Read Online Lavondyss (Mythago Cycle) by Robert Holdstock - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Robert Holdstock
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his thin hairline. Great beads of sweat rolled across the craggy contours of his face; but his eyes sparkled, a mixture of kindness and mischief.
Tallis stared up at the tall man. Gaunt turned his grey eyes upon her. ‘I smell woodsmoke. What have you been up to?’
His accent was a rich, almost incomprehensible country sound, which Tallis had to listen to quite carefully. She herself spoke ‘very well’, which is to say she took elocution lessons at school to lose the rough, rustic corners of her speech.
‘Nothing,’ she said, then elaborately repeated, ‘Nuth’n!’
Gaunt looked along the nettle-way between the buildings. Tallis felt her face flush. She didn’t want the gardener going down there. The dark alley was her secret place and in some way, after the brief and disorientating experience of a few moments before, it belonged to her even more.
It was with relief, then, that she watched Gaunt turn away from the alley. ‘I can smell burning.
Someone’s
burning something.’
‘Not me,’ Tallis said.
The gardener drew a filthy rag from his pocket andmopped his face, squinting up into the sun and drying the creases of his neck.
‘It’s a hot day all right. I do believe I shall have some cider.’ He looked down at the girl. ‘Come and have some cider, young madam.’
‘I’m not allowed.’
The man smiled, ‘’m allowun un,’ he said softly.
He led the way to the row of wooden sheds at the far side of the garden where a rickety bench leaned against them in the shade. Tallis followed him into the cool apple shed and past the racks of rotting apples. She liked the smell here. It was damp and mouldy, but tinged with a fruity odour. The apples were brown and shrivelled and covered with a
fleecy
mould. Water dripped somewhere, a tap not turned off tightly enough. Rusting fragments of old farm equipment were scattered around the walls, mostly swathed in lacy cobwebs. Light broke into the sheds through splits and cracks in the ancient slatted roof.
At the far end of the shed, in the light-tinged gloom, was a tall barrel, covered by a heavy stone lid. China flagons lined the walls. Tallis had often been here, but had never seen inside the barrel. Gaunt slid the stone lid aside and peered at the contents. Then he looked at Tallis with a smile. ‘This looks like good cider. Try some?’
‘All right,’ she said, and the man chuckled.
‘Got a good fermentation going,’ he murmured, then reached in and drew out an enormous dead rat. Liquid drained from its fur as he swung it before the girl’s horrified eyes. ‘Him’ll rot right down soon. Give extra taste. But the cider’ll be drinkable by now. Now, young Tallis, how much would you like?’
She couldn’t speak. The black monster dangled from his fingers and he dropped it back with a splash, the age-old tease repeated with great success. Tallis shook her head. Gaunt chuckled again.
She couldn’t believe it was really cider in the barrel. It was almost certainly rainwater and the rat was just one of Gaunt’s many victims. But she couldn’t be sure … she couldn’t absolutely convince herself. So when he filled a pewter mug from one of the china flagons she refused that too, backing out of the apple shed.
Gaunt looked puzzled. ‘Good cider, young Tallis. Nothing wrong with it at all. Rat’s all dissolved away nicely.’ He peered into the mug. ‘Just a couple of teeth, one of its feet, but that’s all right. Pick those out, no trouble.’
‘Nothing for me, thank you.’
‘Please ’nself.’
They sat outside the woodshed, in the shade, watching the wide garden, the shadow of clouds. Gaunt drained his pewter tankard and smacked his lips. Tallis kicked at the shed below the bench, trying to think of something to say, wondering if she should risk asking about the vanished house in the wood. Gaunt knew about it, but she had never dared broach the subject. Something, some fear, held her back.
She was suddenly aware that he was looking
Tallis stared up at the tall man. Gaunt turned his grey eyes upon her. ‘I smell woodsmoke. What have you been up to?’
His accent was a rich, almost incomprehensible country sound, which Tallis had to listen to quite carefully. She herself spoke ‘very well’, which is to say she took elocution lessons at school to lose the rough, rustic corners of her speech.
‘Nothing,’ she said, then elaborately repeated, ‘Nuth’n!’
Gaunt looked along the nettle-way between the buildings. Tallis felt her face flush. She didn’t want the gardener going down there. The dark alley was her secret place and in some way, after the brief and disorientating experience of a few moments before, it belonged to her even more.
It was with relief, then, that she watched Gaunt turn away from the alley. ‘I can smell burning.
Someone’s
burning something.’
‘Not me,’ Tallis said.
The gardener drew a filthy rag from his pocket andmopped his face, squinting up into the sun and drying the creases of his neck.
‘It’s a hot day all right. I do believe I shall have some cider.’ He looked down at the girl. ‘Come and have some cider, young madam.’
‘I’m not allowed.’
The man smiled, ‘’m allowun un,’ he said softly.
He led the way to the row of wooden sheds at the far side of the garden where a rickety bench leaned against them in the shade. Tallis followed him into the cool apple shed and past the racks of rotting apples. She liked the smell here. It was damp and mouldy, but tinged with a fruity odour. The apples were brown and shrivelled and covered with a
fleecy
mould. Water dripped somewhere, a tap not turned off tightly enough. Rusting fragments of old farm equipment were scattered around the walls, mostly swathed in lacy cobwebs. Light broke into the sheds through splits and cracks in the ancient slatted roof.
At the far end of the shed, in the light-tinged gloom, was a tall barrel, covered by a heavy stone lid. China flagons lined the walls. Tallis had often been here, but had never seen inside the barrel. Gaunt slid the stone lid aside and peered at the contents. Then he looked at Tallis with a smile. ‘This looks like good cider. Try some?’
‘All right,’ she said, and the man chuckled.
‘Got a good fermentation going,’ he murmured, then reached in and drew out an enormous dead rat. Liquid drained from its fur as he swung it before the girl’s horrified eyes. ‘Him’ll rot right down soon. Give extra taste. But the cider’ll be drinkable by now. Now, young Tallis, how much would you like?’
She couldn’t speak. The black monster dangled from his fingers and he dropped it back with a splash, the age-old tease repeated with great success. Tallis shook her head. Gaunt chuckled again.
She couldn’t believe it was really cider in the barrel. It was almost certainly rainwater and the rat was just one of Gaunt’s many victims. But she couldn’t be sure … she couldn’t absolutely convince herself. So when he filled a pewter mug from one of the china flagons she refused that too, backing out of the apple shed.
Gaunt looked puzzled. ‘Good cider, young Tallis. Nothing wrong with it at all. Rat’s all dissolved away nicely.’ He peered into the mug. ‘Just a couple of teeth, one of its feet, but that’s all right. Pick those out, no trouble.’
‘Nothing for me, thank you.’
‘Please ’nself.’
They sat outside the woodshed, in the shade, watching the wide garden, the shadow of clouds. Gaunt drained his pewter tankard and smacked his lips. Tallis kicked at the shed below the bench, trying to think of something to say, wondering if she should risk asking about the vanished house in the wood. Gaunt knew about it, but she had never dared broach the subject. Something, some fear, held her back.
She was suddenly aware that he was looking
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