Keeping the Castle - By Patrice Kindl Page 0,29
my forehead. Fashionable or no, it was beginning to seem a great inconvenience. I wondered how soldiers could bear wearing the great, heavy things, in addition to all the other hardships of military life.
As we neared our goal, several intensely green patches surrounding what appeared to be small ponds became visible. I pointed them out to Lord Boring, who had shown an amiable tendency to ride alongside me the whole way, slowing his horse’s pace to match Pegeen’s.
“It looks like a good spot to water the horses,” he observed.
“That is what I feared you might think, my lord,” I replied. “And it is a dangerous idea, I am sorry to say. They are not shallow ponds but rather flooded mine shafts which drop off immediately to a depth of sixty or so feet. A thin mat of vegetation fringes the rim, giving the false impression of solid ground over what is really a subaquatic void. It is a shocking dereliction of responsibility on the part of the mine owners not to cover them. A stranger to the area such as yourself might allow his horse to wade in for a drink and quite likely neither horse nor man would ever be seen again. But few strangers venture here, and so I suppose they think their laxity justified.”
“I see,” he said, smiling. “How fortunate I am to have your advice and guidance before exploring on my own. May I add,” he went on in a lower tone, leaning towards me to speak words meant for me alone, “that I could wish that I might always enjoy that benefit.”
I was silent for a moment, waiting—we seemed close to a declaration and a formal proposal of marriage—but he said nothing further. I therefore responded demurely, “I am always pleased to be of service to a neighbor,” and continued, “Another such flooded pit lies quite close to the Screaming Stones. It is not safe to approach on foot or on horseback. Perhaps you could ride ahead and warn the others, before someone tumbles in.”
“Yes indeed,” he said, and urged his horse on to catch up with the others. It obeyed with alacrity, no doubt glad to break out into a trot, instead of the slow amble that Pegeen’s age and infirmities forced upon us.
The stones were now visible, standing up on the brow of a hill in relief against the sky, like the teeth of some monstrous carnivore. Tho’ we have become so enlightened and sophisticated in this modern age, the primitive monument still had the power to halt the whole party in its tracks, allowing me to catch them up.
At this moment a gust of wind blew across the moor and played amongst the monoliths, which were long boulders stood on end pointing skywards, an expression of pre-Christian religious beliefs. A high, piping sound began to be heard, which within moments deepened into a lugubrious wolf’s howl. The horses, independently of their riders’ direction, bunched together in a defensive position, their nostrils flaring, testing the wind for danger. Even my stepsisters fell silent.
“Egad,” said the Marquis, impressed. “D’you suppose the fellows that set these stones in place knew what a racket they would make?”
“I often think that they wanted to give the wind a voice,” said Mama softly.
“Well, dear lady, it appears that the wind has some beastly unpleasant things to say,” said the Marquis, laughing uneasily.
“It fair makes my skin crawl,” agreed Lord Boring. “What a singularly desolate place this is.”
As if in agreement, the pitch of the stones’ complaint rose into a scream. I was beginning to regret my suggestion that we make this destination our object. Certainly it was hardly the right atmosphere for romantic dalliance.
Prudence, evidently thinking it incumbent upon her to depress the spirits of the party still further, remarked, “I am always reminded by these awe-inspiring stones of the dreadful hand of Death”—Prudence could be reminded of the dreadful hand of Death by such varied events as a tradesman’s call, a broken fingernail, or a skylark singing out on the moor—“and of Horace’s lines: ‘Years, following years, steal something every day; / At last they steal us from ourselves away.’”
“Thank you, Prudence,” I said.
Mr. Fredericks, alone of the gentlemen, had said nothing, and I looked at him to observe his reaction. His eyes, I noted with foreboding, were alight with speculation and interest.
“I don’t know—it’s jolly interesting. I wonder how they raised those monstrous big stones up without a block and tackle,” he said. “And what keeps