Gaal the Conqueror by John White Read Free Book Online

far above
them. An iron pot was suspended above the clambering flames.
    John had grown so weary that he never remembered clearly
what happened afterward. But within an hour he was sleeping,
warm, dry and fed, on a comfortable bed of clean straw.

     

    John stared at the rocky ceiling above him, making patterns in
his mind of the cracks, the bumps and the hollows. It was a
soaring, gothic sort of ceiling, but he was too warm and sleepy
to care about anything other than letting his mind wander.
Gradually he became aware of the crackling of burning wood
and of faint, flickering reflections of firelight, intermingling
with daylight on the rock. He began to smell the previous
night's stew.
    Memory slowly returned to him though the details of what
had happened were hazy. The stew he remembered, but he
couldn't recall going to bed. Slowly he raised himself on one
elbow and stared at the dazzling sunlight beyond the cave
mouth. As he looked once more round the cave, he found he
could see nothing apart from large red and green blobs. Eventually he was able to make out the fire and the cooking pot.

    "Pontificater! Are you here? I can't see anything. Pontificates?" But there was no reply. Slowly he got to his feet and stared
down at himself. He was wearing a long nightshirt that reached
to his bare feet. Carefully he made his way to the cave mouth
and stepped into the bright sunlight on the rocky platform
beyond it.
    "Good morning! You slept well, I trust?"
    It was the dragon's voice and John swung round to look at
him, shading his eyes with his hand. "Oh, hi! I mean, good
morning! What time is it?"
    "Time? Oh, time-yes. We-er-we don't bother with it too
much here. It's morning. About mid-morning. Sun's getting
warm."
    John shivered a little. "It's not quite warm enough for thiser-what is it?" he asked, indicating the nightshirt.
    "Oh, that. What do I know about human vestments? I don't
wear anything myself. That garment, whatever it is, is usually
worn by male human beings in bed. I saw diagrams of it in a
treatise on the denizens of other worlds in other ages. You
yourself are such a denizen, I take it."
    John sniggered. The idea of a being denizen of another
world was appealing. "Well, I'm not the sort of denizen that
wears things like this," he said. "I've never seen one before."
    "It's part of the extra clothing that was sent here for you
before you arrived. Last night your clothes were wet, very wet.
And you didn't seem to be able to stay awake. If I hadn't known
you (from history, of course), I would have said you were drunk.
So I undressed you, dried you, put that-uh-garment on you,
and..."
    "Are my clothes dry now?"
    "Yes. Didn't you see them? Like a good valet I left them at
the foot of your bed. Your cloak may be an itty-bitty singed. I
dried it a bit with fire from my nostrils. But otherwise your
clothes are fine."

    John made his way into the cave. Sure enough, the clothes
were there, and gratefully he put them on. A hole had been
burned in the blue cloak, about where his right shoulder fitted.
"An itty-bitty scorched indeed," he muttered to himself, not sure
whether to be angry or amused. John looked up to see the
young man Authentio standing in the entrance way of an opening in the cave wall. For the first time he became aware that
there were other passages in the cave and wondered where
they led.
    "Well, good morning to both of you. What a solemn pair you
are! Have you had any breakfast?"
    In yet another of the openings, John was startled to see a girl
of about his own age. She wore a loose dress of white, woolen
material that fell to just below her knees, along with boots like
John's. Her long hair fell loosely about her shoulders. He was
startled because he felt sure he knew her. "Eleanor? I-I'm
sorry-you look a bit like-but she's much younger than you
and anyway-"
    The girl was nodding. "It's me, John. I was so glad to see you
yesterday. It meant the two years were