Hands clasped behind his back, the captain circled Ben and his friends, lecturing them
severely. "This is no laughing matter, as you'll soon find out!"
Karay smiled sweetly at him. "Oh come now, sir, we aren't really guilty of anyth—"
"Silence!" The captain's face reddened as he shouted. "Defrauding the guards by entry without
payment! Setting up business without licence, fees or permission! Trading on the very steps of
Comte Bregon's residence, where none are allowed to set up stall! Insulting a lady visitor to
Veron and setting a dog upon her horse! And you have the effrontery to stand there and tell
me that you've done no wrong? Arrest them and take them away immediately! The dog, too!"
Ned bared his teeth and growled ferociously. Ben slipped his hand through the dog's collar,
warning him mentally. "Hush now, mate, no use making things worse. It looks like we're in
real trouble with the authorities."
Village folk watched in silence as the four miscreants were marched off toward a barred
entrance in the wall at the far side of the big house.
18
A LONG BRICK TUNNEL LED THEM OUT INTO A sunny walled garden. With the
captain in the lead and the two guards at the rear, the four friends emerged, blinking from the
I darkness of the passage. It was obviously the carefully tended garden of somebody wealthy.
Rose and rhododendron bushes skirted the walls, fronted by all manner of border flowers. A
circular red gravel path surrounded an area of rockeries, with streamlets gurgling about them.
At its centre was an ancient gazebo with stunted pear trees growing on either side. Inside the
gazebo, an old man with a wispy beard sat upon a woven-cane divan. He was clad in a
nightshirt, over which he wore a quilted silk jacket.
Comte Vincente Bregon did not sleep well at night, thus he passed the warm summer days in
his garden, catching small catnaps to while away the hours. His eyes opened slowly at the
sound of feet crunching upon gravel. As the captain passed, he saluted his master. Bregon
stopped him with a slow gesture of his parchment-skinned hand. He looked at the three
raggedly dressed young people and the dog.
The captain had to crane his head forward to hear the old man's voice. "Where are you taking
those children and their dog?"
Standing stiffly to attention, the captain spoke officiously. "Unlicenced traders, sir, young
lawbreakers. A week or two in the dungeons will teach them some discipline and manners!"
The old comte's eyes twinkled briefly as he addressed Ben. "Are you a very desperate
criminal?"
Ben immediately liked the comte—he looked wise and kind. "No, sir, apart from not paying
my two centimes entrance fee to your village fair—oh, and one centime for Ned here."
The comte nodded slowly and smiled. "Ah, I see. And this Ned, will he bite my head off if I
try to stroke him?"
Ben chuckled. "Hardly, sir, he's a well-behaved dog. Go on, Ned, let the gentleman stroke
you. Go on, boy!"
The black Labrador trotted over to the comte, passing a thought to Ben. "I do wish you'd stop
talking to me as if I were still a bumble-headed puppy. This looks like a nice old buffer. I'll
charm him a bit, watch!"
Ned gazed soulfully at the comte and offered his paw. The old nobleman was delighted—he
accepted the paw and stroked Ned's head gently.
"Oh, he's a fine fellow, aren't you, Ned?"
Ben heard his dog's comment. "Aye, sir, and you're not a bad old soul yourself. Mmmm, this
fellow's an expert stroked"
The comte nodded dismissively at the captain. "You may go, leave these young ones with
me."
Blusteringly the captain protested. "But sir, they were trading on your own front steps, and
they insulted the prefect of Toulouse's wife—"
Cutting him short with an upraised hand, the comte replied, "Huh, that hard-faced harridan,
it's about time somebody took her down a peg. Go now, take your guards back to the fair and
continue with your duties. I'll take care of these vagabonds!"
Looking like an indignant beetroot, the captain marched his men off, back through the tunnel.
With open palms, the old man beckoned them forward. "Come here, my children, sit on the
carpet by my chair. Pay no heed to my captain, he's a good man, but sometimes a bit too
diligent for his office."
Seating themselves at his feet, they repeated their names one by one. The comte patted the big
black Labrador. "And this is Ned, I already know him. My name is Vincente Bregon, comte
of Veron, an ancient and useless title these days. I like pears, do go and pick us some, Karay."
The girl picked five huge soft yellow pears from the nearby branches, which grew right into
the gazebo window spaces. The fruit was delicious, and the old man wiped juice from his chin
with a linen kerchief as he questioned them.
"So then, tell me about yourselves. You, Karay, what do you do?"
Wiping her mouth upon her sleeve, the girl replied, "I am a singer, sir, the best in all the
country!"
The old fellow chuckled. "I'll wager you are. Come on, girl, sing me a song, a happy one. I
love to hear a good voice giving out a jolly air. Sing for me!"
Karay stood up, clasping her fingers at midriff height. She gave forth with a happy melody.
"Oh what care I for faces long,
Or folk so melancholy,
If they cannot enjoy my song,
Then fie upon their folly.
Small birds trill happy in the sky,
They never stop to reason why,
And as for me, well nor do I,
It costs nought to be jolly.
Sing lero lero lero lay,
Come smile with me, we'll sing today
A merry tune or roundelay,
All of our cares will float away,
With no need to sound sorry!"
As the last sweet notes hung on the noontide air, the comte wiped his kerchief across his eyes
and sniffed. "Pay me no heed, child. Your song and fine voice gladden my heart, though my
eyes have a will of their own. Now, Ben, what particular talent have you to display, eh?"
From where he was sitting, Ben looked up into the kindly old man's face. "Me, sir? I don't do
anything in particular, Ned and I are just friends of these two. We don't sing like Karay, or
sketch like Dominic."
The comte patted Ben's head affectionately. "They're very lucky to have friends like you and
Ned. Friendship is the greatest gift one person can give to another. Tell me, Dominic, what
sort of things do you sketch?"
"The features of people, sir," Dominic replied. "I am known as a facemaker."
Patting his wispy hair and smoothing his beard, the comte held his chin up. "Do you think you
could picture my likeness?"
Dominic took a piece of parchment, charcoal and chalks from his satchel, and looked up from
where he sat cross-legged on the carpet. "You have an interesting face, sir, I've been saving
this parchment for a good subject. Lower your chin and look down at me, sir."
A golden afternoon rolled slowly by while Dominic sketched leisurely, taking his time not to
miss any detail in the comte's lined features. Ned stretched out and took a comfortable nap.
Karay wandered off around the garden, admiring the flowers and the mullioned windows of
the stately manor. Ben sat on one of the open windowsills, breathing the fragrant air cooled by
running water and laden with the heady scent of blossoms. Somewhere nearby, a mistle thrush