Ward of the Philosopher by D. P. Prior Read Free Book Online

to him. Aristodeus would know what to do, Jarl had said. It was the first time his father had acknowledged the philosopher’s worth. Deacon could tell the two of them didn’t get along, and for Jarl to admit he needed Aristodeus’s help was as surprising as it was unsettling. The Coastal Watch had been formed to deter reavers, and until today, no one had doubted their ability to keep the people of the Downs safe. It was mention of Verusia that had gotten Jarl worried. All Deacon knew was that Verusia bordered Gallia, the lands across the Maranorean Channel. No one spoke of it much, and whenever they did, it was in hushed tones and with a touch of the forehead, even for those who did not love Nous.
    When he reached home and pushed through the garden gate, he paused to say a quick prayer at the grave he and Gralia had dug for Nub, then entered through the kitchen door.
    Aristodeus looked up from the dining table, the stem of his pipe wedged in the corner of his mouth, pungent smoke pluming from the bowl. Any ire he’d felt at losing the pipe had apparently vanished now it was back in his possession.
    Gralia crossed the room so quickly, Deacon flinched, as if she were going to hit him. He knew he was being stupid: she’d never laid a finger on him, and neither had Jarl.
    She took him by the shoulders and looked him in the eye.
    “Where have you been? And didn’t you hear the alarum? Aristodeus has been worried sick.”
    Deacon glanced at the philosopher. He didn’t look worried, leaning back in his chair, blowing smoke rings.
    “There’s reavers in the Channel, Mother.”
    Gralia turned to Aristodeus.  
    The philosopher stood and moved to the hearth to tap out his pipe. “The beacons have been lit?” he said over his shoulder.
    “Father’s orders,” Deacon said.
    “How many reavers?”
    “Three ships. From Verusia, they said.”
    Gralia touched her forehead. Her lips began to move in silent petitions to Nous. She released Deacon’s shoulders and fished her prayer cord from her skirt.
    “I thought there was a fourth ship coming in alone,” Deacon said, “but I was just seeing things.”
    “Were you now?” Aristodeus collected his sword from where it leaned beside the hearth. “What else?”
    “Never you mind,” Gralia said. “Jarl’s lads will see them off.”
    “Ordinarily, I’d agree with you,” Aristodeus said. “A fourth ship, you say, young Shader, but you couldn’t be sure?”
    “It was like a ghost, Magister . I reckon it was my mind playing tricks again, like when I was ill.”
    Aristodeus shook his head.
    “Father told me to find you, tell you what was happening. He said you’d know what to do.”
    “You see, Gralia,” Aristodeus said, “Jarl doesn’t hate me. He’s just envious of the time I spend with the boy. Go on, young Shader, grab your sword, and you can show me where you saw this mysterious fourth ship.”
    “No,” Gralia said. “It’s too dangerous, and he’s just a boy.”
    “He’ll be with me,” Aristodeus said. “Do you really think he’ll be any safer here if the reavers make shore? Go on now, boy, time’s a wasting.”
    Deacon ran upstairs to his room, pulled his sword out from under the bed, and hurried back down again.
    Aristodeus was already out in the back yard. When Deacon squeezed past his mother to get through the kitchen door, she didn’t move; she was distracted by her unpicking of the knots on the prayer cord.
    Before Aristodeus and Deacon had made it down the garden path, a scream went up from the direction of the village square. Gralia gasped and paused in her unpicking. Aristodeus stiffened and inclined his head, listening.
    Deacon counted his heartbeats, hoping he’d been mistaken, and that the sound was the cry of some strange bird.
    One beat, two, and then the scream came again. This time, it was joined by countless others.

THE FOURTH SHIP

    T he village square was empty when Deacon and Aristodeus reached it. Window shutters had been