World.”
“That’s impossible,” said Sam. The thought of travelling through that place filled him with panic. “You can’t move through the Finished World.”
“That’s what we’ve always thought,” said Flaxfold. “Enough. It’s dark now. We need daylight to talk of these things. We’ll be later home than I thought.”
She touched the burned skin on his throat. He winced at the initial pain, then her fingers took the heat away and soothed it.
“I’ll give you a salve for that when we get home,” she said.
They walked in silence, the folded night around them, until the house was in sight.
“What happened to the girl?” asked Sam. “The one he stole the magic from?” ||
T he next morning Sam found a roffle
at the breakfast table, waiting to be fed.
“How did you get in?” he asked.
“How does a snail sing a sausage?” asked the roffle.
Sam sighed. He found the roffles’ way of talking very irritating. You never got a straight answer to anything.
“You’re Megatorine,” he said. “Right?”
“Does a cat know its own bread knife?” said the roffle. “Clever boy. You remember me?”
“I remember you cheated me last year,” said Sam. “You lied to me. You led me to the college and left me there.”
Flaxfold bustled in and put a frying pan on the range.
“You two have met before,” she said. “You’ll want bacon, I suppose? And eggs?”
“A few sausages would be nice as well, missus,” said the roffle. “And some fried bread.”
Sam made a private note that a roffle could speak straight enough when he was hungry. Sam had grown since last year and was now taller than the roffle, who was the usual height for someone from the Deep World. He noticed that the roffle sat at the table on the upturned, small, hard-leather pack they all carried, shaped like a squashed barrel. He waited for his food with his knife and fork in his hands, ready to fall on it as soon as it was placed in front of him.
This roffle had betrayed Sam, led him into danger, watched him as he nearly died, and he did nothing to help him. And somehow Sam still found it hard to dislike him. There was something about roffles.
“What have you come for?” he asked. “What do you want?”
Flaxfold gave him a friendly clip round the ear, so light he scarcely felt it.
“How long since you started being my apprentice?” she asked.
“Nearly a year,” said Sam.
“Oh,” said the roffle, “that’s the way of it, is it? He’s your boy?”
“As if you didn’t know,” said Flaxfold. She pointed her fork at Sam before turning the bacon in the pan. “Nearly a year. And you’ve met him before, besides, and you still think you can ask a roffle a direct question and get a direct answer. I’m ashamed of you.” She laughed.
They got no more from the roffle for the rest of the meal. He ate his breakfast as though he’d been starved for a month, interrupting his work only to ask if there would be toast and marmalade next, and to wonder if there was a sausage left in the pan. Sam couldn’t help smiling.
When he was sure that no more food would be coming he sat back, undid the bottom two buttons of his waistcoat and folded his arms.
“Don’t settle yourself,” said Flaxfold. “You can either wash up or wait outside while Sam does. Do you want to wash up?”
“Does a fiddle need a fox when it can have a sideboard?” said the roffle, and he hoisted his barrel on to his back and left.
“Hey,” Sam called. “Don’t go. I want to talk.”
He started to follow him.
“Leave him alone,” said Flaxfold, “and get these plates washed. He’s not going anywhere.”
“What?”
“He’s come here to talk to you. And he won’t go until he has.”
“How do you know that?”
Flaxfold raised her eyebrows.
“Because he’s a roffle,” she said.
Sam poured water from a bucket into the basin and added boiling water from the kettle. He washed the mugs first, then the greasy plates and left the pan
“That’s impossible,” said Sam. The thought of travelling through that place filled him with panic. “You can’t move through the Finished World.”
“That’s what we’ve always thought,” said Flaxfold. “Enough. It’s dark now. We need daylight to talk of these things. We’ll be later home than I thought.”
She touched the burned skin on his throat. He winced at the initial pain, then her fingers took the heat away and soothed it.
“I’ll give you a salve for that when we get home,” she said.
They walked in silence, the folded night around them, until the house was in sight.
“What happened to the girl?” asked Sam. “The one he stole the magic from?” ||
T he next morning Sam found a roffle
at the breakfast table, waiting to be fed.
“How did you get in?” he asked.
“How does a snail sing a sausage?” asked the roffle.
Sam sighed. He found the roffles’ way of talking very irritating. You never got a straight answer to anything.
“You’re Megatorine,” he said. “Right?”
“Does a cat know its own bread knife?” said the roffle. “Clever boy. You remember me?”
“I remember you cheated me last year,” said Sam. “You lied to me. You led me to the college and left me there.”
Flaxfold bustled in and put a frying pan on the range.
“You two have met before,” she said. “You’ll want bacon, I suppose? And eggs?”
“A few sausages would be nice as well, missus,” said the roffle. “And some fried bread.”
Sam made a private note that a roffle could speak straight enough when he was hungry. Sam had grown since last year and was now taller than the roffle, who was the usual height for someone from the Deep World. He noticed that the roffle sat at the table on the upturned, small, hard-leather pack they all carried, shaped like a squashed barrel. He waited for his food with his knife and fork in his hands, ready to fall on it as soon as it was placed in front of him.
This roffle had betrayed Sam, led him into danger, watched him as he nearly died, and he did nothing to help him. And somehow Sam still found it hard to dislike him. There was something about roffles.
“What have you come for?” he asked. “What do you want?”
Flaxfold gave him a friendly clip round the ear, so light he scarcely felt it.
“How long since you started being my apprentice?” she asked.
“Nearly a year,” said Sam.
“Oh,” said the roffle, “that’s the way of it, is it? He’s your boy?”
“As if you didn’t know,” said Flaxfold. She pointed her fork at Sam before turning the bacon in the pan. “Nearly a year. And you’ve met him before, besides, and you still think you can ask a roffle a direct question and get a direct answer. I’m ashamed of you.” She laughed.
They got no more from the roffle for the rest of the meal. He ate his breakfast as though he’d been starved for a month, interrupting his work only to ask if there would be toast and marmalade next, and to wonder if there was a sausage left in the pan. Sam couldn’t help smiling.
When he was sure that no more food would be coming he sat back, undid the bottom two buttons of his waistcoat and folded his arms.
“Don’t settle yourself,” said Flaxfold. “You can either wash up or wait outside while Sam does. Do you want to wash up?”
“Does a fiddle need a fox when it can have a sideboard?” said the roffle, and he hoisted his barrel on to his back and left.
“Hey,” Sam called. “Don’t go. I want to talk.”
He started to follow him.
“Leave him alone,” said Flaxfold, “and get these plates washed. He’s not going anywhere.”
“What?”
“He’s come here to talk to you. And he won’t go until he has.”
“How do you know that?”
Flaxfold raised her eyebrows.
“Because he’s a roffle,” she said.
Sam poured water from a bucket into the basin and added boiling water from the kettle. He washed the mugs first, then the greasy plates and left the pan
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