Weed The Poison Diaries by Jane Northumberland

Author:Jane Northumberland
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Fantasy, General, Fiction
ISBN: 9781448214006
Publisher: Bloomsbury Academic
Published: 2013-12-10T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 22

The guards seize one of my broad shoulders each. Although they are mere boys and weak for the fight, I allow it: ‘Hello.’

The ruffled man’s face is flushed and I can see anger brimming, barely contained in his eyes. ‘What business have you in this garden of the Duke. Ay? What’s your name? I charge you!’

‘Men have called me Weed.’ I reply evenly.

‘And a nasty insinuating low-born common thing you do look. You were named well! How came you upon the Duke’s sword sir? I charge you!’

‘In fact he gave it me in this very castle.’

‘Liar! And the liar is brother to the thief!’ Although he attempts to threaten I cannot help but find his manner amusing. He looks so out of place in his delicate raiment out here in the solid greenery of nature.

‘I have not lied.’ The man’s mouth opens and shuts like a fish breathing water. ‘And so I ask you. Who are you?’

‘Who am I? Who am I? I run this place!’ He puffs himself up absurdly.

‘You are no Duke.’

‘Such effrontery. I am the steward of the castle. I should have you whipped with oiled whips.’

‘Would you like to try?’ At this his face turns beetroot red.

One of the guards holds his blade to my neck, shouting hoarsely. ‘You keep a civil tongue in your head. Unlicked cub!’ His breath is vile.

A blush of bloody triumph bleeds across the steward’s face. ‘Your knees had better start knocking, knave. The Duke has asked to speak to you personally. He will cut you down with the sword you stole! Now come with me.’

Even as I am led by rough hands, the slanting afternoon sunlight feels good on my back. The castle is magnificently lit with every turret and tower shining in stone. The odious little man walks ahead of us arrogantly; his tiny shoes sparkle with polished lacquer but I am pleased to see a healthy dose of mud begin to rub away some of the sheen and splash up his white tights.

Approaching the grand entrance of the Keep, the steward scurries ahead of us and begins furiously scraping the earth from his shoes. When we near, he looks up at the guards and me with one raised eyebrow, as if appreciating a side of rotten beef for the table. ‘By God, it will take more than a foot scrape to make you presentable to the Duke. Let you enter the castle as you are then. One filthy thatch-gallows and two paper-skulls to lead him.’ He smiles at his own taunts. ‘How you ended up in possession of the Duke’s ancestral blade I’ll never know.’

‘It has seen good use.’ I say in as threatening a manner as possible and take satisfaction in the pause it gives him. I do not like this man with his too-black hair greased to his forehead.

As we delve into the Keep, the steward cannot help but run his mouth and he prattles as we walk. ‘The Duke is very busy at the moment.

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