was a cesspool.
He reached the Whistledown’s open doors, stepped through,
and was surprised to find that the inside of the ale house bore
an entirely different look. Although it was plain and sparsely
furnished, the floors were scrubbed clean, the wood trim on the
serving bar was polished to a high sheen, the tables and chairs
and stools were neatly arranged, and the smell of cedar chips
and lacquer was everywhere. Ale casks gleamed in their racks
against the wall behind the serving counter, and there were
glass doors and metal trim on the tankard cupboard. A pair of
heavy swinging doors at the end of the serving counter hung
closed. A massive stone fireplace dominated the wall to the
left of the counter, and a narrow staircase leading to the upper
floors took up most of the wall to the right. Serving bowls and
cleaning cloths were stacked on the counter itself.
The Talismans of Shannara 83
But it was something else that caught Morgan’s eye and
held it, something so obviously out of place that he had to take
a second look to be certain he was not mistaken about what he
was seeing.
There were bunches of wildflowers arranged in large vases
on shelves bracketing the ale casks and tankard cupboard.
Flowers—here, of all places! He shook his head.
The swinging doors opened and a boy with a broom pushed
through. He was tall and lean with short-cropped black hair
and fine, almost delicate features. He moved with fluid grace
as he swept down the length of the serving counter, almost as
if dancing, working the broom in front of him, lost in thought.
He whistled softly, unaware yet of Morgan.
Morgan shifted his stance enough to announce that he was
there, and the boy looked up at once.
“We’re closed,” he said. Cobalt eyes fixed on the High-
lander, a frank, almost challenging stare. “We open at dusk.”
Morgan stared back. The boy’s face was smooth and hair-
less, and his hands were long and thin. The clothes he wore
were loose and shapeless, hanging on him as if on sticks,
belted at his narrow waist and tied at his ankles. He wore
shoes instead of boots, low-cut, stitched leather things that
molded to his feet.
“Is this the Whistledown? ” Morgan asked, deciding he had
better make sure.
The boy nodded. “Come back later. Go take a bath first.”
Morgan blinked. Take a bath? “I’m looking for someone,”
he said, beginning to feel uncomfortable under the other’s
steady gaze.
The boy shrugged. “I can’t help you. There’s no one here
but me. Try across the street.”
‘Thanks, but I’m not looking for just anyone …” Morgan
began.
But the boy was already turning away, working the broom
back up the floor against the counter. “We’re closed,” he re-
peated, as if that settled the matter.
Morgan started forward, a hint of irritation creeping into his
voice. “Wait a minute.” He reached for the other’s shoulder.
“Hold on a minute. Did you say you were the only one … ?”
The boy wheeled about smoothly as Morgan touched him,
84 The Talismans of Shannara
the broom came up, and the blunt end jabbed the Highlander
hard below the rib cage. Morgan doubled over, paralyzed, then
dropped to one knee, gasping.
The boy came up beside him and bent close. “We’re closed,
I told you. You should pay better attention.” He helped Morgan
to his feet, surprisingly strong for being so lean, and guided
him to the door. “Come back later when we open.”
And the next thing Morgan knew he was back outside on
the street, leaning against the slat-board wall of the building,
arms clasped about his body as if he were in danger of falling
apart—which was not too far off the mark in terms of how he
felt. He took several deep breaths and waited for the ache in
his chest to subside.
This is ridiculous, he thought angrily. A boy!
He managed to straighten finally, rubbed at his chest, ad-
justed the shoulder straps of his sword where they had begun
to chafe, and walked back through the Whistledown’s doors.
The boy, who was sweeping behind the counter now, did not
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