Dragons of the Watch - Donita K. Paul [19]
Bealomondore shook his head, agreeing to the negative.
“How old are they?” asked Ellie. “Do you know?”
“They are all six, every last one of them.”
“Six?”
“Six.”
“So someone has been feeding them for six years.”
“No.”
“No?”
“I have found documents in the library, written by hand, probably by Old One. Rumbard City is under some kind of wizardry. Those rapscallions have been six for several centuries. But they don’t remember that they were six last year and will be six again on the next birthday. Therefore they never mature, never learn from their experiences, never grow up physically. They are little hooligans suspended in a perpetual state of selfish rebellion.”
Most of the children had finished their noonmeal. They wiped sticky hands on their clothing and ran off, some in groups and some alone.
Ellie sank to a sitting position again and turned to share the door as a backrest with Bealomondore.
“If Old One does not provide their food, then who does?”
Bealomondore shrugged. “I have no idea, but whoever it is supplies me as well.” He sat up straighter. “All that running and hiding this morning made me hungry. Would you like to share whatever has been provided?”
“Yes, please, and I’m thirsty too.”
He stood and extended his hand. She grasped it and easily came to her feet.
He nodded his approval. “You’re strong and agile. That will come in handy. And I have nothing against country girls.” He smiled. “Princess Tipper lived most of her life away from any city.”
The comment pricked that doubt Ellie had laid aside. She followed the tumanhofer but didn’t ask him any more questions. She didn’t know if she could trust his answers.
The vent they had used to enter the building still stood open. Bealomondore stopped before exiting and listened. He held up a finger, indicating “wait a minute,” then pressed it to his lips. With his hand on her shoulder, he gently pushed her to the side of the huge crack.
“One of the hunters is coming.”
Ellie’s eyes widened as she heard shuffling feet coming down the alley. The lone hunter did not stop but continued on until they could no longer hear him.
Ellie whispered, “Why did you call him a hunter?”
“Because they spend a great deal of time hunting me. And now, it would seem, they are intent on hunting you as well.”
“They’re just children. I have brothers and sisters around their age. It’s a game.”
“Didn’t you hear them express the desire to eat us? Recall, if you will, the savage way they tore into parnots, berries, melons, and apples.”
“Just play-talk and rudeness.” Ellie looked into Bealomondore’s eyes. “They need a mother. They need an adult. They are children without anyone to care for them.”
“Miss Ellicinderpart Clarenbessipawl, they are children, but they’ve gone feral. Wild beyond taming. Dangerous to anyone smaller and weaker. We are the wee ones. There is nothing we can do except stay out of their way.”
Bealomondore chose the shortest route to take his visitor to a fountain a few blocks from the town’s circle. On one hand, it was good to have company, but on the other, he would have to protect her from the hooligans and make sure she had a safe place to stay.
And then there were the proprieties to consider. She was lovely and single. He was single and a good prospect for matrimony.
Even with purple berry stains on her chin and fingers, she had a certain unsophisticated charm. Better if she would have come to him as an old crone near death’s door. But they were both young and eligible, and they had no chaperone. The squirmy heathen kids did not count. The goat didn’t count. The mysterious Old One in the library didn’t count. And they might be here for months. He hadn’t found any useful information in the library on how to leave Rumbard City, and the answer might not even be among the bookshelves.
The goat kept close to his mistress but made forages to the side, poking his nose in places that must look interesting to one of his species. He gazed down alleys and seemed to listen. What a