Flight From Blithmore Read Free Page B

were not assuaged. “You know how he is,
Ruther. You remember how he treated us when you lived here.”
    “Sure I do. That stick game we played one time . . . I went
through the hedge to get my stick. He grabbed me and shook me. ‘ You dirty
little boy—good for nothing bastard child! Get away from my house! ’”
    Henry choked out a laugh, but it sounded more like a cough.
Ruther had impersonated Lord Oslan to perfection. “Oslan has hated me since I
was a lad.”
    “Has he loathed you?” Ruther asked. The tone in his voice
told Henry that Ruther had started one of his word games.
    “Yes.” Henry’s answer was weary. A look in the mirror told
him his attempt to tie the scarf correctly had failed. He hurried to undo the
damage. “That’s one.”
    “Despised?”
    “Definitely. Two.”
    “Abhorred?”
    “Enough.” Henry sighed as he wrapped the blue silk, this
time with more success. Then he adjusted his shirt again and tried to tuck the
ends of his brown hair under his collar. He decided that looked ridiculous.
    “Fine then, rehearse with me what you plan to say.”
    “I have to go!”
    “Just once. No point in going if you aren’t going to do it
properly.”
    “Good evening, sir,” Henry enunciated with careful measure.
He tied off the scarf and reached for his boots. “It is an honor to speak with
you man to man.”
    “If you say it like that, he’ll think you’re challenging
him.”
    “He knows I’m not challenging him.”
    “Do you want my help or not?” Ruther asked
    “I have to go. I should’ve trimmed my hair. For the love of
the King, nothing is right today!” Henry rarely concerned himself with things
like clothes and hair. When Maggie thought he needed new clothes, she bought
them. When his hair needed cutting, she cut it.
    “Calm yourself,” Ruther said, lifting the lid off his
flask. “Things are not that bad.”
    “If he refuses me, I’ll fall on my sword the moment I
return to the house.”
    “You’d probably miss the sword and hit the floor.”
    Henry chuckled despite himself. Their eyes met in the
mirror and Ruther grinned at him. Henry was glad his friend had come, Ruther
helped him keep a proper perspective.
    “Lord Oslan won’t decline you,” Ruther said. “If Isabelle
is certain, then you can be certain, too.”
    “Bah!” Henry exclaimed as he wiped his forehead with his
sleeve. It came back with a good-sized wet spot. “I wish there were some other
way than speaking to that man.”
    “Well, friend,” Ruther said, getting up and taking a small
swig from his flask, “you’re the one who will be calling him Father , not
me.”
    Henry watched Ruther take a drink with disappointment. “I
wouldn’t if I were you,” he said. “It’s too early. You’ll be sick all day.”
    “No, I’ll only be sick until evening.”
    “Just in time for your story.”
    Ruther took another long swig from the flask. “No, the
owner cancelled my spot.”
    “Why?”
    “Possibly because I was so drunk last night, I couldn’t
pronounce my main character’s name?”
    “Which story was it?”
    “The Tale of Thurgerburder the Furious Sheep Herder.”
    Had it not been such an important day for Henry, he might
not have had the prudence to hold his tongue. Instead of speaking his mind, he
straightened the scarf one last time.
    “It doesn’t matter,” Ruther continued. “I have secured
myself several jobs over the next three or four weeks in other towns not too
far away. I’ll be quite busy.”
    “When do you leave?”
    “In the next day or two.” He took another long draught from
the flask. “And where is Maggie in all of this? She should be here for support
or familial obligation.”
    “She’s at the market selling her cabbages before they rot.”
    Ruther went to the window and looked down to the street,
then up at the sky. “If you’re going the long way, you’d better be on the
move!”
    “Alright, I am!” Henry put his tan cloak around his
shoulders.