by Ken Hood
Father Lachlan had warned that it might drive him insane, or go insane itself. And Hamish's appalled expression confirmed that he could see all the terrible possibilities. Possessed by a hob!
Toby forced a laugh. "Well, what of it? I can't throw it overboard, but I can always get it exorcised at a sanctuary. Do you hear that, hob? You behave yourself from now on! And you cheer up, my trusty friend. We're on our way to see the world, aren't we? That's what we both wanted, isn't it?"
Hamish brightened and nodded.
The door opened. Toby hastily thrust the amethyst back under his plaid.
"Time to get to work!" Captain MacLeod announced cheerily. "We'll have no lazy layabouts on board this ship!"
"Aye, aye, sir!" Hamish piped brightly.
"Aye. First you both must sign the log. Means you agree to be bound by ship's law." The sailor chuckled. "And that means whatever I say it does!"
He pulled a large book down from the shelf and spread it on the desk. He uncapped the inkwell, wrote a line with a squeaky quill.
Toby did not enjoy having people watch him write.
Hamish must have noticed his expression. "My friend's hands are still swollen, sir. Can I sign for both of us?"
The captain shrugged. "Aye, as long as he makes a mark. Don't use the name that's on that Sassenach poster, 'cos other eyes may pry in there. Use whatever names you want to be known by. Your mothers will not be writing to you here." He stepped back and began unlacing his cloak. "That's a demon of a fire in the town!"
Toby winced. "Terrible."
The sailor eyed him thoughtfully. "You're a very fortunate young man, you are — escaping from demons and all. Glad to have luck like yours on board."
"He just blunders around," Hamish said from the desk — apparently he could talk even while writing. "I get him out of trouble when he needs help. Here, er…" He passed the quill to Toby and wriggled quickly out of the way.
Toby rose and leaned over the log book, squinting at the crabbed scrawl.
Hamish Campbell of Tyndrum, it said.
And underneath that — he spelled out the letters:
Longdirk of the Hills, his mark.
He turned his head to regard his self-appointed secretary, who was poised at the door — ready to flee if necessary, but gazing at him with a wild mixture of mischief and anxiety and boyish glee.
Toby grinned back. He had found the new name he sought, obviously. It would do.
So Longdirk of the Hills proceeded to make his mark.
FB2 document info
Document ID: d6d0ceae-79fc-4513-ad48-0fd4b7d184ff
Document version: 1
Document creation date: 27.8.2011
Created using: calibre 0.8.13, FictionBook Editor 2.4 software
Document authors :
Ken Hood
Document history:
1.0 — конвертация из epub, структура — Isais
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