"Good journey to ye!"
• • •
Robby walked Thurdun out while his father finished up the paperwork. Thurdun made a clucking sound as they came down the steps into the yard of the Common House, and Celefar immediately emerged from the shadowy trees across the road and approached.
"I wish we could talk more," Robby said. "And that you would tell me about the westlands and your people."
"It would please me greatly to do so," Thurdun smiled, rubbing Celefar's head, "and I am honored by your curiosity. I will tell you this much, at least: We are only the beginning, I fear, of the latest scattering of my people. Our long wars with the Dragonkind and our strife with Duinnor have made us weak and our lands unsafe. Others may follow us, and some may pass this way. When next you see Collandoth, he may tell you more; he knows our ways and our story as well as any and is counted as a friend to us as well as to the race of Men."
"He is not a Man?"
"What do your wits tell you?" Thurdun chuckled. "Have you spent so little time with him that you have not noticed the oddness of his ways?"
"Well, yes," Robby said, "come to mention it. He does have an uncanny way of not sleeping and of moving quietly among timid animals and such. And he seems to know a lot about strange things."
"Perhaps you have never heard of the Melnari? He is one of them, neither Man nor Elf. Few of his kind have ever walked the Earth."
Robby shook his head.
"This troubles you, I can see," Thurdun went on. "Let me assure you that if he is your friend, you could have none better."
Thurdun mounted Celefar and reached his hand down to Robby.
"I am pleased to have met you, Robby Ribbon of Passdale."
Robby shook hands, and said, "Good journey to you, Thurdun. I hope your people find peace."
"Thank you! Celefar! Los es co aff!"
At his command, Celefar turned away from Robby and carried Thurdun down the road. At a word from Thurdun, Celefar turned and halted.
"One more thing about Collandoth," he called back to Robby. "It would be wise to heed his advice, should he give it. As my people have sorely learned, to do otherwise is perilous. Farewell!"
Celefar and Thurdun turned away once more and almost silently bounded away into the shadows of the road until the night's darkness swallowed them completely. Robby watched for moment longer, then turned and walked toward home, the longing to follow Thurdun strong and mysterious in his heart. As he turned down a lane, he heard the blacksmith's anvil chiming mildly across the town. Walking past the weaver's house, the rhythmic knock of a busy loom tapped out from behind yellow-lit windows. Across the way, gruff laughter came from inside the little alehouse, and he thought how mundane it all was to him, how ordinary and safe-seeming, unchanging. It was comforting in a way that he did not want to be comforted. These thoughts filled him with nostalgia, for so much was lost to him now, changed within him. He no longer saw the same sights with the same eyes or heard the familiar sounds with the same ears. The very air he breathed seemed changed, yet it was all the same. He knew the changes were within him; he felt restless to be away, and he did not care very much where he went. A deep melancholy suddenly settled over him, and he thought of the harp playing from the caravan, and the face at the window. His mind wandered to the strange statues deep within Haven Hill, to the stern faces, fair and grim, of the stone soldiers. Suddenly, a phrase came back to him, part of something that Ashlord had said, interrupting Robby's thoughts and jarring him back to more sober contemplations:
"There is a brooding one...."
The memory of Ashlord's cryptic warnings brought Robby's thoughts back to where they were earlier, before meeting Thurdun. Turning to take a shortcut through the wood toward Passdale Green near to his house, he wondered again about how he might contrive learning to defend himself in case Ashlord was right and someone did come after him. Just before coming out of the trees, and before coming to any firm conclusion, he was distracted from his thoughts by a movement in the open Green ahead. He stepped cautiously into the shadow of a tree trunk and caught his breath.
A lady walked there, just a few yards away, her head down and her hair glistening in the bright starlight, a braided headband of her own hair flowing down over her shoulders. She wore a dark gown, embroidered with silver that glinted, flowing lightly behind her bare feet in the dewy grass. She hummed a little tune to herself as she reached down and picked some snow-stars, making a posy of them as she went along. She lifted her leg, kicked out into a dance step, and whirled around with her head up to the sky and her arms outstretched, offering her bouquet to the stars. Her body curved gracefully, as only a woman's body can, and she giggled with mirth. Robby, remembering the lady in the window of the caravan, wondered if one of her party had become separated, or if some group of them stayed behind, for he had never seen anything, or anyone, so exotic or beautiful. He could not have been more attracted to her, nor more self-conscious of his attraction, had she been completely nude, yet he was in awe of her beauty and grace as she neared his hiding place. He wanted to make himself known to her, and wanted to know who she was, but dared not move for fear of upsetting this vision before him. Suddenly, she stopped, her expression and composure changed completely as she stood rigidly, looking vainly in Robby's direction. For the third time this night, he had the distinct feeling that he was seen, and now, because of the last two times, he assumed he had been. Just as he made up his mind to step out from behind the tree, she turned and ran away silently across the green and into the trees on the far side, but not before Robby recognized Sheila.
He was stunned. He groaned with longing for her, nearly called out after her, even running a few steps out into the open to catch her. But she was too fast, too sure-footed. He stopped where she had just been dancing and sighed heavily. After a while, he decided to take another way home, so that Sheila would not be followed, and, perhaps his own embarrassment could be kept to himself. So he trudged back the way he had come until he reached the road near the Common House again that led down toward the Bentwide. All the long way around, he thought of nothing else but Sheila, who lived in his own house but was now a stranger to him. How little he knew her, or appreciated her, he felt. The most beautiful girl in all of Barley, he thought to himself, and the saddest. And he felt sad, too. He had witnessed a rare moment of mirth and could not share in it with her. He walked on, feeling, as she must have on so many occasions, like the loneliest creature in the world.
"I might as well be a thousand miles away."
Chapter 14
The Party by the Lake
When Robby returned home and went upstairs, he glanced down the hall and saw that Sheila's bedroom door was closed. Then he saw his mother sitting in the room that served both as parlor and study. She had her knitting on her lap and was staring at the strongbox across the room under Mr. Ribbon's desk.
"Mother?"
She turned her head to him, expressionless, her eyes distant.
"I'm home."
"Oh. Robby."
She glanced at the window.
"You have been out very late."
"I just came from the Common House," he said. "Daddy said he'd be home soon."
"I've been worried about you."
"I'm sorry," he said, "but—"
"I don't think it is wise for you to be wandering around so late."
"I know. I would have been home sooner, but I ran into someone passing through town, and he sort of asked the way to the Common House."
"Oh."
He was prepared to explain further, but she did not press him, perhaps not wishing to be overbearing.
"You look tired, Mother."
"I am, after a manner."
"Well, I'll say good-night, then. We'll talk in the morning."
"Good-night, Robby."
• • •
Soon Robby was in bed and tossing in a restless sleep, continuously interrupted by strange dreams of sun-parched landscapes, devoid of trees or l
ife of any kind for as far as one could see.
When Mr. Ribbon returned home, and the store was checked and relocked, he chatted with Mirabella while they prepared for bed. She listened to his account of the meetings and then to his description of the stranger that Robby had brought to the Common House. She regretted not asking Robby more about his evening, and that she did not have the chance to meet the visitor from such a noble House.
"Did you know that the House of Fairlinden rules Vanara?" she asked her husband.
"Do they?" Mr. Ribbon said, yawning.
As they drew up the covers around them, she asked many more questions, but there were very few that Mr. Ribbon could answer. She lay awake for a long time, long after Mr. Ribbon's light snore indicated that further questions should wait until the next day.
• • •
Morning came too early for Mr. Ribbon's comfort, but the persuasive aroma of coffee and the gentle clink of cooking pans from the kitchen got him up in spite of his desire to remain in bed. Soon he was dressed and at the table, and he and Mirabella ate and chatted more about the western stranger and about the day's business to be taken care of. He decided to let Robby sleep, and after his meal, he went downstairs to open the store. Indeed, after a long night of struggle, Robby did sleep late, oblivious to the sounds of others rising in the house, and in spite of the enticing blend of aromas finding their way from the kitchen to his bed. When at last he did rise, Mirabella had breakfast still warm for him. As he sat down, Mirabella told him that Sheila had gone out early to run errands and that Mr. Ribbon was not due at the Common House until after the noon meal and had already opened the store. They talked of Thurdun, Mirabella listening carefully as she cleaned while Robby spoke between bites.
"Do you know anyone of the House of Fairlinden?"
"All Elifaen know of the House of Fairlinden, I should think. For that is the highest of all in Vanara. Surely you remember your lessons. Fairlinden has held the throne since the days of Cupeldain, before even the coming of Men into the world. Lord Thurdun is grandson of Cupeldain, and his sister has sat upon Vanara's throne for this past age or more. I am astonished that you met him. Did he say who it was that he escorted?"
"No, he didn't say."
"Someone very important to the Queen, if she sent her brother as escort on such a long journey. What was he like?"
"Oh, a nice fellow, I guess. Very businesslike, formal, I suppose. A bit weary. Not a big person, about my height, long silver-white hair. He rode a buckmarl and had fine chain mail. I'm afraid I did not recognize his name. I suppose my lessons with Broadweed may have been somewhat lacking. I mean, I do remember that Vanara has a queen, the only one in all the Realms. Your family was from Vanara, were they not?"
"Yes, on my mother's side. I and my brothers were born there."
"Did you ever meet any of Thurdun's people?"
"I have a memory of meeting a lady of that house many years ago. It was shortly before my family moved to the Eastlands, and we visited an estate in Vanara. I do not know the purpose of the visit, and I was left to play while the grownups met with each other. Did Lord Thurdun say how long they would be in these parts?"
"No. That is, they were only passing through."
Mirabella sighed and nodded.
"I would have enjoyed meeting and speaking with him."
"I know. I told him as much, but he wanted to press on."
They talked on, getting off on the subject of buckmarls, until Robby finished eating. He thanked his mother for the meal, helped a little with the dishes, and went downstairs. His father was at the metalwares shelf, putting away new irons that the blacksmith had delivered the day before. Mr. Ribbon was about to bid Robby a good morning when the doorbell jangled. A man and woman, dressed in their best go-to-town clothes, entered. The man was broad-shouldered and sunburned, and his wife was none too dainty, either, carrying a lady's bag that had seen much better days. Robby recognized them as Mr. and Mrs. Gladsten, who owned a farm in Barley not too far from Steggan's old place.
"How d'ye do, Master Robby!" Gladsten grinned. "Been awhiles since yer friends an' ye been fishin' down at Otter's Pond."
"Good morning, Mr. Gladsten," Robby replied, smiling at the memory. "Yes, it has been too long. Been too busy around here, I guess."
"Rightly so, rightly so," Gladsten said, loudly enough for Robby's father to hear from across the room. Mr. Ribbon had turned to face the couple as soon as they walked in, and he was standing with an iron in his hand and a blank look on his face.
"I reckon yer a chip off the block, as they say, for yer father's a mighty worker hisself."
Mrs. Gladsten nodded nervously, grinning with her buck teeth.
"Ah, Mr. Ribbon. Good day, sir," Gladsten said, making as if he had just now seen Mr. Ribbon.
Robby's father gently put the iron on the shelf and turned back to the couple.
"What can I do for ye, today?" he asked. The pleasant smile and enthusiastic tone that normally greeted customers was completely absent.
"I hope yer well as ye look!" Gladsten said coming over to Mr. Ribbon and stretching out his hand.
"An' I hope the Missus is doin' well, too," added his wife.
For the first time in his life, Robby saw his father refuse an outstretched hand. Instead, Mr. Ribbon turned aside to make a slight rearrangement of the spice jars.
"Well, er," Mr. Gladsten glanced at his hand and wiped it on his shirt awkwardly. "I come to see ye 'bout me accounts an' all."
Mr. Ribbon silently seated himself behind his desk and pulled on his spectacles.
"I believe dues were on the fifth," he said, pulling out a ledger book and turning over some pages without looking up. "Why yes, here it is. Yer dues were owed on the fifth."
"Er, well, right ye are. But, ye see, I ain't had the dues to pay ye, what with the storm an' all, an' that's what I mean to discuss with ye."
"Hm," Mr. Ribbon nodded.
Robby had never seen this uncharacteristic coolness in his father. Most of the dues customers owed on accounts were written off for the month, just as for the month before, and Mr. Ribbon was all too glad to do it to save the ruin of his neighbors.
"Well, ye see," Mr. Gladsten went on, "that is, I mean to say—"
"Ye still don't have the dues, eh?" Mr. Ribbon looked over his glasses at Mr. Gladsten.
"No, sir. I ain't got it."
"Well, let's see here," Mr. Ribbon turned back to the ledger. "I see ye've been given thrice a fortnight more on yer account. Added to that, ye've since put on yer account two sacks of grain. A six-weight of nails. A score of candles. Three pints of oil. More lately, ten pounds of salt an' seven yards of sackin' cloth. That's on top of yer previous credits."
"Yes, sir, that sounds 'bout right."
"It is right," Mr. Ribbon removed his glasses and looked at Mr. Gladsten and his wife. "I'm afraid I cannot go without what's due."
"But if ye can only—"
"An' the store cannot lend ye any more credit."
In the silence that followed, Robby felt his face redden and his heart pound. He had never known credit to be denied a customer.
"But, Mr. Ribbon, I ain't got what's due."
"In that case, I reckon Sheriff Fivelpont must perform his duties."
"Now hold on," Mr. Gladsten stiffened. "I know for a fact that ye've given others leeway on thar credit."
"That may be," Mr. Ribbon said calmly.
"Well, it's only fair ye do the same for us!"
"Mr. Gladsten, I happen to know that thar's an offer before ye on yer farm from Sam Winborn. It is a fair offer. I suggest ye take him up on it, an' pay yer debts."
"But that won't leave us with no place to live an' not enough to live on!"
"Then may I suggest to ye that ye find somewhar else to live besides Barley er Passdale."
"Why, Mr. Ribbon!" Mrs. Gladsten finally managed to say.
"Yes, Mrs. Gladsten?"
"Why, I, I..." she stammered, red-faced.
"This ain't right!" Mr. Gladsten pounded his fist on the desk.
"Do not speak to me of right!" Ribbon said through his set jaw, barely holding back his fury. "Yer a bad farmer, Mr. Gladsten. Ye squander yer crops, maltreat yer cattle, an' ye've misused this store. All that might be enough to wish ye away, but what's more, yer a bad neighbor not to be trusted er counted on when thar's a need for help, even when begged an' pleaded of ye. So ye'll go to Sam Winborn this very day. Ye'll make arrangements with him for yer farm. Sam may come to pay yer debts, for ye are not welcome in this store. If by sunset of this day Sam Winborn has not made arrangements with me, an' with all the rest in Passdale that ye owe, I will set the Sheriff on ye. An' I'll see to it ye'll not get half the worth at auction. When all is done, ye will leave this county an' be gone from here by sundown on the morrow. Ye'll do these things, an' ye'll do these things handily, for if the Sheriff's men come for ye, ye'll still go away, but with the mark of hot iron upon yer forehead that none may miss, an' ye'll still get off lucky! This much I'll allow ye, one day for settlin', one day for movin' on. Both for consideration of yer wife, though she is no less a blight on us than ye. Now leave me store, afore I set meself upon ye!"
Mr. Ribbon stepped from around his desk and stood with his arms down and his fists balled and ready. Robby, frozen in disbelief, understood none of what was happening. But Gladsten clearly did, for the man became silent and cowed, and his wife whimpered and sobbed. The two left quickly without another word. Robby watched them go, then stared, stunned and a little frightened at his father who was obviously seething with anger though he never once raised his voice. Mr. Ribbon reached back to the desk and slowly closed the ledger book. Robby watched his deliberate movements as he adjusted the book to the side of the desk before turning to make sure the couple had left. Robby could still feel the palpable fury, held in check, like he had never felt coming from anyone, silent, strong, and hot. When Mr. Ribbon looked at Robby, his eyes flashed for a moment, then his look softened and watered into something almost like embarrassment.
The Bellringer Page 36