Bracelet of Bones by Kevin Crossley-Holland

Author:Kevin Crossley-Holland [Crossley-Holland, Kevin]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: FICTION
Publisher: Quercus
Published: 2014-01-06T16:00:00+00:00

When Torsten untethered the boat, the port oarsmen eased her away from the quay with their blades. The whole crew cheered, and on board their barrel-shaped boat, the Bulgars waved and Solveig felt a surge of excitement.

“Look!” she said to Edith, sitting opposite her. “The banks! Bright yellow.”

“Crocus,” Edith told her. “Flags, maybe.”

“Bright hopes,” Solveig said. “But I do wish Edwin and Sineus . . .”

“Me too,” said Edith.

As she pulled strongly at her oar, Solveig felt her right wrist jar against a lump in the pocket of her tunic.

My bead, she thought. I must cut a leather strip for it and wear it. Then it’ll see Vigot. If he stole it, he must have stolen Bruni’s scramasax as well.

Red Ottar, meanwhile, was thinking about his helmsman and blacksmith. And later in the day, he cornered the two of them. “If I’d known before we left Sigtuna what I now suppose,” he said, “neither of you would ever have set foot on my boat. I can see there’s something bitter between you, but your first duty is to honor your companions. If one of you creates trouble, I’ll make both of you pay for it.”

At the end of the first day, when the boat nosed toward the mooring at Duboviki, most of the crew were skin-sore and bone-weary.

“Ah!” cried Mihran, pointing to the people gathered on the quay. “Who do I see?”

“Well?” said Red Ottar irritably.

“Just the man to lift our spirits,” Mihran replied.

“I’d as soon drown mine in a hornful of ale,” Torsten said.

“Easy now!” Mihran called out. “Easy!”

And as gracefully as a swan, a black swan, the boat glided alongside the quay, and Mihran expertly noosed a bollard and jumped out.

As soon as he saw Mihran, one of the men on the quay yelped. Then he got down on his haunches and—both feet, both hands, both feet—he hopped toward the river pilot. Mihran got down on his haunches too, and then the two of them pretended to box before standing up, laughing.

“Smik!” exclaimed Mihran. “My old friend!” And he told the crew, “Smik’s a laughter maker.”

“A what?” asked Brita.

Smik took hold of Brita’s earlobes and gently pulled at them. “Bigger ears!” he told her. “That’s what you need. Like us hares.”

“A laughter maker,” Mihran repeated, “even though he’s half Swedish.”

Smik pulled a long face. “No laughing matter,” he said. Then he turned to Bard. “Hello, creature!” he said.

“I’m not.”

“What not?”

“A creature.”

“Of course you are. A human creature. Each and every feature from your topknot to your ten toes. The whole lot. We’re all creatures.”

“Even dragons?” asked Bard.

“I did tell you,” Mihran said. “This is Garthar. The crossing place. Where human creatures can become wild beasts . . .”

“And beastly creatures become humans,” added Smik. And then he reached up, took out his right eye, and popped it into his mouth.

Bard and Brita gasped.

“Want a taste, Big Ears?” he asked.

Brita screwed up her face.

Then Smik took the eye out of his mouth and slipped it back into his eye socket, and both children laughed.

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