The Mapmaker's Sons by V. L. Burgess

Author:V. L. Burgess
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Move Books
Published: 2012-09-10T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TEN

WILLA’S PRICE

The goat cart bounced through a ditch and then rumbled to a stop.

“We’re here!” Mudge called, in a voice that sounded obscenely chipper to Tom’s sleep-numbed brain. He pried open his eyes and raised his head, feeling as though he’d drifted off only minutes earlier. Mudge leaped from the cart, followed by Porter. Tom shoved a goat aside and did the same. His feet barely hit the ground before the cart was moving again, old Raynard humming off-key, with the only good-byes issued being those of the bleating goats.

Tom took a moment to get a bearing on his surroundings. His father’s map identified the place as Rupert. The dreary village looked nothing like the bustling town square of Bromley Market. A series of thatched huts ringed a taller structure that could have been either a church or a courthouse; it probably functioned as both. Scrawny chickens, pigs, and goats milled about, unrestrained by fences or pens. A thick haze hung over the scene. As the stench of rotten eggs hit his nostrils, he recognized the seeping dampness as sulfur from the swamp, rather than morning fog.

Mudge raced away, leaving Tom and Porter to sprint after him. They followed him to a crudely plowed patch of land—a vegetable garden of some sort, Tom guessed. Upon their approach, an old woman, bent in the act of uprooting a vegetable, turned toward the boy. She was broad and heavyset, her skirts drooping around her ankles, her face a mass of wrinkles. When she spoke, dark gaps appeared between her teeth. “Didn’t think you were coming back, boy.”

“Not an old hag, huh?” Porter muttered beneath his breath.

Mudge, however, didn’t stop at the old woman, but simply bid her a good morning and skirted past her, racing toward a lone figure working in a distant corner of the vegetable patch. A girl. Dressed in clothes the color of dirt and weeds, entirely occupied with her work, she had escaped Tom’s notice. As he and Porter moved toward her, Mudge shouted out her name.

The girl dropped the basket she was holding and spun about. She wrapped Mudge in a tight hug, then crouched down low and held him at arm’s length, as though to deliver a lecture. Then her gaze caught Tom and Porter and she abruptly stopped. She stood as they approached and draped one arm protectively over Mudge’s scrawny shoulders.

Tom judged her to be roughly the same age as he and Porter. She was of average height, delicate and graceful in the way some girls can be. She was pretty—very pretty, even dressed in baggy clothes the color of dirt and surrounded by a garden choked with straggly weeds. Her skin was honey-colored, her pale brown hair was shot through with rich gold streaks, and her expressive hazel eyes were flecked with golds and greens.

Mudge broke the silence. “This is Willa.”

The name suited her. Slim and willowy, but conveying a supple strength.

Porter nodded a curt greeting. “Mudge tells us you know a way through the swamp.

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