Free The Seeing Stone by Kevin Crossley-Holland Page B

the wrong direction, away from the forest, Stupid sensed something was wrong and began to squeal. He didn’t want to cross the ford, so while Dutton and Gatty tried to drag him, Giles and I shoved him from behind, and we all got wet.
    â€œBones!” said Dutton. “He’s just as cussed as his brother was. Shove, Arthur! Shove!”
    When we had half-pushed and half-dragged Stupid to the yardbehind the barn, Dutton told Gatty to run over to the kitchen and bring back the large mallet and three wooden bowls. “And this time be quick!” he said.
    As soon as Dutton saw Gatty coming back, he knelt down and grabbed Stupid’s front legs, and tried to get him to kneel down too; and then Giles took the big mallet.
    â€œCome on, Stupid!” gasped Dutton. “Say your prayers!”
    But Stupid stamped and squealed, and then he lurched out of Dutton’s grasp and ran off across the barnyard.
    â€œThe rope!” shouted Dutton.
    I pounced on the rope tied to Stupid’s back leg, and Gatty got hold of it too, and when the tether was at full stretch, we gave it a jerk. That stopped poor Stupid in his tracks.
    â€œRight!” panted Dutton. “Giles! You ready?”
    Giles grunted and Stupid squealed louder than ever. He knew! He’s not as stupid as all that.
    Then Dutton squatted and reached out and wrapped both arms round Stupid’s forelegs and brought him to his knees, and at once Giles raised the big mallet and thwacked Stupid on the top of his head.
    Stupid gave one short, sudden, hoarse woof. Then he simply dropped his dripping snout onto his chest, and slowly settled back onto his haunches, and all at once the yard seemed a very quiet place.
    Dutton let go of Stupid’s forelegs and stood up. “Right!” he said. “Ready?” And he cut Stupid’s throat.
    As soon as Gatty, Giles, and I had filled the three bowlswith blood, Dutton rubbed the bristles on the top of Stupid’s head and Stupid’s sandy eyelashes faintly flickered and twitched.
    â€œGood pig!” he said. “Right, you three! Get those bowls into the kitchen before the flies drink the whole lot. And be careful! If you spill a drop, Slim will slice up your guts for sausages and chitterlings!” Dutton guffawed at the thought of it. “He’ll skin you alive,” he said. “Look at the three of you! So worshipful! Like you’re celebrating Easter Mass, and holding up the sacrament.”
    â€œNo, Dutton,” I said. “You shouldn’t say that.”
    â€œSays who?” asked Dutton. “Fat Oliver? You coming back, Arthur?”
    â€œIf Gatty is, I am,” I said.
    â€œA good thing too,” said Dutton. “All the skinning and butchering—that needs four of us.”
    â€œIt needs four of us,” said Giles.
    â€œYes, Giles,” said Dutton. “I just said that.”
    Then Gatty and Giles and I walked slowly across the yard, carrying our bowls of blood.
    â€œWhat’s it for?” asked Gatty. “All this!”
    â€œBlack pudding,” I said. “Slim adds vinegar and spices to it, and whips it with a sprig of sage to stop it from curdling. And after he’s salted all the joints—the neck and the shoulders and the ribs, the belly and the loin and all that—he’ll make black pudding.”
    â€œNever tasted it!” said Gatty.
    â€œSlim says he’s making it for Hallowe’en,” I said, “so I’ll save you a piece for when you come guising. You too, Giles.”
    â€œWhat’s it made of?” Gatty asked.
    â€œStupid!” I said. “Mainly! And fat and spice. And onions. You mix it all up, and pour it into the gut, and poach it. Slim showed me.”
    Serle must have heard us because he came bursting out of the kitchen and met us just outside the door.
    â€œSerle!” I exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”
    â€œWhat’s that?” demanded