White Eyes (part four)

Chapter Three: The Secret Life of Pegasus

By early evening, John still had not returned. Morgan set about cooking dinner, with the little expertise she had. Rummaging through the many store-cupboards in their kitchen, Morgan found a large cooking pot and tossed in everything she could find. A few tomatoes, a leg of salted pork, several sticks of celery, eight potatoes and a carrot – all went in the pot, without so much as a sniff or a ceremonious preparation. Morgan peered over the rim of the pot and eyed her work. It was missing something. It took her a while to realise that there was no water. Never one to hesitate, she fetched a bucket from her father’s carpentry shed and set off down the road.

It did not take her long to reach the old well, and after filling the wooden bucket to the brim she started to lug it off back home. It took her much longer this time, and half of it was spilled on the road and over her dress. But Morgan did not let the fact dishearten her, and, reaching the house, she tipped the whole thing into the pot.

Morgan then fetched a stack of wood from her father’s shed and arranged the pieces neatly in her crumbling little fireplace. She then lugged the heavy pot off the kitchen bench (the weight of it almost forced her to her knees) and with a final Herculean effort, hitched it onto the rusted iron hook that nestled in the ceiling of the hearth. Dusting her hands smartly on her sopping and soot-covered tunic, Morgan came to the most difficult task yet: lighting the fire.

Matches would have been a great help in this situation, but Morgan had none, and she had no idea where her father kept his flint and steel. Before she began looking for them, however, she left the house and started foraging for bracken and dry leaves and twigs to help get the fire started. She did not know much about fire-building, but that much she did know.

Re-entering the house, she piled the lot on top of her pyramid of wood and began looking for her father’s flint and steel. It turned out that they were not to hard to find – they were laid in a handy position on a low shelf in her father’s woodshed. Morgan carried them triumphantly back into the kitchen and set about making them work.

It was much harder than she had anticipated. For the first thirty minutes or so, she had trouble even making a tiny spark, let alone a proper flame.

Morgan had been labouring away at this work for at least three hours before her father returned. He looked very tired, and more worried than when she had last seen him, but he was at least home, and looking oddly satisfied. After offering his daughter a hug and a warm smile, he gently took his tools from her and, to Morgan’s complete astonishment and indignation, he had a fire going in less than a minute.

It took a long time for their dinner to boil, but when it did it was surprisingly good.

“Morgan,” said her father in amazement when he tasted it, “how did you make this? It is very good.”

Morgan shrugged modestly and blew softly on her helping, willing it to cool down.

“I just put in everything I could find.”

John shot an alarmed look at her.

“Everything?” he asked. Morgan nodded. “Even – God forbid – even my year’s worth salted pork?”

Morgan experienced a horrible sinking feeling. She did not want to lie, but she did not tell the complete truth either.

“I don’t know, Father,” she said, not looking at him. “As I said, I just put in everything I could find.”

John sighed.

“Oh, Morgan.” He looked down at his soup regretfully for a moment, and then continued gulping it down. “Well, whether or not you put in my pork or not, this is good enough to warrant forgiveness.”

Morgan grinned.

The morning dawned bright and cheery, and Morgan awoke feeling very well-rested. Treading quietly through the house, she entered the dining room and immediately saw the crumpled little note on the low wooden table. With a growing feeling of dread, Morgan advanced towards it and scooped it up. What did she expect to read? Dear Morgan, I have left you forever? Morgan, I have left with the two dark travellers?

But the real letter said nothing like it. Morgan had to squint to read her father’s cramped, hurried handwriting, but the message was quite clear.

Dearest Morgan

I will be away for the day. I have an arranged meeting with some friends who live by East Bridge, and we are to be dealing for the whole day. I will return late at night.

I have left you some money if you need to buy anything, and there are a few vegetables and pieces of meat and bread that you can use.

With my fondest love, and hoping that you do not get yourself into any kind of trouble,

Father

Morgan sighed, and crumpled the little piece of piece of paper into a ball in the palm of her hand. She believed that her father would keep to his word – that he would return late at night – but she did wish that he might stay at home. She did not like being left alone for the period of a whole day. It was not because she was scared, but rather because it left her with an empty sensation in her chest – she thought it was called loneliness. And now her very own father was leaving her, to deal with a couple of carpenters over by East Bridge. Such a long way away. She was not likely to see him again until early morning the next day.

Morgan’s attitude brightened considerably when she realized that she had the whole day to herself. Smiling, she scampered out of the kitchen and down the road, her bad mood completely obliterated for the time being.

She halted, thinking, at the Charicadd Town junction. Elnari tree, or town square?

It turned out that her decision was made for her. At that moment she heard footsteps approaching, and scrambled up her tree as fast as she could go. After the kidnapping of her mother, Morgan had resolved to be much more cautious.

Soon she spotted the feet that had been making the footfalls, and more importantly, she saw the person.

Pegasus the scroll boy was ambling down the road, burdened by a heavy pack he bore upon his hunched back. Despite the apparent weight, he seemed in quite good spirits. He was singing, but Morgan had to strain her ears to hear him.

“O! Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum

A pirate’s life for me.”

He was not a great singer, but the words were unmistakable. Morgan stifled her laughter with a fist and watched Peg’s figure receding into the distance, his atrocious voice fading as he went.

Morgan waited a while before starting to climb down again. As she had nothing better to do, she had decided to follow him. In her haste, however, she had not heard the other set of footsteps, and Argo was beneath her before she had a chance to hide herself. He was puffing and out of breath. Halting for a moment as he regained his breath, he happened to look up and find that he was underneath the very tree he had climbed the other day. Before he had a chance to run off in terror, however, he happened to glance a little further up, and there his eyes froze. Right there, exactly where he had been, was the impudent little girl from Old Dirt Lane. Transfixed, the two of them stared horrified into each other’s eyes, each appalled at the other’s position, though each for very different reasons.

Morgan was wishing to the heavens that Argo was standing anywhere else in the world – anywhere but here, standing beneath her, discovering her long kept, deep secret – the Elnari tree.

Argo was, firstly, indignant that this puny midget was standing with such ease where he had had such trouble the other day. Secondly, he was horrified. No matter what this girl had done to him, he did not want her to be eaten alive by the malicious tree Sprite that lived there. She did not even seem to know her peril.

Finding his voice, Argo shouted urgently up at her.

“Get down! Get down! You don’t know how much danger you’re in!”

Shaking herself out of her horrified trance, Morgan glanced around her. Seeing no enemies, she stared quizzically at the boy.

“What danger?”

“Just trust me! Get down. Please.” Argo seemed to be in earnest.

Morgan still looked incredulous.

“Not until you tell me my danger.”

Argo blushed.

“You’ll think it’s stupid.”

“Why would I …” Morgan started, and then stopped dead. She knew what he was talking about – and it almost made her burst with laughter. “Oh,” she said aloud. “I know what you are talking about.” She touched her index finger to the side of her nose knowingly.

“No!” shouted Argo, “No! You don’t know! You are really in a dangerous situation. Come down!”

Morgan smiled at him with an annoyingly smug expression. In his terror, Argo thought he heard a rustling behind her in the tree, and with a cry, he sank to his knees and covered his eyes. This was the end. She was done for. He waited for the malicious laughter of the Sprite, the poor girl’s scream …

When no noise came, he looked up warily, trembling. Morgan stood where she had been standing before, pretending not to have noticed him at all, picking her nails casually.

Argo felt his ears go red.

“What?” he said fiercely, trying to cover up his embarrassment.

Morgan looked at him suddenly, as if only just noticing his presence. She smirked.

“Your face. Honestly, what are you on about? The Sprite will only attack if she doesn’t like you. Otherwise, you’re dead. Unless, of course, you don’t have enough meat on you.” She eyed Argo sceptically. “In which case, I suppose you would be safe.” She grinned as Argo blushed deeper still. “But I’ve noticed something. I’ve noticed that she has a taste for boys. I’ve seen many more boys consumed by her fiery wrath that I’ve seen girls.”

Argo’s expression was horrified.

“You’ve actually seen …?”

“Of course I have. WHAT DO YOU THINK, DIMWIT?”

The sudden outburst startled Argo, and he jumped visibly.

Morgan went back to picking her nails.

“Of course I haven’t. There is no Sprite, you idiot. I can’t believe I fooled you.” Seeing Argo’s uncomprehending face, she smiled. “Sprite, huh? What a joke.”

“But there was one. I saw it. It almost ate me.”

“But, let me guess – it didn’t, because you convinced it that you were just skin and bones.”

Argo blushed and threw her a peculiar look.

“Yes,” he admitted. “How do you know?”

“Because I was the Sprite, you dummy. I wanted to scare you off because – because I did not want to have to say sorry for beating you.”

Argo looked furious.

“But – that – you’re so bizarre …”

“Thank you. I accept the compliment.”

“No, I mean … you didn’t want to have to say sorry?”

“No, I didn’t. I didn’t know how you would take it.”

“Well, now you do. Happy?” Argo set off down the road at a swift gait.

Morgan leaped from the platform without a second thought.

“Argo, you complete git!”

Argo turned and strode back angrily.

“You dare …?”

“Yes, I dare!” Morgan was only up to about his shoulder, but she did not back down, nor wither under his intimidating glare. Eventually, Argo looked away and seemed to shrink a couple of inches. Without another word, he turned on his heel and set a fast pace down the road. Morgan followed without a word. Every so often Argo would look back over his shoulder hopefully, but all he ever saw was a very resolute little girl striving to keep up to his cracking pace.

After a while Morgan began to notice a soft sound floating through the air back at them. Argo kept up the pace but quieted his footsteps somewhat. Morgan could practically see his ears straining to catch the words of the song – as song it clearly was. Morgan had less trouble. Before long she could make it out with ease.

“Fifteen men on a dead man’s chest …”