Ogre Enchanted by Gail Carson Levine

Author:Gail Carson Levine
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2018-07-10T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-One

MY TEARS FLOWED. I sobbed.

Then my anger woke up. If he was still alive when we reached Frell, I’d dine on him.

No. If he was sick, I’d cure him. Sobs broke out again. I quaked with them.

Squire Jerrold shifted on his bench. “Can I help, Mistress Ogre?”

I choked out my name. “Mistress Evie. No. You can’t.” I hated my love.

Finally, I calmed. “Squire Jerrold, I killed two ogres, and a giant slew the remaining four. I told the master about it.” I repeated the story.

“Sir Peter’s heads may not belong to the same ogres, Mistress Evie.”

At least he called me by my name. “You wrote to the master that they’re on display. Where? I would recognize them.”

“They’re on pikes on the road into Frell.”

“For people to gloat over.” I’d never pitied my dead band members before.

“They’re ogres!” He realized what he’d said. “Apologies. I don’t mean you should be killed.”

“And have my head exhibited.”

“Certainly not, but if they were the ones you knew, they were trying to eat a giant.”

“They’re thinking creatures with speech. They don’t show off the skulls of their victims or boast of the numbers they’ve killed.” I didn’t mention that they didn’t distinguish in kind between, for example, a meal of human and horse.

“You say they, not we.”

Guess the truth, Squire Jerrold. Guess it!

But he just waited for me to answer.

“Because I never killed any people.” I went on more calmly. “Or elves or giants or gnomes. The only beings I killed were the two ogres.” I chewed a meat stick. “I’ve murdered many fleas.”

He smiled, showing the adorable gap in his teeth. “Did you eat them?”

“Too small. Not worth it.”

“Do most ogres have a sense of humor?”

“The ones I knew did.”

I felt his confusion. “Are you joking?”

“No.” I went back to Sir Peter. “How did he say he killed his ogres?”

“He hardly knows me, but I’ve heard from others that he climbed a tree and watched their movements. Then he set traps.”

“They would have smelled him.”

“He said he rubbed himself with mint leaves to cover his scent.”

“That’s silly! Our noses are sensitive, and we know mint doesn’t grow on trees. We would have looked up and seen him.”

“He could have lied about his method and still have killed them.”

How fair he was. And correct. I should delay judging Sir Peter until we knew. “Do you like him?”

He hesitated. “I don’t usually speak ill of people—but he’s too . . .” He searched for words. “Too good at saying what people want to hear.”

People and ogres.

“Especially what the king wants to hear.”

That was more troubling than deceiving me.

I said, “You should sleep.”

He leaned back, exposing his straight, robust neck.

I tingled. How I hated my treacherous tingle.

He opened a window. My stink! Hastily, I dabbed on perfume.

His breathing evened out. I cried myself to sleep.

In the morning, I woke before Squire Jerrold did. Twenty-three days left. Tomorrow November would begin.

Squire Jerrold’s breathing was even deeper than it had been last night, and his skin looked brighter. Again I dabbed the disgusting perfume here and there.

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