie felt tears rising to her eyes, but angrily shook them away. The world reeled as she shook her head and she staggered slightly. Then she began to make her way up the middle of the street. Several people were leaving Jenny’s restaurant and they stared at the unusual sight of a girl in a Ranger cloak weaving awkwardly up the high street, followed by the grim figure of a mounted Ranger, occasionally urging her to get a move on. Maddie’s face flushed with embarrassment. She had begun to enjoy a certain prestige in the village. Now she could feel the world watching her, judging her and finding her wanting. She was really nothing more than a silly little girl.

  They passed through the village and entered the narrow path through the trees that led to the cabin. She stumbled once, then again, on the uneven ground. Then she fell, a sharp stone cutting into her knee and tearing her tights. She cried out with the pain, feeling hot blood flowing down her leg. She tried to rise and failed. Her head spun.

  Then her stomach heaved and she was violently, helplessly sick. She knelt on hands and knees, retching until her stomach was empty and there was nothing more to throw up.

  Will, on Tug’s back, towered above her, watching her dispassionately as she alternately retched and sobbed.

  ‘Best thing for you,’ he said finally. ‘Now get on your feet again.’

  Hating him, hating herself even more, she managed to regain her feet and lurched down the dark path towards the cabin. Sable moved to greet her, tail wagging heavily, as she climbed the two steps to the verandah, holding on to the verandah post for balance.

  Will clicked his fingers and uttered a command, and the dog slowly backed away, resuming her place on the verandah boards. Maddie felt a deep sob forming in her throat. Even Sable, ever-understanding, never-criticising Sable, was ashamed of her.

  ‘Get to bed,’ Will told her, as he turned Tug towards the stable at the rear of the hut. ‘We’ll talk about this in the morning.’

  MADDIE WOKE WITH a raging thirst. Her mouth was dry and there was a vile taste in it – a combination of the regurgitated food from the night before and the sour aftertaste of the wine she had drunk. She groaned and sat up in bed, and promptly wished she hadn’t.

  The movement made her aware of a throbbing headache that pounded like a hammer against the inside of her skull. It seemed to be strongest behind her left eye, but the pain spread throughout the rest of her head as well, like a dark stain on a carpet.

  She sank her head into her hands and moaned softly. Her eyes were dry and raspy, as if someone had thrown a handful of sand into them. Her stomach was empty and she had a queasy feeling – for a moment she thought she was going to throw up again. She fought the urge down and looked cautiously at her bedside table, where she normally kept a beaker of cold water. The beaker was empty, lying on its side on the floor. Vaguely, she recalled waking in the night and draining it, then falling back onto her pillow.

  She needed water, cold water, desperately. She thought of the rainwater barrel that was set outside the cabin, by one of the downpipes from the roof. At this time of day, the water would be cold and fresh and delicious. And she would be able to plunge her head right into it, letting its cold, icy touch soothe her throbbing skull.

  But first, she’d have to reach it.

  She stood, carefully. Her head throbbed with the movement, then settled down to a steady, pounding ache. Her stomach heaved and she fought against the urge to throw up. Then, swaying uncertainly, she took a few steps to the door of her room. She leaned against the door jamb for several seconds, re-gathering her sense of balance, then opened the door and went into the small living room, walking gingerly, trying to minimise the impact of her feet on the ground. Every step reverberated through her frame and into her head.

  Will was at the kitchen bench, with his back to her. He turned as he heard the door and frowned at her. She became aware that she was still wearing the same clothes she’d worn the night before, minus her cloak. Her tights were torn at the knee and matted with dried blood. There was a vomit stain on her left sleeve. What she couldn’t see was that her hair was wildly disordered, standing up in all directions like a misbegotten bird’s nest.

  ‘Breakfast is nearly ready,’ Will said. His voice was neither condemning or welcoming. His tone was completely neutral. She shook her head, then stopped quickly as the pain surged.

  ‘Don’t think I could eat,’ she said, her voice hoarse.

  He raised an eyebrow at her. ‘I think you’d better. You’ll need to get something in that stomach.’

  The thought of her stomach made her gag. She swayed uncertainly.

  ‘Need a drink,’ she said. ‘Water.’

  He nodded slowly. ‘I’m sure you do.’ He jerked his head towards the door and she turned and made her painful way to it. For some reason, it seemed more difficult than usual to tug it open. The squeak of its bottom edge against the floorboards made her wince, but she got it open and made her way along the porch, one hand against the cabin wall for balance.

  The water butt was almost full. It had rained the previous afternoon and the water would be fresh and clean.

  And cold. There was a slight frost on the ground. The temperature had obviously dropped close to zero during the early hours of the morning. She stepped gingerly down from the verandah. It was a step of about fifty centimetres and normally she would manage it with ease. Today, it felt like leaping off a small cliff and her head pounded again as her feet thudded down onto the wet grass.

  She groaned. There was a dipper hanging beside the water butt and she seized it eagerly, scooping up cold water and bringing it to her lips, letting it run across her foul-tasting mouth and tongue and down her parched throat. She emptied the dipper in one continuous draught and paused, breathing heavily, heart pounding.

  For a moment, the dreadful thirst was slaked. Then it seemed as if she hadn’t drunk at all and the awful-tasting dryness was back. She scooped up another dipper and drank, then another.

  The cold water was delicious, but its soothing effect lasted barely thirty seconds. She looked at the water, then, setting her hands on either side of the barrel, she plunged her face into it.

  The shock of cold was startling. But it seemed to clear her head and eyes. She reared back, throwing water in all directions, feeling it splash down inside her collar. She gasped and spluttered but she felt a little better.

  For a few seconds.

  Then the remorseless headache, the dryness and the surging, heaving stomach all made themselves felt again. She looked at the treeline, a few metres away from the cabin, and contemplated going into the trees to be sick in private. Maybe to lie down and sleep. She felt dreadfully tired.

  Then she realised there would be nothing in her stomach but water, and the thought of the unproductive retching that would result was too much to bear. Her head would split apart, she thought.

  ‘Come and eat something.’

&nbs
p; Will was standing at the open door. She looked blearily at him. There was still no sympathy in his voice, but she could sense no condemnation either. She shook her head slowly.

  ‘Couldn’t,’ she croaked. But he beckoned her inside.

  ‘You need to,’ he said. ‘Trust me.’

  She looked at the edge of the porch. Normally, she would bound up with a light-stepping movement. Today, her legs were like lead and the thought of bounding anywhere made her quail. Head down, she trudged along to the steps and climbed heavily onto the porch.

  Will had set out a simple breakfast for her. He had toasted two pieces of flat bread and covered them with butter and fruit jam. There was a beaker of milk beside them.

  She sat, letting her head rest in her hands for a minute or so. She sensed Will standing behind her chair. He leaned past her and pushed the plate of toasted bread closer to her.

  ‘Go ahead,’ he said. ‘The sugar in the jam will help. And the milk should settle your stomach.’

  She took a sip of the milk. It had been left on the window ledge overnight and it was cold and soothing. She looked at the toast and jam and was struck by conflicting feelings. On the one hand, she was ravenous. On the other, the thought of putting anything into her rebellious, uncertain stomach seemed too much of a risk. Then the milk made its way through her system and she felt the uneasy heaving sensation in her stomach lessen.

  Tentatively, she took a bite of toast. The jam was made from berries and its sweet sharpness filled her mouth, fighting the vile sour taste that lingered there. She took another bite, then another sip of milk. Will was right. The food and drink was calming her stomach, and dispelling the bitter taste in her mouth.

  It did nothing for the headache, of course. That continued to pound away. Now it had moved its focal point to her temples and they throbbed painfully. She realised she had begun to sweat heavily as well. She looked up at Will with bleary eyes. He was watching her, but still he retained his neutral expression.

  ‘Why do people do this?’ she said. Her voice was still a croak, in spite of the palliative effects of the milk.