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.Besides, what can men do against the Dark?”“Strange,” said Jute’s ghost, seating itself in the empty chair next to the boy.“I seem to remember reading peculiar things about Harlech.All in one book.A very old book.For the life of me, perhaps I should say for the death of me, I can’t remember.”The hawk chuckled.“There’s more to Harlech than meets the eye, Ronan, though I daresay they themselves might have forgotten.But the Dark hasn’t forgotten.No, the men of Harlech are more than just ordinary men, just as you are more than a thief.They come of an old people.”“A failed thief,” said Ronan lightly.“That’s what I am.”“If I may say something,” said Severan.“This is excellent stew.Not that that was what I wanted to say.Ablendan and I have been discussing the schoolboys.I trust they’re all safe in their rooms and not out wandering the village.”“What was the name of that book?” said the ghost.“Doubtless, we’ll have to save the village before the night’s out,” said Ablendan.“And there’s no scullery duty or stair-scrubbing or attic-dusting to punish the scoundrels.”“We’ve decided,” continued Severan, “it would be best if Ablendan and I saw to the schoolboys.” He frowned down at his stew.“I don’t know who survived at the Stone Tower, but I can’t assume any of the other professors are left.We must at least see to it that the boys return safely to their families.Though I fear Lano’s family won’t appreciate his return, as he’ll be bringing a ghost to lodge.”“What’s that?” said Jute’s ghost, startled out of its pondering.“You won’t be going with us to Harlech?” said Jute.“Oh, I shall,” said the ghost.“Never fear.”“No,” said Severan.“I’m afraid not.”“But what about your cottage? You were going to show me the ruins of the tower, you remember, the one the lords of Harlech destroyed.I wanted to see that.”“Don’t scowl so, Jute,” said Severan.“You’ll see the ruins, and the haunted keep of Lannaslech and everything else.I’ll only be a month or so behind you.”“A haunted keep?” said the ghost.“Brr.Sounds dreadful.”“I don’t fancy shepherding the boys all over Tormay to their homes,” said Ablendan.“Why, there’s two that hail as far as Vomaro.A pox on duty.”“We’ll leave in the morning,” said the hawk.Severan nodded at Jute, but did not speak, and the boy did not trust his own voice to say anything in farewell.They left before first light.A heavy fog lay about the town and Jute heard water dripping from the eaves as he woke in his bed.Ronan sat on the other bed, packing his knapsack.A second knapsack, bought from the innkeeper’s wife for Jute, waited bulging and ready beside it.A mug of hot ale steamed on the table.The ghost eyed the ale mournfully.“As you’re both awake,” said the hawk.“We might as well leave.I’ve never liked fog.”“It’s only the breath of the sea,” said Ronan.The fog hung in the streets.Their footsteps sounded muffled.Here and there, lights shone in windows.Jute hitched up his cloak, also bought from the innkeeper’s obliging wife, and wished he was still asleep in bed.The street became a carter’s track that headed out into the moors.The village vanished in the fog behind them.“The coast road again,” said Ronan.“It’ll take us to Averlay, and then on to Harlech.”“Harlech,” said the ghost.“Did I mention I once read something odd about Harlech?”“Yes,” said Jute.“I’m sure you did.”“Rest assured that I’ll tell you what it was in great detail.Once I remember what it was.”“Is there no way, ghost,” said the hawk, “that I can convince you there are other things you could do rather than journeying with us? I’m grateful for what you’ve done for us.The advice about the sea and boats was timely, but, well—”“I don’t need convincing on that account,” said the ghost.“I know full well there’re other things I could be doing.Rest assured that I choose not to do them.I like you.I like you all.Besides, it’s been about six hundred years since I’ve had a stroll in the country.”“Is there no way to make you leave?” said the hawk mildly.“Yes, of course there is.The fifth stricture of the causality of ghosts.”“And what is that?”“Oh, don’t worry,” said the ghost happily.“I won’t tell you.”“Never mind,” said Ronan.“I’m sure he’ll keep his mouth shut when he needs to, won’t you?”“Sir,” said the ghost.“I am the perfect painting of discretion.”The fog burned away as the morning progressed.They were on a moor that, except for the sea far below on their left, stretched away on every side.The air smelled of the sea and of heather and it did more to clear one’s head than a mug of hot ale.“We should leave the road,” said Ronan.“It meanders too much if we mean to make haste [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]