The Summer King Read Online Free Page A

been there, she could have, would have stopped her.
    On a sudden impulse, Laurel lowered herself over the cliff edge. Ignoring her own protests, as if driven against her will, she inched her away along the shelf, slowly, carefully. Her sister believed it led to a doorway. Was there an opening somewhere along the ridge? A high cave in the mountainside? Where she pressed against the rock face, the stone was surprisingly cold despite the sunshine. She could hear the sea crashing below her, but didn’t look down. Though she had a head for heights, she felt dizzy. What was she doing? This was crazy! A gust of wind blew around the corner. The sudden buffet nearly threw her off balance. She teetered on the edge of terror. A chilling thought slid into her mind. This is where Honor fell. Would she follow her? Was that why she had come here?
    No.
    As quickly as she had decided to do it, Laurel changed her mind. Battling a wave of despair, she retreated to the point where she had started. Only then did she discover, with a shock, that she was not alone.
    He was carrying a load of dried sticks in his arms: a short, stout, red-faced man. His ginger hair sprouted out from all angles—curly locks that fell to his shoulders, bushy beard, and tufts that grew from his ears and nostrils. He was just under five feet, more stocky than plump. His woolen trousers were tucked into rubber boots and he wore a tatty vest over a grimy red shirt. A patched top hat was perched on his head. Something about him made her think of a red badger. The eyes, dark like two blackberries, squinted down at her.
    “Ye shouldn’t be at that,” he said. His voice was gravelly. “Ye might fall, and then where would ye be?”
    She felt a shiver of fear. Honor had made him sound cute and funny, yet this little man seemed neither. There was something vaguely unpleasant about him. She was struck by a terrifying suspicion. The gliders might not have seen him from the air. He could have crouched down. Did he push Honor? Would he push her ?
    He dropped the sticks and reached out his hand.
    “Come up outa dat, before ye catch your death.”
    He must have come from the spinney. That would explain the sticks. But she didn’t see or hear anything when she went through it. Had he been hiding? Watching her? Her alarm was growing. She had to get off the ledge. She wished someone would come, but it was a secluded spot, and there was no sign of other hikers. There was nothing else to do but grab his hand.
    His grip was sweaty, but with one strong pull he yanked her up and onto firm ground.
    The first thing she noticed was his smell, like moldy earth. She stepped away quickly, from him and the cliff edge.
    “The roly-poly man,” she said.
    “Is that moniker here to stay, then?”
    He frowned, and in that moment she saw something older, darker, and bloodred. Something displeased. But the impression passed quickly, like a flare. Still, it left her uneasy for though he appeared to be harmless, in her heart she knew he wasn’t.
    “Not to worry,” he said, with a quick laugh. “Call me what ye want to, just don’t call me early in the morning.” His voice took on an ingratiating wheedle. “And isn’t it a grand thing ye got here at last? We almost gave up the ghost, and us after sendin’ ye messages all year long. Do ye not mind your dreams at’all?”
    She stared him, confused.
    “What? What are you talking about?”
    Her own voice sounded strange to her, hollow and robotic, like someone in shock. But hadn’t she come looking for him? Didn’t she hope he would show up?
    “I … I … don’t understand,” she stammered.
    “Ye mean ye don’t know the story?”
    Only then did Laurel admit to herself that she didn’t really know why she was there. She had been acting on instinct—so unlike her—even worse, on compulsion. She felt as if she were sliding toward a chasm. She needed to grasp onto something, anything, to keep from falling in.
    “It’s because of