Page 14

WITHSTAND

The day was bright, and promising to be brighter—one of the last days of a long summer, perhaps—and made shadows of the words in the branches.

COARSE

AGLOW

At a copse of birch trees, Havelock paused. There was an especially tall birch—taller than the rest—and he gestured at the dark marks in its peeling silver bark. “Look here,” he said. “This is unusual.”

RAW APLOMB

I peered closer, but I could see nothing peculiar about it—beyond, of course, the words, which in places were so lengthy that they curled around its trunk.

LOOSE FURL

“What do you see?” I asked.

“This tree is using two words at a time, in sequence.”

“Ah, yes,” I said, realising at last. “What do you make of it?”

Havelock turned about for a moment, studying the other birch trees, all of which contained single words. Then he tapped his teeth thoughtfully. “I’m not sure yet. Let me know if you see any others like this, though.”

“I shall,” I said, and we continued, becoming absorbed in the words surrounding us.

TRUE

BURSTING

FOUNDATION

Before long, it became apparent that we had lost our way. The forest was so tall around us that it made identifying any landmarks quite difficult, and I imagined that I would have to climb one of the trees to get a bearing. The very thought of climbing one of these trees—grasping the words on their trunks and branches—felt peculiarly wrong, however, in a way that I did not yet know how to understand. As a boy, I had climbed many trees with relish, occasionally building forts in their branches.

“Listen,” said Havelock, and I strained my ears. There was birdsong, and the gentle rustling of the leaves, and beneath it all the distant sound of children at play.

We followed the laughter through the trees, and to the edge of a well-trodden yard. There was a schoolhouse ahead, and beyond it was the rest of the village, dappled in sunlight. It was a relief to emerge from the depths of the forest, and the children playing in the schoolhouse yard rushed across at the sight of us, marvelling at our outfits.

“I am Havelock,” said Havelock, “and this is Sebastian.”

I bowed, and the children squealed in delight. There were a dozen of them, and they all appeared healthy and hale—flushed with the vigour of their games. One of the children enquired after my sabre, and I drew it for them with a playful flourish. There were gasps of astonishment, and I performed a few cuts and thrusts for them, my blade flashing in the sunlight.

“That’s enough!” came a cry, and from the schoolhouse a figure emerged, her skirts bunched in her fists to allow her quicker locomotion through the trodden-down grasses. “Put that away, right this instant!” she called, scolding me.

I lowered my blade.

“Ma’am,” said Havelock, doffing his straw hat. “I am—”

“I don’t care who you are,” she said, red-faced and huffing. “Away with you now, children,” she said to her wards. “Back to your play.”

The children rushed back to their games, and I sheathed my sabre.

“Now then,” said the woman, catching her breath. “No more of that.”

“Have I offended you?” I asked.

“Our children are impressionable. We try to take care.” She eyed us both up and down. “You are strangers to Farleigh, yes?”

“I am. Major Sebastian Wright, at your service. Surely the children must have seen a sword before?”