The Shadow of Malabron by Thomas Wharton Read Free Book Online

man. “For that price I’d travel no further than the front gate of town. You’re talking to a dwarf, not some toadstool-hopping gnome.”
    “Fifty silver crowns, then, and all expenses,” the tall man said hoarsely, glancing over his shoulder at Will and Rowen. “It’s a matter of life and death.”
    “Not good enough,” the dwarf said with a sneer. “Not for the Caverns of Nethergrim. I wouldn’t set foot there again for twice that.”
    Rowen halted suddenly and turned to the dwarf.
    “You should go, Mimling,” she said firmly.
    The dwarf bristled, and then appeared to recognize Rowen. His face grew serious.
    “You’re sure, my lady?”
    “Yes, I’m sure. It’s the right thing.”
    He grinned, bowed to her, then turned back to the man in the patched cloak.
    “You’re in luck, my friend,” he said. “If the lady of Blue Hill says it’s what Mimling should do, there’s no more argument.”
    “Was that true, what you told him?” Will whispered as he followed after Rowen. She looked at him strangely.
    “Why would I lie? My grandfather and I go to the Golden Goose almost every night. We hear lots of stories, and sometimes, when we meet someone there, someone on a journey or a quest, I get this … feeling about them. It’s like I see what’s supposed to come next. How their story should go. Even if things don’t turn out as they hoped, it’s still what
should
happen. And they’ve always come back to tell me this, so I know I haven’t lied to them.”
    On the far side of the bridge they passed under a stone arcade, up a long curving flight of steps and out again into another crowded thoroughfare. Some passers-by had bundles of paper or books tucked under their arms and rushed along distractedly, while others strolled along leisurely or stood chatting together, as if the rain was no bother at all. Will was so busy taking everything in, he didn’t see the horse-drawn carriage that would have knocked him down if Rowen hadn’t grabbed his arm and pulled him out of harm’s way. The carriage’s tall wheels rolled through the gutter and sent up a spray of water that splashed Will’s cloak and soaked his shoes.
    “Don’t they have traffic where you come from?” Rowen asked.
    Will scowled. He saw then that they were standing at the meeting point of two streets. In the centre of the crossing rose a high pedestal of black marble, and upon it stood a lifesized bronze statue of a young man in ragged, patchwork clothes, striding along with a bundle slung on a pole over his shoulder. He had been posed with his eyes raised to the sky, while his feet were about to step unknowingly off the edge of the pedestal, which had been sculpted to resemble the jagged edge of a cliff. A little dog followed at the young man’s heels, its front legs raised and its mouth open as if it were barking a warning.
    “Sir Dagonet,” Rowen said, noticing where Will’s gaze was fixed. “The first Lord Mayor of the city.”
    Rowen led the way up one of the two main streets, which curved steeply upwards round a long bend. On one side she pointed out a dark, many-spired building with no windows. Rowen told him this was the Great Library.
    “If there’s something you want to know, Grandfather says, the Library is the best place to go looking for it.”
    A little further along the rising street ended at a high wall covered in thick ivy. In the centre of the wall stood two massive doors of dark polished wood braced with iron. They were closed, but within one of the two larger doors a smaller door stood open.
    “Appleyard,” Rowen said. “Home of the Errantry.”
    “You said that word before,” Will said. “Errantry. To Moth, in the snug. Who is he?”
    “It’s not a
he
,” Rowen said. “Errantry is what you learn here, and when you complete your training, you join the Errantry, the Guild of Knights-Errant.”
    “So it’s like a school then. Do you go there?”
    “I’ve started sword practice, and scouting training.