Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. The Blue Star by Fletcher Pratt (best ebook reader under 100 .TXT) 📖
- Author: Fletcher Pratt
Book online «The Blue Star by Fletcher Pratt (best ebook reader under 100 .TXT) 📖». Author Fletcher Pratt
Lalette pressed Rodvard’s hand; the window closed, and they stood mute on the roof-edge, finger laced in finger, for it seemed a long time. From below in the court, voices floated up, clear as though they were only a few feet away, except that one could not make out words, only that Kaja’s tone was among the rest. Lalette drew him to her and whispered; “We must go back through before she returns,” and began to lead to where they had crossed the gap. She was clearly right, they had no future there, the roof where they were had no break, was only the side of the building, which went to its peak at the front as well as the back.
The return, with its repetition of peril already overcome, was worse than the passage. Rodvard had to stand on the very edge of the gutter to swing back. Lalette followed lightly. By the time he had reached the window of the dressing-room, worked it open with one hand, and had a leg across the sill, he dared look down—and saw what might have made them earlier hesitate about making a return, namely a blue provost standing watchfully under the lamp at the street entrance, while two or three figures more were moving about. But like most searchers, they never looked aloft.
“Where?” whispered Lalette as they stood in the room, and he:
“We dare not leave the building now. Even if they were not below, the doorman will be awake. Have you seen anyone else here?”
“I have been a prisoner.”
“Then we must try at random whether it is true, as the priests say, that not all men are evil.”
Crossing the outer room, hand in hand in the dark, Rodvard stumbled against a chair, swore softly, and they both laughed under breath. A board creaked, so did the hinges of the outer door, and they were going down, each in turn tripping a little at the short end of the steps where the stairway turned. By unspoken mutual agreement, they tiptoed past the door of the outer apartment of the fifth and to that at the rear of the house. Rodvard gathered his breath and knocked.
6NIGHT AND DAY; THE PLACE OF MASKS
No step sounded, but as they stood close to catch any stir, a clear, childish treble came muffled through the wood:
“What is it?”
Rodvard squeezed Lalette’s hand. “I cannot tell you from here,” she said with her mouth close to the door, “but we need help. Will you let us in?”
Pause, in which a chain rattled. “In the name and protection of the God of Love, enter,” and the door melted before them into a darkness different because it held shapes. “Stand there till I make a light,” said the young voice. “You must be careful not to break things.”
There was a small sound of fumbling, flint and steel clicked and the candle came slowly into light on a scene that made Rodvard and Lalette both almost cry out, for the small room seemed crowded with people; princes and queens with coronets, richly and gaily dressed, beggars in rags of silk, yellow warriors with ram-horn helmets, Zigraners with want-chins and sliding eyes and all other fantasies of human shape, so life-like in the uncertain gleam that it was an eye-flick before they could be recognized as festival masquerades. In the midst of them a smooth-haired boy of it might be anywhere from twelve to sixteen stood bowing gravely in his night-hose, candle held at arm’s length.
“I am glad to see you,” he said. “My name is Laduis Domijaiek.”
It was a good name for them, from the northwestern provinces, where Queen and Florestan were least popular. Said Rodvard; “We are pursued by the city provosts because a court lord wishes harm to this lady. Will you help her get away?”
The boy looked at Lalette, cocking his head on one side, as though listening to a distant voice. “Yes,” he said. “My heart says it is right and we must always listen to the heart. Besides, we don’t like the provosts.”
“Thank you,” said Lalette. “Where are your parents?”
“Father is in another world, and mother’s at the Marquis of Palm’s palace to make the costumes for the spring festival. She’s going to stay all night and she told me I must go to bed. But this is more fun.” He looked at Lalette again, and his eyes widened suddenly. “Oh, are you the witch? Witch something for me.”
In spite of her situation, Lalette smiled. “Aren’t you afraid it would hurt you?”
“Oh, no. We are Amorosians, and so witches can’t hurt anything but our outsides. I’m not supposed to tell anybody that, only the provosts are after you, too, so it’s all right.”
From outside came the sound of feet, tramp, tramp, on the stair, and distant voices. “They are going to search,” said Rodvard. “Laduis, the lady will come back and witch something for you another day, but just now we must get her away from the provosts. Is there any way out of this house except by the main stair?”
The boy was all seriousness. “Not from this floor, Ser. I used to go down the drain-pipe from Ser Tetteran’s quarter, but that was when I was thirteen and it isn’t dignified.”
“Then we must hide her.” Rodvard’s eye darted round the small room, took in the door to that still smaller, where beds must be. “The masks; can you help us into some of these?”
Laduis Domijaiek clapped his hands, and they set to work—for Lalette a Kjermanash princess, whose billowing imitation furs would hide the trimness of her figure; a hunchback Zigraner moneylender for Rodvard, with a bag of brass-plated scudi. Her dress had to come off, but the boy took it to hang with his mother’s and came back to help Rodvard adjust the face-mask as furniture was moved overhead. The thumping came to an end, there was the sound of feet on the stairs once more, Rodvard and Lalette squeezed past the ghostly figures at the front of the assembled masks, and the boy blew out the candle.
Bang! “The Queen’s warrant!” said a voice outside. “Open!”
Rodvard could hear the boy’s feet go pad, pad, on the floor from the bedroom, acting his part in all detail. “What is it?”
“Queen’s warrant; we’re looking for an assassin.”
Chain rattled. Through the eye-peeps of the mask, Rodvard could see the priest in the light of the provost’s lantern, and held his breath.
“My mother is not here.”
“We don’t need her. Stand aside.” Rodvard stood rigid, cursing himself for a fool to have put on this Zigraner guise with its bag of false coins that might jingle. “By the Service, the whole assembly’s here.” The priest held high his amulet; this was the moment of test, but it passed so lightly there might have been no test at all. The provost raised his lantern; “Anybody call on you tonight, sprout?”
“I was asleep, ser provost.”
The man grunted, light flickered as he went into the bedroom, there was a thud as though he might be kicking something, and he came back into the sweep of sight, a naked shortsword showing in his hand. “Not there,” he said. “Ah, bah, she’s a witch and has spirited herself to the Green Islands. But I’ll have my revenge.” He swung his sword at the neck of a yellow-armored Mayern fighting man, and Rodvard heard the head crack to the floor as the boy cried; “Oh, no.” The provost; “Three scudi reward for a foeman down. Tell your mother I saved you from a villain. Hark, now; open your door this night to none more; an order in Her Majesty’s name.”
The door banged to leave it dark for those within and feet retreated beyond. Rodvard stirred cramped muscles. “Will they come back?” Lalette’s voice whispered.
The candle lifted slowly into light. Laduis Domijaiek was on one knee beside the fallen head, whose nose was broken off. The eyes that looked up held tears.
“That man killed Baron Mondaifer,” he said, fiercely, “and I would like to kill him, too.”
Lalette slipped off her head-mask and ran a hand across her hair, looking very princess with her dark head against the white Kjermanash fur. “A true sorrow and it is our fault,” she said. “Do you have names for them all?”
“Oh, yes. You are the Princess Sunimaa, and she’s always getting into trouble because it’s cold where she comes from, and her heart is all ice, and the others don’t like her except for Bonsteg the beggar, who is really a prince in disguise, only she doesn’t know it yet. But Baron Mondaifer was one of my favorites. He’s from Mayern, you see, and he’s always lived in the forest, even if he is in favor of Prince Pavinius, and thinks he’s still a good prophet.”
Said Rodvard, undoing laces to get out of his Zigraner dress; “Your mother will get someone to fix him and bring him back to life.”
“No. His spirit’s gone away to another body, like father’s and now there isn’t anything left but dust. If mother has a new head made, I shall have to give it a different name.”
The boy looked at Rodvard solemnly, and though the Blue Star was cold as cold upon his breast, he could not somehow draw quite clear the thought behind those young candid eyes—something about a place shrouded in clouds, an old house somewhere, with a diffused golden light. Weariness slit his jaws into a yawn. “There is a place where we can sleep?”
IIThey had to take his mother’s bed, not meant for more than one, so that for the first time they lay close wrapped in each other’s arms with a night before them; and this, with the sharp memory of the peril shared on the rooftops hand in hand, was a little more than either could quite bear unmoved, even though the boy was in a corner of the room. They began kissing and holding each other very tight; presently deep breaths said Laduis was asleep. She did not resist (nor desire to). Afterward, Rodvard lay for a long time wakeful (thinking that this had been the sobbing, true union, not an arranged accident like that under the tree; they had pledged each other and were somehow one forever. Now he was committed, and there was a deep harsh sweetness in the thought of devotion and change, live and love, forgetting all ambition, high destiny and even the Sons of the New Day that had brought him to this.)
Of course lark and Laduis rose before them in the morn; the first the pair heard was a double rap at the outer door and the boy’s voice saying; “Mother, we have guests.”
Rodvard rolled out to make the best bow he could with half his laces still undone, and saw a small woman of careworn aspect and maybe thirty-five years, who had just set a heavy basket on the floor. “Madame Domijaiek, I am your humble servant, Rodvard Bergelin. Your son took my—sweetheart and myself in last night to save us from distress.”
“Mother, I listened to the voice of the heart, as you said,” piped the boy. “They are good. Besides a provost came and broke Baron Mondaifer.”
“It is well done, son.” She placed a hand protectingly on his shoulder. “Ser, I am glad that Laduis could help you. Have you breakfasted?”
“I left some of my bread and cheese for them, mother. The lady is a witch.”
Rodvard saw the woman’s face alter, and her eyes, which had held only a mild questioning, were taken away from him. She fumbled in her belt-purse. “Laduis,” she said, “will you get another piotr-weight of millet from the shop at the market-square?”
Lalette came from the bedroom, looking only by the half as delightful as Rodvard’s night memory painted her; curtsied and said straightly; “Madame, I am in your benevolence and honor, so now no concealments. I am Lalette Asterhax, the veritable witch on whom the provosts have set a price, and if my being here will trouble you, I’ll leave on the instant. But I swear I have done nothing for which I might truly fear from a just God.”
Doubt melted from Dame Domijaiek’s face; she reached out both hands to take the two of the girl’s, saying; “My dear, I could not let you go from here into danger, for that would not be love. But as for your witchery, we are also told that if one live in the true world, the outer appearance of evil on all of us, shall have no force. Each must find his own way to love. Now you shall tell me the whole story, while I set forth something to eat.”
The girl gave it all fairly, hiding nothing, as they munched on bread and cheese and pickled onions. When she had
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