The High King's Tomb
Page 81
Mel released her and jumped up and down. “They said a Rider was here and doing swordplay with Master Rendle and I knew it was you!”
“They?”
“My friends, but I didn’t hear about it till after.” Mel pouted, then laughed and hugged her again.
“Ah,” Rendle said, “another of my impertinent but talented students.”
“Another impertinent student?” Karigan asked, placing a hand on her hip.
“But talented,” Rendle said, unflappable as ever.
Karigan scrutinized Mel. She was an inch or two taller than she remembered, and her shape was growing into something more mature. “Anything I need to report to this one’s mother?” she asked Rendle.
Mel’s eyes widened in mortification and she whipped her gaze to Rendle.
“Oh,” he said, “nothing I don’t think I can handle. If anything arises, however, I’ll be sure to send word back with you.”
A protest was about to burst past Mel’s lips when she noticed Fergal. “Who are you? Are you new?”
Karigan noted his startled expression and said, “Fergal Duff, meet Melry Exiter, daughter of our captain.”
This time it was Fergal’s eyes that widened. “I didn’t know…”
Mel, unaware of his awkwardness, or ignoring it, said, “Yep. I plan to be a Green Rider, too, if the call would call me, if you know what I mean.”
By now the sun had set and the dusk covering the practice field was deepening, so they set off together to take supper at the Guesting House. The whole way over, Mel carried on a one-sided conversation telling them about her classes and school gossip, including some about her instructors.
“I don’t think I want to hear this,” Rendle said. He tugged his pipe from his pocket and proceeded to pack the bowl with tobacco. He clamped his teeth on the stem of the unlit pipe and said no more. Mel carried on with exclamations about this and that, waving to friends as she passed them by, and adding a snippet or two of information about each person.
With some bemusement, Karigan realized Mel was comfortable here and quite popular, a rather different experience than her own had been. Fergal appeared overwhelmed by Mel, but listened politely, almost gravely, to her chattering on.
When they entered the Guesting House, Mel strode right for the common room as though she owned the place and declared, “This will be much better than the dining hall’s food. I could eat about ten horses, but I could never eat horses, of course.”
Fergal frowned, but Mel did not notice and dropped into a chair at an empty table as though she’d been at hard labor all day and was exhausted.
Karigan excused herself and ran upstairs to wash up and grab the package Captain Mapstone sent with her for Mel. When she returned, Rendle sat at the head of the table, his pipe now lit and sending aromatic smoke up to the ceiling, an expression of bliss on his face. Fergal sat opposite Mel, who was still chattering away. Aside from Mel, the common room was quiet, almost like a library instead of a gathering and dining area. The other guests, visiting scholars by the look of their specs and piles of books, scowled in Mel’s direction.
Upon seeing the package, Mel squealed and clapped with delight, driving a couple annoyed scholars from the room. Mel tore the package apart and withdrew a cloak in Rider green lined with the blue-green plaid of the First Rider.
“It’s wonderful!” She tried it on and whirled about, causing more scholars to slam their books shut and leave. Those on other business seemed unfazed by Mel’s exuberance, and some even smiled as they continued with their meals. “I’m sure to hear the Rider call now.”
She returned to her chair, still draped in the cloak, and discovered the chocolate from Master Gruntler’s.
“Dragon Droppings!” She popped one into her mouth and rolled her eyes in ecstasy. “They’ve some good confectioners in town,” she said, “but none as good as Master Gruntler.”
“There’s a letter as well,” Karigan said, and she asked Fergal, who still had the message satchel, to dig it out.
Quiet finally descended as Mel set to reading, with only occasional exclamations and muttering. The woman who ran the Guesting House brought them a pitcher of ale and tankards, and some cider for Mel, as well as bread, a tub of butter, and wedges of chicken pie.
Rendle tapped out his pipe and set it aside to eat. He said, “So you are here on king’s business, or simply to check in on young Melry?”
“A little of both, I suppose,” Karigan said. “We brought a message for the Golden Guardian, which in his absence, was to go to Dean Crosley.”
“I see, and with the Guardian away and the dean in the House of Mending, you are stuck.”
Karigan nodded.
Rendle chewed thoughtfully on a bite of chicken pie, then said, “It’ll be a while before Dean Crosley is well enough to assume his duties. Received a nasty beating, and he being elderly and all. Took us all by surprise, and I think most on campus are unsettled by the crime—at least the faculty is. There’ll be more patrols made by the constabulary, and the faculty will be keeping its own watch as well. If the burglar makes another appearance, he will be dealt with. Firmly.” His face hardened, and Karigan knew she’d not want to be that burglar if Rendle caught hold of him.
“The dean is well thought of,” Rendle continued. “Much more than his predecessor, I’d daresay.”
Karigan silently agreed, having been on the receiving end of Geyer’s punishments. Fortunately the trustees had seen how poor an administrator he had been and dismissed him.
“They?”
“My friends, but I didn’t hear about it till after.” Mel pouted, then laughed and hugged her again.
“Ah,” Rendle said, “another of my impertinent but talented students.”
“Another impertinent student?” Karigan asked, placing a hand on her hip.
“But talented,” Rendle said, unflappable as ever.
Karigan scrutinized Mel. She was an inch or two taller than she remembered, and her shape was growing into something more mature. “Anything I need to report to this one’s mother?” she asked Rendle.
Mel’s eyes widened in mortification and she whipped her gaze to Rendle.
“Oh,” he said, “nothing I don’t think I can handle. If anything arises, however, I’ll be sure to send word back with you.”
A protest was about to burst past Mel’s lips when she noticed Fergal. “Who are you? Are you new?”
Karigan noted his startled expression and said, “Fergal Duff, meet Melry Exiter, daughter of our captain.”
This time it was Fergal’s eyes that widened. “I didn’t know…”
Mel, unaware of his awkwardness, or ignoring it, said, “Yep. I plan to be a Green Rider, too, if the call would call me, if you know what I mean.”
By now the sun had set and the dusk covering the practice field was deepening, so they set off together to take supper at the Guesting House. The whole way over, Mel carried on a one-sided conversation telling them about her classes and school gossip, including some about her instructors.
“I don’t think I want to hear this,” Rendle said. He tugged his pipe from his pocket and proceeded to pack the bowl with tobacco. He clamped his teeth on the stem of the unlit pipe and said no more. Mel carried on with exclamations about this and that, waving to friends as she passed them by, and adding a snippet or two of information about each person.
With some bemusement, Karigan realized Mel was comfortable here and quite popular, a rather different experience than her own had been. Fergal appeared overwhelmed by Mel, but listened politely, almost gravely, to her chattering on.
When they entered the Guesting House, Mel strode right for the common room as though she owned the place and declared, “This will be much better than the dining hall’s food. I could eat about ten horses, but I could never eat horses, of course.”
Fergal frowned, but Mel did not notice and dropped into a chair at an empty table as though she’d been at hard labor all day and was exhausted.
Karigan excused herself and ran upstairs to wash up and grab the package Captain Mapstone sent with her for Mel. When she returned, Rendle sat at the head of the table, his pipe now lit and sending aromatic smoke up to the ceiling, an expression of bliss on his face. Fergal sat opposite Mel, who was still chattering away. Aside from Mel, the common room was quiet, almost like a library instead of a gathering and dining area. The other guests, visiting scholars by the look of their specs and piles of books, scowled in Mel’s direction.
Upon seeing the package, Mel squealed and clapped with delight, driving a couple annoyed scholars from the room. Mel tore the package apart and withdrew a cloak in Rider green lined with the blue-green plaid of the First Rider.
“It’s wonderful!” She tried it on and whirled about, causing more scholars to slam their books shut and leave. Those on other business seemed unfazed by Mel’s exuberance, and some even smiled as they continued with their meals. “I’m sure to hear the Rider call now.”
She returned to her chair, still draped in the cloak, and discovered the chocolate from Master Gruntler’s.
“Dragon Droppings!” She popped one into her mouth and rolled her eyes in ecstasy. “They’ve some good confectioners in town,” she said, “but none as good as Master Gruntler.”
“There’s a letter as well,” Karigan said, and she asked Fergal, who still had the message satchel, to dig it out.
Quiet finally descended as Mel set to reading, with only occasional exclamations and muttering. The woman who ran the Guesting House brought them a pitcher of ale and tankards, and some cider for Mel, as well as bread, a tub of butter, and wedges of chicken pie.
Rendle tapped out his pipe and set it aside to eat. He said, “So you are here on king’s business, or simply to check in on young Melry?”
“A little of both, I suppose,” Karigan said. “We brought a message for the Golden Guardian, which in his absence, was to go to Dean Crosley.”
“I see, and with the Guardian away and the dean in the House of Mending, you are stuck.”
Karigan nodded.
Rendle chewed thoughtfully on a bite of chicken pie, then said, “It’ll be a while before Dean Crosley is well enough to assume his duties. Received a nasty beating, and he being elderly and all. Took us all by surprise, and I think most on campus are unsettled by the crime—at least the faculty is. There’ll be more patrols made by the constabulary, and the faculty will be keeping its own watch as well. If the burglar makes another appearance, he will be dealt with. Firmly.” His face hardened, and Karigan knew she’d not want to be that burglar if Rendle caught hold of him.
“The dean is well thought of,” Rendle continued. “Much more than his predecessor, I’d daresay.”
Karigan silently agreed, having been on the receiving end of Geyer’s punishments. Fortunately the trustees had seen how poor an administrator he had been and dismissed him.
