The Stone Giant Read Free Page B

catching sight of the title, had said truthfully that he’d always wanted to visit Seaside, days away down the Oriel, for the yearly festivals held at the time of the autumnal equinox. She had been to more than one. She’d been born in the foothills above Seaside, on the eve of the festival, and so was a harvest maid, even though she wasn’t a dwarf. She was about five feet ten inches tall, only an inch shorter than Escargot.
    He’d made her promise to bring the book back quickly, certain at the time that his interest would appear feigned and that she would think he was being fresh. He wasn’t, though. He was married, wasn’t he, and had been for two years, and although some might say he was lazy and thought of himself as often as he thought of anyone else, he had his code. He hadn’t had his fingers crossed when he’d promised to be true to his wife. But he had found himself worrying that Leta would think his attentions at the library less than sincere, and then he had worried about being worried, because the worry seemed to throw a cloud of doubt over the code he prided himself in having. Fat lot of good all the worrying had done him. He might as well have tossed all codes out the window for good and all. But he knew he couldn’t do that, even now. He was
still
married, even if he
was
living in an abandoned windmill and eating fish and berries. Who could say, the condition might prove to be temporary.
    He sat down at a table against the wall and smiled at Leta when she looked up at him. She pulled a pocket watch out of her leather apron and gave it a look. ‘It’s an hour before we open,’ she said.
    ‘Of course,’ said Escargot, taken aback. Did she think he was after a glass of ale at that hour? This is an unfortunate start, he thought, and realizing as he did so that he
had
been after a glass of ale at that hour and that he hadn’t ought to be intending to ‘start’ anything. He grinned – foolishly, it seemed to him. ‘I was just wondering how you liked the book. I was passing by and saw you through the open door, so I thought I’d come in out of the fog and keep you company.’
    ‘Which book was that?’
    ‘Harvest Moon
, by G. Smithers. From the Professor’s. Remember?’
    ‘I remember having told you I liked it very much, just days ago. Next to the melon bin at Beezle’s market.’ She looked at him strangely, as if beginning to suspect he was either stupid or up to something.
    ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Of course. I’ve been a bit ... upset, I suppose is the word for it.’ He started to go on, to explain things, but he caught himself and stopped. There was no use boring anyone. ‘I’m about halfway through it. I always have a hard time with Smithers. I can’t tell what’s true and what’s not. A few years ago, before the Professor took over the library, old Kettering had Smithers filed under history. The Professor says that Kettering was an idiot, that Smithers is full of tall tales. But that wasn’t the way Kettering saw it. I figure that half of what anyone says is nonsense, including Professor Wurzle –
especially
Professor Wurzle. And including G. Smithers, for that matter.’
    Leta scattered one last handful of shavings under a corner table, hefted the half-empty sack onto her shoulder, and set out toward the back of the tavern. Through the leaded glass of one of the front windows, Escargot could see that the fog was thinning. Pale sunlight shone through it, turning the mist white, as if the windows were glazed with milk glass. The appearance of the sun, for some reason, made him feel almost contented for the first time in two weeks. He pulled his pipe from his coat pocket and pushed tangled tobacco into it, wondering idly if it wouldn’t be a good idea to mix a few shavings of aromatic cedar into the tobacco, just to give it a try. Probably not, he decided. It would likely blaze up like a torch and burn the whole pipe. Leta would be certain he’d gone mad.
    She appeared