looked like he wanted to give her a hug or a biscuit or something.
“That’s very true,” he said. “It is your atlas. I’m sorry they took that away from you.” He looked over her shoulder, staring out the window as he chewed the inside of his cheek.
Rufus, bored, started to inspect the corners of the room for more biscuits.
“What are you doing here, really?” Celie asked.
Celie had never heard of Pogue wanting to be alone. Ever. When he wasn’t in the smithy, flirting with the village girls who came by to watch him work with his father, he was at the Castle with Bran or Rolf or Lilah.
Pogue looked around, and then seemed to realize how silly that was. They were quite plainly alone, in the highest, most remote tower in the Castle. He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked uncomfortable.
“I’m hiding from my father,” he said in a low voice. “So that he won’t make me work the forge today.”
Celie wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly, so she waited a moment for him to say something else, or repeat himself, or give the punch line of the joke. But he never did. He just stood there in front of her, looking guilty and awkward and not at all like his usual self.
“Why don’t you want to work the forge?”
“I hate it. I don’t want to be a blacksmith.”
Once again she thought she’d misheard. She hurried over to keep Rufus from trying to eat the eastern spyglass, and didn’t see Pogue’s face as he replied. And it was such a startling thing for him to say. But when she turned and saw his expression, she knew that she’d heard right, and that he’d meant it.
“But … but you … you’ve always …”
“My father is the best blacksmith for fifty leagues,” Pogue said with a kind of grim pride. “And I am his only son. Of course I’m always at the forge. Of course I’ve been learning the trade since I could hold a hammer. But no one ever asked if I wanted to hold that hammer, and if I wanted to learn that trade.” He smiled, but his face was still grim. “Just like no one ever asked you if you wanted to stop making maps and let someone else find the Castle’s secret nooks and crannies.”
Celie nodded. She understood completely.
“I feel like a coward,” Pogue went on, “but I just can’t face my father and tell him that I don’t want to be him when I am older.”
Pogue sounded young and uncertain, and so unlike himself. But Celie tried to act like Lilah or Rolf or Bran would, and listen to her friend. Even though she now wondered if he thought her a coward for not speaking up and telling her father that she wanted to keep on making maps of the Castle.
She stopped this uncomfortable line of thought with a question.
“So what do you want to do, if you don’t want to be a blacksmith?”
Pogue fiddled with the biscuit tin for a moment. Rufus watched him intently, hoping for another biscuit, and when none was forthcoming, he tried to bite Pogue.
“Stop that,” Pogue said, twisting out of the way of Rufus’s beak. “Horrible beast!” When he found that Celie was still watching him expectantly, he sighed. “You have to promise not to tell anyone,” he said.
“Promise,” Celie said, crossing her heart.
“Well … I wanted to be a wizard, but I don’t have the gift,” Pogue said in a low voice. “So now I’m trying to become a wizard’s assistant, at least. Or maybe a librarian.”
Celie couldn’t help herself: she laughed. It was just such a startling admission, coming from Pogue Parry. He had already graduated from apprentice to journeyman; everyone said he was even more talented than his father. Aside from blacksmithing, he seemed to like nothing better than to dance with pretty girls at all the festivals. The thought of him sitting in the library, wearing a patched robe and glaring at anyone who dared to smudge the page of a book, was ridiculous.
But the look on Pogue’s face made her laugh die away quickly. He was hurt, and she felt the blood
“That’s very true,” he said. “It is your atlas. I’m sorry they took that away from you.” He looked over her shoulder, staring out the window as he chewed the inside of his cheek.
Rufus, bored, started to inspect the corners of the room for more biscuits.
“What are you doing here, really?” Celie asked.
Celie had never heard of Pogue wanting to be alone. Ever. When he wasn’t in the smithy, flirting with the village girls who came by to watch him work with his father, he was at the Castle with Bran or Rolf or Lilah.
Pogue looked around, and then seemed to realize how silly that was. They were quite plainly alone, in the highest, most remote tower in the Castle. He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked uncomfortable.
“I’m hiding from my father,” he said in a low voice. “So that he won’t make me work the forge today.”
Celie wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly, so she waited a moment for him to say something else, or repeat himself, or give the punch line of the joke. But he never did. He just stood there in front of her, looking guilty and awkward and not at all like his usual self.
“Why don’t you want to work the forge?”
“I hate it. I don’t want to be a blacksmith.”
Once again she thought she’d misheard. She hurried over to keep Rufus from trying to eat the eastern spyglass, and didn’t see Pogue’s face as he replied. And it was such a startling thing for him to say. But when she turned and saw his expression, she knew that she’d heard right, and that he’d meant it.
“But … but you … you’ve always …”
“My father is the best blacksmith for fifty leagues,” Pogue said with a kind of grim pride. “And I am his only son. Of course I’m always at the forge. Of course I’ve been learning the trade since I could hold a hammer. But no one ever asked if I wanted to hold that hammer, and if I wanted to learn that trade.” He smiled, but his face was still grim. “Just like no one ever asked you if you wanted to stop making maps and let someone else find the Castle’s secret nooks and crannies.”
Celie nodded. She understood completely.
“I feel like a coward,” Pogue went on, “but I just can’t face my father and tell him that I don’t want to be him when I am older.”
Pogue sounded young and uncertain, and so unlike himself. But Celie tried to act like Lilah or Rolf or Bran would, and listen to her friend. Even though she now wondered if he thought her a coward for not speaking up and telling her father that she wanted to keep on making maps of the Castle.
She stopped this uncomfortable line of thought with a question.
“So what do you want to do, if you don’t want to be a blacksmith?”
Pogue fiddled with the biscuit tin for a moment. Rufus watched him intently, hoping for another biscuit, and when none was forthcoming, he tried to bite Pogue.
“Stop that,” Pogue said, twisting out of the way of Rufus’s beak. “Horrible beast!” When he found that Celie was still watching him expectantly, he sighed. “You have to promise not to tell anyone,” he said.
“Promise,” Celie said, crossing her heart.
“Well … I wanted to be a wizard, but I don’t have the gift,” Pogue said in a low voice. “So now I’m trying to become a wizard’s assistant, at least. Or maybe a librarian.”
Celie couldn’t help herself: she laughed. It was just such a startling admission, coming from Pogue Parry. He had already graduated from apprentice to journeyman; everyone said he was even more talented than his father. Aside from blacksmithing, he seemed to like nothing better than to dance with pretty girls at all the festivals. The thought of him sitting in the library, wearing a patched robe and glaring at anyone who dared to smudge the page of a book, was ridiculous.
But the look on Pogue’s face made her laugh die away quickly. He was hurt, and she felt the blood
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