LO01-03. The Legends of Orkney by Alane Adams

Author:Alane Adams
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: SparkPress
Published: 2018-11-14T13:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Four

Howie was dreaming about battling witches with a fistful of French fries when a cup of cold water splashed on his face abruptly woke him up.

Teren stood over him looking impatient. “Your first day as my squire and you’ve overslept. And your bird made a mess. I expect you to clean up after it.”

Howie sat up, groggily rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Is it morning already?” Lingas squawked at him from her perch, letting him know it was high time for her to be out flying.

“Lord Drabic and the esteemed High Council demand our presence. Fetch me my dress uniform.”

Howie groaned, shaking his head to clear away the fog. That was some dream. Visiting Asgard in his sleep. He sat up, swung his legs over the bed, and planted his feet on the ground. He wiggled his toes. There was sand across the top of his foot.

“Haven’t got all day, Howie.” Teren stood in his skivvies, tapping one foot, waiting for Howie to bring him his clothes.

Howie was still processing the fact that there was sand on his feet. “Dress uniform—is that the one with the shiny buttons?” He scrambled out of bed and opened the wardrobe where Teren stored his clothes. Hanging there was a sharp-looking uniform with a row of brass buttons, shiny red epaulettes, and gold trim on the red fabric.

“That’s the one.” Teren snatched it out of his hands and went behind the screen to get dressed. “You have a uniform as well,” Teren said loudly. “It’s hanging on the door of the wardrobe. Put it on. You have to look the part if you’re to be my squire.”

Howie opened the other wardrobe door, then froze. His eyes went toward Teren, but the captain was busy getting dressed.

Hanging from the wardrobe hook was the old rusted sword Fetch had given him. So it wasn’t a dream.

“What do you think?” Teren called out cheerfully.

Howie’s eyes went from the sword to the outfit that hung next to it and groaned. A pair of satin purple breeches was matched with a frilly shirt and green vest. “Um, you expect me to wear this?”

Teren popped his head around the screen. “I do if you expect to eat today.” He gave Howie a wink and went back to his dressing.

Shedding his long johns, Howie quickly slipped the breeches on, crossing his fingers they wouldn’t fit. But of course, everything was just his size. The shirt he buttoned on had a ruffled collar that went up to his chin. A black belt cinched at his waist. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror over the bureau. It was official. He looked ridiculous.

“Well, well, look at you.” Teren grinned at Howie’s obvious discomfort. “Not quite complete, though.” He took a broad floppy hat from the dresser and placed it on top of Howie’s curls. “Now that’s a squire. Come along, mustn’t keep Lord Drabic waiting. He’ll get too far along in his cups to make sense.” Teren paused, his eyes going to the rusted sword.

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