RAMPION IN THE BELLTOWER by Merrie Haskell page 3/8
Rampion's gasp woke the grandfather. "Careful, Grandpa! There's a bird in the rafters, waiting to peck out our eyes. I will carry you to the room above, and then shoo it out with the broom!"
The grandfather grinned. "Stay your broom, soldier, and live in peace. Storks bring good luck."
"Luck? The only luck that bird could bring right now is a fine stork dinner. Or an egg dinner, if she's laid any."
"Bite your tongue. We'll do no such thing with the Kind Mother and her Little Stork looking down on us." He raised a finger to the ceiling, referencing the two youngest bells of the carillon, installed when he was still an apprentice bell ringer.
Rampion subsided, then looked around helplessly. It was the time of day to break their fasts, to go down to the well, to drink tisanes, and she did not seem to know what to do with herself. She went to the wide crescent-topped windows and stared down into the square. All was quiet again. "Perhaps I could run to the well," she began, but almost as she spoke, a raven landed below and plucked at the eyes of a body. From the shadows, one of the plague-dead leapt for the raven, caught it, and devoured the bird, feathers and all. Rampion grimaced and drew away, going to sit beside the grandfather and to lean against his shoulder for comfort.
He patted her head and told her of the great fidelity and devoted parenting of storks, and of the day when the great bulk of the two newest bells were installed in the campanile. Then together they recited the names of the twenty-seven bells of the carillon, first in order of tone and weight, then in order of age, and then, taking turns, each by how much they favored the bells' names. Then they fell silent, both thinking that they would not discuss their burgeoning thirst.
"I wish it would rain," she said. "If it would rain, I could wash my face." She ran her forefinger alongside her nose, and inspected the oil collected there.
"If it would rain, there would be no bonfires tonight."
"If it rains, we'd better find a way to collect the water. Else we will not last until the prince arrives."
The grandfather glanced at her. "Rampion..." he began, reluctant to destroy her dreaming hope.
"No. Don't say it. He is coming."
"He's a smart man, a wise man. He won't risk coming until the plague runs its course. If he can come, that is. The plague may've taken the whole country, Ramp, perhaps the whole world, like the pestilences centuries ago. Perhaps--"
"Don't say it," she whispered.
"Perhaps," he continued doggedly, "the prince has caught the plague as well."
"Don't say that!" Rampion said, eyes gleaming. "I cannot afford the water to pay for tears."
"I am sorry, Ramp. I am old and I've seen too much of death lately. And I am so worried for you."
"Gilpin will come." She closed her eyes to hold the water in.
"Prince Gilpin," the grandfather corrected.
"Etiquette! At a time like this."
"It borders on treason to forego the respect due your sovereign."
She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came. She looked at him searchingly, then fled to the eastern parapet.
From the rafters, the stork shook herself to life in a flutter of white.
"There's something she's not telling me, Gothel," the grandfather said. The stork flew out to the western parapet. "But that is fair. There is much we are not telling her."
