climbed down carefully from the Rector’s Chaise, of which Nathaniel had also the Use for the Time, and tip-toed around the Shit and Puddles to the back Door. Nathaniel handed the Pony to the stable Lad and promised him an extra Coin if he saw to it that the Animal received a Rub down and a Feed of warm Oats.
“He hath a long Night’s Work ahead of him later,” Nathaniel said. “Let the poor Bugger rest well while he may.” He stroaked the Pony’s white Muzzle and the Creature pricked up its Ears, as if it could comprehend him.
Nathaniel released the Pony and leapt across the Yard with such sure Footsteps it seemed he were flying. “No,” he said, taking mine Arm. “No sneaking in thro’ the back Door for us tonight.”
He led me around the Mud to the front Door of the Bull. The Clouds above us parted momentarily, and some weird Instinct impelled me to look around, tho’ I could hear no Traffick. The Roads extending away on every Side of us seemed thick, black Ribbands betwixt the open Fields that glowed near grey in the weak Illumination of the Moon, which had just entered on its final Quarter. On the opposite Side of the Crossroads I could just distinguish the white Arch of the Way-Stone, yellowing faintly in the Lanthorn light, its Script invisible. I glanced back to Nathaniel. For one Second—and it cannot have been longer—his Eyes made a sharp, glittering Connexion with mine, and the intire World aboutus both fell as silent as Starlight. The Cold sparkled upon my Skin.
Nathaniel was a clock Spring, wound too tight; every Muscle in his beautifull Face screamed desperate Release. I thought I recognised his Expression. I thought it had, three Yeares ago, been mine. Thro’ the Silence, I could hear the frantick Ticking of his Heartbeat, Seconds drumming past like fleeting Cavalry.
“The only Way out is to smash the Clock,” I said.
“I know it,” said Nathaniel.
Then there was Noise again; loud Carousing, and drunken Spirits from within the Tavern, the Fluting of an Owl from somewhere on the Road.
Nathaniel opened the heavy oaken Door, and the Moment drowned in a Surge of tallow-Light and Smoake and Racket. He turned and grinned at me, himself again, his Eyes afire with mocking Laughter.
“Come, Tristan,” he said. “Let us make such an Entrance that these rustick Curs will never forget it, should they live an hundred Yeares.”
Nathaniel steppt forwards over the door Sill into the Inn. I followed, bowing my Head low as I passt underneath the mediaeval Lintel. The Room within reeked of old Sweat, Dogges, dark Ale, and burning Coal. Pipe Smoake coarsened the Aire into a brown Funk that spiralled slowly towards the low Ceiling and clung there like Treacle. I coughed, and tried, hopelessly, to wave the Fog away from my Nostrils.
“Friends, Yokels, Countrymen,” Nathaniel began, sweeping portentously into the Centre of the Room like James Quin, full of Gravity and Bombast. He stood still, poised expectantly for Silence between the Inglenook and the Bar.
To mine Amazement, he was given it. Every Face in the Tavern turned towards him, every Voice immediately hushed.
“I stand before you this Night,” Nathaniel said, “not as a Gentleman, but as a Man, mortal and perpetual as ye. This Night, in the Eyes of God and Devil and Faerie Queen, we are all equal in Aspect and in Truth. This Night, the Veil thins, and Men and Spirits walk the Earth in Parity. Who shall dare to sunder that which is one? Who shall draw the Line betwixt the Angel and the Beast?”
Not a Soule moved. The intire lower Floor of the Bull Inn was staring at Nathaniel in Astonishment, Mouths dropping open. I struggled to maintain my Countenance.
“If none shall speak,” Nathaniel said, “let there be Joy unto this House! Mr Haynes! A Tankard of his Choice for every Fellow here!”
The Locals understood that. “Egad, Nat,” I said, suddenly alarmed.
Nathaniel put his Hand into his waistcoat Pocket and withdrew a small
“He hath a long Night’s Work ahead of him later,” Nathaniel said. “Let the poor Bugger rest well while he may.” He stroaked the Pony’s white Muzzle and the Creature pricked up its Ears, as if it could comprehend him.
Nathaniel released the Pony and leapt across the Yard with such sure Footsteps it seemed he were flying. “No,” he said, taking mine Arm. “No sneaking in thro’ the back Door for us tonight.”
He led me around the Mud to the front Door of the Bull. The Clouds above us parted momentarily, and some weird Instinct impelled me to look around, tho’ I could hear no Traffick. The Roads extending away on every Side of us seemed thick, black Ribbands betwixt the open Fields that glowed near grey in the weak Illumination of the Moon, which had just entered on its final Quarter. On the opposite Side of the Crossroads I could just distinguish the white Arch of the Way-Stone, yellowing faintly in the Lanthorn light, its Script invisible. I glanced back to Nathaniel. For one Second—and it cannot have been longer—his Eyes made a sharp, glittering Connexion with mine, and the intire World aboutus both fell as silent as Starlight. The Cold sparkled upon my Skin.
Nathaniel was a clock Spring, wound too tight; every Muscle in his beautifull Face screamed desperate Release. I thought I recognised his Expression. I thought it had, three Yeares ago, been mine. Thro’ the Silence, I could hear the frantick Ticking of his Heartbeat, Seconds drumming past like fleeting Cavalry.
“The only Way out is to smash the Clock,” I said.
“I know it,” said Nathaniel.
Then there was Noise again; loud Carousing, and drunken Spirits from within the Tavern, the Fluting of an Owl from somewhere on the Road.
Nathaniel opened the heavy oaken Door, and the Moment drowned in a Surge of tallow-Light and Smoake and Racket. He turned and grinned at me, himself again, his Eyes afire with mocking Laughter.
“Come, Tristan,” he said. “Let us make such an Entrance that these rustick Curs will never forget it, should they live an hundred Yeares.”
Nathaniel steppt forwards over the door Sill into the Inn. I followed, bowing my Head low as I passt underneath the mediaeval Lintel. The Room within reeked of old Sweat, Dogges, dark Ale, and burning Coal. Pipe Smoake coarsened the Aire into a brown Funk that spiralled slowly towards the low Ceiling and clung there like Treacle. I coughed, and tried, hopelessly, to wave the Fog away from my Nostrils.
“Friends, Yokels, Countrymen,” Nathaniel began, sweeping portentously into the Centre of the Room like James Quin, full of Gravity and Bombast. He stood still, poised expectantly for Silence between the Inglenook and the Bar.
To mine Amazement, he was given it. Every Face in the Tavern turned towards him, every Voice immediately hushed.
“I stand before you this Night,” Nathaniel said, “not as a Gentleman, but as a Man, mortal and perpetual as ye. This Night, in the Eyes of God and Devil and Faerie Queen, we are all equal in Aspect and in Truth. This Night, the Veil thins, and Men and Spirits walk the Earth in Parity. Who shall dare to sunder that which is one? Who shall draw the Line betwixt the Angel and the Beast?”
Not a Soule moved. The intire lower Floor of the Bull Inn was staring at Nathaniel in Astonishment, Mouths dropping open. I struggled to maintain my Countenance.
“If none shall speak,” Nathaniel said, “let there be Joy unto this House! Mr Haynes! A Tankard of his Choice for every Fellow here!”
The Locals understood that. “Egad, Nat,” I said, suddenly alarmed.
Nathaniel put his Hand into his waistcoat Pocket and withdrew a small
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