Read Online Stone Rising by Gareth K Pengelly - Free Book Online Page A

one to back down from a challenge.
                  “Can I help you, friend?”
                  The menacing figure snorted and spat a wad of thick, yellowy phlegm to the floor of the cart.
                  “Just as I thought,” he grumbled, voice like a bag of rocks. “A toff.”
                  “Excuse me?” The Boy was suddenly very aware of how thin and reedy his voice sounded in the air of the cart.
                  The big man grinned, lips drawing back to reveal teeth black, broken or otherwise missing.
                  “A toff. A nob. I can tell, y’see. I’ve worked for a few in my time.” He leant close, shadows casting a nefarious aspect to his scarred and worn face. Rancid breath washed over the Boy and stung at his eyes as the man gestured with his meaty hand. “That nose; smooth and straight, perfect for looking down on people. That forehead; uncreased with lines of worry.” He sat back, smiling to himself as the Boy retorted.
                  “You know nothing of me…”
                  The big man bellowed with laughter, then fixed him with an evil eye.
                  “And that voice… so cocksure, arrogant, used to obedience. I’ve known nobles like you, my lad; thinking it a thrill to go out, mingle with the masses. Play dress up in rags and dirt. Fun, isn’t it? To play at being a commoner. Well, until it bites you in the arse...”
                  At those last words, Will, who had until now been sitting quietly, observing through half opened eyes, drew back his cloak, revealing the suede handles of two daggers, sharp and ready. The big man smiled once more, seemingly unalarmed by the sight, yet he raised his hands palm-forward as though to placate the pair.
                  “No threat intended, my boy. No, none. Just simple observation from a fellow, weary traveller.”
                  The Boy narrowed his eyes, but it was Will that spoke, his tone low, measured.
                  “Your observations are both incorrect and uncalled for, friend.”
                  A mere nod from the brute, his face merely amused at the words.
                  Calls from the men mounted on the outside of the covered cart, then a cessation of movement, the occupants rocked as the wagon jolted to a halt. A face appeared at the back of the vehicle, lined and tired, hair matted down in the drizzle.
                  “Ladies and gents, pray make yourselves scarce as its time we rested these poor steeds for the night.”
                  The travellers made their way out, the big man holding back, bowing and sweeping his arm with a grin of mirth to allow the pair out before him. The Boy leapt out, his scuffed leather boots landing with a squelch in the mud, pulling his cloak about him against the wind. Will spoke to him as the passengers dispersed, said something, but the Boy didn’t hear, his attention dragged by his eyes upwards, up, up, to the top of the mount, to the castle that sat, wind-swept and rain-lashed, like some ever-watchful taskmaster at the centre of the town.
                  The driver followed the Boy’s gaze, smiling as he regarded the savage fortifications.
                  “First time, in the town, lad?” He grinned, teeth stained brown from the tobacco he chewed. “Welcome to Nottingham.”
     
    ***
     
    The door slammed shut behind them, more from the force of wind than by choice, the thick wood deadening the noise of the incessant gale and the patter of heavy rain on cobbled road. The Boy’s senses took in the interior; the sweet, sickly tang of spilled ale and the minerally scent of ancient stone; the flickering orange of torchlight from sconces on the hewn walls; the air, thick with the smoke of a dozen lit clay pipes; the cloying, heady bitterness of cheap