on the shovel and conked my noggin.”
Clio studied him to see if his eyes looked glassy. Well, at least more glassy than usual. “Your noggin is fine, then?”
“Aye, but my head hurts.”
She had the sudden urge to bury her own head in her hands and begin to count very slowly. But by now she was too familiar with Thud and Thwack, and though they could test the patience of a saint, there was nothing in them that was the least mean-spirited. They were sweet and simple lads.
Both boys had been brought to the convent when they were only six. A wandering minstrel found them in the King’s Forest, where they had been living as wild as animals.
The good sisters had taken them in, bathed them, fed them, and helped them understand how to live among their own kind. The nuns had christened them Peter and Paul, but the boys would only answer to the names they had formed for each other—Thud and Thwack.
Thud was so anxious to please that he would scurry like a small forest animal, except that his feet were so huge he had trouble scurrying anywhere. It was almost as if he forgot his feet were attached to his legs. Inevitably, down he would go with a thud.
Thwack was just the opposite; he never scurried. He was slow and methodical and could only concentrate on one thing at a time. That was his problem. He would concentrate so hard and so completely that he would not look where he was going and thwack! He’d run right into something.
He tried so very hard to please, but tended to become confused easily. If someone asked him to do more than one thing or if he became distracted, he could spend hours in utter confusion.
One time Sister Margaret, who was in charge of candle-making, had asked him to fetch a bucket of well water so she could cool the tallow candles. On his way to the well, Sister Anne had asked him to look for her prayer book. The next day they found the prayer book in the well bucket, and when the abbess opened the candle cabinet, she almost drowned.
While at the convent, Clio had taken the time to teach them their letters. After that they had followed her everywhere, like little guardian angels who were eagerly grateful to do whatever she bid them to.
Thud and Thwack were good lads, kind and true. They just didn’t think or behave as did the rest of the world.
Clio brushed a stringy lock of brown hair from Thwack’s red and swelling forehead. “Would you like to help me with the newest ale recipe?”
“Aye.” He nodded vigorously.
“Good. Then you can start by bringing me the honeycomb on the other table.”
The young lad rocked on his toes for a moment, scratching his head as if he was deciding which table she meant. This was not too difficult, she thought, since there were only two tables in the room.
“Which table are you working at, my lady?” he asked her, frowning.
“This table?”
“Aye.”
“The bowl with the honeycombs in it is on that table.” She was back on her stool and counting out a number of cinnamon twigs. She didn’t look up, but just pointed in the direction of the only other table in the room.
There was complete silence. When she realized it, she glanced up at the boy. “Is something wrong?”
“I’m confused. You said the ‘other’ table. Where is the ‘other’ table?”
“ That’s the other table.”
“But you said that was ‘that’ table not the ‘other’ table and the table you are at is ‘this’ table, not ‘that’ table or the ‘other’ table.”
“Thwack.” She kept her voice calm and even.
“Aye?”
“How many tables are there in this room?”
He pointed at the table in front of her. raised his thumb, and mouthed “one.” He looked at the other table, raised his first finger, and mouthed “two.” He stared intently at his hand, studied it for a long moment, and looked back at her. “Two.”
“Aye. So … if I’m working at this table”—Clio patted her hands on the tabletop in front of her—”and I need the honeycomb,
Clio studied him to see if his eyes looked glassy. Well, at least more glassy than usual. “Your noggin is fine, then?”
“Aye, but my head hurts.”
She had the sudden urge to bury her own head in her hands and begin to count very slowly. But by now she was too familiar with Thud and Thwack, and though they could test the patience of a saint, there was nothing in them that was the least mean-spirited. They were sweet and simple lads.
Both boys had been brought to the convent when they were only six. A wandering minstrel found them in the King’s Forest, where they had been living as wild as animals.
The good sisters had taken them in, bathed them, fed them, and helped them understand how to live among their own kind. The nuns had christened them Peter and Paul, but the boys would only answer to the names they had formed for each other—Thud and Thwack.
Thud was so anxious to please that he would scurry like a small forest animal, except that his feet were so huge he had trouble scurrying anywhere. It was almost as if he forgot his feet were attached to his legs. Inevitably, down he would go with a thud.
Thwack was just the opposite; he never scurried. He was slow and methodical and could only concentrate on one thing at a time. That was his problem. He would concentrate so hard and so completely that he would not look where he was going and thwack! He’d run right into something.
He tried so very hard to please, but tended to become confused easily. If someone asked him to do more than one thing or if he became distracted, he could spend hours in utter confusion.
One time Sister Margaret, who was in charge of candle-making, had asked him to fetch a bucket of well water so she could cool the tallow candles. On his way to the well, Sister Anne had asked him to look for her prayer book. The next day they found the prayer book in the well bucket, and when the abbess opened the candle cabinet, she almost drowned.
While at the convent, Clio had taken the time to teach them their letters. After that they had followed her everywhere, like little guardian angels who were eagerly grateful to do whatever she bid them to.
Thud and Thwack were good lads, kind and true. They just didn’t think or behave as did the rest of the world.
Clio brushed a stringy lock of brown hair from Thwack’s red and swelling forehead. “Would you like to help me with the newest ale recipe?”
“Aye.” He nodded vigorously.
“Good. Then you can start by bringing me the honeycomb on the other table.”
The young lad rocked on his toes for a moment, scratching his head as if he was deciding which table she meant. This was not too difficult, she thought, since there were only two tables in the room.
“Which table are you working at, my lady?” he asked her, frowning.
“This table?”
“Aye.”
“The bowl with the honeycombs in it is on that table.” She was back on her stool and counting out a number of cinnamon twigs. She didn’t look up, but just pointed in the direction of the only other table in the room.
There was complete silence. When she realized it, she glanced up at the boy. “Is something wrong?”
“I’m confused. You said the ‘other’ table. Where is the ‘other’ table?”
“ That’s the other table.”
“But you said that was ‘that’ table not the ‘other’ table and the table you are at is ‘this’ table, not ‘that’ table or the ‘other’ table.”
“Thwack.” She kept her voice calm and even.
“Aye?”
“How many tables are there in this room?”
He pointed at the table in front of her. raised his thumb, and mouthed “one.” He looked at the other table, raised his first finger, and mouthed “two.” He stared intently at his hand, studied it for a long moment, and looked back at her. “Two.”
“Aye. So … if I’m working at this table”—Clio patted her hands on the tabletop in front of her—”and I need the honeycomb,
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