Sample Chapter from House of Brick by Renee Ward. The author reserves all rights to this property.
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Sample Chapter from House of Brick by Renee Ward. The author reserves all rights to this property.
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Part I Chapter Seven of House of Brick by Renee WardJessun glanced at the river as they crossed.
The trees of the sheltered woodland along the stream swayed in the morning breeze, green
leaves and golden catkins shimmering. The voice of the river sang to the young boar as the
cart’s wheels left the wooden bridge and then was lost to hearing as the wagon moved
on down the They traveled some distance beneath the
boughs of vine-draped ash and cottonwood trees overarching the road, listening to
birdsong, and smelling the rich, musky odors of the dense woodland. Abruptly, as they came
to a turning in the “ “Darkthicket’s sharecroppers,”
Pinto said, coughing a little as he gestured with a spotted paw toward the shanties. Jessun could see two lambs playing tag around
a rotting pile of kitchen scraps, their hoofs churning in hock-high muck. He wasn’t
certain, but the young boar thought they were the two young sheep that he’d seen down
by the river. Pinto nodded towards the fields and rolling
hills that stretched out behind the line of hovels. “This is all Darkthicket’s
property as far as you can see on the west side of this lane.” Jessun looked at the workers out tending the
crops, weeding and watering. The toiling figures seemed bent by more than their labors;
the faces of those close enough for him to see wore sad expressions that bespoke of more
than simple fatigue. “So this is Timberhold,” Jessun
said quietly. “Some of it,” Pinto said. The spotted dog suddenly shook his head and
growled, his gaze fierce and fixed on something over Jessun’s shoulder. Turning, the
young boar caught a blur of movement, heard a bleat of distress. A heavy gray tabby cat
was bullying the two lambs, shaking his paw threateningly and snarling vile oaths while
the two woolies quailed in the mud, too frightened to flee. Jessun recognized the cat immediately as
Tarball, Miss Katina’s heckler from the Thatch and Garter. “Slow up, Marcus, if you don’t
mind,” Jessun said, his voice just carrying over the squeaks and groans of the
shifting wagon. The big horse was already slackening his pace as he, too, saw the
altercation. Marcus tossed his head and whinnied a word of command to his boxdog. Pinto
pulled the brake and the wagon came to a stop. Jessun slid from the buckboard. The spotted
mutt touched the hilt of the knife sheathed on his hip, questioning Jessun with his eyes. “No need for that, Pinto,” Jessun
said quietly. He strolled almost lazily from the side of the buckboard towards the line of
reeking hovels that Darkthicket’s sharecroppers called their homes. Tarball noticed
his approach immediately. “You got no business around here, red
pig,” the cat hissed. “This here is Darkthicket land¾private property.” “I’ve no interest in speaking with
you, Mister Tarball,” Jessun said. He paused before the ramshackle gate that seemed
to be all that was left of a picket fence that must have once run along the road in front
of the shack. “I’m here to see these two young rams, if they give me leave to
enter.” The two lambs snapped out of their fear
trance and streaked toward Jessun. They clung to his pant legs, their white-rimmed eyes
fixed on the approaching menace of the tabby cat, all the while bleating high-pitched
entreaties for Jessun to visit their home and stay as long as he liked. “Come for supper! Baa, come for dinner!
Stay for breakfast!” the lambs shouted. “I’ll gather dandelions and
plantain!” the one dressed in red flannel tatters promised. “I’ll fetch pearl peas and field
carrots!” the one with a brown tint to its wool offered. “Just don’t let ol’ Tarball
wallop us!” they bleated in unison. “Nobeast is going to hurt you,”
Jessun said firmly as he gazed steadily at the cat. “You have no business interfering, red
pig,” Tarball snarled. “These two woolies are needed up at the drying sheds to
help with the grain sacking.” “It ain’t true, mister!” the
brown ram lamb bleated. “Mama will be here after she finishes
her chores at the big house to give us a learnin’,” the red flannel wearer
bleated. “Baa, we were just playin’ a bit before she gets here. We only work
every other day for Mister Darkthicket, and we worked at the boathouse just
yesterday!” “Baa, honest!” the brown lamb
cried. “Huh, what will you two blanket-brains
do with learnin’?” Tarball sneered. “You’re field beasts, the get of
slaves and half-breeds; you’ll die in the middle of some harvest, ignorant and
poor!” Jessun felt the heat of his anger flush the
skin of his neck and travel all the way up to the tips of his ears. Gently but firmly, he
pushed the lambs towards the gate and stepped forward, alone, to challenge the cat. Tarball flexed his forepaws, his eyes
flicking from the two out-of-reach lambs to the slate-blue eyes of the young boar. After a
tense moment the cat suddenly slunk away. Trotting through the refuse-strewn yard, he
jumped the fence and slipped into the cornfield beyond without a backward glance. “Hooray!” the lambs cheered,
darting forward to give their champion a hug. “You showed that ol’ bully!” Jessun tousled their brow wool. “Are you finished there, Jessun?”
Marcus called from the road. “Silvermane will have my hide for a blanket if I let us
get too far behind the other wagons.” “I’m finished.” He strode
quickly to the dray. On the bench seat, Pinto relaxed the forepaw
resting on the hilt of his knife. Jessun knew that if there had been any real trouble with
the tabby the boxdog would have cut Marcus free of the cart and then leapt from the seat
and right into the middle of the fray. The red boar looked up at the boxdog, nodded once,
and then winked. Pinto uttered a quick laughing bark and then offered a paw to help Jessun
back up onto the wagon. The two lambs were admiring Marcus. Such a
large, sleek, powerful animal seemed almost magical to their young eyes. Shyly, they
butted their woolly heads against the horse’s forelegs, their soft baas sounding like
purrs. Marcus tossed his head. “Pinto, fetch
these two dirt mops a treat so we can be about our business. With any luck, Silvermane
won’t notice us missing before he’s through arguing about prices with
Darkthicket!” Pinto dug out some candy canes and passed
them down to the ram lambs. The two woolies were sucking away noisily as Marcus broke into
an extended trot and the wagon rattled down Marcus had barely gotten back underway when
Pinto barked a warning. “Look out!” the spotted dog yelled.
“There’s another wagon in the lane!” A high, enclosed cart, painted bright enough
for a carnival and hung with all manner of goods and gadgets, was swaying down Marcus swerved, taking his load perilously
near the ditch. The donkey placidly brought the gaudy cart alongside, unaware, or
unconcerned, about the alarmed looks the black horse sent his way. “Mister Wintermint,” Pinto barked,
“why don’t you watch where you’re going?” Without a glance or word to anybeast, the
shaggy donkey sat down in his traces and buried his velvet muzzle into the grain sack hung
about his neck. “Well, good afternoon, suhs!” the
sandy rabbit greeted gaily, doffing his black top hat. “How are y’all doing this
fine day, Mister Marcus? Y’all are lookin’ fit too, young Pinto.” He nodded
politely to Jessun. “I’m afraid I haven’t had the pleasure, suh, of
makin’ your acquaintance...” “Jessun Redstone.” “A pleasure, a pleasure.” The
rabbit smiled generously. “It’s nice to see you, Bow,
but...” Marcus began impatiently. “I
am Bowdoodle Cocklebur.” The rabbit spoke to Jessun as if he hadn’t heard the
horse. “And this fine figure of an animal,” he gestured proudly with a forepaw
to the now dozing donkey, “is Mister Spokerling Wintermint, my partner.” “Spooky, would you please pull your cart
on by?” Marcus pleaded. The donkey snored softly. “This is a lucky meeting, young
suhs!” Bowdoodle announced. Jessun smiled slightly at the affable
huckster. “Oh, no,” Pinto muttered, rolling
his eyes. “Here it comes¾‘the deal of a lifetime.’” “Today¾in honor of my dear mammy’s birthday¾we are offering the deal of a lifetime on Uncle Trotter’s
Lineament and Old Smoothound’s Celery Tonic...” “No, no, no!” Marcus cried, tossing
his head. “We don’t have time for your spiel today, Bow. Silvermane will have my
hide for being late as it is!” Bowdoodle’s grin only widened, giving a
fine display of his prominent front teeth. “The wagonmaster did seem a bit steamed up
over something¾though I got the impression it was more to do
with Darkthicket’s stiff-snouted bargaining than with any late wagons.” The donkey seemingly dozing in the traces of
the peddlers’ cart suddenly whiffled and opened one eye. “Did you say you were Jessun Redstone?”
he asked sleepily. “That’s right,” the young boar
said quietly. “Seems to me that your name came up once
or twice after Tarball came streaking in from the fields. Whatever you’ve been doing
to that tabby hasn’t made you any friends at Timberhold, Mister Redstone. Darkthicket
seemed pretty heated up.” “Sweet magnolias!” Bow cried.
“Spooky is right. Y’all would be doin’ your wagonmaster a favor by not
showin’ up at Timberhold jest now.” “I’m not in the habit of backing
away from trouble,” Jessun said. “There’s something to be said for avoiding trouble,” Spokerling pointed out
dolefully. “Would you, as a favor to me,
Jess?” Marcus asked. “We don’t want to cause unnecessary complications
while Silvermane’s dickering.” Jessun gave the situation a moment of thought
and then slipped down from the wagon. “Thanks, Jess,” Marcus said
sincerely. “See you back at camp!” Pinto
yelped. The big black horse lunged against the traces
and the wagon rattled off down “I guess y’all will be headin’
back to town now?” Bowdoodle asked the red boar. “Looks that way.” The sandy rabbit nodded. “Our next port
‘o call as well. It will be a pleasure, young suh, to share the road with
y’all.” Jessun smiled slightly and then started
walking. Without any show of effort the gray donkey
moved out on his dainty hooves and the high gaudy cart rolled forward. The peddlers’
wares rattled with the jostling, metal pots and pans binging and banging in an ear-numbing
clangor. Jessun shook his head ruefully, thinking: So much for a long peaceful walk back to Sweetwater
Crossing. Unexpectedly, the donkey brayed and then,
joined by the sandy rabbit, broke out into song: “Oh, lady goats buy red coats
And widow cows buy candy. Missy lambs like porcelain pans And stew pots ‘cause they’re
dandy.” Bowdoodle Cocklebur possessed a not
unpleasant tenor voice; Spokerling Wintermint was a doleful bass. The utensil band, as
Jessun thought of the rattling kitchenware, carried on its own mindless cacophony,
completely at odds with the singers. “Oh, madam mare wants fine hair So
we sell her ointments. The lady swine delights in wine We’ll
have no disappointments.” A rare broad smile lighting up his handsome
face, Jessun slowed his stride so that he would not outpace the plodding donkey. |
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