The Hidden Coronet Read Free

the quenta forest, dark and ominous, its strange tangled trees forming impenetrable thickets.
    He also saw the gallows.
    Galen was looking at them too. The keeper’s black eyes were angry and thoughtful; as Raffi watched he fished among the trinkets of the peddler’s tray and brought out the awen-beads, jet and green, slipping them on over his head. He held out Raffi’s and Raffi took them, the two blue and purple strands of the scholar, wishing Galen would say something about the gallows. When he was silent he was planning, and Raffi feared that.
    Slowly, the cart rocked to the top of the hill.
    The way down was less steep; the woman took a breath and said, “Now. You want to hear all about it.”
    “It would help.”
    She glanced over her shoulder at him as he leaned among the soft bales.
    “Well, we moved here two months ago. We’re Watchtenants. We had a farm up north, but then out of the blue they moved us. No explanations. When I saw this place I was amazed. It’s old, you’ll see that. Far too good for me and a dozen farm men. Lots of the rooms are empty.”
    “What’s it called?” Galen interrupted.
    “Halenden.” She flicked the reins. “For a fortnight it was all right. Then the trouble started.”
    “Noises?”
    She shrugged, uneasy. “Hideous sounds. First time it brought us all hurtling out of our beds. I thought some beggar-band was burning the place around our ears. Howling, echoing deep down. Max—the foreman—swears it’s some Kest-ghost, trapped under the place. He’s a loudmouth, and I’d sack him, but I need him. Most of the others have left.”
    The cart jolted; Raffi clung on, feeling sick.
    “What else?” Galen murmured.
    “Things move. Around the place. They’re never where you left them. Doors won’t open; then they open on their own. Plates smash. Voices talk in rooms where no one is. But last week, that was the worst.”
    She stopped the cart suddenly and turned to face him, her broad face red with the cold. “I’m not a woman who scares easily, master.”
    “I can see that,” he said.
    “Then you’ll know that I’m scared now.” The wind gusted sleet in her eyes; she rubbed it away. “Last week, on Agramonsday, I was alone in the house. The men were in the fields. I was sure I heard something moving down below. There’s a cellar, a deep cellar. It sounded like . . .” She shook her head, impatient with herself. “Flain knows what. I’m not good with words. A dragging sound. Cold. Heavy.”
    The wind was icy. Raffi shivered, tugging his hands up into his sleeves. In all the bleak land around him nothing stirred, the hedges gnawed down to bare thorn.
    “You went down?” Galen asked, his face intent.
    “I did.”
    “Not many would have.”
    “Keeper, I don’t like mysteries. I’m a plain woman; I trust what my senses tell me. I took a lamp and went down the cellar steps.” She paused. Raffi felt a threat of terror break out in her, the shock of it stirring the small hairs on the backs of his hands.
    Then she said, “I saw it. A shadow. Something evil. A terrible . . . venom seemed to come from it. I knew it was alive.”
    The marset whinnied, impatient. Sleet was coming down heavily now, a white sheet of weather slanting out of the west.
    Galen didn’t move.
    The woman turned back to the harness. “That’s all I can tell you. It vanished. I was outside, shivering, when the men came back; can’t even remember how I got there. None of us will stay in the place now—we’ve fitted up a barn a few fields off and even the dogs creep in with us at night.”
    The cart’s wheels began to turn, crunching down into the ruts and up again. “Can you help us?” she asked quietly.
    Galen leaned back. “Is there anything else you want to tell me?”
    “No,” she said, too quickly.
    He gazed at her broad back. Then he said, “I can only do what the Makers wish.”
    For the rest of the journey he was silent, and glancing back Raffi knew he was meditating,