Read Online The Grey King by Susan Cooper - Free Book Online

out, nodding to them amiably but with complete seriousness, leaving Will to reflect that after all there was one thing about Owen Davies that was not altogether common; he had not a glimmer of laughter in him.
    There was no expression in Bran’s face. He said flatly, “My father is a big one for chapel. He is a deacon, and there are two or three meetings for him in the week. And we go twice on Sundays.”
    â€œOh,” Will said.
    â€œYes. Oh is right. Want a cup of tea?”
    â€œNot really, thank you.”
    â€œLet’s go out, then.” With absentminded conscientiousness Bran rinsed out the teapot and left it neatly inverted on the draining-board. “Tyrd yma, Cafall.”
    The white dog bounded happily beside them as they crossed the fields, away from cottage and farm, up the valley towards the mountains and the lone near peak. It stood at a right angle to the mountain behind it, jutting into the flat valley floor.
    â€œFunny how that rock sticks out like that,” Will said.
    â€œCraig yr Aderyn? That’s special, it’s the only place in Britain where cormorants nest inland. Not very far inland, of course. Four miles from the sea, we are here. Haven’t you been over there? Come on, we’ve got time.” Bran changed direction slightly. “You can see the birds fine from the road.”
    â€œI thought the road was that way,” Will said, pointing.
    â€œIt is. We can cut across to it this way.” Bran opened a gate onto a footpath, crossed the path and scrambled over the wall on the other side. “The only thing is, you must go quietly,” he said with a grin. “This is Caradog Prichard’s land.”
    â€œHush, Cafall,” Will said in a heavy stage-whisper, turning his head. But the dog was not there. Will paused, puzzled. “Bran? Where’s Cafall?”
    Bran whistled. They both stood waiting, looking back at the long sweepof the slate-edged stone wall along the stubbled field. Nothing moved. The sun shone. Far away, sheep called. Bran whistled again, with no result. Then he went back, with Will close behind, and they climbed over the wall again and went down to the footpath they had crossed.
    Bran whistled a third time, and called in Welsh. There was concern in his voice.
    Will said, “Wherever could he have gone? He was right behind me when I came over the wall.”
    â€œHe never does this. Never. He will never go from me without permission, or not come when he is called.” Bran gazed anxiously up and down the footpath. “I don’t like it. I shouldn’t have let him come so near Mr. Prichard’s land. You and me is one thing, but Cafall—” He whistled again, loud and desperate.
    â€œYou don’t suppose—” Will said. He stopped.
    â€œThat Prichard would shoot him, the way he said?”
    â€œNo, I was going to say, you don’t suppose Cafall wouldn’t come because he knew he shouldn’t go on Mr. Prichard’s land. But that’s silly, no dog could work out something like that.”
    â€œOh,” Bran said unhappily, “dogs can work out things a lot more complicated than that. I don’t know. Let’s try this way. It leads to the river.”
    They set off along the path, away from the looming mass of the rock Craig yr Aderyn. Somewhere ahead of them, a long way off, a dog barked.
    â€œIs that him?” Will said hopefully.
    Bran’s white head was cocked on one side. The dog barked again, closer. “No. That’s John Rowlands’s big dog, Pen. But Cafall might have gone that way when he heard him—”
    They both broke into a run, along the stony, grass-patched path. Will very soon lost his breath and dropped behind. Bran disappeared round a bend in the path ahead of him. When Will turned the corner himself, two things slammed simultaneously into his consciousness: the sight of Bran—without Cafall—talking to his father