the goat before I popped ‘im over the side.”
“Almost everything?”
“Not the barrow. I know it’s yer father’s, but it was too heavy. We’ll swap for it when we’re done.”
The wagon hit a bump and jolted them both.
“Didn’t Dyslan try and stop you or attempt to talk Natalenya out of it?”
“Oh, him.” Garth yawned. “Nothin’ but a slinky fish. Knocked the wind out o’ him with me head an’ pushed ‘im into the hay trough.”
“You didn’t!”
“Did so. Workin’ boys are stouter’n those, those —”
“Fly catchers?”
“That’s it.”
Merlin sat back, thinking about what had just happened. He reached out his hand and felt the softness of the stuffed leather seat and the smoothness of the wooden rails. Something seemed odd about Garth’s account, but he couldn’t think of a reason to doubt Garth, and he wasn’t going back to check. Though why would Natalenya help them? He had just hit her brother on the head.
Another thought entered his mind. Would Rondroc report him to Tregeagle now? The magister was also the judge for the eastern side of the moor.
Maybe Natalenya would straighten things out. Or maybe not.
“Garth, promise me you’re telling the truth.”
“I promise.”
Merlin let himself relax. “It certainly makes our job easier. We can get the charcoal in one trip.”
“An’ yer father’ll make the braces faster for the abbey. This morning Kifferow told me to hurry up ‘cause he’s runnin’ out o’ nails too.”
“Does he have the roof up?”
“He’s workin’ on it, but it looked kind o’ wobbly to me.”
“Too bad about our horse … If his hoof pad wasn’t swollen, my father wouldn’t have run out of coal.”
“Merlin?” Garth asked.
“Yes.”
“I’m glad we are.”
“What?”
“Gettin’ coal. Together,” Garth said. “Gettin’ to know you this past month’s been fun.”
Merlin tousled Garth’s hair.
They descended a hill and soon arrived in the valley, where the rushing of the Fowaven grew louder, swollen as it was by the spring rains. The wooden bridge echoed the clopping of the horses’ hooves, and it groaned under their weight. The wagon slowed as the horses trod up the opposite hillside, so Garth kept the reins cracking while they wound back and forth up the incline.
At the crest, the trees thickened, the shade grew dense, and the coolness felt refreshing on Merlin’s face. A bird chirped as it flew across the path, darting from tree to tree. The scent of moss and mushrooms filled his senses, along with dewy flowers and ever-fragrant pines.
“Didn’t know it was so nice up here,” Garth said.
“I wish we had a forest over the whole mountain. Can you smell it?”
Garth sniffed the air. “Mmm … Sure, but I smell somethin’ different!” He took a deeper whiff. “Someone’s roastin’ meat!”
Merlin raised his nose and inhaled again. “Now I smell it.”
“The juice must be jus’ drippin’ off the spit.”
“That’s funny,” Merlin said. “No one lives around here. Where’s it coming from?”
“A bit o’ smoke’s floatin’ from the trees to the left … somewhere in the woods. Must be lots o’ meat roastin’.”
“The only thing off that direction, I think, is the old circle of stones. But no one goes there anymore.”
“I’d take a big hunk right now if I could —”
“No. We need to get the charcoal.”
The woods thickened even more, and ancient oaks cast shadows across the path. Garth’s stomach gurgled so loudly that Merlin could tell the boy was still thinking about the roasting meat.
“Be on the lookout,” Merlin said. “It’s a trail off to the right. My father and I come here often, so I know the route, but I’d probably never find it on my own.”
Soon they arrived at the track, and Garth steered the horses down the ruts. After a little while they rolled into the large clearing where the char-man kept hills of buried, smoldering wood. The transaction was short: three screpallow coins bought them a full load of cooled charcoal for the wagon box, which they had to load themselves using wooden shovels. Their stack of items to deliver, along with the goat and chicken, had to be moved up front.
When they’d finished the task, Garth turned the wagon around, and it bumped back up the hill.
“Hey … the goat’s eating my tunic!” Merlin yelled. He tried to push its head away, but it kept shaking free and nipping more of the linen into its mouth. The chicken fussed at Merlin’s feet and pecked at his boots. “Tell me again why we didn’t drop them off on the way?”
“Here.” Garth pulled the goat’s head away with the rope. “I wish I