Part 10 (2/2)

Tying an ap.r.o.n over her frock, she let him alone and set to preparing the afternoon meal. Into a large iron pot, atop a wood stove, she threw coa.r.s.e cuts of meat and roughly chopped potatoes. She worked hurriedly and with agitation, as though it was all a bother to her. Often she glanced at Deacon as he struggled through the breakfast she had kept warm for him. He was far more quiet than the others, yet she was strangely more conscious of his presence.

”I need something from the cellar. Shan't be a moment,” she said briskly, drying her hands on her ap.r.o.n.

”Shall I go with you?” asked Deacon.

”So you can speak, can you?” she said, antagonistically. ”I was beginning to think you were one of the G.o.ds' special sort.” The comment drew a slight, bitter smile out of Deacon. ”What are you smiling for?” She waved her hand at him. ”Eat your d.a.m.ned breakfast.”

”I'm not particularly hungry.”

She leaned against the table, stared critically at his face, and said, somewhat repulsed, ”You're a sickly-looking thing, aren't you? I've seen things lying on their backs under my cupboard look healthier than you.”

Deacon smiled to himself. A shade of contempt darkened his face. His look of illness was a sort of shame to him.

”You've been ill, haven't you?” she asked.

”Yes,” he replied coldly.

She straightened herself. ”Well, I don't suppose you'll be much use to me, will you? Doesn't matter. I wouldn't trust you anyway. There's a lot of your sort around here. All trouble-makers. Don't go making trouble for yourself now, you hear?”

Deacon dropped his eyes again; an insolent humour curved his lip, and he knew she had an impulsive urge to box his ears.

”Eat!” she said, muttering to herself as she left him to go down into the cellar. When she returned, Deacon was gone. He had left nothing for her to clean after him, and she was surprised and pleased to discover that he had fixed things about the kitchen that had been long in need of attention and which Cade had promised to get around to and never did.

For the remainder of the day, Deacon occupied his time at the spell book emporium, lost among scrolls and books, which he consumed with an insatiate hunger. Often he was frustrated and found much of it scarcely adequate. Finally he found something that took his particular interest. He purchased the book and returned to the cottage and his cousins.

An abrupt silence greeted his appearance. The boys, lounging rather than sitting, looked up uncomfortably. It was just as though he had walked in on some plot against him. For a moment he remained in the doorway. Changing to a sitting position, Cedrik nodded to the book. ”What have you there?”

”Nothing that would interest you,” Deacon answered as he entered the room, failing to acknowledge the other two. ”I see we are to stay here?” he remarked, observing that all their belongings had joined Cade's clutter on the floor.

”You might as well. There's not much better, and here you can stay without cost.” Cade spoke with his usual cheer.

Tossing the book down onto his designated place of sleep, Deacon barely acknowledged having been spoken to. Heavy with disappointment, he lay down. After a long silence, Cade proposed a drink and dinner at the tavern.

Well-occupied with himself Cade stared into the mirror. With a rough hand he brushed down his hair that would not lie flat, no matter how he pressed it. Cedrik and Derek watched his vain attempts. They were dressed in the newest and finest cuts, all in perfect order, and all becoming. Deacon was half-reclining over on his bed, book in hand. He glanced up occasionally at Cade, who had spent the past half hour going through numerous changes of garments.

”I have to get myself some new clothes,” complained Cade, then turned to Cedrik. ”Let me wear one of your s.h.i.+rts.”

”Why?”

”It'll make me appear as if I have more coins in my pocket,” he said, catching the s.h.i.+rt Cedrik tossed to him. As he slipped it over his head, he caught Deacon's disparaging look. ”What?”

”When a man spends his energies on appearing to have, he's all the while losing the precious little time he has in which to actually have,” Deacon answered without lifting his eyes from the page.

”Pfft. You, my friend,” said Cade, turning to resume grooming, ”are in desperate need of some togetherness with the fairer kind. And good strong ale,” he added, the drink being his remedy for almost every ailment. ”Come with us.”

”No,” answered Deacon.

Cade ignored his irritability and took the s.h.i.+rt off. ”I don't like this one,” he said to Cedrik. ”What else do you have?”

”Is this really necessary?” said Cedrik, tossing another.

”I've got little more than myself to offer,” said Cade. ”So at least if I can appear to have a little more, I stand a chance at grabbing a woman's attention, and perhaps a little more if I can get away with it. A rich man is never unattractive in the eyes of a woman, now is he?” Dressed in Cedrik's raiment he had the air of a scrounger who had contrived to give himself a respectable look.

”Surely women are not such fools as to prefer the gold over the man,” offered Cedrik mildly.

Cade shrugged. ”Who can say? They're unfathomable creatures when you come to consider their strange impulses and reasonings. They're all mysteries, and that's the way I like to keep it. Look too close and you'll lose an eye.”

”Haven't you a dozen sisters? Have they not given you some insight into the feminine mind?” said Cedrik.

”Five, and no,” answered Cade, making his voice as dry as possible.

”I thought you said you had a girl already,” Derek gave Cade a sporting jab in the ribs.

Cade lifted an elbow to defend himself. ”Do that again and I'll poke you in the eye. She is my girl. She just doesn't know it yet.” He shrugged and rolled his shoulders as if uncomfortable in his borrowed clothes. ”Right. Now we can go.”

He turned to Cedrik and Derek, draping his arms over their shoulders. ”I'm going to introduce you to some real women, my friends, not those showpieces you city lads call women. These ones will put hair on your chest.” He looked over at Deacon. ”Come with us. You need to eat, don't you? And you don't want to stay here with only yourself and the Crone.”

Deacon closed the book with a lazy movement of his hand.

”I'll introduce you to some friends of mine. It'll be a good time, you'll see,” promised Cade, when Deacon rose to join them. ”Only don't start any trouble with your madman tendencies. And don't, for the G.o.ds' sake, frighten all the women with that accursed stare of yours.”

Deacon fixed him with a dark look.

”Right,” said Cade briskly. ”Let's go! Wait, you're bringing that?” He pointed to the book in Deacon's hand. ”You mad tortured b.a.s.t.a.r.d.”

The tavern was rowdy and busy. The innkeeper rushed back and forth filling tankards for many thirsty patrons, while the waiting-maids hurried about, weaving in and around the tables, mopping up spills, refilling empty mugs, and serving dinners.

”It's loud in here!” shouted Cedrik, hinting that he wished to be somewhere else.

”b.l.o.o.d.y unendurable!” Cade said with a laugh, pus.h.i.+ng past people. At a noisy table near the fire, they joined a group of Cade's friends, some of whom Cedrik recognized from previously. Cold drinks were promptly ordered for the new arrivals, and Cedrik and Derek were very soon at their leisure.

Deacon remained quite separate, absorbed in the pages of his book, occasionally s.h.i.+fting his gaze to watch the dancing flames in the fireplace by which he had stationed himself. He was at his ease, yet was a stranger in the room. Preferring to keep a clear mind, he drank very little and kept to himself. He found no satisfactory company in the slow-moving brains of the village lads and took no pleasure in any of the pretty waiting-maids who frequented the table for conversation and sometimes to steal a kiss from their lovers.

A pert little waiting-maid sat on Cade's lap, putting her arms about his neck. From her forward manner, Derek presumed her to be the object of Cade's affection, when only moments after she left, another pretty thing took her place, sitting on his lap in the same familiar att.i.tude. Her hair was tied in a ribbon with an annoyingly tight knot. ”Take it out,” she said, turning her head from him to see.

Cade, preoccupied in trying to untie the knot for her, wasn't conscious of Derek laughing at his frustrations. He was starting to perspire from the heat, which made his fingers stick and pull at her hair. Growing impatient, she was trying to tell him how he should do it. That increased his irritation. It wasn't until he finally threatened to cut it out, reaching for a knife, that she removed herself, shoving his head aside as she pa.s.sed. When the ribbon situation had been resolved, the girl returned to Cade and commented on his different apparel.

”You like it? I think it looks good,” he said, seeming unware he had lost her attention to Cedrik.

”He thinks this new look is going to somehow win Adriel,” said one of them at the table. The girl looked upon Cade contemptuously.

”Except, isn't it true that once a man has won a woman, he no longer wants her?” she said. ”It's born into you lot, isn't it?”

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