Ranger's Apprentice 1 & 2 Bindup Read Online Free

Chubb carried a wooden ladle with him wherever he went. It was an unofficial staff of office. It was also used quite often as an offensive weapon, landing with a resounding crack on the heads of careless, forgetful or slow-moving kitchen apprentices. Alone among the wards, Jennifer saw Chubb as something of a hero. It was her avowed intention to work for him and learn his skills, wooden ladle or no wooden ladle.
    There were other Craftmasters, of course. The Armourer and the Blacksmith were two. But only those Craftmasters who currently had vacancies for new apprentices would be represented today.
    â€˜The Craftmasters are assembled, sir!’ Martin said, his voice rising in volume. Martin seemed to equate volume and the importance of the occasion in direct proportion. Once again, the Baron raised his eyes to heaven.
    â€˜So I see,’ he said quietly, then added, in a more formal tone, ‘Good morning, Lady Pauline. Good morning, gentlemen.’
    They replied and the Baron turned to Martin once more. ‘Perhaps we might proceed?’
    Martin nodded several times, consulted a sheaf of notes he held in one hand and marched to confront the line of candidates.
    â€˜Right, the Baron’s waiting! The Baron’s waiting! Who’s first?’
    Will, eyes down, shifting nervously from one foot to theother, suddenly had the strange sensation that someone was watching him. He looked up and actually started with surprise as he met the dark, unfathomable gaze of Halt, the Ranger.
    Will hadn’t seen him come into the room. He realised that the mysterious figure must have slipped in through a side door while everyone’s attention was on the Craftmasters as they made their entrance. Now he stood, behind the Baron’s chair and slightly to one side, dressed in his usual brown and grey clothes and wrapped in his long, mottled grey and green Ranger’s cloak. Halt was an unnerving person. He had a habit of coming up on you when you least expected it – and you never heard his approach. The superstitious villagers believed that Rangers practised a form of magic that made them invisible to ordinary people. Will wasn’t sure if he believed that – but he wasn’t sure he disbelieved it either. He wondered why Halt was here today. He wasn’t recognised as one of the Craftmasters and, as far as Will knew, he hadn’t attended a Choosing session prior to this one.
    Abruptly, Halt’s gaze cut away from him and it was as if a light had been turned off. Will realised that Martin was talking once more. He noticed that the secretary had a habit of repeating statements, as if he were followed by his own personal echo.
    â€˜Now then, who’s first? Who’s first?’
    The Baron sighed audibly. ‘Why don’t we take the first in line?’ he suggested in a reasonable tone, and Martin nodded several times.
    â€˜Of course, my lord. Of course. First in line, step forward and face the Baron.’
    After a moment’s hesitation, Horace stepped forward out of the line and stood at attention. The Baron studied him for a few seconds.
    â€˜Name?’ he said, and Horace answered, stumbling slightly over the correct method of address for the Baron.
    â€˜Horace Altman, sir … my lord.’
    â€˜And do you have a preference, Horace?’ the Baron asked, with the air of one who knows what the answer is going to be before hearing it.
    â€˜Battleschool, sir!’ Horace said firmly. The Baron nodded. He’d expected as much. He glanced at Rodney, who was studying the boy thoughtfully, assessing his suitability.
    â€˜Battlemaster?’ the Baron said. Normally he would address Rodney by his first name, not his title. But this was a formal occasion. By the same token, Rodney would usually address the Baron as ‘sir’. But on a day like today, ‘my lord’ was the proper form.
    The big knight stepped forward, his chain mail and spurs chinking