Rainbow's End - Wizard Read Online Free

gentleman,’ Orson said, and his smile had him look not so ugly of a sudden.
    ‘How…?’ Lawrence frowned, and his voice tailed off.
    ‘ ...do I know about Julie?’ Orson finished his question for him and Lawrence nodded.
    Another smile and Orson said softly. ‘Oh, I know lots of things, Lawrence. Sometimes more than I want to.’ He started turning away, then stopped, and almost as an afterthought asked, ‘You smoke, don’t you?’
    An e mbarrassed Lawrence nodded, and Orson turned back to him.
    Another fingertip between the eyes and Orson said, ‘Not any more , you don’t. You can’t stand the smell…or taste. Now go. Go visit your sweet.’
     
    *
     
    ……Which Lawrence did, and had a hard time explaining something he couldn’t remember much of himself. But he had the leather bag, and when he and Julie, his fiancée, upended it on a coffee-table and saw its contents, and Lawrence told her what it was for, she gasped and screamed and jumped into her young man’s arms, kissing his bemused face and smearing it with happy tears.
    There were ten coins , and Doctor Durne - Lawrence’s father - identified them as Golden Sovereigns (just thicker and about twice their normal size). He guessed their value at around three thousand pounds. Each…
    Lawrence never smoked again… …
     
     
     

     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    3
     
     
     
     
    There were no stars , and the night black as pitch . They had just emerged from the forest, and Orson was fed up; and cranky; and tired. He was also muttering and cursing non-stop. He’d lost count of the number of gopher holes and field mice nests he’d stepped into, and only his sturdy hiking boots and the support of the wooden staff had saved him from falling and perhaps seriously injuring himself. He’d also heard the tearing sound of his fur coat’s silk lining on several of the occasions he had to jerk its trailing end free from snagging roots and the broken-off stubs of lower branches. It had sent him into semi hysterics, of which the rising pitch and originality astounded even Tessie, whom for years had been subjected to (and sometimes subject of) his black moods and acidic tongue.
    They were making their way along the edge of Broken Hill, and even with the help of the strong flashlight, their progress through the rock-strewn field was tortuously slow. The temperature had dropped even further, and despite several sets of thermal underwear, two polo necked jerseys, a thick woollen cap and his coat, Orson was cold. His feet were frozen and he couldn’t feel his toes. A minute later, an icy feather touched his cheek and when he turned his face to the black overhead, another settled on his nose. It was snowing again. Shivering, he drew the thick woollen cap further down his ears and looked at the dog. ‘If we don’t find him soon Tessie,’ he said, in a voice fraught with worry, ‘we might not find him at all…’
    The Labrador gave a soft whine and continued on her sniffing, searching way - already working as fast as she could. Then, just a few metres further on, she gave an exited yelp and turned almost at right angles. She had found the scent she was looking for and they now had Thomas’ trail, made during daylight, to follow; their pace was immediately almost doubled. Tessie had her nose glued to the ground and Orson, stubbing the toe of one expensive hiking boot on a smaller rock, began swearing again and hobbling off in her wake.
    Ten minutes later, it was gone. The snow had been increasing in intensity - every couple of minutes a bit heavier, and now, suddenly, the dog was running to the left and the right, and forwards and back, sniffling and snuffling and searching, but in vain. The scent was gone. The rocks around them were wet with sleet and snow; they reflected shiny grey and brown in the beam of the flashlight. All traces of Thomas had been washed away.
    A smallish rock, knee-high and the size of a chair loomed on the perimeter of the