Free The Giants' Dance by Robert Carter Page B

you?’
    â€˜He looks like a man what’s footsore and road-weary to me. And properly in need of a drop of my best ale – if you’ll take the hint, my son.’
    â€˜That is very kind,’ Gwydion said.
    â€˜And a jar of ale for the young feller too, I’d guess?’
    The Plough’s big, black mastiff dog came out to seewhat the excitement was. Being fond of dogs, Will put out an open palm to help it decide he was more friend than foe. It sniffed at his feet, then began to lick his toes.
    â€˜It’s a big, old dog you have here,’ Will said. ‘Maybe you should put some water out for him.’
    â€˜Pack that up, Bolt!’ Duffred called, pulling on the dog’s iron collar. ‘Out in the yard with you. Go on, now.’
    Will grinned and shook Dimmet’s huge, freckled hand.
    â€˜Glad to meet you.’
    â€˜They call me Will.’
    â€˜Do they now? Then, we shall have to do the same.’
    â€˜He don’t recall you,’ Duffred said impishly from the taps. ‘Cider still more to your taste than ale, is it?’
    Will nodded vigorously, pleased to be recognized after so long.
    â€˜I never forgets a face!’ Dimmet touched a finger to his chin. ‘Wait a bit! Are you not the young lad who came here that time Master Gwydion led our horse, Bessie, off on some business or another up by Nadderstone?’
    â€˜That’s it.’
    â€˜You see! I never do forget a face. Though you was a mere lad then, and not so filled out. Must have been all of five or six year ago.’
    â€˜I hope Bessie got back safe to you.’
    â€˜That she did.’ Duffred set down two tankards. ‘She was fetched back by a man in my Lord of Ebor’s livery as I recall.’
    â€˜Always happy to render Master Gwydion a service if I can.’ Dimmet glanced shrewdly at the wizard. ‘And in return he’ll often put a good word on my vats, or he makes sure my thatch don’t catch fire.’
    Duffred tugged at his father’s sleeve and said, lowering his voice, ‘You might think to tell them about the odd one who’s been sat in the snug all day.’
    Will looked sharply to Gwydion, knowing it was not usually possible to get into the snug.
    â€˜Easy, Will,’ Gwydion said, as if reading his mind. ‘The Sightless Ones do not agree with the drinking of wine or ale. Nor would Dimmet here take kindly to one of them poking his nose in at the Plough, much less getting into his snug.’
    â€˜Oh, yes,’ Dimmet said. ‘He’s a shifty one. Got wilted primroses on his hat, though I don’t know where he got them. Said he wanted “privacy”, if you please!’
    Dimmet’s eyes rolled as he made the last remark. The last reason anyone would come to the Plough, Will thought, was to be alone. He looked to Gwydion again in puzzlement, but then followed the wizard into the passageway and along a swept stone floor that was so footworn it shone.
    They passed a great oaken table that was stacked with platters and bowls as if a celebration had only just been cleared away. In the middle was a trencher decked with flowers and a large pig’s head with a red apple in its mouth. The head seemed to be grinning. It reminded Will of Lord Strange.
    When they came to the great empty hearth with its stone chimney and inglenooks on either side, Gwydion paused and raised his arms. Then he muttered words and laid a spell on the little room that lay behind the chimney breast.
    â€˜What are you doing?’ Will mouthed, suddenly anxious about what might be lying in wait for them inside.
    The wizard looked around, then whispered, ‘Calling down a defence against eavesdroppers.’ Then he ushered Will through the hidden entrance.
    The snug was cool and dark, for it was summer and the little grate was empty. The only light came from a small window and the polished oak boards that made it seem like a ship’s cabin