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.Jute could always pick him out.His eyes instantly found him, wherever he was.Jute reached out with his mind.Isn’t it much colder up there?The hawk sniffed.At my age, one is not bothered by such trifles.I’d like to try flying again.You shall do no such thing.Not here, not now.Of course not, said Jute hastily.Not with these old carters gawking.Maybe in the evening? If we get to wherever we’re going and it’s not too late? I’d like to fly.I’m sure I’ve almost got the hang of it.No, said the hawk.Most assuredly not.You should not be alarmed, but I think something hunts along our path.It isn’t close, so do not look so frightened.Rather, consider it solemnly, for caution should guide your actions.As I have told you before, the use of power draws attention like a lantern in a dark night.You would burn like a great light if you truly flew.Like a star.We could not weather such attention.There is something odd about this land we travel through that does not comfort me greatly.All right, all right.CHAPTER SIXESCAPE ACROSS THE ICEThe road wound through the afternoon.The sun emerged from behind the clouds for brief intervals of blinding light that glittered off the snow and transformed the world into a blur of brilliance.However, most of the day was as dark and as cold as a winter evening.Despite the weather, old Birt was in a good mood, chuckling to himself through the smoke streaming from his pipe.Jute suspected his cheerfulness was due to the fact that Doyl’s team of oxen was proving considerably slower than the mules in breaking through the fresh snow on the road.“Will we get to wherever it is we’re going before nightfall?” asked Jute.“Hager’s Crossing? Surely, laddie, surely, despite these clubfooted, sway-backed cows leading the way.Afore sundown, or my name’s not Birt.The Hartshorn keeps a good table and you’ll be soon tipping back an ale there, never fear.”The sun broke through the clouds as it began to drop beyond the edges of the mountains in the east.It was as if a cold red eye surveyed them between the two lids of clouds and mountain range.One last slow blink closed in finality on the day and then Birt called out.“Hager’s!”He followed up his exclamation with a great deal of muttering about cows and those who see fit to cart about behind cows, all of it uncomplimentary, but only Jute heard him.The road bumped down an icy incline toward a village.Hager’s Crossing was a proper village, in Jute’s estimation.It looked large enough to be interesting in terms of things to buy (or steal) and see and do.There were a great many buildings, all dipped in shadow on their eastern side and painted red on the opposite, with their roofs and chimneys and western walls gilded with the remaining rays of frozen sunlight.Past the town, a river curved through the snowy fields.Woodsmoke scented the air, and after such a cold day, that was a comforting smell indeed.The Hartshorn Inn was on the banks of the river, but to get to it, they had to wind their way through the town, down streets deep in muddy slush and between houses huddled against the descending night.The wagons rolled to a stop in the inn’s yard.The mules and oxen blew out great breaths of steam, satisfied and already smelling the hay in the barn.“A warm bed for the night,” said Jute.“Eh, what’s that?” said old Birt.“No inn beds for us, laddie.It’ll be the wagons and sleeping with both eyes open.Don’t trust a soul, that’s my motto.But you can pop in for a bite to eat first.Go on with you.Doyl an’ me’ll see to the beasts.”The inn was crowded with people and warmed by the fire crackling on the hearth.It seemed quieter than most other inns Jute had been in, but it smelled of ale and roasting meat and, for one moment, Jute imagined he was back in Hearne.Surely if he stepped outside, he would find himself on those familiar cobblestone streets.Lena and the other children would dash by with an outraged merchant in pursuit.Perhaps he had just stepped into the Goose and Gold.But then he blinked and he was standing where he was, far from Hearne and far from home.Hearne was never your home, said the hawk inside his mind.The bird’s voice was surprisingly gentle.Don’t fret, fledgling.You’ll find it one day.“Move it,” said Declan.“We’re attracting enough attention as it is.”And they were.People turned to watch them thread their way through the room as they tried to find an empty table.The stares were not unfriendly, but neither were they friendly.Declan and Jute sat down at the end of a long table occupied by a group of men leaning over their tankards, talking in low voices and occasionally calling for more ale.Jute squeezed into a chair.There was barely enough room between the edge of the table and wall.Behind him, a window exuded the night’s chill.Ah.A barn.The hawk’s voice ghosted through Jute’s mind.I think I’ll find myself a roost in the barn.After a moment, the boy heard him snort in disapproval.I shan’t be sleeping now.Owls.Empty-headed feather dusters!“Evenin’ to you.Supper?”A fat old woman in a dirty apron plonked down two tankards of hot ale in front of them.Declan took a swallow of ale and nodded appreciatively.“Aye, and what do you—?” But before he could finish his sentence, the old woman had bustled away.She returned soon enough with a platter.“That’ll be two silver bits for the pair of you.”“Two silver—?” said Jute, but he shut his mouth when Declan kicked him under the table.“Here you are, mistress.” Declan handed over the coins.“Two silver bits?” said Jute, once the old woman had gone.“That’s thievery.I could eat for a week in Hearne on less than one silver.”“I’m not about to squabble with an old woman about money.Strangers seem to attract attention around here, so keep your head down and eat [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]