The Seeker - Isobelle Carmody [19]
I followed them to the road with an inward sigh, noticing the horses had been changed. The woman climbed heavily into the seat and glared at me as she settled herself.
“I am Guardian Hester,” she said.
I waited, but she seemed to feel it was beneath her to say more. She yawned several times and soon seemed bored. Eventually she took a small vial from her pocket, uncorked it, and drank the contents. I recognized the bitter odor of the sleep drug. In a short time, she was dozing.
After leaving Guanette, the country grew steadily steeper. The road was still well cobbled, but it became progressively more narrow and winding. The coachman maneuvered carefully around the bends, for on one side was a sharp drop to a darkly wooded valley extending as far as the eye could see. It was slow going, and after about an hour, he pulled the coach over to the right of the road to fetch the horses water from a spring. I called out to him.
“Hey,” he grumbled as he came to the window and peered in at me. “Is that my name, then?”
“I’m sorry. No one tells us names. Can I ride up there with you?”
Predictably he shook his head, peering in at the guardian’s sleeping form. “If ye were alone, maybe I would let ye,” he said softly. “But if she were to waken an’ see ye gone …” He shook his head in anticipation of the coals of wrath that would be heaped on his head.
“But she won’t wake for hours. She took some of that sleep stuff.” I poked her hard to show him I spoke the truth.
He ruminated for a moment, then took out his keys.
“Oh, thank you,” I gasped, astounded at my luck.
“Well fine of me it is,” he agreed. “But she better not wake, or I’ll be in deep troubles.” He finished watering the horses while I capered in the crisp highland air. “Enoch,” the coachman said suddenly.
“Pardon?” I said.
“Enoch, girl,” he repeated. “That’s my name.” He helped me up onto the seat beside him, and I felt a thrill as he clicked his tongue and the coach began to move.
“My name …,” I began to say, then stopped. Perhaps he wouldn’t want to know my name. Misfits, after all, weren’t supposed to be quite human.
“Your name?” he prompted; encouraged, I told him. He nodded and then pointed to the valley to the west. “That’s the White Valley.”
I stared, thinking that Maruman would not like the name. Enoch went on. “Many have gone to that valley in search of refuge, but it ain’t a friendly place. Strange animals rove there, an’ they don’t love men.”
“Maybe that’s where Henry Druid perished,” I said, to see how he would respond.
The old man gave me a sharp look. “Accordin’ to yon Council, he died in the highlands, true enow, an’ some say they have seen his ghost walk. Me, I dinna believe in ghosts.” He saw my quick look of interest, and his expression went bland.
I looked at the wood and wondered whether the Druid still lived.
“That were a fine cat,” the coachman said presently. “Some don’t like cats. Reckon they’re incapable of love or loyalty, but I dinna agree. A cat can love, fierce as any beast.”
“He’s not a very pretty cat,” I said hesitantly.
The old man grinned. “All that’s fine is nowt necessarily fair. Look at me. But as a matter of fact, I thought that cat a handsome creature.” He glanced at me. “I’ve a good mind to have a bit of a look for him. Maybe he’d fancy living with me. Of course, he might not take to me.”
“Oh, he will!” I cried. “I am sure of it.”
The coachman grinned and nodded, and we rode for some distance in companionable silence. Perhaps Enoch would find Maruman. I hoped so.
The valley was lost to sight at last as we wound into the mountains. “That stuff would kill a pig,” said the coachman. He jerked his head back to where the guardian slept. “Now, me mam gave us herbs when we couldn’t sleep. Good natural things. That were good enough for us.”
“But herb lore is banned,” I said.
He looked taken aback. “An’ so it is. Damned if I didn’t forget fer a minute. But it weren’t so when I were a lad.” He paused, seemingly struck by the oddness of something that had been a good thing in his youth but which had