I, Coriander Read Online Free PDF Page A

fever lasted I could not tell, for all things tumbled together, the dark and the light becoming one.
    My mother was with me, that much I am sure of. So was Danes. She said over and over again, ‘Do not fly away, my little sparrow.’
    The heat outside. The heat in the room. The heat in my body. So much heat that it was hard to breathe. I was propped up in bed and given a bitter brew to drink, and my burning, itching skin was soothed with ointments. I was moved at some point to my mother and father’s chamber and lay in their bed, the windows open in hope of a cooling breeze, but the air was slow and stagnant. I could hear the cries of the watermen, ‘Westward ho, eastward ho,’ the bells of St Magnus, St George and St Saviour’s ringing out, the screeching of seagulls. The shouts of the street sellers were the background noise to my fevered nightmares. The room would start to melt away and I was once more in a forest. I could hear the hunter’s horn, I could see the shadows of the dogs as they came chasing after me, I could feel their hot breath on my neck. I would wake screaming, feeling my energy ebb away from me like the sluggish river tide.
    It was at the darkest of moments, when my sight was so bad that I could hardly make out my mother’s face, that I first saw the fairy. She twinkled and danced in the shafts of sunlight that struggled between the drapes at the window. I could not be sure if it was really a fairy or just the stuff of dreams. Yet every time I woke, there she was floating above me. She became my good luck charm. I felt that as long as she was there, I would be all right.
    When I was better and the shutters were folded back and the drapes removed, I saw for the first time that what I had taken for a fairy was in truth a beautiful poppet doll that Danes had sewn for me while I lay there so ill. She was made out of cloth, with tiny stitched fingers and feet. She had red hair like good Queen Elizabeth and a ruff that looked like wings. I called her Beth and felt not the least bit disappointed that she was not real. I told no one but Beth about the raven and the old woman with the mirror. I thought no one else would believe me.
    Master Thankless came to call, bringing me presents of ripe cherries and some pretty marbles. I was still too weak to stand, my legs being as thin as twigs, and during the day I lay on a bed in the garden, under the shade of the crabapple tree.
    ‘How are you doing, little mistress?’ Master Thankless asked cheerfully. ‘You gave us a fright.’
    ‘I am much better now,’ I said, showing him Beth.
    ‘Beautiful! Did you make her?’
    ‘No,’ I laughed. ‘Mistress Danes did.’
    ‘Well, mistress,’ said Master Thankless, ‘you could come and teach my apprentice a thing or two.’
    Danes blushed. ‘It is nothing.’
    ‘We have a lot to thank you for, good sir,’ said my mother.
    ‘That’s funny,’ I giggled, ‘a lot to thank Master Thankless for.’
    ‘I have fun made of my name more times than I can say it,’ said the tailor good-naturedly.
    ‘Oh,’ I said, ‘I did not mean …’
    ‘Of course not,’ he said with a smile. ‘Bless you, it is good to see you looking so much better.’
    After a while, my mother excused herself, leaving Master Thankless with Danes to discuss the new clothes that needed ordering.
    ‘I am glad to be making the little mistress another gown,’ said the tailor, smiling at me. I went on playing with Beth while, thinking that I was not listening, he leant forward and whispered to Danes, ‘Forgive me for asking, but I am baffled as to what really happened on the bridge.’
    ‘So am I, Master Thankless,’ said Danes. ‘The bridge is a dangerous place. Why, only last week twelve sheep ran wild and rushed into the river, taking the printer’s apprentice with them.’
    ‘Yes, yes,’ said the tailor. ‘But how did the little mistress get separated from you in the first place? And how did she lose her shoes? One moment I saw you