The Sword of Straw

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Book: Read The Sword of Straw for Free Online
Authors: Amanda Hemingway
cannot abandon the stray lamb—they want to bring him back to the fold.”
    The inspector, cynical from experience, made a sound something like a snort.
    “Don’t dismiss the possibility,” Bartlemy said. “I’ve seen things that would surprise you.” And, on a note of irony: “You do not know the power of the light side.”
    But Pobjoy missed the allusion. “I ought to be going,” he said, finishing his tea. The cookie plate was empty.
    “Next time,” Bartlemy said, “you must stay to lunch.”
     
    N ATHAN WAS accustomed to his uncle’s cooking, but habit didn’t take the edge off his appetite. He, Hazel, and their friend George Fawn were devouring roast lamb with teenage enthusiasm the following Sunday and talking about Jason Wicks, the village’s aspiring thug, when Bartlemy inserted his question.
    “Do you have any problems of that kind at Ffylde?”
    “The teachers keep a close eye on things,” Nathan said. “They try to stamp out bullying before it gets really nasty.”
    “No school bad boys?” Bartlemy persisted. Annie looked thoughtfully at him.
    “There’s Nick Colby…he was caught insider trading. He overheard his father talking about a merger and bought up shares for half the class.”
    “Did you get some?” George asked, awed.
    “He’s the year below me.”
    “Anyone else?” Bartlemy murmured.
    “Well…Damon Hackforth, in the sixth. He’s been in trouble with the police. We’re not supposed to know, but of course everybody does. There was a rumor he’d be expelled. He’s always having long talks with Father Crowley. I expect they’re trying to reclaim him—some of the monks are very idealistic.”
    “Do you think they’ll succeed?” Bartlemy asked.
    Nathan made a face. “Don’t know. I’ve never really had anything to do with him, but…he gives off very bad vibes. You can feel it when he walks past. A sort of—
aura
—of anger and aggression. Worse than Jason Wicks. Ned Gable’s parents know
his
parents, and Ned says they begged the school not to chuck him out. They must be pretty desperate about him.”
    “They care about him, then?” Annie said, flicking another glance at Bartlemy.
    “I expect so.” Nathan was still young enough to assume that parents generally cared about their children. “He’s got a sister who’s an invalid. Ned says Damon’s jealous because she gets all the attention. She’s very ill—something they can’t fix, where she just goes on and on deteriorating. Muscular dystrophy, maybe. Something like that. She’s in a wheelchair. Ned says she’s very pretty and clever.”
    “How awful,” Hazel said, thinking of a girl who had everything she didn’t, trapped in a wheelchair, wasting away.
    “Awful,” Annie echoed, thinking of the parents, with their violent, mixed-up son and dying daughter.
    “Stupid,” said George, “being jealous of someone who can’t even walk.”
    “Good point,” Bartlemy said. “Most of the unhappiness in the world is the direct result of stupidity—of one kind or another. Who’s for baked apple?”
    Afterward, when Nathan, Hazel, and George had left, Annie said: “So what’s your interest in this boy Damian?”
    “Damon. Did I say I was interested?”
    “You didn’t need to say. I could see it.”
    “I don’t know that I am interested in him,” Bartlemy said. “I might be interested in his father.” He told her about his conversation with Pobjoy.
    “Is it going to start again?” Annie whispered. “Like last year?” She was remembering a man with a crooked smile who had been nice to her—a thing made of river water with a woman’s face—a very old corpse in a white-cushioned bed. And the secret she had never shared with her son, the secret of his paternity…
    “You’ll have to tell him,” Bartlemy said, as though reading her mind.
    “That’s for me to decide.” Annie’s tone was almost tart. “He doesn’t have to know yet. Perhaps he never will.”
    “That’s just it,”

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