- Published: 1 October 2013
- ISBN: 9781864718195
- Imprint: Random House Australia Children's
- Format: Paperback
- Pages: 480
- RRP: $18.99
Ranger’s Apprentice: The Royal Ranger
The Royal Ranger
Extract
It had been a poor harvest in Scanlon Estate. The wheat crop had been meagre at best, and the apple orchards had been savaged by a blight that left threequarters of the fruit blemished and rotting on the trees.
As a result, the share farmers, farm labourers, orchardists and fruit pickers were facing hard times, with three months to go before the next harvest, during which time they would have nowhere near enough to eat.
Squire Dennis of Scanlon Manor was a kind-hearted man. He was also a practical one and, while his kindhearted nature urged him to help his needy tenants, his practical side recognised such an action as good business. If his farmers and labourers went hungry, chances were they would move away, in search of work in a less stricken region. Then, when good times returned to Scanlon Estate, there would be insufficient workers available to reap the harvest.
Dennis had acquired considerable wealth over the years and could ride out the hard times ahead. But he knew that such an option wasn’t available to his workers. Accordingly, he decided to invest some of his accumulated wealth in them. He set up a workers’ kitchen, which he paid for himself, and opened it to the needy who lived on his estate. In that way, he ensured that his people received at least one good meal a day. It was nothing fancy – usually a soup, or a porridge made from oats. But it was hot and nourishing and filling and he was confident that the cost would be more than repaid by the continuing loyalty of his tenants and labourers.
The kitchen was in the parkland in front of the manor house. It consisted of rows of trestle tables and benches, and a large serving table. These were sheltered from the worst of the weather by canvas awnings stretched over poles above them, creating a large marquee. The sides were left open. In bad weather, this often meant that the wind and rain blew around the tables. But farm folk are of hardy stock and the arrangement was far better than eating in the open.
In fact, kitchen was a misnomer. All the cooking was done in the vast kitchen inside the manor house, and the food was carried out to be served to the hungry tenants and their families. The estate workers understood that the food was provided free of charge. But it was a matter of principle that any who could afford a small payment would do so. Most often, this was in the form of a few copper coins, or of produce – a brace of rabbits or a wild duck taken at the pond.
The kitchen operated for the two hours leading up to dusk, ensuring that the workers could enjoy a night’s sleep without the gnawing pains of hunger in their bellies.
It was almost dusk when the stranger pushed his way through to the serving table.
He was a big man with shoulder-length dirty blond hair. He was wearing a wagoner’s leather vest, and a pair of thick gauntlets were tucked into his belt, alongside the scabbard that held a heavy-bladed dagger. His eyes darted continually from side to side, never remaining long in one spot, giving him a hunted look.
Squire Dennis’s chief steward, who was in charge of the serving table, looked at him suspiciously. The workers’ kitchen was intended for locals, not for travellers, and he’d never seen this man before.
‘What do you want?’ he asked, his tone less than friendly.
The wagoner stopped his darting side-to-side looks for a few seconds and focused on the man facing him. He was about to bluster and threaten but the steward was a heavily built man, and there were two powerful-looking servants behind him, obviously tasked with keeping order. He nodded at the cauldron of thick soup hanging over the fire behind the serving table.
‘I want food,’ he said roughly. ‘Haven’t eaten all day.’
The steward frowned. ‘You’re welcome to soup, but you’ll have to pay,’ he said. ‘Free food is for estate tenants and workers only.’
The wagoner scowled at him, but he reached into a grubby purse hanging from his belt and rummaged around. The steward heard the jingle of coins as he sorted through the contents, letting some drop back into the purse. He deposited three pennigs on the table.
‘That do?’ he challenged. ‘That’s all I’ve got.’
The steward raised a disbelieving eyebrow. He’d heard the jingle of coins dropping back into the purse. But it had been a long day and he couldn’t be bothered with a confrontation. Best to give the man some food and get rid of him as soon as possible. He gestured to the serving girl by the soup vat.
‘Give him a bowl,’ he said.
She dumped a healthy portion into a wooden bowl and set it before him, adding a hunk of crusty bread.
The wagoner looked at the tables around him. Many of those seated were drinking noggins of ale as well. There was nothing unusual in that. Ale was relatively cheap and the squire had decided that his people shouldn’t have a dry meal. There was a cask behind the serving table, with ale dripping slowly from its spigot. The wagoner nodded towards it.
‘What about ale?’ he demanded.
The steward drew himself up a little straighter. He didn’t like the man’s manner. He might be paying for his meal, but it was a paltry amount and he was getting good value for his money.
‘That’ll cost extra,’ he said. ‘Two pennigs more.’
Grumbling, the wagoner rummaged in his purse again.
He showed no sign of embarrassment at producing more coins after claiming that he had none. He tossed them on the table and the steward nodded to one of his men.
‘Give him a noggin,’ he said.
The wagoner took his soup, bread and ale and turned away without another word.
‘And thank you,’ the steward said sarcastically, but the blond man ignored him. He threaded his way through the tables, studying the faces of those sitting there. The steward watched him go. The wagoner was obviously looking for someone and, equally obviously, hoping not to see him.
The servant who had drawn the ale stepped close to him and said in a lowered voice, ‘He looks like trouble waiting to happen.’
The steward nodded. ‘Best let him eat and be on his way. Don’t give him any extra, even if he offers to pay.’
The serving man grunted assent, then turned as a farmer and his family approached the table, hopefully looking at the soup cauldron.
‘Step up, Jem. Let’s give you and your family something to stick your ribs together, eh?’
Holding his soup bowl and ale high to avoid bumping them against the people seated at the tables, the wagoner made his way to the very rear of the marquee, close by the sandstone walls of the great manor house. He sat at the last table, on his own, facing the front, where he could see new arrivals as they entered the big open tent. He began to eat, but with his eyes constantly flicking up to watch the front of the tent, he managed to spill and dribble a good amount of the soup down his beard and the front of his clothes.
He took a deep draught of his ale, still with his eyes searching above the rim of the wooden noggin. There was only a centimetre left when he set it down again. A serving girl, moving through the tables and collecting empty plates, paused to look into the noggin. Seeing it virtually empty, she reached for it. But the wagoner stopped her, grasping her wrist with unneceassary force so that she gasped.
‘Leave it,’ he ordered. ‘Haven’t finished.’
She snatched her wrist away from his grip and curled her lip at him.
‘Big man,’ she sneered. ‘Finish off your last few drops of ale then.’
She stalked away angrily, turning once to glare back at him. As she did, a frown came over her face. There was a cloaked and cowled figure standing directly behind the wagoner’s chair. She hadn’t seen him arrive. One moment, there was nobody near the wagoner. Then the cloaked man appeared, seemingly having risen out of the earth. She shook her head. That was fanciful, she thought. Then she reconsidered, noting the mottled green and grey cloak the man wore. It was a Ranger’s cloak, and folk said that Rangers could do all manner of unnatural things – like appearing and disappearing at will.
Ranger’s Apprentice: The Royal Ranger John Flanagan
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