the belgariad pawn of prophecy 24

She ignored that.

"I've ordered hot water sent up to our chambers," she announced.

"I'll take the boy up and wash him while you and the others see to the

wagons and horses. Come along, Garion." And she turned and went back

into the inn.

Garion wished fervently that they would all stop referring to him as

the boy. He did, after all, he reflected, have a name, and it was not

that difficult a name to remember. He was gloomily convinced that even

if he lived to have a long gray beard, they would still speak of him as

the boy.

After the horses and wagons had been attended to and they had all

washed up, they went down again to the common room and dined. The meal

certainly didn't match up to Aunt Pol's, but it was a welcome change

from turnips. Garion was absolutely certain that he'd never be able to

look a turnip in the face again for the rest of his life.

After they had eaten, the men loitered over their ale pots, and Aunt

Pol's face registered her disapproval. "Garion and I are going up to bed

now," she said to them. "Try not to fall down too many times when you

come up."

Wolf, Barak and Silk laughed at that, but Durnik, Garion thought, looked a bit shamefaced.

The next day Mister Wolf and Silk left the inn early and were gone

all day. Garion had positioned himself in a strategic place in hopes

that he might be noticed and asked to go along, but he was not; so when

Durnik went down to look after the horses, he accompanied him instead.

"Durnik," he said after they had fed and watered the animals and the

smith was examining their hooves for cuts or stone bruises, "does all

this seem strange to you?"

Durnik carefully lowered the leg of the patient horse he was checking.

"All what, Garion?" he asked, his plain face sober.

"Everything," Garion said rather vaguely. "This journey, Barak and

Silk, Mister Wolf and Aunt Pol - all of it. They all talk sometimes when

they don't think I can hear them. This all seems terribly important,

but I can't tell if we're running away from someone or looking for

something."

"It's confusing to me as well, Garion," Durnik admitted. "Many things aren't what they seem - not what they seem at all."

"Does Aunt Pol seem different to you?" Garion asked. "What I mean is,

they all treat her as if she were a noblewoman or something, and she

acts differently too, now that we're away from Faldor's farm."

"Mistress Pol is a great lady," Durnik said. "I've always known

that." His voice had that same respectful tone it always had when he

spoke of her, and Garion knew that it was useless to try to make Durnik

perceive anything unusual about her.

"And Mister Wolf," Garion said, trying another tack. "I always thought he was just an old storyteller."

"He doesn't seem to be an ordinary vagabond," Durnik admitted. "I

think we've fallen in with important people, Garion, on important

business. It's probably better for simple folk such as you and I not to

ask too many questions, but to keep our eyes and ears open."

"Will you be going back to Faldor's farm when this is all over?" Garion asked carefully.

Durnik considered that, looking out across the rainswept courtyard of the inn.

"No," he said finally in a soft voice. "I'll follow as long as Mistress Pol allows me to."

On an impulse Garion reached out and patted the smith's shoulder. "Everything is going to turn out for the best, Durnik."

Durnik sighed.

"Let's hope so," he said and turned his attention back to the horses.

"Durnik," Garion asked, "did you know my parents?"

"No," Durnik said. "The first time I saw you, you were a baby in Mistress Pol's arms."

"What was she like then?"

"She seemed angry," Durnik said. "I don't think I've ever seen anyone

quite so angry. She talked with Faldor for a while and then went to

work in the kitchen - you know Faldor. He never turned anyone away in

his whole life. At first she was just a helper, but that didn't last too

long. Our old cook was getting fat and lazy, and she finally went off

to live with her youngest daughter. After that, Mistress Pol ran the

kitchen."

"She was a lot younger then, wasn't she?" Garion asked.

"No," Durnik said thoughtfully. "Mistress Pol never changes. She looks exactly the same now as she did that first day."

"I'm sure it only seems that way," Garion said. "Everybody gets older."

"Not Mistress Pol," Durnik said.

That evening Wolf and his sharp-nosed friend returned, their faces somber.

"Nothing," Wolf announced shortly, scratching at his snowy beard.

"I might have told you that," Aunt Pol sniffed.

Wolf gave her an irritated look, then shrugged.

"We had to be certain," he said.

The red-bearded giant, Barak, looked up from the mail shirt he was polishing.

"No trace at all?" he asked.

"Not a hint," Wolf said. "He hasn't gone through here."

"Where now, then?" Barak asked, setting his mail shirt aside.

"Muros," Wolf said.

Barak rose and went to the window. "The rain is slacking," he said, "but the roads are going to be difficult."

"We won't be able to leave tomorrow anyway," Silk said, lounging on a

stool near the door. "I have to dispose of our turnips. If we carry

them out of Darine with us, it will seem curious, and we don't want to

be remembered by anyone who might have occasion to talk to any wandering

Murgo."

"I suppose you're right," Wolf said. "I hate to lose the time, but there's no help for it."

"The roads will be better after a day's drying," Silk pointed out, "and wagons travel faster empty."

"Are you sure you can sell them, friend Silk?" Durnik asked.

"I am a Drasnian," Silk replied confidently. "I can sell anything. We might even make a good profit."

"Don't worry about that," Wolf said. "The turnips have served their purpose. All we need to do now is to get rid of them."

"It's a matter of principle," Silk said airily. "Besides, if I don't

try to strike a hard bargain, that too would be remembered. Don't be

concerned. The business won't take long and won't delay us."

"Could I go along with you, Silk?" Garion asked hopefully. "I haven't seen any part of Darine except for this inn."

Silk looked inquiringly at Aunt Pol.

She considered for a moment. "I don't suppose it would do any harm,"

she said, "and it'll give me time to attend to some things."