Peter & Max - Bill Willingham [69]
In his hiding place, Max was frozen in fright. Though he was certain of his concealment, she was looking directly at him. What should I do, he frantically wondered?
Then, never having spoken to him, the girl turned away and continued down the road. Soon enough she’d disappeared around a bend. Max stayed in place for many long minutes afterward, hardly daring to make a sound, and trying to understand what he’d witnessed. After a time, getting wetter all the while, he recalled his original desire to help himself to some of the goat’s meat for his dinner.
The animal’s of no use to anyone but me, he reasoned. So I might as well cut myself a roast. It’s newly dead, so there’s no chance it will be rotted like the last meat I had the misfortune to eat. And I’d best build my evening’s fire soon, before there’s no wood dry enough to light.
Timid as a deer, ready to spring away at any provocation, Max ventured out into the road. He walked a few paces up its length, to the goat’s carcass, where he used his sword to hack and chop at it. In little time he’d cut himself several strips of meat. He brought the smallest one up to his lips to taste at it, never having tried goat before.
He nearly gagged.
“This wretched thing’s flesh tastes of ashes and dust!” he said aloud.
He dropped the slice of goat’s meat and looked all around him accusingly, though there was no longer anyone there to complain to. Out in the middle of the road, he was getting wetter under the more direct rainfall. He needed to be on his way. But first he needed to pick a direction in which to continue his wandering. He considered something the knights had said. They were on their way to Hamelin Town, and now Max remembered that he’d once undertaken a journey to the same place. That was where his family and the Peep family had agreed to rendezvous, should they become separated in the Black Forest. More important, if Peter were still alive, that’s where he’d most certainly be.
Frost Taker practically hummed in its sheath.
“Peter has my inheritance,” Max said. “The dirty thief stole it from me and thinks he got clean away with it. Time to set things right.”
Frost Taker silently agreed.
“I can easily avoid any number of soldiers and silly little girls along the way. And Hamelin will certainly welcome someone like me — a fierce warrior, and a hunter of men.” He thought of the warm beds and cooked meals that are always available in towns. So, like the three knights and the dark girl before him, Max set off in the direction of Hamelin.
AN HOUR LATER MAX WAS DRENCHED and miserable again. The cold rain had steadily increased in intensity until it had become a downpour. The day had turned dark, either with the coming of night, or by the heavy rain’s shroud, or both combined. He thought about seeking shelter, until the worst of the rain had passed, and there, like an answer to his wish, he spied a house in the distance.
This was a cottage even smaller than the Schoeps’ humble home. My former home, he corrected himself. Its four walls were made of wood planks on top of piled stones. Its roof was made of straw and it had a stone chimney. Its single door was made of stout boards and there was the face of a lion carved in it, with its jaws wide open. A wind chime dangled from one of the eves, with the shapes of stars and crescent moons carved out of copper. Against one wall there were set many clay and porcelain jars, of all different sizes. Some had lids fastened down on them, with wax sealing the rims, while others were left open and were now collecting rain. One jar had a picture of an ancient warship, engaged in a fierce battle, depicted on it. Many seashells were tacked up on the wall, above the jars, arrayed in a complex pattern of shapes and colors. Indecipherable runes had been inscribed all around them, in white paint against the wall’s natural brown. To one side of the cottage, large rounded stones, each one draped in a cloak of deep green moss, were set out to enclose a rectangle of yard, which was filled with smaller pearl-white