John Flanagan - The Ruins of Gorlan

"Hmmm. Not bad. Can see my own face in it," he said, then added, without a hint of a smile, "May not be such a good thing."

Will said nothing. With anyone else he might have suspected it was a joke, but with Halt you simply couldn't tell. Halt studied him for a second or two, then his shoulders lifted slightly in a shrug and he gestured for Will to return the pots to the kitchen. Will was halfway through the door when he heard Halt behind him say: "Hmmm. That's odd." Thinking the Ranger might be talking to him, Will paused at the door.

"I beg your pardon?" he said suspiciously. Each time Halt had found a new chore for him to attend to, he had seemed to begin the instruction with a statement like "How unusual. The living room rug is full of dust." Or "I do believe the stove is in dire need of a new supply of firewood," It was an affectation that Will had found more than a little annoying over the day, although Halt seemed to be quite fond of it. This time, however, it seemed that he had been genuinely musing to himself as he read through a new report-one of the oakleaf-crested ones, Will noted. Now, the Ranger looked up, a little surprised that Will had addressed him. "What's that?" he said.

Will shrugged. "Sorry. When you said 'that's odd,' I thought you were talking to me."

Halt shook his head several times, still frowning at the report in his hand. "No, no," he said, a trifle distractedly. "I was just reading this…" His voice trailed away and he frowned thoughtfully. Will, his curiosity roused, waited expectantly. "What is it?" he finally ventured to ask. As the Ranger turned those dark eyes on him, he instantly wished he hadn't. Halt regarded him for a second or two.

"Curious, are you?" he said at length, and when Will nodded uncomfortably, he went on in an unexpectedly milder tone. "Well, I suppose that's a good trait for a Ranger's apprentice. After all, that's why we tested you with that paper in the Baron's office."

"You tested me?" Will set the heavy copper kettle down by the door. "You expected me to try to see what it said?" Halt nodded. "Would have been disappointed if you hadn't. Also, I wanted to see how you'd go about it." Then he held up a hand to forestall the torrent of questions that were about to tumble out of Will's mouth. "We'll discuss that later," he said, glancing meaningfully at the kettle and the other pots. Will stooped to retrieve them, and turned back to the house once more. But curiosity still burned in him and he turned to the Ranger again.

"So what does it say?" he asked, nodding toward the report. Again there was a silence as Halt regarded him, perhaps assessing him. Then he said:

"Lord Northolt is dead. Apparently killed by a bear last week while out hunting."

"Lord Northolt?" Will asked. The name was vaguely familiar to him, but he couldn't place it.

"Former supreme commander of the King's army," Halt told him, and Will nodded, as if he had known this. But, since Halt seemed to be answering his questions, he was emboldened to continue.

"What's so odd about it? After all, bears do kill people from time to time."

Halt nodded. "True. But I would have thought Cordom Fief was a little far west for bears. And I would have thought Northolt was too experienced a hunter to go after one alone." He shrugged, as if dismissing the thought. "But then again, life is full of surprises and people do make mistakes." He gestured toward the kitchen again, indicating that the conversation was over. "When you've put those away, you might like to clean out the fireplace," he said.

Will moved to do as he was told. But a few minutes later, as he walked past one of the windows to the large fireplace that took up most of one wall in the living room, he glanced out to see the Ranger tapping the report thoughtfully on his chin, his thoughts obviously a long way away.

Sometime late in the afternoon, Halt finally ran out of jobs for Will. He looked around the cabin, noting the gleaming kitchen implements, the spotless fireplace, the thoroughly swept floor and totally dust-free rug. A stack of firewood lay beside the fireplace and another stack, cut and split into shorter lengths, filled the wicker basket beside the kitchen stove.

"Hmmm. Not bad," he said. "Not bad at all."

Will felt a surge of pleasure at the sparing praise, but before he could feel too pleased with himself, Halt added, "Can you cook, boy?"

"Cook, sir?" Will asked uncertainly. Halt raised his eyes to some unseen superior being.

"Why do young people invariably answer a question with another question?" he asked. Then, receiving no reply, he continued, "Yes, cook. Prepare food so that one might eat it. Make meals. I assume you do know what food is – what meals are?"

"Ye-es," Will answered, careful to take any questioning inflection out of the word.

"Well, as I told you this morning, this is no grand castle. If we want to eat food here, we have to cook food here," Halt told him.

There was that word we again, Will thought. Every time so far that Halt had said we must, it had seemed to translate to mean you must.

"I can't cook," Will admitted, and Halt clapped his hands and rubbed them together.

"Of course you can't! Most boys can't. So I'll have to show you how. Come on."

He led the way to the kitchen and introduced Will to the mysteries of cooking: peeling and chopping onions, choosing a piece of beef from the meat safe, trimming it and cutting it into neat cubes, then chopping vegetables, searing the beef in a sizzling pan, and finally adding a generous dash of red wine and some of what Halt called his "secret ingredients" The result was a savory-smelling stew, simmering on the top of the stove.

Now, as they waited for the dinner to be ready, they sat on the verandah in the early evening and talked quietly.

"The Rangers were founded over one hundred and fifty years ago, in King Herbert's reign. Do you know anything about him?" Halt looked sideways at the boy sitting beside him, tossing the question out quickly to see his response.

Will hesitated. He vaguely remembered the name from history lessons in the Ward, but he couldn't remember any details. Still, he decided he'd try to bluff his way through it. He didn't want to look too ignorant on his first day with his new master.

"Oh… yes," he said, "King Herbert. We learned about him."

"Really?" said the Ranger expansively. "Perhaps you could tell me a little about him?" He leaned back and crossed his legs, getting himself comfortable. Will cast about desperately in his memory, trying to remember even a shred of detail about King Herbert. He'd done… something, but what?

"He was…" He hesitated, pretending to gather his thoughts. "The king." That much he was sure of, and he glanced at Halt to see if he could stop now. Halt merely smiled and made a rolling gesture with his hand that meant go on.

"He was the king… a hundred and fifty years ago," Will said, trying to sound certain of his facts. The Ranger smiled at him, gesturing for him to continue yet again.

"Ummm… well, I seem to recall that he was the one who founded the Ranger Corps," he said hopefully, and Halt raised his eyebrows in mock surprise.

"Really? You recall that, do you?" he said, and Will had a horrible moment where he realized that Halt had merely said the Rangers were founded during his reign, not necessarily by him.

"Ahhh, well, when I say he founded the Rangers, I actually mean he was the king when the Ranger Corps was founded," he said.

"A hundred and fifty years ago?" Halt prompted. Will nodded emphatically. "That's right."

"Well, that's remarkable, seeing how I just told you those facts a minute or so ago," the Ranger said, his eyebrows coming down like thunderclouds over his eyes. Will thought it might be better if he had said nothing. Finally, the Ranger said, in a milder tone: "Boy, if you don't know something, don't try to bluff your way through it. Simply tell me `I don't know,' is that clear?"