Free Guardians of Ga'Hoole 03 - The Rescue by authors_sort Page A

but possibly many.
    “Did you know about the murder of the Barred Owl of The Beaks?” Twilight asked.
    “I heard a thing or two about it. I don’t go poking into things that ain’t my business. Not my way.” Soren rememberedwhat Bubo had said about rogue smiths never attaching themselves to any kingdom.
    “Where’s your forge?” Gylfie asked looking around.
    “Not here.”
    This is one tough owl, thought Soren. Almost like she’s not used to talking. But then Digger had said she could swear like nobody’s business. Used words that he had never even heard Bubo use. That was something—an owl who could out-curse Bubo. Although the owl hadn’t said that much, there was something oddly familiar in her tone. Soren couldn’t place it, however.
    “Well, may I be so bold as to ask where your forge is?” Gylfie persisted. Good for you, Gylf. This was one of the advantages of being small, Soren thought. No one ever expected you to be bold or aggressive.
    “Yonder!” The smith turned her head and indicated somewhere behind her shoulder.
    “Might we see it?” Gylfie took a tiny step forward. The black Snowy towered over her, looked down and blinked.
    “Why?”
    “Because we’re interested. We’ve never seen a rogue smith’s forge before.”
    The Snowy paused as if to consider if this was an adequate reason. “It ain’t fancy like Bubo’s.”
    “That doesn’t matter,” Twilight said. “Do we lookfancy?” Twilight puffed himself up. The inverted curves of white feathers that swept from his brow framed his eyes and beak and made his fierce glare even fiercer. He looked anything but fancy.
    The black Snowy turned to Gylfie. “You’re small to be out here with this bunch of hooligans.”
    “We’re not hooligans, ma’am,” Gylfie replied.
    “Why’d you call me that?” The smith glared at Gylfie but the Elf Owl stood her ground firmly and met the blazing yellow gaze.
    Uh-oh, thought Soren. This bird does not like being called ma’am. Soren remembered what Bubo had said about the rogue smiths being loners. How had Bubo put it? They likes living wild. Being called ma’am—or sir, for that matter, if it were a male—would prick their gizzards.
    “We aren’t hooligans. We are a band. Soren here is like a brother to me. We escaped from St. Aggie’s together. Shortly after we escaped, we met up with Twilight and Digger. Soon we shall have our Guardian ceremony and become true Guardians of Ga’Hoole.” Gylfie turned and swept her wing toward the three other owls who seemed almost spellbound by her words. “And I called you ‘ma’am’ because underneath all that coal dust, I know there is a beautiful Snowy. As beautiful as the most beautiful Snowy of the great tree, Madame Plonk.”
    At that, the smith seemed to choke and then tears began to leak from her eyes. That’s it! That’s who the smith reminded Soren of. The tone of her voice, it was the same melodic sound, the same pling that he heard in Madame Plonk’s voice each night when she sang the “Night Is Done” song.
    “How did you guess I was Brunwella’s sister?”
    “You mean Madame Plonk? Is that her name?” Soren asked.
    “Yes. Come, follow me to the forge, young’uns. I’ll tell you the story. I have some fresh voles. Mind you, I don’t roast them here like you do in the Great Tree.”
    “Don’t worry,” Soren said. “I fly weather and colliering with Ezylryb—or did—and we always have to take our meat raw.”
    “Oh, yes. I heard about Ezylryb. No sign of him yet?”
    “No,” said Soren sadly as they flew the short distance to the forge.
    “Dear old fellow. We go back, way back.”
    Soren wondered what the Snowy meant by that? Well, perhaps they would soon find out.
    “What is this?” Digger asked as the band lighted down in the stone ruins. There were two-and-a-half walls of ancient stone that had been neatly stacked upon one another.Old vines crawled over them and in the center was the pit where the smith had