Read Online (2/3) The Teeth of the Gale by Joan Aiken - Free Book Online
Authors: Joan Aiken
Ads: Link
Thoughts drifted past—Grandfather—Juana—my tired old Gato—and then, just before I slept, the memory of those two men, smothered to death under the avalanche, came into my mind. Poor devils—poor devils—had anybody dug them out yet? Very probably they might lie there for days, on such a rarely used road....
W HEN I woke, the room was filled with reflected sunset glow. My windows looked south—in fact they pierced clean through the town wall—toward the great snow-covered mountain range around which Pedro and I had just skirted, the Picos de Ancares. I had always loved this room, even in my loneliest, most miserable days, for its silence and security and seclusion—few members of the household ever troubled to climb up here and seek me out.
But now I was aware of a small, scrabbling sound, before I opened my eyes, as if squirrels or mice had got into the place and were searching for eatables. I rolled over and sat up, startling my great-aunts Josefina and Visitación almost to death. (Fortunately I had flung myself down with all my clothes on.)
The two old ladies huddled together, staring at me with bright beady eyes. They were like two dried-up old insects, wrapped in layers of silk, wool, and bombazine, with Manila shawls over all, enveloped in a cloud of lavender water that made me cough, hung about with little pockets and laces, with clinking sets of keys, with fans and handkerchiefs and crucifixes and beads and needle cases.
"Ah,
there
you are, Felix!" murmured Josefina.
Visitación just stared. She, apparently, during my three years' absence, had suffered a slight stroke, for her face was a little lopsided.
I said politely, "Thank you kindly for coming to wake me, Aunt Josefina, Aunt Visitación. I am glad to see you well. Can I—can I help you in any way?"
They looked at one another, then at me again. Then they both twittered together, in their high, husky voices.
"We wished to ask you—that is, we were anxious to know—"
"What did you wish to ask me, señoras?" I inquired, for they seemed to have come to a halt, and I wanted my room to myself.
"Is it
true
that you are going on this errand? Are you really going to search for that terrible man who has made away with his own children?" they said together.
And how the Devil did you learn that? I wondered. For sure, my grandfather never told you.
But I remembered that keeping any secret in this household was out of the question. The contents of a letter would be whispered around the house, almost before its owner had done reading it.
"Is your grandfather
really
in favor of such a mad, dangerous scheme? Francisco is so simple and gullible! The whole thing is a plot—a perilous, terrifying plot!"
"A plot, señoras? How can it be that?"
"Child, child, don't you see, it is a plot to involve you, and so also the Conde, in dangerous, democratic affairs. The Society of the Exterminating Angel will be after him directly, and the Military Commission. He will be a doomed man!"
"But why—I don't see—"
I knew, of course, about the Society of the Exterminating Angel. It had been founded by the Bishop of Osma and was secretly organized and most powerful. It was said that Don Carlos, the king's brother, and his wife belonged to it; that the meetings were held in the palace at Madrid, and its mission was to organize vengeance upon all the Liberals who had supported the democratic constitution.
"And
then
what will become of us?" lamented Josefina. "If your grandfather is thrown into prison—and his estates confiscated—we and your grandmother will be forced to beg in the streets! We shall starve in degradation—"
I could hardly help laughing, their fears seemed so selfish and irrational. But they were both as white as pastry and gazed at me with huge, haunted eyes. I did my best to reassure them, promised them that if I detected any evidence of such a plot as they envisaged, I would withdraw from the business; finally I succeeded in shepherding them
W HEN I woke, the room was filled with reflected sunset glow. My windows looked south—in fact they pierced clean through the town wall—toward the great snow-covered mountain range around which Pedro and I had just skirted, the Picos de Ancares. I had always loved this room, even in my loneliest, most miserable days, for its silence and security and seclusion—few members of the household ever troubled to climb up here and seek me out.
But now I was aware of a small, scrabbling sound, before I opened my eyes, as if squirrels or mice had got into the place and were searching for eatables. I rolled over and sat up, startling my great-aunts Josefina and Visitación almost to death. (Fortunately I had flung myself down with all my clothes on.)
The two old ladies huddled together, staring at me with bright beady eyes. They were like two dried-up old insects, wrapped in layers of silk, wool, and bombazine, with Manila shawls over all, enveloped in a cloud of lavender water that made me cough, hung about with little pockets and laces, with clinking sets of keys, with fans and handkerchiefs and crucifixes and beads and needle cases.
"Ah,
there
you are, Felix!" murmured Josefina.
Visitación just stared. She, apparently, during my three years' absence, had suffered a slight stroke, for her face was a little lopsided.
I said politely, "Thank you kindly for coming to wake me, Aunt Josefina, Aunt Visitación. I am glad to see you well. Can I—can I help you in any way?"
They looked at one another, then at me again. Then they both twittered together, in their high, husky voices.
"We wished to ask you—that is, we were anxious to know—"
"What did you wish to ask me, señoras?" I inquired, for they seemed to have come to a halt, and I wanted my room to myself.
"Is it
true
that you are going on this errand? Are you really going to search for that terrible man who has made away with his own children?" they said together.
And how the Devil did you learn that? I wondered. For sure, my grandfather never told you.
But I remembered that keeping any secret in this household was out of the question. The contents of a letter would be whispered around the house, almost before its owner had done reading it.
"Is your grandfather
really
in favor of such a mad, dangerous scheme? Francisco is so simple and gullible! The whole thing is a plot—a perilous, terrifying plot!"
"A plot, señoras? How can it be that?"
"Child, child, don't you see, it is a plot to involve you, and so also the Conde, in dangerous, democratic affairs. The Society of the Exterminating Angel will be after him directly, and the Military Commission. He will be a doomed man!"
"But why—I don't see—"
I knew, of course, about the Society of the Exterminating Angel. It had been founded by the Bishop of Osma and was secretly organized and most powerful. It was said that Don Carlos, the king's brother, and his wife belonged to it; that the meetings were held in the palace at Madrid, and its mission was to organize vengeance upon all the Liberals who had supported the democratic constitution.
"And
then
what will become of us?" lamented Josefina. "If your grandfather is thrown into prison—and his estates confiscated—we and your grandmother will be forced to beg in the streets! We shall starve in degradation—"
I could hardly help laughing, their fears seemed so selfish and irrational. But they were both as white as pastry and gazed at me with huge, haunted eyes. I did my best to reassure them, promised them that if I detected any evidence of such a plot as they envisaged, I would withdraw from the business; finally I succeeded in shepherding them
Similar Books
