Read Online The Water Devil by Judith Merkle Riley - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Judith Merkle Riley
Ads: Link
treat, treat,” he called, as he flew up into the green branches outside.
“We has an understanding, that bird and me,” said Cook, “he won't come in and I won't catch him. But he's gone to the bad, I say. He lives in that tree like a pirate, flying down to steal anything he wants. He's shameless.”
“He has my hair ribbon that I took off in the garden. I just laid it on the bench, and, swish, it was gone like that,” said Alison.
“So
that's
where it went,” I said. “I thought I told you not to take it off.”
“It
fell
off when I was playing ball with Peter Wengrave,” said Alison.
“He took it straight up to weave into his nest, I saw it,” said Cecily. “That's not a nest, it's a pile of trash,” announced Cook. “Don't have the men pull it down,” said Cecily. “Maybe he's got a family in it.”
“A world of wicked magpies hatching up there, what else should we expect these days? The day of the Lord is coming,” said Cook, stirring the last batch of dough with her strong right arm. Outside, we could hear a new song being sung in the street by some drunken rowdies. “The King rode out in noble company, a crown for to win—” it began, before it floated away. The news from France, all done into a song. My, the word of the defeat had certainly traveled fast.
“HALT, you mindless sots! Have you contemplated your SINS? Vain singing in place of godly and sober conversation, all is VANITY—” Goodness, spring had even brought out Will the street preacher. And there was only one reason he'd be in our neighborhood. I'll be seeing him at the kitchen door asking for a loan. Sure enough, there were footsteps in the alley and a voice at the open window. The magpie had perched on a branch above him, and was inspecting Will's long, rusty black gown and moth-eaten hat with the ear flaps turned up.
“Ha, bird. You dress in black and white like a Dominican. And like the Dominicans, you are here begging ahead of me. I know you for the vulgar jester you are, bird. Ah, it's a wicked world when lords and burgesses reward jugglers and mountebanks ahead of men of learning.” I poked my head out of the window. We'd inherited Will and his endless manuscript on the sins and corruption of the worldly folk of London from Master Kendall, who said it was good to have someone around to keep his head clear by reminding him how others saw him.
“How goes the writing, Master Will?”
“Well enough, well enough. I am revising. I have been too light on lawyers, flatterers, fawners, gossips, and givers of bribes. In the meanwhile, I found myself short of fourpence for ink.”
“Come in, come in at the door, Master Will. We're relieved of the burden of vile Mammon these days, but if you've brought your inkhorn, you can pour some out of the inkwell in my husband's office.”
“Sir Gilbert not home yet? I hear the army was housed in hovels, eating rats. Perhaps a slice of, hmm, not even a joint of mutton on the fire. Your house is getting to look like my house, Dame Margaret— only larger, of course. It is a sinful world where merchants prosper when men of honor must live like beasts, ah, mm, excellent cheese, this—”
Because Master Will goes all over town telling people to repent, he is a very good bearer of news. While he ate what there was, we heard that the first of the soldiers were already in the city, arrived with the Duke himself, who had come to escort King John from the Tower across the water to Calais, as part of the peace settlement. Then we heard all about the local sins, of which he keeps a good list. Then we heard ensamples of how the low are too high, and the high are too low, which is always interesting. “—and then, in the Cheap, the widow of a gentleman fainted dead away from hunger— thus are the widows of heroes treated in these wicked times!—You know her, I believe: Dame Agatha, that dwells in Fenchurch Street with her sister's husband's family. The man resents her and seats her too
“We has an understanding, that bird and me,” said Cook, “he won't come in and I won't catch him. But he's gone to the bad, I say. He lives in that tree like a pirate, flying down to steal anything he wants. He's shameless.”
“He has my hair ribbon that I took off in the garden. I just laid it on the bench, and, swish, it was gone like that,” said Alison.
“So
that's
where it went,” I said. “I thought I told you not to take it off.”
“It
fell
off when I was playing ball with Peter Wengrave,” said Alison.
“He took it straight up to weave into his nest, I saw it,” said Cecily. “That's not a nest, it's a pile of trash,” announced Cook. “Don't have the men pull it down,” said Cecily. “Maybe he's got a family in it.”
“A world of wicked magpies hatching up there, what else should we expect these days? The day of the Lord is coming,” said Cook, stirring the last batch of dough with her strong right arm. Outside, we could hear a new song being sung in the street by some drunken rowdies. “The King rode out in noble company, a crown for to win—” it began, before it floated away. The news from France, all done into a song. My, the word of the defeat had certainly traveled fast.
“HALT, you mindless sots! Have you contemplated your SINS? Vain singing in place of godly and sober conversation, all is VANITY—” Goodness, spring had even brought out Will the street preacher. And there was only one reason he'd be in our neighborhood. I'll be seeing him at the kitchen door asking for a loan. Sure enough, there were footsteps in the alley and a voice at the open window. The magpie had perched on a branch above him, and was inspecting Will's long, rusty black gown and moth-eaten hat with the ear flaps turned up.
“Ha, bird. You dress in black and white like a Dominican. And like the Dominicans, you are here begging ahead of me. I know you for the vulgar jester you are, bird. Ah, it's a wicked world when lords and burgesses reward jugglers and mountebanks ahead of men of learning.” I poked my head out of the window. We'd inherited Will and his endless manuscript on the sins and corruption of the worldly folk of London from Master Kendall, who said it was good to have someone around to keep his head clear by reminding him how others saw him.
“How goes the writing, Master Will?”
“Well enough, well enough. I am revising. I have been too light on lawyers, flatterers, fawners, gossips, and givers of bribes. In the meanwhile, I found myself short of fourpence for ink.”
“Come in, come in at the door, Master Will. We're relieved of the burden of vile Mammon these days, but if you've brought your inkhorn, you can pour some out of the inkwell in my husband's office.”
“Sir Gilbert not home yet? I hear the army was housed in hovels, eating rats. Perhaps a slice of, hmm, not even a joint of mutton on the fire. Your house is getting to look like my house, Dame Margaret— only larger, of course. It is a sinful world where merchants prosper when men of honor must live like beasts, ah, mm, excellent cheese, this—”
Because Master Will goes all over town telling people to repent, he is a very good bearer of news. While he ate what there was, we heard that the first of the soldiers were already in the city, arrived with the Duke himself, who had come to escort King John from the Tower across the water to Calais, as part of the peace settlement. Then we heard all about the local sins, of which he keeps a good list. Then we heard ensamples of how the low are too high, and the high are too low, which is always interesting. “—and then, in the Cheap, the widow of a gentleman fainted dead away from hunger— thus are the widows of heroes treated in these wicked times!—You know her, I believe: Dame Agatha, that dwells in Fenchurch Street with her sister's husband's family. The man resents her and seats her too
Similar Books
