Read Online The Ropemaker by Peter Dickinson - Free Book Online Page A

late for that, this year, anyway. We’re half through winter already, and the time for the main snowfall is come and gone two months back, so how are we going to tell if something’s worked, or it hasn’t? That’s till next winter, anyway.
    “So what I say is, let’s see how it all goes for a few months, and what sort of a spring we get, and so on, and maybe talk about it again here midsummer, if anyone’s still bothered. And then maybe next fall, after Alnor’s gone and done his stuff in the mountains and Meena’s daughter’s done hers in the forest, we’ll get our snowfall like we always have, and we’ll know this year was just some kind of freak. Or maybe we won’t, and that’ll be the time to get our heads together and sort out what to do about it.”
    There was a buzz of agreement.
    “Told you so,” growled Meena, though she had done no such thing. “Wait and see, wait and see—only idea in their thick heads. Dolts! This time they’re going to wait, and see they’re too late.”
    “What do you think we should be doing then, ma’am?” asked the man who’d helped her.
    “Go and look . . . ,” she began, but somebody else was already speaking and she was shushed into silence. There was a rule that nobody could speak twice, so she didn’t get a chance to tell the assembly what she thought before the convenors closed the discussion. Since nobody had had any other suggestions than wait and see, that was put to the vote and carried on a show of hands. The drum beat three times to signal that it was over.
    Meena grabbed Tilja by the arm and dragged herself up.
    “All right,” she said, “if that’s how they want it. Go and find the blind gaffer—Alnor or something. I’ve got to talk to him.”
    Tilja hurried off, worming her way as best she could through the crowd as they drifted back toward the fires and the stalls. Halfway to the platform she was almost knocked off her feet by someone weaseling through in the other direction. He muttered an apology without looking, but she managed to grab his arm. It was the boy who’d been with old Alnor.
    “Hey! I’m in a hurry,” he said. “Leave off, will you?”
    “My grandmother—she’s Meena—wants to talk to Alnor,” she said.
    “That makes two of them,” he said. “And the old boy’s raging. Can you get her across to the platform?”
    “When it’s a bit clearer. Just don’t let him go away, or I’m in trouble.”
    “Uh-huh—she looks a right handful.”
    “No, she’s all right. She’s great.”
    “If you say so. See you in a bit.”
    And he was gone, leaving Tilja instantly furious. What right had he? And then not giving her a chance to show what she thought of him? Seething, she made her way back to Meena and found her on her hummock. Most of the others had gone and there was room to move.
    “Didn’t take you long,” said Meena.
    “I ran into the boy,” said Tilja. “Alnor wants to talk to you, too. He’s at the platform.”
    “All right, then. Let’s be going.”
    With Tilja’s help she picked her way down the slope and hobbled over to the platform. They found Alnor just in front of it, leaning on his staff with his blind eyes seeming to stare in fury at the retreating crowd. Everything about him, even his stillness, expressed his anger. He seemed unaware of their coming, and Meena stood and studied him in silence for a little. The boy, Tilja was glad to see, had disappeared.
    “So you’re Alnor Ortahlson,” said Meena abruptly. “I’ve heard of you. It was your son died rafting, right?”
    Slowly Alnor turned toward her.
    “That was my son,” he said harshly.
    “Hard on you, but that’s how it goes,” said Meena. “Well, I’m Meena Urlasdaughter, and we’ve one or two things to talk about. Might be warmer by the fires, but there’ll be too much chat.”
    “I have asked my grandson to fetch us two horns of hot cider.”
    “Just what I fancy. Run along, Tilja, and give the lad a hand. He’ll be