The Pool of Two Moons by Kate Forsyth

Author:Kate Forsyth
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, pdf
Publisher: Random House Australia
Published: 1998-03-26T16:00:00+00:00

Meghan woke in the early dawn, disturbed by the unaccustomed sounds of the town waking. Out in the meadows the goatkeep was blowing his horn to call the goats out to pasture. The bakery was alive with the thump of dough on wood, and the clatter of coal in the bread ovens. The rattle-watch was making his rounds, declaring ‘a grey dawn, chill and forlorn’.

She smiled and looked about her. If not the best room in the inn, it was still very comfortable. A hard and narrow bed, but then, anything softer and Meghan could not have slept, her old bones so used to tree roots and stones. They had given her only a thin blanket, but she had had her plaid and three mice had come to keep her company. They had left her without food or water, but she had packed a great deal of food for she knew the Awl was unlikely to feed her well, and she had simply hung the jug out the window before she went to sleep. It should be brimming over now, for it had rained all night. She had been happy to eat a solitary meal and had enjoyed a few glasses of goldensloe wine with her flat bread and cold potato omelette.

The ashes in the fire blazed into life, and she huddled her plaid closer about her as she sat up in the bed. The mice squeaked protestingly and burrowed deeper into the blanket. She tweaked one pink tail and put her narrow bare foot out of the bed. The boards were cold as ice, and she pulled it back in. No need to freeze herself—or to hide her magic, now she was in the Awl’s very headquarters. With a grim smile, Meghan lay back on the pillows and prepared her breakfast.

The window casements opened, the jug hanging outside lifted itself in and flew across the room, the window banging shut against the cold wind. The jug splashed water into the bowl on the wash table before setting itself down beside it. The wash bowl then swung through the air and hung mid-air above the fire. A bag of oats extracted itself from the half-open pack, flew across to the fire and poured a measure into the bubbling water. A whirl of salt spun out of another pouch as the water and oats stirred briskly together. Soon a smooth porridge was puckering and popping away, and then the bowl waltzed with a spoon over to the bed. Meghan tasted the porridge gingerly. ‘Och, a wee bit hot!’ she exclaimed and blew on it.

She left the bowl for her captors to wash, bathing straight from the jug and braiding her hair tightly. How she missed Gitâ, who had always helped her plait the great length of her hair. By the time she was dressed, the soldiers were kicking open the door and she was able to receive them, straight-backed and neat.

The cage, swept free of dirt, had been thrown onto the back of a wagon.

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