 |
| "The town’s main street was the dirtiest, smelliest and most crowded place they had ever seen in their lives." |
After an hour of waiting Banac was beginning to grow restless. He sat at the edge of the clearing with his knees drawn up to his chest, looking down into the valley, watching for any sign of the white-skinned figure returning.
“Where is he?” he muttered, half to himself. “He should have been back by now.”
Balor looked up from where he was collecting mushrooms on the far side of the clearing.
“He’ll come back,” he said, unconcerned.
“I don’t know,” said Banac. He looked out again. Balor seemed to have forgotten that somewhere down there Father was being held, probably in a dungeon filled with rats. It rankled Banac that he had to sit up here waiting for Haemel to return, when by rights he should be down there, rescuing Father.
He sat for a while longer, shifting his weight whenever his legs began to fall to sleep. The incessant splashing of the waterfall behind him had begun to grate on his nerves. He tried to think of something else, to imagine something other than Father rotting in a cell, but in the end he could wait not longer.
“I’m going down,” he said, standing and brushing himself down.
“What?” Balor dropped the mushrooms and jumped to his feet. “But Haemel said—”
Banac turned on him. “I don’t care what Haemel said! Is it his father we’re trying to rescue? No. It’s ours — so I think I can do what I want without having to ask a beremer for permission, thank you very much!”
Balor backed down, but he was not happy. “This isn’t a good idea,” he said. “It might be dangerous.”
“Dangerous? How?” Banac scoffed. “It’ll be less dangerous for us than it was for Haemel. No-one’s looking for us, are they? Stay here if you want; I’m going.”
He turned his back on Balor and marched off down the hill. Balor watched him for a moment, fidgeting nervously with his fingers, then with a sound of annoyance he set off after him.
*
The sun was high, and the road to Craec Annwn was thronged with carts, horses and pedestrians as it wound down the valley towards the town. Banac strode purposefully along, afire with his newfound confidence. Balor lagged behind, glaring resentfully at his back.
They passed through the town gates easily enough, ignored by the pair of lazy-eyed watchmen who slouched in the shadows and passed a greasy pipe between them. Craec Annwn was open to anyone who wished to enter, just so long as they did not give the guards any reason to do more work than they were accustomed to. But once inside the gate the boys stopped still and stared, awed at the bustling chaos before them.
The town’s main street was the dirtiest, smelliest and most crowded place they had ever seen in their lives. Buildings crowded in on either side, some leaning precariously over the thoroughfare. Market stalls, little more than trestles propped up on boxes, littered the side of the road, their owners heckling passers-by. No-one paid them much attention. People pushed and shoved at each other as they made their way to and fro, their heads down, their eyes darting furtively, hardly exchanging a greeting with one another as they went about their own private business.
Banac and Balor had never seen so many people gathered together in one place before, nor so much filthiness. The village was a clean place, where people knew each other and took an interest in each others’ business and property — Craec Annwn was a place of dirt, decay, suspicion and fear.
So they stood in the middle of the street and stared, until someone knocked Balor to his knees on her way past and they decided they had better find somewhere more out of the way from which to get their bearings.
They took shelter in an empty doorway, where Banac stood and craned his neck for any sign or any clue that might tell him where Father was being kept. Balor’s hand was sweaty on his, clenching and unclenching. Banac knew how he felt. There were too many people: that was the problem. He had not anticipated just how many people there would be.
He peered between the bodies. A group of town guards barged past, laughing coarsely. Banac thought he recognised one of them from the raid on the village, and with a flash of anger he wished he had his sword with him; but the sight also gave him an idea. He turned to Balor.
“I’m going to follow those guards,” he said. “Wherever they’re going, it’s probably where they’re keeping Father.”
Balor shook his head; he did not want to stir from the safety of the doorway. But Banac did not have the time to reason with him. He dragged him to his feet and hauled him out into the street, weaving between the crowds as he followed after the guards.
They kept to the main street, passing stalls laid out with food, clothes, pottery, and other such things that people might want to buy. The stallholders screeched and bellowed deafeningly, vying for customers; Banac ignored them and kept his eyes on the soldiers’ backs, anxious not to lose them in the crush.
After a few minutes of pushing, barging, and slipping through whatever space they could, they emerged by the river in a quieter part of town. Here the houses gave way to muddy banks sloping down to fast-flowing water dotted with dangerous rocks. A wooden bridge rose over the flood a little way downriver, resting on a series of arches, ferrying a constant stream of people from one bank to the other. The bridge was less busy than the street, for at either end armed guards stood beside a money-changer who was busy collecting tolls from those who passed by. Even as the boys watched, a woman who (for whatever reason) was unable to pay was heaved by the soldiers over the side of the bridge and into the water, where she floundered, coughing and choking, until someone saw fit to drag her out.
It was not a promising scene. The soldiers they had followed proceeded to relieve those on the near end of the bridge, and the off-duty guard returned to the town. Banac hesitated, wondering whether to follow the new group. Balor sensed his indecision.
“So what now?” he said sulkily.
“I’m thinking,” Banac replied.
Balor shook his head. “You’ve got no idea what you’re doing. We should have waited for Haemel.”
“I don’t trust Haemel.”
“That’s what you keep saying.”
“That’s because it’s true.”
“Just admit that you don’t know what you’re doing, and let’s go back.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I said so and I’m in charge, that’s why!”
Banac had not meant to raise his voice, but now he had their argument was attracting the attention of the people on the bridge. One or two looked over and tutted, and a particularly thin, weaselly-looking man nudged the soldier standing next to him and pointed in their direction. Banac and Balor had not noticed, and continued to snipe at each other as the soldier detached himself from the crowd and sauntered over.
“You just need to learn to trust people!”
“Me? Learn? How old are you? Don’t tell me what I need to learn!”
“Well, you do need to learn it! You’re selfish and stuck-up! Just because you’re older you think you can do what you want!”
“I am older, and I can do what I want!”
“You didn’t even listen to me when I told you it was a bad idea, and now where are we?”
“It’s better than being stuck up on that hill waiting for some beremer we hardly even know to come back from doing who-knows-what!”
“At least he knows what he’s doing!”
“Who’s this beremer, then?”
They spun round guiltily to find the soldier looking down at them, his arms folded and a stern expression on his face. With a horrible, cold feeling that travelled all the way down his neck to his stomach, Banac recognised him as one of the soldiers from the raid on the village. He pushed the cold feeling away and smiled in what he hoped was a disarming fashion, trying to conceal his panic as he realised exactly how much of a mistake this had been.
* * *
Want to read more?
Why not download The Endless Circle eBook for £1.96 at Amazon.com, or purchase the print version for £6.99 from lulu.com.
No comments:
Post a Comment