Mark of the Black Arrow Read Online Free Page A

uncomfortable, the chair under him as stiff as he felt. The sensation of being atop the wheel ran through him again, like he was on the verge of something new.
    Reaching inside his tunic, Much’s father drew out a small bronze container with holes in its lid. Lifting the lid he revealed a coal from the hearth fire, still glowing dully orange. Balancing the box on his knee, he reached into a pocket in the deer hide and produced a long wooden pipe. He opened the intricate box and a dark aroma of spice and something heady filled the small space. Without speaking he pulled out a pinch of tobacco, dark and shredded, then used both hands to pack the bowl of the pipe, tamping down and adding more until he was satisfied.
    Much just watched.
    Lifting the small bronze box his father tipped it forward, catching the coal between lip and lid before it could spill out onto his lap. He blew on it and the coal burned bright, heating to a near yellow before cooling back into sunset orange. Touching it to the tobacco he had so carefully arranged, he brought the pipe stem to his mouth, inhaled three sharp times, and blew smoke on a long exhale. Satisfied, he flipped the coal box up and shut it with a snap.
    He smoked for a long moment, eyes half-lidded as he stared at Much.
    “You’re a good son.”
    His voice was a shock. Much didn’t know what to say.
    So he said nothing.
    His father leaned forward and opened the plain box. Inside sat a corked jug. A long dead spider had built a web from the box’s corners to the neck of the jug, its work covered in a fur of dust. The jug had been there for a good while.
    Pulling it out, his father wiped the spider web away. He shook the jug, causing a liquid to slosh, before pulling the cork and lifting it to his nose. Much could smell it from where he sat—a sweet smell so pungent that it cut over the tobacco. The two things combined, mingling and complementing each other until his head swam just a bit. His father lifted the jug to his lips, took a long pull, and swallowed.
    Then he held the jug out to Much.
    The question of what it was, what elixir he was being given, sat heavy on his tongue. But he didn’t ask—he just took the gift he was given.
    It was heavier than it looked, made from a thick pottery like chipped stone. The smell was stronger up close, clawing into his breath and threatening to take it. His father looked at him, but didn’t say anything.
    Much lifted the jug and took a long drink.
    The liquid burned sweetly across his entire mouth and made all the air in his lungs go shimmery. He coughed, barking into his sleeve. The room turned wavy and indistinct as his eyes teared up.
    Still his father said nothing, letting him work through it.
    Much breathed deep, clearing his throat.
    “First one takes you by surprise,” his father said finally. “Try another, but sip it.”
    Much tentatively brought the bottle back to his lips. The burn had passed and his mouth still tasted sweet and felt strange. He took a smaller drink this time, prepared for the same burn, only to find his tongue numb. This time he tasted the currant, fermented into a pungent sweetness.
    It was
delicious
.
    He raised the bottle a third time.
    His father chuckled, a sound foreign to Much’s ears, and reached out before he could drink.
    “We still have work to do, son.”
    Dutifully, Much handed it over.
    His father took a long drink, swallowed, and sighed as he corked it. He held up the jug and gave Much the same look he had when he told him to be careful around the big grinding stone.
    “Only when I give it to you,” he said.
    Much nodded, his head full of the camaraderie of father and son, and his mouth filled with the hot-sweet taste of currant brandy.
    *  *  *
    Much smiled at the memory and kept walking, peering at the ground.
    One foot in front of the other.
    “What do we have here?”
    The deep voice jerked him out of his thoughts. His head shot up.
    Three men-at-arms were blocking the road. They were