2015년 10월 15일 목요일

The Messenger of the Black Prince 30

The Messenger of the Black Prince 30



To all this there was an air of confusion everywhere. A chair with the
legs broken off lay in a corner. A great hole was worn in the bottom
panels of the door that led to the kitchen where a dog had by slow
degrees pawed his way through. Alongside of it, on the wall, the plaster
had a large dent in it where something had struck and just beside it a
red smear that reminded me of the color of human blood.
 
You may be sure that we ate little. Even if the food had been savory the
sight of the old fox of a landlord was enough to take our appetites
away, for he hung over us like a sinister shadow with his nightcap in
his hands and his beady eyes watching every morsel as it passed down our
throats.
 
“The Dwarf of Angers,” he reminded us, when we laid our spoons aside,
he’s a grand man, isn’t he?”
 
Then came that short cackling laugh that stabbed me like a knife.
 
“He saved us from death,” I remarked.
 
The old fellow gave a start as though he was suddenly clapped on the
shoulder.
 
“He did, did he?” he said. And then after a while, “And he sent you to
me?” He cackled again as though he had reason to be highly flattered.
“And by any chance did he give you a message?”
 
Here I drew the dagger from my shirt and laid it on the table.
 
“This!” said I. And, with the word, looked him square in the eye in
hopeful anticipation.
 
He pounced upon the weapon like a greedy child. He took it between his
skinny fingers and turned it over and over. A crafty smile sharpened his
features so that his face resembled a rat’s. With his thumb he examined
the silver of the haft. He snapped the blade till it sang.
 
“That dagger,” I said as though he needed some urging to entirely
understand, “belongs to the Abbot of Chalonnes.”
 
But his eyes were fastened like glue upon it, so that all the answer I
got was a sort of mumbling.
 
“Ay, ay,” he said, “the Abbot of Chalonnes.” Then he looked up
suddenly. His jaws stopped shaking and his smile faded. “Where do you
come from?” he demanded with a jerk.
 
I was getting weary of his dallying. I was sure that he knew more than
he pretended. There was something at the back of his head that prompted
him to doubt us, so with no more ado I burst forth, “Look here,” I
began. “We are on our way to find the Black Prince. We have traveled a
long distance and have been beset by enemies. We have been nearly killed
half a dozen times. We’re in a strange country and need a word of
advice. Maybe we ought to have a guide. Can’t you see that your friends
are our friends?” I pointed to the dagger in his hands. “Isn’t that
proof enough for you?”
 
At the mention of the dagger his hands clasped together with a quick
convulsive motion and his jaws took to wagging again.
 
“Ay, ay,” he muttered, “it’s worth a hundred crowns, if it’s worth a
groat.... It was fine of the Dwarf of Angers to send it to me.”
 
I jumped from my seat. As though he were suddenly attacked, the old man
straightened up. A flash came to his eye and a sternness came upon him
that was unexpected. I think if I had taken another step he would have
showed fight.
 
“But the dagger is not for you,” I cried. “It’s only a sign that we are
no frauds, no imposters.”
 
I reached out to take the weapon from his hand. He swung around with the
quickness of an eel and backed away from me. I made another try. This
time he shot a look at me and raised the dagger as though he would
strike.
 
My blood was up. All in all I felt that he was not what the Dwarf had
represented him to be, so with the single thought of getting my dagger
back at any cost, I made a lunge to grasp him by the arm. Then by sheer
strength I could wrest it from his grasp.
 
“Back!” His voice was shrill but strong with the cackle entirely gone.
“Back! I’ll kill you if you make a move!”
 
He drew his arm far over his head. There was wickedness in his eyes that
told me he meant all that he said. For a second I stood there
irresolute. Then out of the corner of my eye I saw Charles flit past me.
His arm shot out. It caught the old fellow by the wrist. With one jerk
his fingers opened. The dagger dropped clattering to the floor. One
bound, I had it in my hand and in the next second it was tucked away in
my shirt.
 
Then came a surprise. As though the affair was a joke the old man leaned
over and clapped himself time and time again on the knee. His voice rose
and fell in a kind of whistling laugh. He coughed and sputtered from
sheer mirth and to cap it all reached out his hand for me to shake.
 
“A fine lad!” he exclaimed. “The both of you are fine lads. I know now
there’s no deceit in either of you.” He laughed again. The cackling grew
stronger than ever. “What is it you say you want? A guide to take you on
your way? Ay, ay. A guide. But no harm meant, mind you. No harm” He
shuffled, bent over, towards the door, where he stood for a minute
looking back at us. Then with a quick nervous snap he jerked out, “I’ll
aid you all I can. Will you stay here till I come back?”
 
With a kind of a stumbling skip he was outside and had closed the door
behind him.
 
We sat and waited till the shuffling of his feet died away on the road.
Then we arose and walked about the room, more from restlessness, I am
sure, than from curiosity.
 
If it had not been for the advice of the Dwarf, I should have said that
we were fallen into the thieves’ den. The place was in no sense an inn
for there was no sign of provision for the comfort or entertainment of a
guest. Besides it was too far removed from the course of travel to be of
any profit.
 
“I don’t like the looks of it,” remarked Charles. “There have been
knives flying hereand throats cut. That smear on the wall is hardly
dry.”
 
“We ought to get out,” I said. “We were safer in the Dwarf’s cave.”
 
“Let us wait till the old rat returns,” he answered. “There will be time
then.”
 
The heaviness of the place made me feel that I was standing in the face
of danger. Everything I touched seemed to warn me that we were falling
deeper and deeper into a trap. The broken chair, the hole in the
plaster, the blood upon the wall, the very darkness of the room, but
above all the slow-witted craftiness of the old man, sent the creeps
along my spine and made me anxious.
 
A half hour passed. We had paced the length of the room a dozen times.
We had sat down and risen again more than once. Charles went to the
door.
 
“I’ll take a look up the road,” he said. “If he’s not in sight, we’ll
go.”
 
I turned to follow him. He snapped the latch. He rattled it. He shook it
with all his might. He faced me with his face gone white.
 
“We’re locked in!” he exclaimed. “The old rat has made us prisoners.”
 
I ran back to the door that led to the kitchen.
 
“We’re caught!” I called. “The windows are too small for us to crawl
out. The old fellow has gone to summon our enemies.”
 
“The truth of it,” said Charles, “is that we have come to the wrong
place. The inn of the Cross-Roads must be further down the highway.”
 
“Well?” I said. “What’s to be done?”
 
He motioned me to the long oaken bench that lay at the table.
 
“We’ll hammer down the door,” he replied. “Do you take that end. I’ll
take this——
 
It was as much as we could do to lift it. We held it lengthwise towards
the door. Then with a run we crashed the end into the lower panels. The
echo was like thunder in the room. The door trembled on its hinges and
the lock creaked.
 
Again we drew back. Again we came forward. The door bent in the middle
and a long crack let the light in from the outside.
 
“Once more,” cried Charles, “and we’ll be free.”
 
We took a short rest and caught our breath. The third time the end of
the bench crashed against the cross-piece in the middle. There was a
noise of splintering wood. I thought the house was tumbling about our
ears. The door was torn from its hinges and with a clap fell towards the
outside flat on the road.
 
I blinked against the bright light of the sun. Then I recoiled, for not
ten feet away there came running the landlord, panting for dear life,
with his mouth open and his beady eyes glittering with the fire of
anger. At his side were two men, rough fellows, who looked as though
they might slit your throat for a copper groat. To my dismay one of them
was the man from whom I had escaped while we were swimming in the river.
 
“There they are!” cried the landlord pointing at us with his skinny
finger. “They’re tearing my house down. Stop them!” His jaw wriggled
from side to side and his hands shook with excitement. His voice which
began in a high shrill cackle turned to a shaking laugh. “That one
there” (he meant me) “wants to know how he can go to the Black Prince.
Ha! Ha! Ha!”In the next breath they were upon us.  

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