Free Cart and Cwidder by Diana Wynne Jones Page B

he?”
    â€œThere probably is, if it belonged to Osfameron,” Kialan observed in a matter-of-fact way.
    â€œDon’t be silly! It can’t be that old!” Moril protested.
    â€œOsfameron lived not quite two hundred years ago,” said Kialan, and he really seemed to know. “He was born the same year as King Labbard died, so it can’t be more than that. A cwidder’d surely last as long as that if you took care of it. Why, we’ve—I’ve seen one that’s four hundred years old—though, mind you, it looks ready to drop apart if you breathed on it.”
    Moril cast another look, even more apprehensive, at the quiet, prosperous shape of the old cwidder. “It can’t be!” he said.
    â€œWell,” Dagner said diffidently, “you get used to thinking things like that were only around long ago, but—I’ll tell you, Moril—didn’t you get the impression you kept Father alive with it this morning?” Moril stared at Dagner with his mouth open. “I thought so,” Dagner said, a trifle apologetically. “I’ve never heard it sound like it did then. And—and Father was dead awfully quickly after you left off, wasn’t he?”
    Moril was appalled. “Whatever am I going to do with a thing like that!” he almost wailed.
    â€œI don’t know. Learn to use it, perhaps,” said Dagner. “I must say I was glad Father didn’t give it to me.”
    Everyone subsided into thoughtfulness. Brid sniffed wretchedly. Olob clopped steadily on for a mile or so. Then he took a look at the sinking sun and decided to choose them a camping ground. Dagner dissuaded him. He refused to let Olob turn off the road three times, until Olob got the point and did not try again. They went on and on and on, downhill, uphill, through small valleys, pastures, and orchards. The sky died from blue to pink and from pink to purple, and Brid could bear no more.
    â€œOh, do let’s stop , Dagner! Today seems to have gone on for about a hundred years!”
    â€œI know,” said Dagner. “But I want to get a really good start.”
    â€œDo you think Ganner will really follow us?” said Moril. “He ought to be glad we’ve gone. Then he needn’t fuss about roofs and things.”
    â€œHe’s bound to,” said Kialan. “A man with a conscience—that’s Ganner. He’ll probably send some of his hearthmen out tonight and set out himself first thing tomorrow. That’s what—I mean, if it had been just Dagner and me, he—”
    â€œGo on. Say it. You think Moril and I shouldn’t have come,” Brid said bitterly.
    â€œI didn’t say that!” snapped Kialan.
    â€œJust meant it,” said Brid.
    â€œNo, he didn’t,” said Dagner. “Stop being stupid, Brid. The thing is, I left without explaining to Mother, and even if I had explained, she wouldn’t have wanted you two to go. So I know she’ll ask Ganner to come after us. If he does catch us up, you and Moril will have to go back, I’m afraid.”
    â€œOh no !” said Brid, and Moril felt equally mutinous.
    â€œThat’s why I hope he doesn’t catch us,” Dagner said. “Because I don’t think I could give a show on my own, and I was wondering how on earth I’d manage.”
    This admission mollified Brid greatly. She refrained from grumbling, although they went on until the light was all but gone. Then Dagner at last permitted Olob to select them a spot on top of a hill. This meant their camp was windy, a fact which Brid bitterly pointed out while they were fumbling around trying to put up the tent in the breezy semidark.
    â€œYes, but we can see people coming,” said Dagner.
    â€œAnd there are thistles. I’ve just trodden on one,” Brid complained.
    â€œThen why on earth don’t you put your boots on?” demanded Kialan.
    â€œOh, I