The Sea of Trolls - Farmer Nancy - Страница 37

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Bold Heart exploded off his perch, and Jack scrambled to his feet in alarm. He saw an enormous creature rise out of the muck in the farther pen. Filth streamed off its flanks as it sprang forward, mouth open, monster tusks aimed at his face. Jack tried to slam the gate, but the creature was too powerful. It barreled through, turned, and came for him.

Jack climbed the fence. He had only a second to make up his mind. He could leap into the muck on the other side—but the creature would only rush back—or he could jump for a roof beam. He jumped. Splinters pierced his hands as he struggled to pull himself up. He swung his leg over and balanced precariously with his arms and legs around the narrow beam.

What wasthat down below? Jack squinted into the gloom, and the creature raised its massive head and squealed. It was a giant boar! Even for a boar, he was bigger than any pig Jack had ever seen, and beneath the filth Jack saw a patch of golden hair. The animal would have been magnificent if he hadn’t been covered in muck. The creature screamed again, and Jack almost fell off the beam. He couldn’t hold this position for long. Slowly, carefully, he wriggled his body around until he was able to sit. He had to brace his hands against the roof to keep from tipping off. Now his backside hurt as well as his hands.

The boar squealed murderously as he paraded below. He reared up and gnashed his teeth. Where were the thralls? Jack thought. Didn’t they know he was in danger? Jack opened his mouth to yell when he heard another sound from outside.

Laughter. The thralls were laughing! They’d known about the boar and hadn’t warned him! In fact—Jack saw it now—there’d been no real reason to close the door. The two pens would have contained the pigs. But the darknesshad been the point. The thralls knew the boar would be hiding in the muck and that he would be nearly invisible with the door closed.

“I’m such a fool,” moaned Jack. Yet how could he have imagined such malice? He’d never done anything to those men. They were all thralls together, and their enemy should be the one who’d enslaved them.

“Is he getting chomped?” said Dirty Pants.

“I hope so, the little weasel, sitting up there at the high table with his lordship,” said Pig Face.

“Maybe we should rescue him,” said Lump. “Him being a kid and all.”

“Naw, once Golden Bristles starts something, you have to let him finish,” said Dirty Pants. “Besides, we don’t want witnesses.”

“Suppose you’re right,” said Lump.

Golden Bristles must be the name of the boar,thought Jack. It was a glorious name, but there was nothing glorious about the beast in his current condition. He was so covered with black filth, his body seemed cased in a suit of armor.

Bold Heart warbled from his position by the hole in the roof.

“I can’t fit through there,” said Jack. “And I can’t fly to it like you can, old friend. I’ll have to wait till someone comes looking for me.” Even as he said it, Jack’s heart sank. His arms ached from the effort of keeping his position. How could he endure it for hours? And would anyone think to look for him?

Bold Heart warbled again. It was an unusually sweet sound for a crow, and Jack had never heard the like of it. “What are you telling me? What are you telling him?” For Jack now saw that Golden Bristles had raised his muzzle and was watching the bird closely. “You likethat,” the boy said, wondering.

And then it came to him. Mother sang to calm the ewes and rams. She sang to the bees before taking their honey. She’d taught Jack this small magic, but it hadn’t seemed important to him. It was trivial compared with the knowledge the Bard had to impart.

Jack began with a charm to calm angry bees:

He went on with a lullaby to soothe newborn lambs and then, from somewhere, came a new song full of joy and life. He sang of the deep forest, of drifts of acorns under oaks, of dappled sunlight and wild leeks to unearth and savor. When he was finished, he felt light and happy, as though he himself had been running through the woods.

He looked down to see Golden Bristles grunting softly and gazing up at him with adoring eyes. The change in the brute was astounding. The sows, meanwhile, had finished their mustard and were snuffling about for more. They were soulless creatures, Jack decided. Not so Golden Bristles, who whuffled seductively. Plain as plain, the giant pig was saying, More.

So Jack sang another song, and all the while he edged along the rafter (thereby getting splinters in his backside) until he’d gone as far as possible. He wasn’t out of range yet, but he had a chance to run to the outer fence before Golden Bristles caught him.

Jack dropped to the floor. He fell wrong, and his feet slid out from under him. Instantly, he was back up, but Golden Bristles was faster. The boar bounded to the fence and stood between Jack and freedom.

The boy and the pig stared at each other. Then Golden Bristles came forward, panting and whuffling, his chin in the air, for all the world like a dog begging for attention. Carefully, Jack reached out and scratched the boar under the chin. Golden Bristles grunted.

“You’re an old softie,” Jack crooned as he did with the pigs back home. “You’d melt like butter if I did this.” He rubbed behind Golden Bristles’ ears. The boar’s eyes closed in ecstasy. “Well, well,” said Jack. “I think the thralls are in for a surprise.” He penned the sows and the boar into the clean sty and climbed out to open the barn door.

Pig Face, Dirty Pants, and Lump leaped back.

“You were singing,” said Dirty Pants. “What was that about?”

“You ain’t chomped,” said Pig Face disappointedly.

“No, I’m not.” Jack stood before them proudly, his hands on his hips.

“But I heard Golden Bristles scream,” muttered Pig Face.

Jack was seething with rage, but he didn’t intend to show it. He had other plans.

The thralls galumphed inside. “Hoo! It’s foul,” commented Lump.

“Not my fault,” said Pig Face. “The boar’s too fond of human meat by half. He’s a troll-boar. I’m not getting close to him.”

“You will if Olaf tells you,” said Dirty Pants.

“That’s what the new boy’s for. Hey, boy! Come in here. You haven’t done your job.”

Jack went in and deliberately leaned over the fence. Golden Bristles trotted to him and lifted his chin to be scratched. “Gooood piggy,” Jack crooned. The thralls’ eyes almost dropped out of their heads.

“Sei?er,”murmured Dirty Pants. “That’s what the singing was about.”

“So that’s why Heide was interested in him,” Lump whispered.

“This is skald’s magic, not sei?er,” announced Jack, who wasn’t entirely sure about it. “I’m a skald. I do not clean out pigsties.” He handed the rake to Lump, who took it automatically. “If you annoy me, I’ll make you come up in boils. If you try to hurt me, I’ll drive you insane—or worse!”

The thralls looked stunned. It was clear they were trying to figure out what “worse” could mean. “If I tell Olaf what you’ve just done, he’ll chop you into little bits.” The thralls’ white faces told Jack that this threat, at least, was entirely believable. “Now I’m going to the great hall for breakfast. I expect you to have the barn cleaned out by nightfall. And throw a few buckets of water over Golden Bristles. He’s not happy about being covered with muck.”

Jack strode out as if he were the captain of a drekar.He didn’t look back. He had little enough going for him in this horrible land. If he could bully the thralls into fearing him, so much the better. He owed them nothing.

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