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.Greatheart stood still and watched.“Father,” I said, as he stroked his horse’s nose and tried to calm him, “you needn’t come any farther with me.These are the gates to the castle.If you leave at once you will be home by suppertime.” My voice cracked only a very little.I was glad I could sit quietly on Greatheart, that I did not have to dismount and make my legs carry me, and that I could hide my shaking hands in the thick white mane that fell over his withers.“Child—you must go back.I cannot let you do this—I cannot think what made me agree to it in the first place.I must have been mad to think that I could let you go—like this.”“The decision is long past now—you cannot revoke it; and you agreed because you had no choice.” I swallowed, although my mouth was dry, and went on before he could interrupt: “The Beast won’t harm me.And perhaps, after all, he is only testing our sense of—fair play.Perhaps I won’t have to stay long.” The words sounded well, but my voice didn’t, and neither of us believed what I was saying.I hurried on.“Go.Please.Parting will only be worse later.” I thought: I couldn’t bear to see this Beast send you away.“I’ll be all right.” I rode towards the gates, but before I had wheeled Great-heart so that I could touch them with my hand, they swung open without a sound, and a trackless field of bright green grass lay before me.“Good-bye, Father,” I said, half-turning in my saddle.Father had remounted.Odysseus was standing still, but the stiffness in his neck and ears indicated his tension and fear.One gesture from Father would send him plunging back down the road the way we had come.“Good-bye, dear Beauty,” he said almost inaudibly.My ears rang with my heartbeats.I rode forwards before he could say any more, and the gates of mist closed impassively behind me.I turned and faced forwards before they were quite shut, and did not look back again.Sunlight and the smell of the sweet grass were better than sleep or food; I felt that I was awakening from a dream left behind in the shadowed eaves of the forest.When we came to the edge of the orchard we found a white pebbled path leading between the trees towards the castle.I cannot begin to describe the gardens.Every leaf and blade of grass, or pebble in the path, or drop of water or flower petal, was perfect, in plan and in execution: true in colour and in shape, unworn, and unharmed as if each had been created only a moment ago, as if each were a gem, and the polish of each facet the life’s work of a fairy jeweler.I clung to Greatheart’s mane as he went forwards at a gentle walk; the motion of his shoulders and flanks seemed like the heaving of a ship in storm.The castle rose up before us like sunrise, its towers and battlements reaching hundreds of feet into the sky.It was of grey stone, huge block set on block; but it caught the sunlight like a dolphin’s back at dawn.It was as big as a city, I thought; not one building, but many, tied together by corridors and courtyards; I stared around at what I could see of the wings and walls of it stretching in many directions.I could not begin to imagine the number of rooms it must contain.But it stood silent, the windows dark, apparently deserted.But not quite deserted, I told myself unhappily.Oh dear.Greatheart came to a halt before the stable, whose door had slid back at our approach.Inside, afternoon sunlight slanted through tall narrow windows with half-moons of stained glass set in their arched tops.The coloured glass held pictures of horses, standing, galloping, richly caparisoned or free of harness, with long waving manes and bright dark eyes.The bits of colour sprinkled the marble walls of the stalls and the smooth golden sand of the floor.The door to the first stall slid back, just as it had for Father, as we approached, and straw finished scattering itself into the corners as we looked in.Great-heart pricked his ears at self-propelled bedding; but when I pulled his bridle off he quickly transferred his attention to the mixed grain in the manger.He did not eat so well at home.There was a selection of bone-handled brushes, combs, and soft cloths on a shelf on the stall’s outer wall, I groomed the horse carefully, but still I lingered; I did not want to be finished, to leave him in the stable and go by myself into the castle, where the Beast was doubtless waiting for me.The Beast had said that no harm would come to me, but how did I know? I thought of how ready I had been to believe those promises of safety when I had first heard Father’s tale, beside our own hearth.He was only a Beast, What could he possibly want with me anyway? I banished that thought as I had many times before in the past month.I recalled unhappily the tales of the insatiable monster that lived in the forest and ate all the game.Perhaps the Beast found young maiden a difficult dish to procure, and had to resort to trickery, I had cut and carried too much wood in the last two and a half years to make a very delicate morsel; but this was no comfort, since it would undoubtedly be discovered too late.I remembered that Father’s tack had been mysteriously cleaned while it hung on a rack overnight.The rack I found, it having conjured itself outside the stall while I was in it.“Won’t you let me wash it myself?” I said to the air, looking up as if expecting to see something looking down; I lowered my gaze hastily and was unnerved by the appearance of a bucket of warm water, soap, sponges, cloths, and oil.“Well, that is what you asked for,” I told myself aloud; and then “Thank you,” louder, and was rewarded by the same feeling that Father had had: that the air was listening.I didn’t like it.By the time I had done everything I could do twice over, the sun was nearly gone; lanterns set in the doorposts of the stalls were lighting themselves.It then occurred to me that I liked the idea of going into the castle for the first time after dark even less than I had liked it a few hours ago while daylight was with me, keeping trolls and witches under cover.Greatheart had finished the grain, and was happily working on the hay hanging in a net; he was not inclined to be sympathetic to my fidgets.I patted him for the last time and went reluctantly out.The horse was calm and relaxed again, as he had always been at home until the last few days.I tried to tell myself that this was a good omen, but I felt more as if I were being betrayed in my last extremity.I closed the stable door—or anyway my hand was on it when it closed itself—on the sound of quiet chewing.I found myself twisting the griffin ring on my finger as I stepped down from the threshold.As I stepped outside, the lanterns in the garden were lighting up; there was a warm sweet smell of perfumed lamp oil [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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