Circle of Stones Read Free Page B

splintered. I forced, harder. Behind me the door slammed open.
    â€œLeave that window alone, sir!”
    The voice was calm & it froze me like a douse of cold water.
    Forrest stood in the doorway, staring at the black birds that swooped around him. He strode across the room, pushed me aside, & hauled the new ill-fitting sash upward with both hands, so that a gust of rainy air burst in, scattering us both with drizzle.
    I staggered up. Even now I ached to keep my arm across my eyes, but not in front of him.
    â€œStand aside,” he snapped. “Give them space.” Three birds swooped out. Another hit the chimney with a crunch that made me wince.
    Forrest clapped his hands, moved in, waved gently. The last bird fluttered. It circled us & landed, gripping with clumsy talons, on the back of the chair. Forrest’s shadow was huge on the wall.
    â€œGo on now,” he said, reaching out to it. “Fly free, dark spirit.”
    But the jackdaw didn’t go. Instead it hopped onto his hand.
    Was he as astonished as I? It was the most extraordinary thing. The bird & my master regarded each other, beady black eye to calm brown, as if some silent message passed between them. I saw the scaly claws dig into Forrest’s skin, the glossy feathered body adjusting its balance.
    A second of stillness.
    Then it flapped & was gone, out into the rainy night.
    â€œAmazing!” I breathed.
    Forrest nodded slowly. “A truly druidical moment.” He seemed to remain for an instant in that magic. Then he breathed out & glanced at me, & I saw the folly of the situation swim back into his eyes. “Zac, what in God’s name have you done to yourself?”
    I was suddenly aware of dust & filth smeared on my hands and face. And my clothes! Ruined!
    â€œI was looking for you, sir. Then I realized  .  .  . the birds were trapped.”
    â€œWhat a mess!” Forrest strode to the hearth & bent under it, looking up. “That lackwit Peter Bull hasn’t capped the chimney. I swear that man will put me in my grave  .  .  .”
    I said quietly, “Sir. There is someone else in the room.”
    He turned. In the moonlight I saw his fine face, & his eyes, with their steady gaze that often unnerved me. Then he saw where I was pointing.
    She was crouched in the corner, behind the chair. Something gray & sack-like was pulled about her, & she huddled there under it as if even now she thought she was hidden from us. Just for a moment I almost thought her a ghost indeed, she was so pale & thin.
    Forrest surprised me. He crouched down, & his voice was very soft, as it had been with the bird. “Who are you?”
    She made a small sound. Between a sob & a murmur.
    Forrest looked up. “Get a light, Zac. Quick now.”
    As I went out I heard her speak. She said, “Sylvia.” It took me a while to find a tinderbox & lantern in the foreman’s office, & when I brought it back to the room the girl was sitting on the chair & Forrest was standing by the fireplace. I had the feeling he had moved away from her as he heard me come. I placed the lantern carefully on the rough floorboards. Then I stared at the girl.
    She was very pretty. But her face was thin & dirty & pocked with raw pustules that she scratched at, constantly. Her hair was coppery red, a rich color, & it had been pinned up, but now it was all coming down on her shoulders. She clutched the gray cloak around her, but I could see a shoe, almost a slipper, on her left foot, of white silk embroidered with tiny flowers. Hardly outdoor footwear.
    She was talking quickly, gabbling & breathless with sobs, but I could see at once that she trusted him.
    He said, “Surely you cannot be forced to  .  .  .”
    â€œSir, you are respectable, you don’t know these people. I can’t go back, sir, I can’t! Please don’t make me go back there!”
    So she’d run away. And I had a shrewd idea from where.