*
They have kept me inside for four days. I haven’t seen anybody. I can’t get out. The door is barred and there are guards. I’ve started writing again, well obviously. The trouble is without my rucksack and paper I have to write on a skin I found on the bed. It’s a bit faint, but not too bad. It’s good enough for making notes. If I don’t, I’ll forget all about my journey here, and the boar hunt, and seeing the Cursus and everything. Well, not the Cursus, I’ll never forget that. My pencil is just a stub. I’ve got another in my bag, but when I have to sharpen this one. I’ll be sunk. I wish I had my rucksack. I wish I knew if Vart is alive. I hope he’s OK.
Blaith has put Kethin on guard duty tonight. Huh, talk about a fox to guard the chickens? I won’t dare sleep. You never know with old Blaith. Maybe he thinks the chicken will kill the fox? Do you know why I said that? It’s because I found out something. Kethin used to be the leader. Blaith kicked him out. That’s why Blaith ignores him. It also explains why Kethin is so pally with the dog-man, you know, a man Blaith clearly detests. I think there must be some law about killing past leaders. Blaith might be hoping that by putting Kethin to guard me we’ll fight and I’ll kill him. He’s got nothing to lose if I fail. I don’t know if this is his reason, it’s just a thought I’ve had.
They’ve got me in this little house. It is round and about four meters across. The wall is about one and half meters high, made of pug, the chalky mud. Even so you can’t get through it without an axe or a knife, because it’s got straw and twigs woven inside it. I’ve already ripped my finger ends trying to make a hole. There’s a hearth in the middle of the floor, but no furniture, except a mud-block platform with some old bed furs on it. The floor is white earth. They scrape it smooth and flat. I think they must have been storing stuff in here like furs or something they wanted to keep clean and dry. It’s really clean in here, but they don’t give me anywhere to pee. I do it through the door gap. I do the other job in a hole I dug in the floor, and cover it up with the diggings. There’s no toilet roll of course. If there was I’d write on it. It’d be better than this damn calf skin.
They feed me once a day, porridge. And guess what? You’ll never believe this. This’ll crack you up. I told you I’m learning the lingo, right? Well, guess what they call porridge! I nearly died. Porij! Can you believe that?
My foot is a lot better. The healer bloke comes every day and gives me some leaves. I don’t know what they are, but my foot is loads better. If old Kethin tries any funny business I’ll be ready for him. I can move a lot faster now. If he creeps in to get me, I hope he falls into my little shit hole.
Time Rocks Page 23
