The Seeker - Isobelle Carmody [31]
“Greetings,” I thought on impulse.
His eyes widened, and he looked around before deciding I was the only one there. “Did you speak, funaga?” he asked with mild surprise.
I nodded. “I am Elspeth,” I sent. “May I know your name?”
“I am called Sharna,” he sent. “What manner of funaga are you?”
“I am a funaga like other funagas,” I replied formally.
“I have heard your name before,” he sent unexpectedly. “A cat spoke it.”
“Maruman!” I projected a picture with the name, but Sharna was unresponsive.
“I did not see this mad cat who seeks a funaga. I heard it from a beast who heard it from another.”
“Do you know where the cat was seen?” I asked excitedly.
“Who knows where a cat goes?” he sent philosophically. “The story was only told to me as a curiosity. Whoever heard of a cat looking for a funaga? I thought it a riddle.”
Rushton entered the stable then. He looked about sharply as if sensing something had been going on, then he tersely told me to follow him.
If he had shown an interest in me the day before, today he seemed at pains to assure me of his total lack of interest. “The stables have to be cleaned every second day,” he said in a bored voice as we entered one of the pens. A rich loamy smell rushed out to greet me. I watched as the overseer demonstrated how to catch hold of the horse’s halter and lead it out. The horses were to be released into the yard leading off the stables, he explained, their halters removed and hung on a hook. Once a horse had been led out, Rushton gave me a broom, a rake, and a pan, taking up a long-handled fork himself.
“You have to lift the manure out in clumps and drop it in the pan, along with the dirtiest hay.” Deftly he slid the prongs of the fork under some manure and threw it neatly into the pan. “When you’ve done all that, rake the rest of the hay to one side, then fork in some fresh stuff.” He forked hay from a nearby pile onto the floor with economical movements. It looked easy.
“You lay the old hay over the new; if you don’t, the horse will eat it.” He handed the fork to me. “There are twelve stables in this lot, so you’d better get on with it. Come and get me at the drying shed if you have any trouble getting the horses out.” I nodded, and briefly those inscrutable eyes searched mine, then he turned on his heel and left.
I turned and surveyed the stables.
“You would do well to mindspeak to them first,” Sharna commented from his corner. Taking his advice, I approached the nearest box and greeted its occupant, a dappled mare with a large, comfortable rear. She flicked her tail and turned to face me.
“Who are you?” she asked with evident amusement. “I have spoken to many odd creatures in my time but never a funaga. I suppose you are behind this.” She directed the latter thought to Sharna, who had ambled over to stand beside me. The mare leaned her long nose close to my face and snorted rudely. “I suppose you want to put me out? Well, I’m not having that thing on my head. Just open the door and I’ll walk out.”
I did as she asked, hoping Rushton would not come back and catch me disobeying his instructions. Sharna muttered about the mare’s bossiness, but I ignored him and concentrated on copying Rushton’s movements as I mucked out the box.
Except for a big, nasty black horse whom Sharna said had been badly mistreated by a previous master, the rest of the horses proved cooperative on the condition I did not use their halters. I had finished and was leaning on a post watching the horses graze when Rushton returned.
“You have been uncommonly swift,” he said suspiciously. The smile fell from my face as I realized I had been stupid.
“Too quick to believe, even if Enoch did recommend you,” he added.
And as I looked into his hard face, I was afraid.
PART II
HEART OF THE DARKNESS
12
“WELL?” RUSHTON INQUIRED grimly.
“I … my father kept horses,” I lied, hoping he did not know how young I had been orphaned.
“And you did not think to mention it during my instruction?” he asked. There was a speculative gleam in his