The Castle in the Attic: Chapters 9–11

“The same,” was his inevitable reply. “She is not eating well, and I can hear her pacing long into the night.”

He ignored the meaningful looks from the knight and his hints that Mrs. Phillips’s health was deteriorating.

“And the bookshelves in the cellar,” his father added a bit sheepishly. “Never mind. I finished this one.”

“Nice legacy for Mrs. Phillips to leave,” he said. “As if her spirit lives on in the attic.”

“Imagine how you would feel, my boy, if you were sitting down to a nice meal of roasted mouse legs and your entire castle were lifted up and banged about like a mere piece of kindling. I doubt you would take it too kindly. I barely had time to gain the safety of the stable. And Lady Elinore is not herself at all this evening. She has gone to bed early.”

“I said I was sorry, Sir Simon. I had no idea my father was coming up here. You have to admit, it’s a pretty nice moat and ramp he made.”
“A useful contraption, I daresay.”

He could see the rough lines of mortar between each square stone, the intricate carvings on either side of the doorway, the chiseled letters of the motto above.

He could see the rough lines of mortar between each square stone, the intricate carvings on either side of the doorway, the chiseled letters of the motto above.

He dropped a brown cloth tunic over William’s head while murmuring some odd incantation.

“Be compassionate to the needy. Neither squander wealth nor hoard it. Never lose your sense of shame. If questions are asked of you, answer them frankly but do not ask too many yourself. Be manly and of good cheer. Never kill a foe who is begging for mercy.”

“Be compassionate to the needy. Neither squander wealth nor hoard it. Never lose your sense of shame. If questions are asked of you, answer them frankly but do not ask too many yourself. Be manly and of good cheer. Never kill a foe who is begging for mercy.”

“Be compassionate to the needy. Neither squander wealth nor hoard it. Never lose your sense of shame. If questions are asked of you, answer them frankly but do not ask too many yourself. Be manly and of good cheer. Never kill a foe who is begging for mercy.”

As it was believed that a knight’s strength increases until midday and wanes with the sun, Sir Simon worked with William in the morning and Mrs. Phillips drilled him in the afternoon.

He was able to execute it perfectly, knowing that her outstretched arm would be there to support his back.

“Your hands must be free, and he’s too large to fit into the bag. Anyway, I’ll need some company in this drafty old castle. Now go to Sir Simon, she said, crushing him in a quick hug. “I’ll meet you in the courtyard.”

After what seemed like hours, the body moved and Sir Simon clambered slowly to his feet.

She stepped forward and touched the carved hilt with her finger.

Sir Simon bowed and slipped the weapon into its sheath. “I would ask of you a keepsake, my lady.”

Sir Simon bowed and slipped the weapon into its sheath. “I would ask of you a keepsake, my lady.”

They gazed at one another for a long solemn moment. Then he kissed her hand and turned toward the door.

The dirt road out of the castle wound around a corner between two rows of stately trees.

Birds chided each other and called out the news of early travelers on the road.

The song of sparrows had been replaced by the raucous call of the rooks that sat, black and motionless, in the thick trees above them.

The song of sparrows had been replaced by the raucous call of the rooks that sat, black and motionless, in the thick trees above them.

“My helmet, William. Your hands must be free to reach your dagger. Stay close to me. The forest will be full of the noise of animals. Strange apparitions will tempt you on every side, but no matter what, you must stay on the path. They say that the noise often drives people mad because it is so constant. Talk to yourself if you have to shut it out. Are you ready?”

Small animals rustled and stirred in the undergrowth, and more than once, William felt a warm, furry body rush by his legs.

Before William could stop him, the knight had plunged into the forest after a silver horse that William couldn’t see.

At last, when his voice grew hoarse and he was too tired to stand, he sank to the ground and cried until he fell asleep.

The juice of the apple had helped quench his thirst, but it was hard going without Sir Simon’s silver shape to guide him.

He knew the thin, reedy notes were not loud enough to drown out the animals, but if he could just listen to something else for a while, he might be able to go on.