“I know what it is!” Sidroc said with a guffaw. “Saying moonstruck made me think of it. I bet you’re mooning over that blond floozy in the tight trousers you keep meeting during mushroom season. Aye, that’s what it’s got to be. Powers above, why don’t you find a girl closer to home?”
“Why don’t you soak your head?” Ealstan suggested, which made Sidroc laugh without letting him know how close to right he was.
School loomed ahead, both literally and metaphorically. As he went into the gray stone building, he tried not to think about the long stretch of mostly meaningless, useless time ahead. The Algarvians seemed more determined every day that their Forthwegian subjects should learn as little as possible, which meant classes taught less and less. The one good thing about it was that it gave him more time to daydream about Vanai.
He spent too much time daydreaming during his Forthwegian literature class; the master warmed the back of his jacket after he failed to recite when called on. Sidroc snickered. He was more used to having the switch fall on his own back than to seeing it land on his cousin’s.
“Ha!” he said when they were walking home together. “That’s what you get for sighing over your yellow-haired tart.”
“Oh, shut up,” Ealstan snapped. “I was so busy thinking about all the different ways you’re an idiot, I didn’t even hear the master call my name.” He and Sidroc had a more or less enjoyable time insulting each other till they got to their front door.
When they went inside, Conberge came up to Ealstan with a smile and handed him an envelope. “Here’s another letter from your friend in Oyngestun.”
Ealstan had asked Leofsig not to tell anybody else about Vanai. Evidently, his brother had kept the promise he’d made. He hadn’t told Conberge, anyhow. Now, all at once, Ealstan wished he hadn’t forced the promise out of Leofsig. “Thanks,” he told Conberge with a rather sickly smile.
“Oyngestun,” Sidroc said, as if wondering where he’d heard the name before. Ealstan had never before hoped so hard his cousin would stay stupid. By the way Sidroc’s gaze suddenly sharpened, he knew that was going to be one more blighted hope. Sidroc snapped his fingers. “Oyngestun! That’s where that what’s-her-name, that Vanai”--to Ealstan’s horror, he even came up with her name--”lives. And somebody’s writing you from there?
Maybe he meant it as a joke. Ealstan thought of that only afterwards. At the moment, he handed Vanai’s letter back to Conberge and hit Sidroc in the face as hard as he could.
Sidroc’s head snapped back; he didn’t get an arm up to block the blow. He staggered backwards, fetching up against the wall of the entry hall. But he was made of rugged stuff. After a muttered curse, he surged forward, fists churning. A solid right thudded into Ealstan’s ribs.
But, however aggressive Sidroc was, he was also still dazed from that first punch. He moved a little slower than he might have otherwise. Ealstan punched him again, right on the point of the chin. The sudden sharp pain he felt in his own knuckles told how effective the blow was. Sidroc stood swaying a moment, then toppled. His head hit the floor with a dull thud.
“Powers above!” Conberge exclaimed. “The way you went after him, anyone would think he knew what he was talking about.”
“He did,” Ealstan said shordy. Conberge’s eyes widened. Ealstan knelt beside his cousin. “Come on, Sidroc. Wake up, curse it.” Sidroc didn’t wake up. He was breathing steadily--snoring, in fact--but he just lay there, his eyes half open. Ealstan glanced up at Conberge. “Get some water. We’ll flip it in his face and bring him around.”
But the water didn’t bring Sidroc to himself, either. Drawn by shouts and thumps, Elfryth came into the front hall hard on Conberge’s heels. Ealstans mother stared at Sidroc inert on the floor and let out a small shriek. “What happened?” she cried.
“I hit him.” Ealstan’s voice was toneless. “I hit him, and he hit his head.” He’d always thought he might be able to lick Sidroc, but wished he hadn’t been proved quite so thoroughly right.
“Is he dead?” Elfryth asked.
Sidroc’s snores should have told her the answer to that, but Ealstan said, “No, he’s not,” anyhow. Sidroc showed no signs of coming to, either. Rubbing at a bruised knuckle, Ealstan went on, “If he doesn’t wake up, what will Uncle Hengist do? For that matter, if he does wake up, what will Uncle Hengist do?”
“He’ll go to the Algarvians.” Now Elfryth’s voice came out flat.
