Read Online The Fork-Tongue Charmers by Paul Durham - Free Book Online
Authors: Paul Durham
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Ryeâs head instantly flushed with a rage so great she couldnât hear the rest of his words. Someone whispered to her to ignore it, to keep on moving. She thought it might be Quinn. They were in front of the fishmongerâs stall. Rye thrust her bare hand into the trough of ice and pulled out a stiff, frozenmackerel by its tail. She couldnât feel the cold.
Rye marched toward the pillory. Someone else grabbed at her arm. It might have been Folly. The Constable had moved on to the next name on the list.
âHarriet Wilson. Guilty ofââ
Rye flung the fish. It knocked the parchment scroll from the Constableâs grasp and bounced off his leather vest before landing at his feet. He considered his empty hand with surprise, then glowered out at the crowd. The soldiers and the squire looked her way as well. The Constableâs dog growled and strained at its leash.
Suddenly Rye was aware of her surroundings again and found herself backpedaling away from the Shame Pole. She bumped hard into two bodies. It was Quinn and Folly, who had caught up with her a moment too late.
âTell me you didnât just hit the Constable with a fish,â Quinn said as he carefully eased his helmet over his head.
Rye looked at the shimmering scales stuck to her palm. âI didnât just hit the Constable with a fish,â she replied.
The squire spotted Rye and pointed. The three soldiers leaped down from the pillory.
âScatter!â Rye yelled, and the three friends did just that. Growing up together on Drowningâs winding streets, theyâd practiced this many times before.
Rye darted down one end of Market Street while Folly and Quinn tore off in different directions. Rye pushed past a merchant and nearly ran headlong into a cowâs rump before glancing back over her shoulder. She saw Follyâs head of white-blond hair sprinting safely down a narrow lane. But she was shocked to see that all three soldiers had taken off in pursuit of Quinn. That wasnât how it was supposed to work. The soldiers should have split up to chase each of them. There wasnât a man in Drowning the children couldnât outmaneuver individually but, once outnumbered, things could get tricky. She saw Quinnâs wobbly helmet disappear down the alley near the remains of the Willowâs Wares. The soldiers had left him with no other option.
âPigshanks,â Rye cursed. She knew the alley dead-ended at the canal. With three soldiers behind him, Quinn would be trapped. She changed course and ran back for him.
Rye turned the corner at full speed and skidded to a stop. She found just what she had feared. The three soldiers stood menacingly in the middle of the alleyway. Quinn had pulled up at the far end, where its cobbles met the foul-smelling canal that drained swill from the village to the river. The shallow water was filled with more pigs than Rye could count, their heads rooted up to their ears in the runoff. Each looked heavier than a full grown man. Quinn glanced from the soldiers to thepigs and back again, weighing an impossible decision.
Rye looked around the alleyway. A young piglet snuffled about, having wandered off from the rest of the animals. It sniffed something interesting on her boots. She reached down and scooped him up in her arms. He oinked and squirmed but didnât seem overly alarmed.
âSorry, little fella,â Rye whispered in the pigletâs ear, then gave him the gentlest pinch on the tail.
The piglet squealed as if jabbed by a butcherâs blade and lurched to free itself from her grasp. The sows pulled their snouts from the murky water and grunted in reply. A soldier looked back at Rye and the little pig.
âQuinn! Get out of the way!â she called, and set the piglet down. It ran back toward its mother, on the opposite side of Quinn and the soldiers.
Quinn knew exactly what was about to happenâvillage children were taught early never
Ryeâs head instantly flushed with a rage so great she couldnât hear the rest of his words. Someone whispered to her to ignore it, to keep on moving. She thought it might be Quinn. They were in front of the fishmongerâs stall. Rye thrust her bare hand into the trough of ice and pulled out a stiff, frozenmackerel by its tail. She couldnât feel the cold.
Rye marched toward the pillory. Someone else grabbed at her arm. It might have been Folly. The Constable had moved on to the next name on the list.
âHarriet Wilson. Guilty ofââ
Rye flung the fish. It knocked the parchment scroll from the Constableâs grasp and bounced off his leather vest before landing at his feet. He considered his empty hand with surprise, then glowered out at the crowd. The soldiers and the squire looked her way as well. The Constableâs dog growled and strained at its leash.
Suddenly Rye was aware of her surroundings again and found herself backpedaling away from the Shame Pole. She bumped hard into two bodies. It was Quinn and Folly, who had caught up with her a moment too late.
âTell me you didnât just hit the Constable with a fish,â Quinn said as he carefully eased his helmet over his head.
Rye looked at the shimmering scales stuck to her palm. âI didnât just hit the Constable with a fish,â she replied.
The squire spotted Rye and pointed. The three soldiers leaped down from the pillory.
âScatter!â Rye yelled, and the three friends did just that. Growing up together on Drowningâs winding streets, theyâd practiced this many times before.
Rye darted down one end of Market Street while Folly and Quinn tore off in different directions. Rye pushed past a merchant and nearly ran headlong into a cowâs rump before glancing back over her shoulder. She saw Follyâs head of white-blond hair sprinting safely down a narrow lane. But she was shocked to see that all three soldiers had taken off in pursuit of Quinn. That wasnât how it was supposed to work. The soldiers should have split up to chase each of them. There wasnât a man in Drowning the children couldnât outmaneuver individually but, once outnumbered, things could get tricky. She saw Quinnâs wobbly helmet disappear down the alley near the remains of the Willowâs Wares. The soldiers had left him with no other option.
âPigshanks,â Rye cursed. She knew the alley dead-ended at the canal. With three soldiers behind him, Quinn would be trapped. She changed course and ran back for him.
Rye turned the corner at full speed and skidded to a stop. She found just what she had feared. The three soldiers stood menacingly in the middle of the alleyway. Quinn had pulled up at the far end, where its cobbles met the foul-smelling canal that drained swill from the village to the river. The shallow water was filled with more pigs than Rye could count, their heads rooted up to their ears in the runoff. Each looked heavier than a full grown man. Quinn glanced from the soldiers to thepigs and back again, weighing an impossible decision.
Rye looked around the alleyway. A young piglet snuffled about, having wandered off from the rest of the animals. It sniffed something interesting on her boots. She reached down and scooped him up in her arms. He oinked and squirmed but didnât seem overly alarmed.
âSorry, little fella,â Rye whispered in the pigletâs ear, then gave him the gentlest pinch on the tail.
The piglet squealed as if jabbed by a butcherâs blade and lurched to free itself from her grasp. The sows pulled their snouts from the murky water and grunted in reply. A soldier looked back at Rye and the little pig.
âQuinn! Get out of the way!â she called, and set the piglet down. It ran back toward its mother, on the opposite side of Quinn and the soldiers.
Quinn knew exactly what was about to happenâvillage children were taught early never
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