in black. It was raining when Ellen discovered that they would get no breakfast until after the ceremony, said “Shan’s mercy! ” in front of Agatha, and was slapped for it.
It rained on their procession as it wound its way through the stony woods, until everyone was as black and shiny as the trunks of the trees. Ellen stopped being furious long enough to whisper to Laura, “They look like the trees walking.” Laura stopped being shocked long enough to wish Ellen had not said it. The slosh and drip of foot and hoof and leaf sounded very like the noise a tree might make walking in the wet woods.
The further they went, the less Laura liked it. She finally woke up enough to wonder why, and raised her dripping head to see the gate she had left open when she walked out of her own time and met the unicorns. It was not open now. Laura realized that, unless somebody had come all the way out here, found the gate open, shut it, and not raised a fuss back at High Castle, she had not been here yet. She felt a qualm almost as strong as the one made by Agatha’s slapping Ellen.
“Let’s not go,” she mouthed to Ellen.
Ellen’s face lit up, and then she closed her mouth on a laugh and shook her head. Laura looked around and saw Agatha trudging on the other side of Ruth and watching them over Ruth’s head. She would have sworn herself, if she had dared. She had almost gotten used to things, but now that the King was dead, everything else looked likely to be awful, and again she wanted to go home.
They slipped and scrambled up the hill. Laura looked for the flowers bordering the path, but there were only round gray stones.
The brilliant green of the grass inside the wall was even more startling in this rain than it had been when Laura first saw it. There were fewer flowers on the gravestones, but there seemed to be as many gravestones. Laura followed the others to the clump of people around the new grave.
“Oh, no,” she said. It was the newer grave she had walked around before. She had stood over the dead King and not even known it. Not for the first time since they came to this country, she felt that she was being laughed at.
“Here, child,” said Agatha’s voice.
Laura blinked upward into the rain, and took the bunch of flowers Agatha handed her. They were of six or seven different kinds, but all yellow. The only ones she recognized were the dandelions. Agatha gave Ellen a bunch of purple flowers, and Ruth a bunch of red ones, and Matthew a bunch of white.
“What’s this for?” said Ellen to Laura; her voice was low, because of Agatha, but held a wealth of scorn. Laura had no idea, and shrugged.
“It’s part of the burial custom,” said Ruth, joining them. “Everybody gets a bunch of a different color, and when the ceremony’s over, we throw them over the grave and they all mix together. It’s symbolic, but I can’t remember what of.”
“Did you make it up?” said Ellen.
“Ted and I did,” said Ruth, “but it was a long time ago.”
“Where is Ted?” said Laura.
“They made him help carry the coffin, him and Patrick,” said Ellen. She bestowed a clinical glance upon her bouquet. “Violets,” she said. “Wood gentians. Hey, what’s this?”
“Shhh,” said Laura; Agatha was passing their way, and gave them a quelling glance. But she did not stop. She took Matthew, who looked strange without his cheerful expression, his wild red hair flattened and darkened with rain, by the arm, and moved him toward the grave.
“Who does she think she is?” demanded Ellen.
“Whoever it is, Matthew thinks so, too,” said Ruth. Matthew had smiled and bent down from his considerably greater height to say something to Agatha.
“She can’t be just a nurse,” said Laura.
“Nobody’s just anything around here,” grumbled Ellen. “Look at Benjamin.”
“I think the cooks are just cooks,” offered Laura.
“No, they aren’t,” said Ruth. “Two of them are ahead of me in sorcerous
It rained on their procession as it wound its way through the stony woods, until everyone was as black and shiny as the trunks of the trees. Ellen stopped being furious long enough to whisper to Laura, “They look like the trees walking.” Laura stopped being shocked long enough to wish Ellen had not said it. The slosh and drip of foot and hoof and leaf sounded very like the noise a tree might make walking in the wet woods.
The further they went, the less Laura liked it. She finally woke up enough to wonder why, and raised her dripping head to see the gate she had left open when she walked out of her own time and met the unicorns. It was not open now. Laura realized that, unless somebody had come all the way out here, found the gate open, shut it, and not raised a fuss back at High Castle, she had not been here yet. She felt a qualm almost as strong as the one made by Agatha’s slapping Ellen.
“Let’s not go,” she mouthed to Ellen.
Ellen’s face lit up, and then she closed her mouth on a laugh and shook her head. Laura looked around and saw Agatha trudging on the other side of Ruth and watching them over Ruth’s head. She would have sworn herself, if she had dared. She had almost gotten used to things, but now that the King was dead, everything else looked likely to be awful, and again she wanted to go home.
They slipped and scrambled up the hill. Laura looked for the flowers bordering the path, but there were only round gray stones.
The brilliant green of the grass inside the wall was even more startling in this rain than it had been when Laura first saw it. There were fewer flowers on the gravestones, but there seemed to be as many gravestones. Laura followed the others to the clump of people around the new grave.
“Oh, no,” she said. It was the newer grave she had walked around before. She had stood over the dead King and not even known it. Not for the first time since they came to this country, she felt that she was being laughed at.
“Here, child,” said Agatha’s voice.
Laura blinked upward into the rain, and took the bunch of flowers Agatha handed her. They were of six or seven different kinds, but all yellow. The only ones she recognized were the dandelions. Agatha gave Ellen a bunch of purple flowers, and Ruth a bunch of red ones, and Matthew a bunch of white.
“What’s this for?” said Ellen to Laura; her voice was low, because of Agatha, but held a wealth of scorn. Laura had no idea, and shrugged.
“It’s part of the burial custom,” said Ruth, joining them. “Everybody gets a bunch of a different color, and when the ceremony’s over, we throw them over the grave and they all mix together. It’s symbolic, but I can’t remember what of.”
“Did you make it up?” said Ellen.
“Ted and I did,” said Ruth, “but it was a long time ago.”
“Where is Ted?” said Laura.
“They made him help carry the coffin, him and Patrick,” said Ellen. She bestowed a clinical glance upon her bouquet. “Violets,” she said. “Wood gentians. Hey, what’s this?”
“Shhh,” said Laura; Agatha was passing their way, and gave them a quelling glance. But she did not stop. She took Matthew, who looked strange without his cheerful expression, his wild red hair flattened and darkened with rain, by the arm, and moved him toward the grave.
“Who does she think she is?” demanded Ellen.
“Whoever it is, Matthew thinks so, too,” said Ruth. Matthew had smiled and bent down from his considerably greater height to say something to Agatha.
“She can’t be just a nurse,” said Laura.
“Nobody’s just anything around here,” grumbled Ellen. “Look at Benjamin.”
“I think the cooks are just cooks,” offered Laura.
“No, they aren’t,” said Ruth. “Two of them are ahead of me in sorcerous
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