Clovermead : In the Shadow of the Bear

by David Randall

• ISBN13: 9780689866395
• ISBN10: 0689866399
• Format: Hardcover
• Copyright: 2004-05-25
• Publisher: Margaret K. McElderry

Summary

Twelve-year-old Clovermead Wickward's head is filled with stories of adventure. She dreams about the thrill of a sword fight, the excitement of heroic quests, and the clash of mighty armies. The last thing Clovermead expects is for those dreams to come

Table of Contents

NOTE	xi
THE LANDS OF LADY MOON	xiii
Chapter One: THE TANSYARD PILGRIM	1	(18)
Chapter Two: THE VISION IN THE PUDDLE	19	(16)
Chapter Three: THE BROOCH OF THE BURNING BEE	35	(8)
Chapter Four: LUCIFER SNUFF	43	(18)
Chapter Five: THE GOLDEN CUB	61	(8)
Chapter Six: THE CHAFFEN HILLS	69	(16)
Chapter Seven: THE TALE OF THE THIEVING SERVANT	85	(16)
Chapter Eight: AMBUSH	101	(20)
Chapter Nine: IN THE MILL	121	(14)
Chapter Ten: HORSE THIEVERY	135	(16)
Chapter Eleven: STEPPE TALES	151	(20)
Chapter Twelve: THE ARMY OF LOW BRANDING	171	(18)
Chapter Thirteen: THE RAID ON THE PRISON CARTS	189	(14)
Chapter Fourteen: STALKING DREAMS	203	(8)
Chapter Fifteen: THE MAYOR'S INTERROGATION	211	(12)
Chapter Sixteen: THE PROPHECY OF MRS. NEAP	223	(16)
Chapter Seventeen: WHAT WAXMELT WICKWARD STOLE	239	(18)
Chapter Eighteen: THE WHITE DOE	257	(18)
Chapter Nineteen: CERELUNE CINDERTALLOW	275

Excerpts

Chapter One: The Tansyard Pilgrim Clovermead Wickward leapt onto the bed, lunged with the sword, and battered a pillow. She laid about her with two-handed swings that sent the dust motes spinning and scratched the oak bed frame's dark polish. She crouched in front of the open window, growled a challenge out to the thick green slopes of Kestrel Hill as the cool and lazy autumn breeze caressed her cheeks, and smiled with unholy glee.Clovermead's flailing limbs radiated an almost palpable energy as she sprang from pillow to bolster and back again. She was five feet tall -- she had grown three inches in the last year, and her father said the way she ate, she was like to grow another three inches in the year to come. Her long golden hair, fine and soft as silk, billowed down to her shoulder blades in unruly tangles. Between her freckles her skin was white as crystal salt. Her eyes were bright blue. Over her wiry frame she wore an outsize woolen sweater and trousers -- boys' wear in Timothy Vale, but Clovermead vehemently preferred comfort to feminine style. Her trousers were plain brown, but a bold Valeman pattern of interwoven yellow and blue crescents blazed forth on her new wool sweater. Goody Weft had made that sweater for Clovermead and given it to her on her twelfth birthday."Bold Lady Clovermead skewers the spider-priest of Great Jaifal," Clovermead announced to the room. The room was small and sparsely decorated, but, Clovermead noted with some pride, clean and comfortable. She had oiled the dresser and made the bed just last night. Clovermead leapt to the floor and rolled in a huddle under the bed. "The priest's servant-spiders skitter after her. She hides beneath the eight-legged altar -- hah! There's a secret entrance to the rear." Clovermead slid out the other side of the bed. A large pile of dust followed after her. "Sweet Lady, I knew I forgot to do something -- silly Clo, you'll have to sweep away this mess. Look! A secret passageway! It leads up -- to daylight? No, that's a gem glittering in torchlight! Clovermead, it's the Spider Ruby itself! You've found it!" She snatched a candle from the dresser and held it aloft in triumph. "Time to escape. Where's that trapdoor I saw? I remember! It was behind the skeletons." She spun around to face the door.It was open. A young man was watching her from the doorway of the room. A bemused smile flickered on his lips, and Clovermead's cheeks flared strawberry red. It was the owner of the sword.The man was unmistakably a pilgrim -- pilgrims often sported exotic fashions, but Clovermead had never seen anyone so bizarre. His jerkin and leggings were patchworks of horse skin, beaver fur, and leather ribbons. On his head he wore a fox-fur hat edged by the fox's face, paws, and tail. He had tied his long auburn hair into a thick braid like a horse's tail, and both his cheeks were tattooed from ear to nose with crisscross blue lines. Beneath his strange accouterments the pilgrim's eyes were dark brown. Baby fat still lined his square, sun-darkened face and his short, compact body.Clovermead put the pilgrim's sword back on the bed and patted flat his rumpled coverlet. "I thought you had gone outdoors," she said."Evidently," said the pilgrim.Clovermead flushed again. "I'm terribly sorry, sir. I know I was wrong to look through the keyhole, I shouldn't have unlocked your door, and I oughtn't to have picked up your sword -- it's very sharp, isn't it? And heavy! I never realized how hard it is to lift one up -- I'm sorry, I'm wandering. Father says I do that too much of the time, and Goody Weft says I do it all the time, but Goody Weft -- ""Clearly speaks the truth," said the pilgrim. His oddly guttural accent was half music and half braying. "You are a thief, yes? A snoop? How did you get into my room? Ladyrest Inn has a most excellent reputation.""I'd never steal!" said Clovermead. "We Wickwards don't rob our guests -- I wouldn't