The Hedge Knight by George R. R. Martin Read Free Book Online Page B

beyond Flea Bottom had seemed as frightening as it was exciting. Egg needs time, that’s all. For the present, it seemed kinder to give the lad a few coppers and let him enjoy himself among the stalls than to drag him along unwilling into the castle.
     
    This morning the puppeteers were doing the tale of Florian and Jonquil. The fat Dornishwoman was working Florian in his armor made of motley, while the tall girl held Jonquil’s strings. “You are no knight,” she was saying as the puppet’s mouth moved up and down. “I know you. You are Florian the Fool.”
     
    “I am, my lady,” the other puppet answered, kneeling. “As great a fool as ever lived, and as great a knight as well.”
     
    “A fool and a knight?” said Jonquil. “I have never heard of such a thing.”
     
    “Sweet lady,” said Florian, “all men are fools, and all men are knights, where women are concerned.”
     
    It was a good show, sad and sweet both, with a sprightly swordfight at the end, and a nicely painted giant. When it was over, the fat woman went among the crowd to collect coins while the girl packed away the puppets.
     
    Dunk collected Egg and went up to her.
     
    “M’lord?” she said, with a sideways glance and a half-smile. She was a head shorter than he was, but still taller than any other girl he had ever seen.
     
    “That was good,” Egg enthused. “I like how you make them move, Jonquil and the dragon and all. I saw a puppet show last year, but they moved all jerky. Yours are more smooth.”
     
    “Thank you,” she told the boy politely.
     
    Dunk said, “Your figures are well carved too. The dragon, especially. A fearsome beast. You make them yourself?”
     
    She nodded. “My uncle does the carving. I paint them.”
     
    “Could you paint something for me? I have the coin to pay.” He slipped the shield off his shoulder and turned it to show her. “I need to paint something over the chalice.”
     
    The girl glanced at the shield, and then at him.
     
    “What would you want painted?”
     
    Dunk had not considered that. If not the old man’s winged chalice, what? His head was empty. Dunk the lunk, thick as a castle wall. “I don’t . . . I’m not certain.” His ears were turning red, he realized miserably. “You must think me an utter fool.”
     
    She smiled. “All men are fools, and all men are knights.”
     
    “What color paint do you have?” he asked, hoping that might give him an idea.
     
    “I can mix paints to make any color you want.”
     
    The old man’s brown had always seemed drab to Dunk. “The field should be the color of sunset,” he said suddenly. “The old man liked sunsets. And the device . . .
     
    “An elm tree,” said Egg. “A big elm tree, like the one by the pool, with a brown trunk and green branches.”
     
    “Yes,” Dunk said. “That would serve. An elm tree . . . but with a shooting star above. Could you do that?”
     
    The girl nodded. “Give me the shield. I’ll paint it this very night, and have it back to you on the morrow.”
     
    Dunk handed it over. “I am called Ser Duncan the Tall.”
     
    “I’m Tanselle,” she laughed. “Tanselle Too-Tall, the boys used to call me.”
     
    “You’re not too tall,” Dunk blurted out. “You’re just right for. . .“ He realized what he had been about to say, and blushed furiously.
     
    “For?” said Tanselle, cocking her head inquisitively.
     
    “Puppets,” he finished lamely.
     
     
    The first day of the tourney dawned bright and clear. Dunk bought a sackful of foodstuffs, so they were able to break their fast on goose eggs; fried bread, and bacon, but when the food was cooked he found he had no appetite. His belly felt hard as a rock, even though he knew he would not ride today. The right of first challenge would go to knights of higher birth and greater renown, to lords and their Sons and champions from other tourneys.
     
    Egg chattered all through their breakfast, talking of this man and that man