No Brighter Dream: The Pascal Trilogy - Book 3 Read Online Free PDF

onto his side and pulling the blanket up over his shoulder. God, he hated the nights and the struggle for sleep, the constant fight against memory that he generally lost. He was so tired of the unending struggle, so tired of waking to yet another day of the same. Tired, period.
    Andre closed his eyes. He might not be in his dotage, but he felt two hundred years old. Really, he considered, it would be a great deal easier just to ask Jo-Jean to put a bullet through his head.
    Ali quickly fell into the routine, breaking camp early in the morning and riding for most of the day. It wasn’t unlike the journey the Yourooks made once a year to the mountain pastures, although she was accustomed to traveling in a great caravan rather than in a tiny group. But she was thrilled to be traveling on a donkey rather them on her own blistered feet, even though the donkey was not as pleased with the arrangement as Ali was.
    As they descended from the high mountain pass, the scenery became lusher, rich with fragrant fir trees and flowers in full blossom. Snipe, plovers, and quail grew plentiful, which Jojan shot and Ali happily cooked using whatever herbs and greens she found along the way.
    She delighted in the pleasure the effendis took from her cooking, from their shared glances of approval and their praise—well, Jojan’s praise, anyway. Handray was less forthcoming, but he didn’t fool her, for she saw the way he devoured every last morsel.
    She felt stronger every day, although her new master was very silly about not allowing her to carry heavy firewood or pack the donkeys by herself. “Perhaps next week,” was all he said when she objected. Really, he could be very aggravating.
    Ali shifted on the donkey. Her bony bottom ached from bouncing around so much, and she hoped they’d stop soon, for she was unaccustomed to riding without soft blankets beneath her.
    As if he’d read her thoughts, her master pulled his horse up and took out his compass. Ali still couldn’t believe a piece of metal and glass knew how to tell direction, but so far it had not led them wrong.
    “We’ll stop here,” he called. “There’s a river below that will provide water, and we can pitch the tents on this terraced area.”
    When the tents were safely tethered, Ali went off to fill the water jugs. On the way to the river she stumbled across a grove of orange trees and after careful consideration of the matter she picked a handful of the young fruit. She didn’t think there was anyone around to mind.
    “Look, Handray,” she said, tumbling the oranges to the ground from her shirt when she returned to the tiny camp. “I can cook with them tonight. There are lemon trees too—I think we must be close to the village of Minara, for I also saw the sure traces of goats.”
    “We’re two or three miles away at the most,” he said, settling at his writing table. “Tomorrow we’ll be able to restock our supplies. Just think, Ali, fresh milk, butter, eggs, meat, all sorts of good things for you to cook with.”
    “I can make kymac for you,” Ali said, her eyes shining with pleasure.
    “Can you?” he said absently, flipping through the notes he’d made earlier in the afternoon at the tombs.
    “Oh, yes, it’s very easy to prepare. All I need is fresh cow’s milk. Then I put it to simmer by the fire and leave it to sit overnight. The next day the scum has formed, and that is the cheese.”
    Andre glanced up at her. “Amazing, the things you know how to do.”
    “Oh, but I know hardly anything compared to you,” she said earnestly. “You can read and write and speak two languages perfectly.”
    “Six, actually,” he said even more absently, checking the nub of his pen.
    Ali’s eyes widened in awe. “Six? But I did not know there were so many! What are they?”
    “What?” he asked, looking up.
    “These languages—what are they called?” she repeated.
    “Oh. Well, let’s see. French, English, Italian, then Greek, Arabic, and Turkish, of