Emily Rodda - The Golden Door

“Midsummer Eve is tomorrow,” Sonia said at last. “Still, half a day and a night should give us plenty of time to get to Oltan, overthrow a tyrant, and save his prisoners — do you not agree?” The corner of her mouth twitched.

“Oh, certainly,” Rye said, trying to match her tone. He knew this was Sonia’s way of saying she was with him, whether he was right or wrong about Olt’s plans for Midsummer Eve.

They passed a small village, where ducks of many colors paddled in a pond, lines of washing flapped in the sun, and little children ran about barefoot. Most of the older people were occupied in making a great pile of sticks and logs in the center of the square. The people all looked healthy and well fed, but there was not a smile among them.

“Midsummer Eve!” cried Popsy, breaking off her song and clapping her hands at the sight of the growing bonfire heap. “One more sleep!”

“That’s right,” said her father tightly. And this time he could not resist throwing a dark look over his shoulder at his silent passengers.

“Best you get some rest while you can, young travelers,” he said gruffly. “There’s a way to go yet.”

He lowered his voice so Popsy would not hear him. “And when we get to Fleet, just keep your mouths shut. Ask no questions and you’ll be told no lies, as my old gran used to say. Understand?”

He scowled until they had both nodded. Then he turned back to face the front, clicked to the horse, and drove on.

Fleet was a surprise. At FitzFee’s warning call, Rye woke from an uneasy doze to see before him a graceful township that seemed to be filled with flowers. It was not at all the sort of place he had expected to find in the land of the barbarians.

“How beautiful!” Sonia was exclaiming. “And, oh! Look at the horses !”

Rich fields edged with white painted fences surrounded the town. And in the fields were horses — wonderful horses, brown, white, black, and dappled gray, with proud, arching necks and fine, long legs. The younger ones galloped along the side fences with the cart. The older ones just stood watching the newcomers in dignified fashion.

“Of course there are horses!” giggled Popsy. “That’s what Fleet is — a horse place!”

“Fleet breeds the best horses in Dorne,” FitzFee agreed, sighing for some reason as he turned his head to look at the spirited animals. “The best horses in the whole Sea of Serpents, some say!”

“Is that why you have come here, Master FitzFee?” Sonia asked eagerly. “To trade for a new horse?”

“Not likely!” FitzFee laughed. “The FitzFees do well enough, but we couldn’t afford a Fleet horse. Not in a thousand years.”

He clicked his tongue to his old brown mare and guided the cart off the road and into the bustling main street of the town. The mare, who seemed to know very well what she was doing, stopped on a paved area that lay before a large, handsome wooden building.

A small crowd of men and women left their work to greet the visitors. Rye tried not to stare, but he could not help it. The people were all very tall — even Dirk would have seemed average beside them. Otherwise, they looked no more like savage barbarians than Fleet looked like a barbarian camp.

They all seemed tired, but there was a quiet dignity about them that was very impressive. Their garments were work-worn, yet somehow elegant. Despite the shadows under their eyes, they all looked in good health, except for the two youngest — strapping young men of about Dirk’s age, whose faces were covered in angry red blotches and blisters.

Everyone was smiling. It was clear that FitzFee had been expected and was very welcome in Fleet. Yet Rye could sense a sort of tension, a suppressed excitement rising from the crowd.

A tawny-haired man with watchful eyes moved forward, holding a sturdy boy of about eight by the hand.

“Welcome, FitzFee!” he exclaimed. “So, here are our goats! And very fine they look.”

“The best I had!” said FitzFee, jumping from the cart and turning to lift Popsy down after him. “Good to see you again, Nanion — and young Nanion, too! Bless my heart, how he’s grown! Why, he’s as tall as me already!”

The boy grinned, his likeness to his father suddenly becoming very plain.

“I’ve brought my girl with me, as you see,” FitzFee rattled on, drawing Popsy forward. “I fancied she’d enjoy the outing. Her mother’s very busy with young Tigg these days. He’s teething.”

“Indeed,” said the man Nanion, smiling at the little girl, who dimpled shyly back.

FitzFee waved his hand casually at Rye and Sonia, who had risen to their feet and were standing uncertainly among the goats.

“And here are two young travelers we met on the road,” he added. “They’d lost their way and were having a bit of trouble with a bloodhog, but we soon put that right.”

The man Nanion laughed. “I daresay you did, FitzFee!” he said. “Well, please come, all of you, into the guesthouse for refreshments. Serri and Peron will see to the goats and lead your good mare to shade and water.”

The crowd melted away as people hurried back to their work. Serri and Peron, the two young men with marked faces, moved silently to the cart. They darted sharp, curious glances at Rye and Sonia, then ducked their heads. Perhaps the ugly red blisters that so spoiled their good looks embarrassed them. Or perhaps, Rye thought, looking down at himself, they were merely being tactful because their visitors were so dirty and bedraggled.

Serri and Peron began unloading the goats. Feeling that it would look strange if they stayed in the cart any longer, Rye and Sonia climbed down and moved rather nervously to stand behind FitzFee.

“All well, I gather, Nanion?” they heard the little man asking in a low voice.

Nanion’s lips tightened, but he nodded. “Olt’s ruffians came four days ago. They turned the town upside down searching, but finding no one here to interest them, they went on their way.”

Rye heard Sonia draw a quick breath, and concentrated on keeping his face expressionless.

“We have been very busy since we were rid of them, as you can imagine,” Nanion was continuing. “There has been little sleep for any of us.”

As he spoke, he raised his eyes to look at Rye and Sonia. Rye felt a jolt of alarm as the eyes suddenly widened, then turned to glare at FitzFee.

He has seen through the lie, Rye thought, panic-stricken. The moment he looked at us closely he knew exactly who we were.

For a split second, he thought of grabbing Sonia’s hand and running. Then he saw that FitzFee was looking shamefaced but quite calm. FitzFee, at least, did not fear that Nanion of Fleet would betray them.

“How could you have brought them here, FitzFee?” growled Nanion. “Dirt and ragged clothes are no disguise! And so close to —”

“Yes, well, bless my heart, what was I to do?” FitzFee exclaimed, holding up his hands as if to defend himself. “Let them walk? They’re determined to get to Oltan, and some young people just won’t be told, Nanion, as you well know.”

“Indeed I do,” Nanion agreed, grim-faced. “Well, as it happens, Fleet is safe enough for them now, at least. There is no reason for Olt’s louts to return here. From what I hear, their vile mission was completed yesterday — not very far from your farm, either, FitzFee — and they are now back in Nerra.”

Hearing the forbidden name, Popsy gasped and clapped her hand over her mouth as if it had been she who had uttered it.

Nanion’s face softened, and he lightly touched the little girl’s curly head. With a shock, Rye saw that he was wearing a braided ring on his index finger. It was just like the one on Rye’s own hand.