Read Online Crossing To Paradise by Kevin Crossley-Holland - Free Book Online

done wrong,” said Lady Gwyneth. “She knows she almost wrecked this pilgrimage for us all. Now where did you men sleep?”
    â€œSleep!” exclaimed Austin. “We didn’t.”
    â€œWe bought flares,” said Everard, “and kept searching.”
    Snout looked at Gatty. He saw how downcast she was. Like a small, sodden, shivering terrier. Without saying anything, he took both Gatty’s hands between his huge warm paws and cradled them.
    Gatty sniffed and swallowed. Then she gave a loud hiccup and began to sob.
    â€œNakin,” said Lady Gwyneth. “You can go to the bank now.”
    Tears were streaming down Gatty’s freckled cheeks.
    Lady Gwyneth nodded to Snout, reached out and put both arms round Gatty.
    â€œWe all admire your bravery,” she said in a quiet, warm voice. “And I forgive you, Gatty. But from now on, don’t just jump in—stop and think first. Yes?”
    Gatty rubbed her forehead against Lady Gwyneth’s left shoulder.
    â€œYou men,” said Lady Gwyneth. “You need bowls of fish stew; you need to eat and drink and sleep. We’ll have to wait until tomorrow morning to hire our horses.”

9
    As the pilgrims picked their way along the muddy bank, there were more gulls about than people. Fast and low they flew over the greasy river, beating the bounds, reasserting their fishing rights with screeches and little yelps.
    It was so early that the livery stables looked deserted. The hire-horses were still dozing in their stalls, the fire pits had burned out, and when at last Emrys found Sayer, the stablemaster, sleeping in an empty stall, he had the devil of a job waking him up.
    â€œIt’s too early for man or beast,” Sayer yawned. “You’ll have to wait.”
    â€œWait for what?” asked Emrys.
    â€œSolomon,” said the stablemaster.
    â€œSolomon?”
    â€œI don’t do deals without him, and he can’t do deals without me.”
    Emrys sighed and reported back to Lady Gwyneth.
    â€œWe’re in your hands now, Emrys,” Lady Gwyneth said immediately.
    â€œNine horses, that’s what we want,” Emrys told the stablemaster.
    â€œAre you deaf?” Sayer demanded. “I’ve told you already. You’ll have to wait.”
    â€œNine,” Emrys repeated doggedly. “To go to Venice.”
    â€œYou can’t go to Venice, anyhow,” Sayer said, yawning. “You can’t ride on water. Treviso, you mean. Treviso and back again.”
    â€œThat depends,” said Emrys.
    â€œDepends?”
    â€œHow sound your horses are,” Emrys said carefully.
    â€œYou good-for-nothing!” the stablemaster exclaimed. “All my horses are sound.”
    â€œWe’ll see about that,” Emrys said.
    â€œAnd Solomon and me will see about you,” Sayer retorted. “You wait here. I’m having my bread and ale, I am.” And with that, he turned his back on the pilgrims and clumped across the other side of the stable.
    â€œDid you have to be so…so gruff?” Everard asked.
    â€œNo,” said Emrys.
    â€œWhy were you, then?”
    â€œI met like with like,” Emrys replied. “To let him know what’s what.”
    â€œWe don’t want to have to walk to Venice,” Everard said.
    â€œI won’t walk for one more day,” complained Nest.
    The stableman’s breakfast put him in a more emollient mood. Smiling to himself, he led into the yard a huge roly-poly horse, standing at least seventeen hands. Its shining chestnut body was like a massive barrel.
    â€œIn the name of heaven!” exclaimed Emrys. “No one here is going to ride a draughthorse.”
    The pilgrims pointed at the horse’s heavy quarters and stubby legs, but although some more refined horses might have been offended, the draughthorse just gave the pilgrims a dim look and flicked its short ears.
    â€œThis,” said Sayer, his voice