Poul Anderson - A Midsummer Tempest

“My doing,” Rupert admitted. Pride flashed back into him. “I’m a hunter, not a poacher.”

“Aye,” Will snorted. “Thou ben’t woant to slip on a deer unbeknowanst an’ fell him by one quick shot. Nay, thou’lt chaese him a-hoa’seback till’a can drag his wei’ght no further. There be a Frenchy naeme for each staege o’ his terror an’ weariness, not zo? Well, Prince, naeme them in thyzelf tonight!”

That anger brought Rupert up short. “Forgive me,” he said. “I meant no offense to thee—was only trying to excuse mine own clumsiness.”

“Aaahhh…” Will’s resentment faded. “How can I rail at a man big enough to talk thus? I was a-feared for, well, not just my carcass, loard, but ten kids in Somerset… aye, their mother too.”

“Thou canst evade the chase.”

“An’ thou canst not. Come along. What we got to do be fiand yonder beck I hear, wade down it a ways for to break our trail, take squirrel hospitality o’ernight, an’ hoape—can this be done in time—

Hoy! Almighty God! Look!”

Light burst on Rupert’s left hand. Ruby, bronze, gold, emerald, turquoise, sapphire, amethyst, it streamed from the jewel facets, forth to bring gaunt unshaven faces, matted hair, sweat-runnels through coal-dust, vivid against the middle of the night, and to blaze back out of eyes.

“Tha elven ring,” rattled in Will’s throat. “Help’s nigh.”

“Or damnation is,” Rupert mumbled. “Thy plan might well save us. This’d go… a different way.” Thunder bawled anew. Wind soughed ever louder in leaves, boughs creaked. “Hark’ee,” Will said, “cavalrymen Hake thee an’ me, moare callouses on zoul than even arse, our kiand miaght well fiand they’ve’listed under Nick’s banner. But Mis’ess Jennifer, dost thou really zuppoase’a could maeke her his recruitin’ zergeant?”

Rupert stared for a heartbeat into soft incandescence before he responded most quietly, “Thou’rt right.

We’ll follow where the ring aims.”

That proved to be almost a backtracking, diagonally down the mountain. In any other direction, the jewel began to dull. In this, its brilliance made travel easy. Nonetheless, hounds and horns pealed closer amidst the noises of approaching storm.

And so I rest my faith on Jennifer, Rupert thought. Aloud: “I think not the ring’s simply discovered whatever’tis we’re seeking. Else we’d’ve known on the way hither. Nay, what power it has must’ve drawn something toward us—”

“Which war not too far away, as’t chanced,” Will added; “but than, tha West’s where moast magic lingers. Robin Goodfellow toald me things miaght happen thus… Hoo, heare comes our rain!”

Some lightning glare had blinked through foliage. Abruptly it seared past leaves etched white over black, while thunder cannonaded and wind bore forward the first mighty rush of water. Drops flung past branches were so swift and cold that they burned.

Woods gave on a patch of grass and blossoms. There stood a building, shingle-roofed, of no unusual size or form though sufficient for two stories and—it could just be seen—with beam-ends carved in fanciful shapes.

Rupert jarred to a halt. “Who’s raised a house like that in wilderness?” he exclaimed.

“Nobody, loard. Nor will it stay heare long.” His follower urged him ahead. Rain cataracted across them.

At the massive, bronze-studded front door they stopped. Above it was fastened a bush; above that, a signboard rocked under its bracket. “A tavern, zarvin’ wine,” Will observed through the uproar. “Nay, wait.

What’s this? A flowerin’ thornbush, in tha midst o’ zummer?”

Rupert’s eyes were for the sign. What light there was revealed how a bird of rare beauty, plumage long and like gold tinged with flame, carried a branch of cloves to a nest it was weaving. “A phoenix near its death and resurrection,” he said. “I’ve never met that namepost—”

“Tha Oald Phoenix,” Will breathed. “Tha inn whereof Puck toald me… yesternight? No liafetimes moare agone nor thic?”

“Ho-ah!” The call was nearly lost in wind, rain, thunder. Out beneath flaring heaven trotted a band of men and dogs.

“The Roundheads!” Rupert snatched at sword, moved quickly to cover the luminance on his left hand. Will tugged his tattered sleeve. “Bide, my loard,” the dragoon said in awe.

“Come on, come on!” The Puritan leader waved his own blade. “On after them, or e’er this gale they’ve raised by wicked wizardry sponge out their track!”

The pursuers toiled across the glade and vanished among darkness beyond.

“They sensed us not,” Rupert stammered, “nor spied the very house—”

“Tha’ got no ring off Mis’ess Jennifer,” Will answered. “Let’s us two try what drink be found inzide.”

He took hold of a handle molded in form of an elephant’s head and trunk. The door swung smoothly open.

Rupert led the way through. As he crossed the threshold, his jewel fell to an ordinary luster. For this while, its work was done.

Will closed the door behind himself, barring every hint of storm. Windows likewise were tightly shuttered.

The men kept right hands at hover near sword hilts and glared about.

But the chamber was altogether peaceful. Indeed, the strangest thing was its homelikeness. It might be somewhat wider than was common for a country inn, but if so, that was not by much. Massive ceiling beams, subtle-grained oak in floor and wainscots, long central board and benches, a few small tables with straight-backed seats, were familiar. In a handsome stone fireplace a blaze danced to its own merry boom and crackle, casting forth pinewood fragrance as well as warmth, flanked by several armchairs which were intricately carved and ivory-inlaid but whose cushions had plainly comforted many a body over the years. The contents of the room were perhaps more unusual, as if sailor patrons had brought gifts from a whole world. Upon the mantel rested a giant hourglass and two seven-branched candlesticks of twining brass. The light from these was joined by that from tapers sconced around the walls. Their gleam picked out a number of pictures whose kinds, styles, and subjects made a somehow harmonious turmoil. On the right side stretched a mahogany bar with a brass footrail and surprisingly up-to-date beer pumps, guarding racks of bottles and drinking vessels. A nearby door must lead to the kitchen, since lingering savorinesses drifted thence. In the adjacent wall, opposite the entrance, another opening gave on a corridor and staircase. Beside this lifted a high, crammed set of book-shelves. Next to it, a desk held writing materials and two globes.

Rupert’s glance gulped the setting as it hunted the persons. They were not many: a barmaid, a man and woman seated at the fire, another couple at one of the little tables. Their conversations chopped off when the Cavaliers appeared. Yet the regard they gave was neither hostile nor wary; it was frankly curious.

The man by the hearth sprang erect and hurried toward the latest arrivals. “Good eventide, good sirs. Be very welcome,” he greeted. His voice was deep and rich, bearing a trace of West country accent.

Rupert looked hard at him. “You’re the… proprietor… of this Old Phoenix?” he asked.

The man nodded. “What may your wishes be?” He raised a palm, smiling. “Nay, let me guess. Ye’ve fared through rain, in striving and distress. A bath, dry garb, hot food, a cup of cheer, a bed, then breakfast, ere you go from here.”

Still Rupert considered him. While more quick on his feet than most, he was stocky beneath an overlay of plumpness. His face was round, rosy, snub-nosed, brown eyes a-twinkle, chin clean-shaven; only his complete baldness made it memorable. His garb was equally nondescript, though of superior material. Yet something about him breathed an air at least of Puck.