The Seeker - Isobelle Carmody [110]
The old man’s eyes glittered. “You have been to Obernewtyn?”
I nodded, wondering if I had made a mistake in mentioning Obernewtyn. I told them what I had told Gilbert. “Why have you brought us here?” I asked at last. I wanted to impress on them that I was a gypsy, interested in nothing but my own skin.
“Tell me what you saw at Obernewtyn,” the old man invited.
“I’ve told you everything. They wouldn’t let us stay because there was no room. Some of them were sick.” I let distaste show in my eyes.
“My acolyte told me you were looking for a Beforetime pass.”
I nodded.
“There is no pass,” the old man said. “Now, what is the truth for your avoiding the main road? I suspect you were trying to leave the highlands without being seen. Gypsies are known for being light-fingered.” I hung my head to hide my relief. He thought we were thieves trying to reach the lowlands without being arrested!
“What are you going to do with us?” I asked, hoping to encourage his assumptions.
“What was the name of the Master of Obernewtyn?” the old man asked.
A chill ran down my spine. “There was a youth in charge, if you would call him master. He seemed half out of his wits if you ask me. Kept raving about Obernewtyn belonging to him and wanting to restore it. Who would want to bother with such a ruin?” I chewed my lip as if trying to recall. “Rafe … Rushton, I think his name was.”
An unreadable look flickered over the old man’s face.
For a long moment, there was silence in the room, and I heard the muted sounds of children at play. The old man rose slowly and came round to stand in front of me.
“Do you know who I am?” he asked.
My heart sank. If he would tell that openly, he had no intention of letting us go. “Are you … the Druid from the old stories?” I asked shyly.
The old man gave me a quick, rather beautiful smile. “I am,” he said. “It pleases me to know my name has not been forgotten. And what do gypsies know of Henry Druid?”
“My father told me the Council and the Herder Faction forced you into exile. He said you were not dead no matter what was said and that you would one day return.”
A fanatic gleam flashed in the old man’s eyes. “Your father is wise, for I do mean to return.”
The door opened suddenly, and a pretty blond girl entered. She scanned the room lazily, her eyes stopping on the Druid. “Father, you promised to come to midmeal. We are all waiting.” She pouted.
The Druid smiled indulgently. “I will be there very soon, Erin. In the meantime, take this girl to Rilla for me.”
“Another gypsy?” she inquired disparagingly. Without waiting for an answer, she gestured languidly for me to follow.
The Druid’s voice followed us into the hall. “And, Erin, tell Rilla the two girls will attend nightmeal with us tonight. See that they have some suitable clothes.”
Erin nodded and closed the door behind us. She led me wordlessly out of the building, across the green, and down a number of streets to a square building near the edge of the settlement. A delicious smell of cooking food flowed out the door. My mouth watered, but we bypassed the door, going round a narrow path to another building at the rear. The less appetizing smell of soapsuds met my nostrils. I cast a regretful look over my shoulder.
Erin glanced at me with as much interest as if I were a piece of cheese. Her eyes were hard and bright like pieces of blue glass.
A woman came out to meet us. Plump and pretty, she introduced herself as Rilla.
Erin looked bored at this exchange. “This one needs a good scrubbing. I don’t wonder Relward mistook it for a boy. Still, do what you can. Both these gypsies are to come to nightmeal at the Druid’s table tonight.”
“Your friend is already bathing,” Rilla said when Erin had gone. My stomach growled loudly as if defining its own priorities, and Rilla laughed. “Ye’d nowt be let into th’ kitchen lookin’ like that. But bathe quick and ye can have yer fill before yer tum gives up growlin’ an’ takes to bitin’.”
The bathhouse was filled with billowing steam.