The Castle of Llyr Read Online Free PDF Page B

not!” Taran retorted. Now, of all times, he had no wish to be hindered by the feckless Prince. “I—I seek the tailors,” he added quickly. “Where are they lodged?”
    â€œYou’re looking for tailors?” Rhun asked. “How odd! Whatever for?”
    â€œMy jacket,” Taran hurriedly answered. “It—it fits me badly. I must ask them to fix it.”
    â€œIn the middle of the night?” asked Rhun, his moon face puzzled. “Now, that really is surprising!” He pointed toward a shadowed side of the castle. “Their chambers are down there. But I shouldn’t
think they’d be in a humor to stitch well if you rouse them up out of a sleep. Tailors can be touchy, you know. I advise you to wait until morning.”
    â€œNo, it must be done now,” Taran said, impatient to be rid of Rhun.
    The Prince shrugged, wished him a cheerful good night, and trotted off again. Taran made his way toward a cluster of sheds beyond the stable. His search there was also in vain. Discouraged, he had decided to rejoin Gurgi when he stopped suddenly. A figure was moving quickly across the courtyard, not toward the main portal but to the farthest angle of the heavy stone wall.
    Could Eilonwy have slipped away from Gurgi? Taran was about to call out. Then, fearful of waking the castle, he hurried after the figure. An instant later it seemed to disappear completely. Taran pressed on. At the wall he stumbled upon a narrow opening, barely wide enough to squeeze through. Taran plunged through the curtain of ivy concealing it and found himself beyond the castle on a rocky slope overlooking the harbor.
    The figure, Taran suddenly realized, was not Eilonwy—too tall, the gait different. He caught his breath as the cloaked shape turned once for a furtive glance at the castle and the moonlight glittered for a moment over its features.
    It was Magg.
    Spiderlike, the Chief Steward was rapidly picking his way down a path. In a surge of fear and suspicion, Taran clambered blindly over jagged stones, trying his best to be both swift and silent. Despite the clear night the way was difficult to follow; boulders loomed to catch him unawares and break his stride. He longed for
the light of Eilonwy’s bauble as he scrambled headlong after Magg toward the sleeping harbor.
    Magg had come to level ground well ahead of Taran, and was scuttling along the sea wall until, at the far end, he reached a huge pile of rocks. With surprising agility the Chief Steward swung himself up, crawled over, and once more dropped out of sight. Casting caution aside, fearful he would lose track of Magg, Taran broke into a run. Along the wall moon-bright water lapped and whispered. A shadow moved for an instant among the stilted piers. In alarm Taran checked his pace, then hastened on. His eyes were playing tricks. Even the rocks themselves seemed to rise before him like crouching, threatening beasts.
    Gritting his teeth, Taran climbed the dark barrier of rocks. Below, the water churned in glittering eddies and foamed among the stones. The surf rang in his ears as he hauled himself to the crest. There he clung, not daring to follow farther. Magg had stopped not many paces beyond, at the edge of a narrow spit of land. Taran saw him kneel and make a rapid motion. In another instant a light flared.
    The Chief Steward had lit a torch and now raised it overhead, moving the flickering flame slowly back and forth. As Taran watched, fearful and puzzled, a tiny point of orange light glowed far seaward. This answering signal, Taran judged, could come only from a ship, though he could make out nothing of the vessel’s shape or distance. Magg waved the torch again, in a different pattern. The light from the ship repeated it, then winked out. Magg thrust his torch into the black water where it sputtered and died; he turned and strode quickly toward the tumble of rocks where
Taran lay. Taran, left blinking in the sudden