of an older boy than a man—though muscular and solidly built, he was rather short, though still taller than Paul. He wore an odd assortment of clothing, including several brilliantly colored shirts, all of which seemed in bad repair. A mulberry-colored hat rested shapelessly on top of his windswept, sandy-colored hair, and he looked and acted like the most disorganized person Paul had ever met.
“Hello!” he cried, as Paul ran over to help him with an escaping rope. He favored Paul with an uneven smile before letting out a cry of dismay, and rushing over to yet another anchor-rope that had somehow come undone.
“Know anything about knots?” he called out to Paul, who was quietly retying the nearest rope, which had just pulled out of the most complicated and useless knot he’d ever seen.
“I know a couple,” replied Paul, dashing over to help retie the main anchor-line, which had suddenly relinquished its hold on the old stump. The balloonist rushed past to tie up another rope, and Paul took a closer look at him. He seemed human enough, and Tanboule had said that he would meet someone who could help him. But Tanboule had also said that there would always be some humans who would serve Her…
Then the balloonist tripped, and fell swearing amidst a tangled skein of ropes. Paul looked at him vainly trying to free himself, and decided thatanyone who could swear with such color and variety must be all right.
“I’m Paul,” he said quietly, helping untangle the other boy. He felt a slight qualm in doing so—the balloonist was at least two or three years older than Paul, and at school, if a younger kid helped an older one after an accident, the younger often ended up with a belt around the head—after all, someone had to be blamed for the accident. But the balloonist merely dusted himself off, and said, “Thank you. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Quigin, a Friend of Beasts.”
He made an elaborate sort of bow, complete with many waves of his hat, but this was lost on Paul, who was looking around for some beasts. He half expected to see a griffon wheeling in from the sun, or perhaps a pair of wolves loping through the fields—but the sky was a clear, vacant blue, and there was nothing in the fields, save sheep.
“A Friend of Beasts?” asked Paul, hesitantly. “I’m not quite sure…”
“Well, Friend of a Beast, at the moment,” interrupted Quigin. “Leasel. She’s a hare. But I have almost finished my apprenticeship, and then I’ll have more time to make friends…with beasts.”
“What are you an apprentice of?” asked Paul, thinking of electricians and plumbers—or whatever equivalents they might have in this rather backward kingdom.
“I told you,” replied Quigin, surprised. “I’m anApprentice Friend of Beasts. Don’t you believe me?”
Paul started to say that he did believe him, but Quigin just kept on talking. “Look—I’ll just find Leasel, and that’ll prove it!”
“Fine,” replied Paul. He was starting to think that this strange boy probably couldn’t help him anyway, but after cabbage-planting wise men, he wasn’t so sure. In any case, Quigin ignored him, and started walking along beside the nearest stone wall, calling out, “Leasel! Leasel!”
After he’d called several times to no effect, Quigin came back and sat down on the wall. Paul sat down next to him, and said, “Excuse me…but…what was your hare doing down here, while you were up in the balloon?”
“Having lunch,” replied Quigin, rather sharply. Then he sighed, and added, “I still haven’t quite got the knack of that balloon thing yet. So instead of landing, I lowered Leasel on a piece of rope, so she could get something to eat. But the first thing she chewed was the rope, and then she just ran off into the weeds, somewhere along this wall.”
“Well, surely she’ll come back,” said Paul.
“Yes. I suppose so,” said Quigin. “Master Cagael’s Friends never run off!”
“Are they
“Hello!” he cried, as Paul ran over to help him with an escaping rope. He favored Paul with an uneven smile before letting out a cry of dismay, and rushing over to yet another anchor-rope that had somehow come undone.
“Know anything about knots?” he called out to Paul, who was quietly retying the nearest rope, which had just pulled out of the most complicated and useless knot he’d ever seen.
“I know a couple,” replied Paul, dashing over to help retie the main anchor-line, which had suddenly relinquished its hold on the old stump. The balloonist rushed past to tie up another rope, and Paul took a closer look at him. He seemed human enough, and Tanboule had said that he would meet someone who could help him. But Tanboule had also said that there would always be some humans who would serve Her…
Then the balloonist tripped, and fell swearing amidst a tangled skein of ropes. Paul looked at him vainly trying to free himself, and decided thatanyone who could swear with such color and variety must be all right.
“I’m Paul,” he said quietly, helping untangle the other boy. He felt a slight qualm in doing so—the balloonist was at least two or three years older than Paul, and at school, if a younger kid helped an older one after an accident, the younger often ended up with a belt around the head—after all, someone had to be blamed for the accident. But the balloonist merely dusted himself off, and said, “Thank you. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Quigin, a Friend of Beasts.”
He made an elaborate sort of bow, complete with many waves of his hat, but this was lost on Paul, who was looking around for some beasts. He half expected to see a griffon wheeling in from the sun, or perhaps a pair of wolves loping through the fields—but the sky was a clear, vacant blue, and there was nothing in the fields, save sheep.
“A Friend of Beasts?” asked Paul, hesitantly. “I’m not quite sure…”
“Well, Friend of a Beast, at the moment,” interrupted Quigin. “Leasel. She’s a hare. But I have almost finished my apprenticeship, and then I’ll have more time to make friends…with beasts.”
“What are you an apprentice of?” asked Paul, thinking of electricians and plumbers—or whatever equivalents they might have in this rather backward kingdom.
“I told you,” replied Quigin, surprised. “I’m anApprentice Friend of Beasts. Don’t you believe me?”
Paul started to say that he did believe him, but Quigin just kept on talking. “Look—I’ll just find Leasel, and that’ll prove it!”
“Fine,” replied Paul. He was starting to think that this strange boy probably couldn’t help him anyway, but after cabbage-planting wise men, he wasn’t so sure. In any case, Quigin ignored him, and started walking along beside the nearest stone wall, calling out, “Leasel! Leasel!”
After he’d called several times to no effect, Quigin came back and sat down on the wall. Paul sat down next to him, and said, “Excuse me…but…what was your hare doing down here, while you were up in the balloon?”
“Having lunch,” replied Quigin, rather sharply. Then he sighed, and added, “I still haven’t quite got the knack of that balloon thing yet. So instead of landing, I lowered Leasel on a piece of rope, so she could get something to eat. But the first thing she chewed was the rope, and then she just ran off into the weeds, somewhere along this wall.”
“Well, surely she’ll come back,” said Paul.
“Yes. I suppose so,” said Quigin. “Master Cagael’s Friends never run off!”
“Are they
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