Читать книгу Cart and Cwidder - Diana Wynne Jones - Страница 10

THAT NIGHT THEY camped in one of the many little valleys Markind abounded in. There were woods up its steep sides and a meadow in the bottom, containing a small peaceful lake full of newly hatched tadpoles. Dagner and Kialan went off to set their snares. Lenina put herbs on the fire against the midges, and the fragrant smoke streamed sideways and settled across the lake in bands. Brid and Moril, quite unworried by insects, waded into the shallows of the lake and tried enthusiastically to collect tadpoles in an old pickle jar. Moril had just lost most of them by accident when he looked up to find his father watching them.

“You want a bigger jar,” Clennen said. “And both of you want to remember what I said to Kialan about give-and-take.”

“He doesn’t remember it,” Brid said sulkily.

“He’s never had to learn it before,” said Clennen. “That’s his trouble. But it’s not yours, Brid. A fight takes two.”

“Did you hear what he said?” Moril demanded.

“I’m not deaf,” said Clennen. “He’s entitled to his opinion, like everyone else. And it wouldn’t hurt you to find some opinions of your own instead of borrowing Brid’s, Moril. Now get that slime off your fingers before you touch my cwidder.”

While Moril was having his lesson, Kialan came out of the woods and into the lake, where he tried to teach Dagner to swim. The sight of them splashing about was a great distraction to Moril. It grew worse when Kialan tried to persuade Brid to learn to swim too. Brid claimed to be afraid of leeches. Nothing would induce her to go above her knees in water, but she agreed to learn the arm movements. Moril could hear her laughing. It looked as if Kialan were trying to make friends.

Moril became more distracted than ever. Perhaps, after all, Kialan was not bad at heart – only tactless. Moril tried to decide what he thought. It really rankled with him that Clennen believed he borrowed Brid’s opinions. Moril considered that he thought long and deeply – if rather vaguely – about most things. But he knew he had agreed with Brid, quite unquestioningly, both about Kialan and about the Ganner story. And it looked as if Brid had been wrong about both. Moril did not know what he thought.

“I suppose I ought to be used to you being up in the clouds by now,” said Clennen. “Do you want to swim too?”

“No,” said Moril. “Yes. I mean, is that story about Ganner true, then?”

“Word of honour,” said Clennen. “Except it’s the fellow’s face I seem to have forgotten, not his name. I may embroider a detail here and there, but I never tell a story that isn’t true, Moril. Remember that. Now go and swim if you want to.”

Clennen was clearly very relieved that Lenina was not leaving for Markind. He drank a great deal of the wine that night to celebrate. The level in the huge bottle was almost down to the straw basket when he finally rolled into the larger tent and fell asleep. He was still asleep next morning when Dagner and Kialan went off to look at their snares. When Brid and Moril got up, they could hear him snoring, though Lenina was up and combing out her soft fair hair by the lake. Brid attended to the fire, and Moril tried to attend to Olob. Olob, for some reason, was tetchy. He kept flinging up his head and shying at shadows.

“What’s the matter with him?” Moril asked his mother.

Lenina’s comb had hit a tangle. She was lugging at it fiercely and not really attending. “No idea,” she said. “Leave him be.”

So Moril left off trying to groom Olob and turned to put the currycomb back in the cart. He found himself looking at a number of men, who were pushing their way through the last of the wood into the clear space by the lake. They were out almost as soon as Moril saw them, six of them. They stood in a group, looking at Moril, Brid kneeling by the fire, Lenina by the lake, the cart and the tents.

“Clennen the Singer,” one of them said. “Where is he?”

Olob tossed his head and trotted away round the lake.

“He’s not here,” said Brid.

Moril thought he would have said the same. The men alarmed him. It was odd to see six well-dressed men outside a wood in the middle of nowhere. They were very well dressed. They wore cloth as good as Kialan’s coat, and all of them had that sleek look that comes from always living in style. Each of them wore a sword in a well-kept leather scabbard, belted over the good cloth of their coats, and Moril did not like the way the hilts of those swords looked smooth with frequent use. But the truly alarming thing about them was that they had an air of purpose, all of them, which hit Moril like a gust of cold wind and frightened him.

“My father won’t be back for ages,” he said, hoping they would go away.

“Then we’ll wait for him,” said the man who had asked. Moril liked him least of all. He was fair and light-eyed, and there was an odd look in those eyes which Moril did not trust.

Lenina evidently felt the same. “Suppose you give me your message for Clennen,” she said, coming forwards with her hair still loose.

“You wouldn’t like it, lady,” said the man. “We’ll wait.”

“Moril,” said Lenina. “Go round the lake and fetch your father.”

Moril thought that was clever of her. It would deceive the men, and Dagner and Kialan might be some help. He tossed the currycomb into the cart and set off at a trot. But Clennen chose that moment to crawl out of the tent like a badger. He stood up, with his eyes red and blinking inside a tousled frill of hair and beard.

“Somebody call me?” he said sleepily.

Moril stopped, helpless. Everything went so quickly that he could hardly believe it was happening. The six men pushed forwards in a body, overwhelming Lenina for a moment, and then leaving her in the open, clutching Brid. Their swords caught the pink early sun. The group round Clennen trampled a bit. Clennen, sleepy as he was, must have put up something of a fight. A man stumbled sideways into the lake. Another fell in with a splash. Then the six men, swords sheathed again, went running away from the lake in a group. One glanced into Clennen’s tent and then the smaller one. Another took a quick look into the cart as they passed.

“Nothing here,” he called.

“Look in the woods, then,” said the fair one. And they were gone.

Clennen lay where he had fallen, half in the lake, with blood running out of him into the water.

Before Moril could move, there was a thumping of racing feet. Dagner shot past him round the lake and surged on to his knees in the water beside Clennen. “Have they killed him?”

“Not quite,” said Lenina. “Help me move him.”

Moril stood where he was, some distance away, and watched them heave his father out of the calm sunny water. Brid’s face was greyish white, and her teeth were chattering. Dagner’s mouth kept twisting about. Moril could see his hands shaking. But Lenina was quite calm and no paler than usual. As they turned Clennen over, Moril saw a cut in his chest. Bright red blood was gushing from it as fast as the river ran in Dropwater, steaming a little in the cold air over the surface of the lake.

At the sight, the bright trees, the lake and the sunny sky dipped and swung in front of Moril. Everything turned sour and grey and distant. He could not move from the spot. Up in the woods behind him, he could dimly hear the six men crashing about and calling to one another, but they could have been on the moon for all the fear and interest Moril felt. His eyes stared, so widely that they hurt, at the group by the water.

Lenina, without abating her calm, tore a big strip from her petticoat, and another, to stop the bleeding. “Give me yours,” she said to Brid, and while Brid, shaking and shivering, was getting out of her petticoat, Lenina said in the same calm way to Dagner, “Get the small flask from the cart.”

Moril stared at his mother working and telling Brid what to do. The only sign of emotion Lenina showed was when her hair trailed in the way of the bandages. “Bother the stuff!” she said. “Brid, tie it back for me.”

Brid was still trying to get a ribbon round Lenina’s hair when Dagner scudded back with the flask. “Do you think you can save him?” he asked, as if he were pleading with Lenina.

She looked up at him calmly. “No, Dagner. The most I can do is keep him with you for a while. He’ll want to have his say. He always did.” She took the flask from Dagner and uncorked it.

Moril desolately watched her trying to get some of the liquid from the flask into Clennen’s mouth. It was not fair. He felt it was not fair on his father at all, to die like this, first thing in the morning, miles from anywhere. He ought to have had warning. Dying was a thing someone like Clennen ought to do properly, in front of a crowd, with music playing if possible.

Music was possible, of course. Moril found himself beside the cart, without quite knowing how he had got there. He scrambled up and seized the nearest cwidder. It happened to be the big one. In the ordinary way, Moril would not have chosen it. But being inside the cart made him feel sick and queer, so he simply took what came first to hand and backed hastily down with it.

While he was getting its strap over his back, he realised that Clennen’s eyes were open. And it was clear that Clennen shared Moril’s opinion. Moril heard him say, rather thickly, but quite strongly, “This came out of the blue, didn’t it? I’d have preferred to have notice.”

Moril put his hands to the strings and began to play, very softly, the weird broken little tune of Manaliabrid’s Lament. The cwidder responded sweetly. The old song seemed more melodious than usual, and because of the water, it carried out across the lake until the valley seemed full of it. Moril heard its echo from the woods opposite.

His ears were so full of the sound that he did not hear much else of what Clennen said. Clennen’s voice became weaker, anyway, after that first remark, and he spoke to Lenina in what was only a murmur. Then he spoke to Brid for a while, reaching out to hold her hand, which made Brid cry. After that, it was Dagner’s turn. Clennen was very weak by then. Dagner had to put his head right down near his father’s face in order to hear him. Moril played on, as softly as he could, watching Dagner listening and nodding, and wondered vaguely at the amount Clennen seemed to have to say. Then Dagner looked up and beckoned to Moril.

“He wants to talk to you. Quickly.”

Moril did not dare take off the cwidder for fear of wasting time. He hurried over to Clennen with it bumping at his thighs and knees, and hoisted it away sideways as he knelt down. Clennen’s face was paler than Moril had ever seen a face before. His eyes did not seem to reflect the sky, or Moril bending over him, though it was clear he could see Moril.

“Got the big cwidder, have you?” Clennen said. Moril nodded. He could not manage to speak. “Keep it carefully,” said Clennen. “It’s yours now. Always meant to give it to you, Moril, because I think you’ve got the ability. Or will have. But you have to come to terms with it, and with yourself. Understand?” Moril nodded again, though he did not understand in the least. “You’re in two halves at present,” Clennen went on. “Often thought so. Come together, Moril, and there’s no knowing what you might do. There’s power in that cwidder, if you can use it. Used to be Osfameron’s. He could use it. Handed down to me. I couldn’t use it. Only found the power once, when I—” Clennen paused for breath. Moril waited for him to go on, but nothing happened. Clennen stayed as he was, with his eyes open looking at Moril, and his lips parted. After a while, Moril realised that this was all there would be. He got up and carefully, very carefully, put the cwidder back in its place inside the cart.

Brid was crying loudly. Lenina was standing very upright beside the lake, as calm as ever. Dagner seemed to have frozen into the same sort of calmness, facing her. And Kialan was coming slowly towards them round the lake with a bundle of dead rabbits.

When he reached them, Kialan stopped. He looked at Clennen and, for once, seemed not to know what to say. “I’m – terribly sorry,” he said at length.

“It was going to happen sometime,” said Lenina. “Will you help us dig a grave, please?”

“Of course,” said Kialan. “Here?”

“Why not?” said Lenina. “Clennen never had a home after he left Hannart, and we can’t take him there.”

“Very well,” said Kialan, and he laid the rabbits down and unhooked the spade from its clips beneath the cart. Dagner went and fetched the pickaxe, and the two set to work. Lenina watched and seemed ready to take Kialan’s advice, as if, in some odd way, Kialan were in charge just then. “I think we should mark the spot,” Kialan said as he dug.

“How?” said Lenina.

“Is there a spare board in the cart?” Kialan asked.

“Find him one, Moril,” said Lenina.

Moril managed to work free one of the spare boards Clennen always carried under the floor of the cart, and on Kialan’s instructions, he sawed off a piece about three feet long. Then he relieved Kialan at the digging for a while. Kialan took out his sheath knife and carved away at the board, quickly and competently, as if this were another thing he was good at. When he had finished, the board had letters deeply and neatly cut into it. CLENNEN THE SINGER.

“That do?” said Kialan.

“Very well,” said Lenina.

When the grave was ready, Kialan, Dagner and Brid put Clennen into it. Moril did not like to see his father topple into the hole. Nor did he like to see the earth going in on top of Clennen’s face and clothes. Rather than watch, he fetched his own cwidder and stood back a little, playing another lament, a newer one that had been made for an earl of Dropwater killed in battle. He went on playing while Brid put the turf back in place and Kialan trenched his board in until it was standing upright at the head of the grave, as it should. And now that there was nothing but a grave to be seen, Moril began to feel that something was missing. They should all be feeling and doing something else. They should be angry. Clennen had been murdered. They should be trying to bring the murderers to justice. But none of them thought of it. It was out of the question, here in the South. The six men had been far too well dressed.

“There,” said Kialan, wiping his hands on his coat.

“Thank you,” said Lenina. “Now I must change. This dress has blood on it. And you too, Brid. Kialan, I think it would be a good idea if you changed your coat for Dagner’s old one.”

Kialan agreed to this, although Moril did not think Kialan’s good coat was more than a little earthy. When everyone was changed and cleaned, Lenina told Dagner to catch Olob and harness him to the cart. Kialan picked up his bundle of rabbits.

“Leave those,” said Lenina. “We don’t need them.”

“Well, I don’t fancy them at the moment, either,” said Kialan. “But—”

“Leave them,” said Lenina. Kialan did as he was bid. Now Lenina seemed to be definitely in charge. It was she who took the reins when Olob was ready and drove out of the valley.

Brid and Moril looked back. It was a very beautiful valley. Probably, Moril thought, it was a good place to be buried, if one had to be. Brid cried. Dagner did not look back. He had sunk into a silence as profound as any of Lenina’s. He did not look at anything, and no one liked to speak to him.

Lenina drove northwards for a mile or so, until she came to a road that turned off to the left. Then, to Moril’s surprise, she swung the cart into it.

“Hey! Where are we going?” said Moril.

“Markind,” said Lenina.

“What? Not to Ganner!” demanded Brid, halting in the middle of a sob.

“Yes. To Ganner,” said Lenina. “He said he would have me and mine if ever I was free, and I know he meant it.”

“Oh, but no! You can’t!” said Moril. “Not just like that!”

“Why not?” Lenina asked. “How do you think we shall live, without a singer to earn us money?”

“We can manage,” said Moril. “I can sing. Dagner can – Dagner …” His voice tailed away as he thought of Dagner and himself trying to perform as Clennen did. He just could not see Dagner doing it. He did not know what to say, so he stopped, fearing he might be hurting Dagner’s feelings. But it looked as if Dagner was not listening. “Father wouldn’t like us to go to Markind,” Moril asserted. He was sure of that, at least.

“I can’t see that your father has much say in the matter now,” Lenina answered drily. “Get this clear, Moril. I know well enough that your father was a good man, and the best singer in Dalemark, and I’ve done my duty by him for seventeen years. That’s half my lifetime, Moril. I’ve gone barefoot and learnt to cook and make music. I’ve lived in a cart in all weathers, and never complained. I’ve mended and cleaned and looked after you all. There were things your father did that I didn’t agree with at all, but I never argued with him or crossed him. I did my duty exactly in every way, and I’ve nothing to reproach myself with. But Clennen’s dead now, so I’m free to do as I choose. What I’m choosing is my birthright and yours too. Do you understand?”

“I suppose so,” Moril mumbled. He had never heard Lenina say anything like this before. He was frightened and rather shocked to see that she must have been not saying it for longer than he had lived. He thought it was wrong of her, but he could not have said why. He thought she was altogether wrong, but he could not find any words to set against her. All he could do was to exchange a scared, helpless look with Brid. Brid said nothing either.

It was Kialan who spoke. He sounded rather embarrassed. “It’s not my place to object,” he said. “But I do have to get to Hannart, Lenina.”

“I know,” said Lenina. “I’ve thought of that. You can pose as my son for the moment, and I’ll find someone to take you North as soon as I can, I promise. Hestefan’s in the South, I know, and Fredlan may be too.”

Kialan looked exasperated as well as embarrassed. “But Ganner must know how many children you’ve got!”

“I shouldn’t think so,” Lenina said calmly. “People who haven’t got children themselves never bother to count other people’s. If he wonders, I’ll say you’ve been ill and we’d left you at Fledden.”

Kialan sighed. “Oh well. Thanks, anyway.”

“Remember that,” Lenina said to Moril, Brid and Dagner, and Moril felt very queer, because “Remember that” was such a favourite saying of Clennen’s. “Kialan’s your brother. If anyone asks, he’s been ill in Fledden.”

Olob plodded towards Markind. He did not look happy either, Moril thought, looking at the droop of Olob’s head. Moril was so miserable himself that he could almost hear it, like a droning in his ears, and he could not hide away in vagueness, much as he tried. He felt vividly and horribly attentive to everything, from the leaves in the hedge to the shape of Kialan’s nose. Kialan’s eagle nose was so different from Dagner’s, Brid’s, or Moril’s that surely anyone could tell at a glance he was no relation? Why did he have to be a relation, anyway? And had Clennen known he wanted to go to Hannart? Clennen would not have gone there because he never went to Hannart. And why had the six men killed Clennen? Who were they, and what were they looking for in the wood? And why, why, why above all, had Clennen given Moril a cwidder he did not want in the least?

I shall never play it, Moril thought. I’ll polish it and string it, and maybe tune it from time to time, but I don’t want to play it. I know I should be grateful, because it must be very valuable – though it can’t be old enough to have belonged to Osfameron; he’s long ago in a story – but I don’t like it and I don’t want it.

Markind came into view at the other end of a valley. Without meaning to, Moril looked at it as he always looked at a new town. Sleepy and respectable, he thought. Bad takings. Then he remembered he was supposed to be going here to live, not to sing, and tried very hard to look at the pile of yellowish-grey houses with interest. He found he was more interested in the villainously freckled cows which were grazing in the small green meadows outside the town.

Lenina looked at these cows with pleasure. “I remember I always liked those speckles,” she said. She encouraged Olob to trot, and the grey and yellow houses approached swiftly. Moril’s heart sank rather – and he had thought it was low enough before.

Soon they were winding up a gravelly street between quiet old houses. The houses were tall and cold and shuttered. There were very few people about. Even when they came to the main square and found a market going on under the high plane trees, there were still very few people, and these all sober citizens who looked at the gay cart with strong disapproval. Lenina drove past the stalls looking neither to right nor to left, and drew Olob up in front of a round-topped gateway in a massive yellow wall. Two men who seemed to be on guard at the gate peered round it at the cart in evident astonishment.

“Had you business here?” one of them asked Lenina.

“Certainly,” Lenina answered haughtily. “Go and tell Ganner Sagersson that Lenina Thornsdaughter is here.”

They looked at her in even more astonishment at that. But one of them went off into the spaces behind the thick yellow wall. The other stayed, frowning wonderingly at Lenina, the cart and her family, until Moril scarcely knew where to look.

“What’s the betting we get a message back to say, Not Today, Thank You?” whispered Brid.

“Be quiet, Brid!” said Lenina. “Behave properly, can’t you!”

Brid would have lost her bet. The man who had gone with the message came back at a run, and they could hear a number of people behind the gate, running too. The two halves of the gate were flung wide open.

“Please drive in,” said the man.

Lenina smiled graciously and shook the reins. Olob plodded forwards, disapproval in every line of his ears and back, into a small deep courtyard lined with interested faces. Ganner was standing in the middle of it, smiling delightedly.

“Welcome back, Lenina!” he said. “I never thought I’d see you so soon. What happened?”

“Some men killed Clennen this morning,” said Lenina. “They looked like the pick of somebody’s hearthmen to me.”

“Not really!” exclaimed Ganner. Then he looked a little worried and asked, “Does that mean it happened in my lordship then?”

“Yes,” said Lenina. “At Medmere.”

“I’d better send some hearthmen over to investigate,” said Ganner. “Anyway, come down and come in. Are these your children?”

“My three sons and my daughter,” said Lenina.

“What a lot of them!” said Ganner, looking a little daunted. But he smiled gallantly at all four. “I’ll do my best to look after you all,” he said. Moril could not find it in his heart to dislike Ganner, much as he had intended to. It was so plain he meant well. If, to someone who had been used to Clennen, he seemed a very ordinary person, then that was hardly Ganner’s fault, Moril supposed.

“He doesn’t look much like a goose,” Brid whispered, in some disappointment. Kialan had to bite his lip. Moril looked at Ganner gallantly helping Lenina down from the cart and smiling at her in a way that showed he adored her. Apart from that smile, he really seemed perfectly normal and ungooselike.

“Oh dear, oh dear!” Ganner exclaimed, as they all got down. “Shoes! Boots! Can you only afford one pair of boots?”

Lenina glanced along their line of bare feet, interrupted by Kialan’s scuffed boots. “We don’t usually bother with them,” she explained. “But Collen has tender feet.”

“I must make sure you all have shoes this instant!” Ganner exclaimed distractedly.

“You know, I think he may be a goose after all,” Brid said, with considerable satisfaction.