The Dragonbone Chair by Tad Williams Read Free Book Online Page B

last tie to his dead mother.
    The movement caused Susanna’s right hand, which had been tightly tangled in her own hair, to sag free and drop limply to the floor. As it struck, something shiny flew from her clutching palm and rolled across the rough boards to stop near the doctor’s foot. From the corner of her eye Rachel saw Morgenes stoop down and pick the object up. It was small, and disappeared easily into the palm of his hand, and from there into his bag.
    Rachel was outraged, but no one else seemed to have noticed. She whirled to confront him, teardrops still standing in her eyes, but the look on his face, the terrible grief, stilled her before she breathed a word.
    “He will be Seoman,” the doctor said, his eyes strange and shadowed now as he moved closer, his voice hoarse. “You must take care of him, Rachel. His parents are dead, you know.”

    A swift intake of breath. Rachel had caught herself just before she slipped off the stool. Nodding off in bright daylight—she was ashamed of herself! Then again, it only went to show the criminal length to which she had driven herself today, all in an effort to make up for the three girls off ... and for Simon.
    What she needed was a little fresh air. Up on a stool, swatting the broom around like a madwoman—no wonder a body started in getting in the vapors. She’d just step outside for a moment. The lord knew she had every right to a little fresh air. That Simon, such a wicked boy.
    They’d raised him, of course, she and the chambermaids. Susanna hadn’t any kinfolk nearby, and no one seemed to know much of anything about her drowned husband Eahlferend, so they kept the boy. Rachel had pretended to raise a fuss over it, but she would no more have let him go than she would have betrayed her King, or left beds unmade. It was Rachel who had given him the name Simon. Everyone in the service of King John’s household took a name from the king’s native island, Warinsten. Simon was the closest to Seoman, and so Simon it was.
    Rachel went slowly down the stairs to the bottom floor, feeling just a little shaky in the legs. She wished she’d brought a cloak, as the air was bound to be nippy. The door creaked open slowly—it was such a heavy door, needed the hinges oiled, most likely—and she walked out into the entry yard. The morning sun was just nosing over the battlement, peeping like a child.
    She liked this spot, just underneath the stone span that connected the dining hall building with the main body of the chapel. The little courtyard in the shadow of the span was full of pine trees and heather, all set about on small, sloping hills; the whole garden was not more than a stone’s throw in length. Looking up past the stone walkway she could see the needle-slim thrust of Green Angel Tower, shining white in the sunlight like an ivory tusk.
    There had been a time, Rachel remembered, long before Simon came, when she herself had been a girl playing in this garden. How some of those maids would laugh to think of that: the Dragon as a little girl. Well, she had been, and after that a young lady—not unpleasant to look at, either, and that was only the truth. The garden then had been full of the rustle of brocade and silk, of lords and ladies laughing, with hawks on their fists and a merry song on their lips.
    Now Simon, he thought he knew everything—God just made young men stupid, and that was that. Those girls had nearly spoiled him beyond redemption, and would have if Rachel hadn’t kept her eye out. She knew what was what, even if these young ones thought otherwise.
    Things were different once, Rachel thought ... and as she thought it the pine smell of the shaded garden seemed to catch at her heart. The castle had been such a beautiful, stirring place: tall knights, plumed and shiny-mailed, and beautiful girls in fine dresses, the music ... oh, and the tourney field all jewel-bright with tents! Now the castle slept quietly, and only dreamed. The towering