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"Perhaps hundreds rather than millions, my dear chickadee," Doc replied.
"Tell me the poem you said. About a haunting palace."
"It starts about a fine castle, like the ville here, that was once a place of
great riches, splendor, pomp and circumstance. Then it fell upon bad times."
"Go on," she whispered. Nathan Freeman half listened, watching the road into
Front Royal for the best moment to move.
"But evil things, in robes of sorrow, Assailed the monarch's high estate; (Ah,
let us mourn, for never morrow Shall dawn upon him, desolate!)
"Then it goes on about how the wonders of the olden times are sunk forever and
locked into the grave, as they are here. The crimson of the rising sun is so
strong in recalling this verse."
"Something's happening, Doc. Look. Horsemen and the pack of dogs. Stay still
and keep your voice low."
First came a squadron of mounted sec men, their uniforms tinged with dazzling
scarlet by the dawn. Then came a huge mutie stallion the biggest horse Lori
and
Doc had ever seen, not that the girl had actually ever seen a live horse in
her entire life. Mounted on it, wrapped in a silver cloak that the sun
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streaked with bloody splashes, was an immensely fat man. He wore a feathered
cap that nodded and danced.
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"Lord Harvey Cawdor, baron of Front Royal," Nathan whispered, unable to hide
his hatred.
Then came a pack of twenty or so dogs, slavering black hounds with narrow
muzzles and long legs. They were controlled with whips by a half-dozen mounted
grooms. At the rear came another squadron of sec guards.
They cantered by, only a hundred paces from the hiding place of the three
companions, who watched them pass.
The sec men were laughing at some shared jest. From the tone of the laughter,
it was a cruel joke. Doc Tanner continued his remembered poem by Poe.
"Somehow it is even more suitable now that we have seen that procession of
death," he said.
"Tell it, Doc," the girl urged.
"And travelers now within that valley, Through the red-litten windows see Vast
forms that move fantastically To a discordant melody; While, like a rapid
ghastly river, Through the pale door;
A hideous throng rush out forever, And laugh but smile no more.
"Watching the front of that dreadful pile, lit by the vermilion rays of the
rising sun, seems as ominous and frightening as the haunted palace of that
verse." Doc's rich melodious voice had carried the poem well, sending a shiver
down the back of both listeners.
Nathan suggested that it was as good a time as any to try their luck. With the
baron out of the way for the day, heading toward Fishers' Hill, it was
unlikely he'd be back before sunset.
They made their farewells quickly, then the old man and the pretty girl strode
confidently out of the cover of the forest, joining other commoners on the
road into the ville.
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"You outlanders? Beyond Shens?" a stout young woman asked, dragging a trio of
snot-nosed brats behind her as she wheeled a barrow along the rutted trail.
The rickety cart was loaded with a mixture of mud and potatoes, heavy on the
mud.
Her accent was so barbarous and rude that it took all of Doc's frail
concentration to understand what on earth she was saying to him.
"I regret that we are not fortunate enough to enjoy the benefits of a domicile
in these attractive parts."
"What? You talk like a double-stupe mutie!" She spit to show her disgust as
they joined the lineup at the drawbridge.
"He's not for here," Lori said, doing her best to ease the sudden tension.
"Yeah. Bin here 'fore?"
"No, never," Doc replied. "You know the ville well?"
"Should do. Bleeding scullery maid here for eight bastard years. Cleaning shit
an'
sodding grease off whoring plates. Then I landed these little pissers and me
man went off south. Now I sell what I can."
The sec men were passing everyone through at a fair speed, seeming to
recognize them as regulars. But Doc noticed that one of them was already
eyeing Lori and himself, muttering to the guard next to him.
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"Sees are busy today. Someone must have farted in front of her ladyship."
"No-o-o-o," jeered an elderly man at their side, who carried a string of
diminutive onions on a long pole across his shoulders.
"How come you know so much, Eddy Pungo? Riddle me that."
"Hasn't heard? Course not. You's not gotten daughter in ville. Your man left
you,
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"A stone an' a stick can make me sick, but words don't ever harm me, Eddy
Pungo. You got news, then tell us."
The old man looked both ways, then leaned toward her, casting an anxious eye
first at Doc Tanner and Lori, seeming to recognize them as being harmless.
"Ryan. Ryan Cawdor."
The woman laughed, a short, coughing kind of a laugh that made her disbelief
obvious.
"True," the old man insisted. "Girl says so. Seen the sees taking him and some
friends. Tried to raid the ville."
"Lord Ryan come back? One eye an' all?"
"Ssh. One eye an' all. It's him all right, like the old stories say."
"What has happened to him?" Doc asked, hoping that the fluttering in his chest
was only an attack of nerves.
"To Lord Ryan, stranger? I hear he was 'trayed. A servant, brother to Kenny
Morse, gave him up from shock. Now he's bound and waits death when the baron
comes back from his hunting."
"Oh, dear!" The woman with the barrow sighed. "Fucker, innit? Wait twenty
years or more for the lord to come and release us. Then next day stupe bastard
gets chilled by Baron Harvey and us no better for it."
"No worse, no worse. Gotta look it that way. That's why gate's crawling with
sees, as thick as lice on a horse blanket."
Soon enough it was Doc and Lori's turn to face the guards on the cobble-lined
approach to the main entrance to the ville. Up close Doc realized what a
difficult
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to take the fortress.
"Could use a Peacemaker or a Minuteman missile here," he said.
"What's that, stranger?" a sec man barked. Doc hadn't even realized he'd
spoken out loud, and he became confused. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] - zanotowane.pl
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