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Authors: John Flanagan
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That's very important. You're fast on your feet. And you're inquisitive…"
"Inquisitive? How do you mean?" asked Will. Halt looked at him sternly.
"Always asking questions. Always wanting to know answers," he explained. "That was why I had the Baron test you with that piece of paper."
"But when did you first notice me? I mean, when did you first think of selecting me?" Will wanted to know.
"Oh," said Halt, "I suppose it was when I watched you steal those cakes from Master Chubb's kitchen."
Will's jaw dropped open with amazement.
"You watched me? But that was ages ago!" He had a sudden thought. "Where were you?"
"In the kitchen," said Halt. "You were too busy to notice me when you came in."
Will shook his head in wonder. He had been sure there was nobody in the kitchen. Then he remembered once again how Halt, wrapped in his cloak, could become virtually invisible. There was more to being a Ranger, he realized, than how to cook and clean.
"I was impressed with your skill," said Halt. "But there was one thing that impressed me far more."
"What was that?" asked Will.
"Later, when Master Chubb questioned you, I saw you hesitate. You were going to deny having stolen the cakes. Then I saw you admit it. Remember? He hit you on the head with his wooden spoon." Will grinned and rubbed his head thoughtfully. He could still hear the CRACK! made by the spoon hitting his head.
"I wondered if I shouldn't have lied," he admitted. Halt shook his head very slowly.
"Oh, no, Will. If you'd lied, you never would have become my apprentice." He stood up and stretched, turning to go indoors to the stew simmering on the stove.
"Now let's eat," he said.
Chapter 9
H orace dropped his pack on the floor of the dormitory and fell across his bed, groaning with relief.
Every muscle in his body ached. He had no idea that he could feel so sore, so worn-out. He had no idea that there were so many muscles in the human body that could feel this way. Not for the first time, he wondered if he was going to get through the three years of Battleschool training. He'd been a cadet for less than a week and already he was a total physical wreck.
When he'd applied for Battleschool, Horace had a vague notion of glittering, armor-clad knights doing battle, while lesser folk stood by and watched in awed admiration. Quite a few of those lesser folk, in his mental picture, had been attractive girls-Jenny, his yearmate in the Ward, had been prominent among them. To him, Battleschool had been a place of glamour and adventure, and Battleschool cadets were people that others looked up to and envied.
The reality was something else. So far, Battleschool cadets were people who rose before the dawn and spent the hour before breakfast doing a severe course of physical training: running, lifting weights, standing in lines of ten or more to lift and hold heavy logs over their heads. Exhausted by all of this, they were then returned to their quarters, where they had the opportunity to take a brief shower-the water was cold-before making sure the dormitory and ablutions block were absolutely spotless.
Quarters inspection came after that and it was painstaking. Sir Karel, the wiry old knight who carried out the inspection, knew every trick in the book when it came to taking shortcuts in cleaning the dormitory, making your bed and stowing your kit. The slightest infringement on the part of one of the twenty boys in the dormitory would mean all their kit would be scattered across the floor, their beds turned over, the rubbish bins emptied on the floor, and they would have to turn to and start again-in the time when they should have been having breakfast.
As a consequence, new cadets only tried once to pull the wool over Sir Karel's eyes. Breakfast was nothing special. In fact, in Horace's opinion, it was downright basic. But if you missed it, it was a long, hard morning until the lunch hour, which, in keeping with the spartan life in Battleschool, was only twenty minutes
"Inquisitive? How do you mean?" asked Will. Halt looked at him sternly.
"Always asking questions. Always wanting to know answers," he explained. "That was why I had the Baron test you with that piece of paper."
"But when did you first notice me? I mean, when did you first think of selecting me?" Will wanted to know.
"Oh," said Halt, "I suppose it was when I watched you steal those cakes from Master Chubb's kitchen."
Will's jaw dropped open with amazement.
"You watched me? But that was ages ago!" He had a sudden thought. "Where were you?"
"In the kitchen," said Halt. "You were too busy to notice me when you came in."
Will shook his head in wonder. He had been sure there was nobody in the kitchen. Then he remembered once again how Halt, wrapped in his cloak, could become virtually invisible. There was more to being a Ranger, he realized, than how to cook and clean.
"I was impressed with your skill," said Halt. "But there was one thing that impressed me far more."
"What was that?" asked Will.
"Later, when Master Chubb questioned you, I saw you hesitate. You were going to deny having stolen the cakes. Then I saw you admit it. Remember? He hit you on the head with his wooden spoon." Will grinned and rubbed his head thoughtfully. He could still hear the CRACK! made by the spoon hitting his head.
"I wondered if I shouldn't have lied," he admitted. Halt shook his head very slowly.
"Oh, no, Will. If you'd lied, you never would have become my apprentice." He stood up and stretched, turning to go indoors to the stew simmering on the stove.
"Now let's eat," he said.
Chapter 9
H orace dropped his pack on the floor of the dormitory and fell across his bed, groaning with relief.
Every muscle in his body ached. He had no idea that he could feel so sore, so worn-out. He had no idea that there were so many muscles in the human body that could feel this way. Not for the first time, he wondered if he was going to get through the three years of Battleschool training. He'd been a cadet for less than a week and already he was a total physical wreck.
When he'd applied for Battleschool, Horace had a vague notion of glittering, armor-clad knights doing battle, while lesser folk stood by and watched in awed admiration. Quite a few of those lesser folk, in his mental picture, had been attractive girls-Jenny, his yearmate in the Ward, had been prominent among them. To him, Battleschool had been a place of glamour and adventure, and Battleschool cadets were people that others looked up to and envied.
The reality was something else. So far, Battleschool cadets were people who rose before the dawn and spent the hour before breakfast doing a severe course of physical training: running, lifting weights, standing in lines of ten or more to lift and hold heavy logs over their heads. Exhausted by all of this, they were then returned to their quarters, where they had the opportunity to take a brief shower-the water was cold-before making sure the dormitory and ablutions block were absolutely spotless.
Quarters inspection came after that and it was painstaking. Sir Karel, the wiry old knight who carried out the inspection, knew every trick in the book when it came to taking shortcuts in cleaning the dormitory, making your bed and stowing your kit. The slightest infringement on the part of one of the twenty boys in the dormitory would mean all their kit would be scattered across the floor, their beds turned over, the rubbish bins emptied on the floor, and they would have to turn to and start again-in the time when they should have been having breakfast.
As a consequence, new cadets only tried once to pull the wool over Sir Karel's eyes. Breakfast was nothing special. In fact, in Horace's opinion, it was downright basic. But if you missed it, it was a long, hard morning until the lunch hour, which, in keeping with the spartan life in Battleschool, was only twenty minutes
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