Free A Dusk of Demons by John Christopher

“Are you in trouble because of us?”
    â€œMother Ryan will get the General to help you,” I said.
    I looked for her, but Joe shook his head. “No trouble. All’s well. I brought Sheriff Wilson across this morning, and he paid me for it. Paid me well. He’s not usually so generous.”
    â€œThe Sheriff?” I said, and was alarmed. The days of imprisonment and isolation, of sitting opposite him at the table in an atmosphere of silent menace, came sharply back. “Here—on the mainland?”
    â€œNay, more than that. Here, in this courthouse place. Along with the General. And it’s you they wants to see, young Ben, both on ’em. I was told you’d be coming down with the main party and put to watch for you.”
    My alarm was heightened by a sense of being trapped. Both of them? Joe said, “I went back to the isle first, to see to things. When I next landed on Sheriff’s, his men were waiting on the quay. He didn’t ask where I’d been or what I’d been about.” Joe shook his head. “He knew just where you were and told me he wanted taking there. I had my doubts at first, but he swore no harm was intended ye. Swore it on the Dark One. He were altogether pleasant, which surprised me somewhat. But how did he know—where you were, I mean? That’s the puzzle of it. Anyway, I can vouch he’s in a better temper. You’d better do as he wants and go on inside and see him, all the same. Important men don’t care to be kept waiting, and it don’t cost much to humor them. Paddy’ll keep me company while ye’re about whatever ye’re about.”
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    The General was wearing his uniform: royal blue with gold buttons, a high silver collar, and silver markings on the sleeves. Sheriff Wilson had a dark-blue shirt and trousers under his crimson cloak. I felt drab and insignificant in my shapeless gray tunic.
    Despite Joe’s reassurance, my apprehensionincreased as the guard ushered me into the General’s office. It was a big room, with a floor of alternating black and white squares of polished stone on which footsteps echoed disconcertingly, and a long table set out with miniature figures of soldiers in a scene of battle. There was also a large desk, behind which sat the General in a leather armchair, which he swiveled to look at me. On the other side, the Sheriff was in a smaller chair that did not swivel, so he had to turn his head. The affable smile was back on his face. I knew better than to trust it, but even an untrustworthy smile was more reassuring than a frown.
    The General was smiling, too. I advanced warily, bowing to him first. He said, in his soft, faint voice: “Sheriff Wilson has something to tell you, Ben.” He indicated an empty chair next to the Sheriff’s.
    I said, “I’ll stand, sir, thank you.”
    â€œIt’s good to see you again, Ben,” the Sheriff said, and nodded amiably. “I can see you are being well looked after. But I’m sure you will be glad to be back in your homeland.” I looked at him in disbelief, and he went on, “There has been an unhappy misunderstanding. It appears Summoner Hawkinsmisinterpreted the intention of the Demons.”
    A joke, I wondered? But although he was smiling, he was scarcely a joking man. He said, “The Demons did not burn your father’s house in anger. It was done rather as a mark of respect to one who had been a faithful servant of the Dark One. The house was sacred to his memory, not to be used or dwelt in by any other. It is more proper to build a new house for the new Master—for you, Ben.”
    I stared in utter incredulity.
    â€œWe have already put workmen to clearing the rubble. A house will be built on Old Isle to your directions. Meanwhile, you will be given accommodation on Sheriff’s that befits your status.”
    It had to be a trick. The General,