The Warlock Enraged-Warlock 4 by Christopher Stasheff Page A
Authors: Christopher Stasheff
Tags: Fiction, General, Science-Fiction, adventure, Fantasy, Juvenile Fiction, Epic, Science Fiction - General, Science Fiction; Fantasy; & Magic, Fiction - Science Fiction, Fantastic fiction
Ads: Link
marvelling, "Tinkers! Why doth the master spare good food for tinkers?" Rod took a plate warily, and sniffed at it. A delighted grin spread over his face. "Hey! It is good!"
"May I?" Magnus sat still, with his hands in his lap. So did the other children, but their eyes fairly devoured the tray.
"Why... certes." The scullery maid seemed surprised by their politeness.
Magnus seized a bowl. "May I?" Cordelia cried, and the younger two chorused, "May I?" after her.
"Certes," the wench said, blinking, and three little hands snatched at bowls.
Rod handed the plate to Gwen and lifted down a huge bowl of stew, then the pitchers. "Take your cups, children." Gwen scooped up the remaining two flagons, and the spoons. The kitchen wench straightened, letting one edge of the tray fall. A furrow wrinkled between her eyebrows. "Strange tinkers ye be."
She was trying to think. Rod realized—and she'd have been trying very hard, if some mental lethargy hadn't prevented her. "Still wondering why your master is serving us more than kitchen scraps?"
Enlightenment crept over her face. "Aye. That is what I be thinking."
"Best of reasons," Rod assured her. "We paid in silver." She lifted her head slowly, mouth opening into a round.
"Oh. Aye, I see." And she turned away, still nodding, as she began to amble back to the kitchen.
"Why doth she not ask how mere tinkers came by silver money. Papa?" Magnus watched her go.
"I expect she'll think that one up just as she gets to the kitchen...."
"Why is she so slow. Papa?" Cordelia seemed concerned. 76 Christopher Stasheff
Rod shook his head. "Not just her, honey. That's what the innkeeper was like, too." He gazed after the scullery maid, frowning.
Two men in brocaded surcoats with grayed temples strolled past them toward the inn door. "Nay, but our Earl doth seek to rule all our trade," the one protested. "Mark my words, ere long he will tell to us which goods we may not sell, for that he doth grant patents on them to those merchants who toady to him."
"Aye, and will belike tax the half of our profit," the other agreed, but he spoke without heat, almost without caring. They passed on into the inn, leaving Rod rigid in their wake. "That is the most blatant lie I've heard since I came here! Earl Tudor is so laissez-faire-mmded, you'd almost think he just doesn't care!"
"Folk will believe any rumor," Gwen offered.
"Yeah, but businessmen check them out—and those two were merchants. If they stray too far from the facts, they go bankrupt."
A string of donkeys plodded into the innyard, heads hanging low, weary from their heavy packs. Their drovers bawled the last few orders at them, as the inn's hostlers strolled past the Gallowglass family toward the donkeys, chatting. "They say the sorcerer Alfar is a fair-minded man."
"Aye, and generous withal. Those who come under his sway, I hear, need never be anxious for food or drink." The first shook his head, sadly. "Our Earl Tudor doth care little for the poor folk."
"Are they crazy?" Rod hissed. "Tudor is practically a welfare state!"
"'Tis e'en as thou dost say," the second mused. "Yet at the least, our Earl doth not tax his peasants into rags and naught for fare but bread and water, as Duke Romanov doth."
"Oh, come on, now!" Rod fumed. "Nobody ever claimed Romanov was a walking charity—but at least he realizes the peasants can't produce if they're starving." But Gregory had a faraway look in his eyes. "Papa—I mislike the feel of their minds."
Gwen stopped ladling stew and gazed off into space. She nodded, slowly. "There is summat there..." Then her eyes
THE WARLOCK ENRAGED 77
widened. "Husband—it doth press on me, within mine head!"
Instantly, the children all gazed off into space.
"Hey!" Rod barked in alarm. He clapped his hands and snapped, "Wake up! If there is something messing with people's minds here, it could be dangerous!" They all started, blinking, then focused on their father.
'"Tis as Mama doth say. Papa," Magnus
"May I?" Magnus sat still, with his hands in his lap. So did the other children, but their eyes fairly devoured the tray.
"Why... certes." The scullery maid seemed surprised by their politeness.
Magnus seized a bowl. "May I?" Cordelia cried, and the younger two chorused, "May I?" after her.
"Certes," the wench said, blinking, and three little hands snatched at bowls.
Rod handed the plate to Gwen and lifted down a huge bowl of stew, then the pitchers. "Take your cups, children." Gwen scooped up the remaining two flagons, and the spoons. The kitchen wench straightened, letting one edge of the tray fall. A furrow wrinkled between her eyebrows. "Strange tinkers ye be."
She was trying to think. Rod realized—and she'd have been trying very hard, if some mental lethargy hadn't prevented her. "Still wondering why your master is serving us more than kitchen scraps?"
Enlightenment crept over her face. "Aye. That is what I be thinking."
"Best of reasons," Rod assured her. "We paid in silver." She lifted her head slowly, mouth opening into a round.
"Oh. Aye, I see." And she turned away, still nodding, as she began to amble back to the kitchen.
"Why doth she not ask how mere tinkers came by silver money. Papa?" Magnus watched her go.
"I expect she'll think that one up just as she gets to the kitchen...."
"Why is she so slow. Papa?" Cordelia seemed concerned. 76 Christopher Stasheff
Rod shook his head. "Not just her, honey. That's what the innkeeper was like, too." He gazed after the scullery maid, frowning.
Two men in brocaded surcoats with grayed temples strolled past them toward the inn door. "Nay, but our Earl doth seek to rule all our trade," the one protested. "Mark my words, ere long he will tell to us which goods we may not sell, for that he doth grant patents on them to those merchants who toady to him."
"Aye, and will belike tax the half of our profit," the other agreed, but he spoke without heat, almost without caring. They passed on into the inn, leaving Rod rigid in their wake. "That is the most blatant lie I've heard since I came here! Earl Tudor is so laissez-faire-mmded, you'd almost think he just doesn't care!"
"Folk will believe any rumor," Gwen offered.
"Yeah, but businessmen check them out—and those two were merchants. If they stray too far from the facts, they go bankrupt."
A string of donkeys plodded into the innyard, heads hanging low, weary from their heavy packs. Their drovers bawled the last few orders at them, as the inn's hostlers strolled past the Gallowglass family toward the donkeys, chatting. "They say the sorcerer Alfar is a fair-minded man."
"Aye, and generous withal. Those who come under his sway, I hear, need never be anxious for food or drink." The first shook his head, sadly. "Our Earl Tudor doth care little for the poor folk."
"Are they crazy?" Rod hissed. "Tudor is practically a welfare state!"
"'Tis e'en as thou dost say," the second mused. "Yet at the least, our Earl doth not tax his peasants into rags and naught for fare but bread and water, as Duke Romanov doth."
"Oh, come on, now!" Rod fumed. "Nobody ever claimed Romanov was a walking charity—but at least he realizes the peasants can't produce if they're starving." But Gregory had a faraway look in his eyes. "Papa—I mislike the feel of their minds."
Gwen stopped ladling stew and gazed off into space. She nodded, slowly. "There is summat there..." Then her eyes
THE WARLOCK ENRAGED 77
widened. "Husband—it doth press on me, within mine head!"
Instantly, the children all gazed off into space.
"Hey!" Rod barked in alarm. He clapped his hands and snapped, "Wake up! If there is something messing with people's minds here, it could be dangerous!" They all started, blinking, then focused on their father.
'"Tis as Mama doth say. Papa," Magnus
Similar Books
