In answer, Abra had gurgled, rolled onto her back, and shown him the strain her body was under with unquestioning clarity. Her teats were swollen and flaked with dry skin. Two had little scabs, doubtless from the emerging little teeth of her offspring.
All right, he thought.Point made.
“Long Compton,” read out the Portuguese lady to his right as they passed a signpost. She bunched her brow up and turned to Raul, holding her hands apart like she was measuring a fish. “Long?Longo?”
“No, no,” said Raul, frowning. “I do not think so.Comprido?”
The lady scoffed, gesturing to the little township on the hill and shaking her head.
“It’s just to differentiate it from the other proud British town, Stubby Compton,” Freddy lied, winning a glare from his mother. “Stubby Compton is inferior in length but has superior baked goods.”
“Shut up, Freddy,” Tommy said fondly and in a tone that suggested to Freddy that she’d rather he keep talking.
Raul and his relative had another exchange in Portuguese, during which both glanced at Freddy and repeatedly said the wordboi.
“I beg your pardon,” Freddy said on a yawn, “but I am a man.”
“Yes,” agreed Raul, “aboiman.”
“Raul,” said Patricia with absolutely no firmness whatsoever, and then, “oh, look, here we are.”
They unloaded in stages on the green, just below the rise where the Rollright Stones stood on the horizon. They had to move slightly beyond the scope of the Whispering Knights—the smaller, jutting stones that flanked the main feature.
As Freddy shook his legs out and gave instructions on careful unpacking to the servants with the food baskets, he could hear Tommy at his rear telling Raul, “It meansalongmore than long.You see how the village unfolds in the same shape as the road? Along the road. Along Compton.”
“Ahhh,” said Raul, and translated this for his relative.
Freddy scoffed.
His explanation had been better.
“Oh, well, isn’t this bonny,” said Abe to his wife as they took in the effect. “I love standing stones. They’re all so spooky.”
“These are especially spooky,” Freddy told him, strolling up to join their conversation with his hands in his pockets. “Legend has it that no matter how many times you count the little stones here, you’ll always get a different number.”
“That’s just you, Freddy,” Abe said gently, “because you can’t count.”
“Oh ho,” said Freddy flatly. “Devastating.”
Joe joined them, squinting past the sun at the largest standing rock—the Stone King himself—a bit farther on.
“Why can’t you count them?” Millie asked with a curious tilt of her head. “Magic?”
“Yes and no,” Freddy answered with a grin. “The story is that these knights wake at midnight and move around. Some are said to walk down to the stream below to parch their thousand-year thirst. Some stay gone for a few days, seducing the local village girls, enjoying a cup of ale, buying a new hat, and so on. When they come back, they land in different places. Maybe a few have never come back at all.”
“Knights,” repeated Joe skeptically, squinting at one of the jagged little flats of stone, pitted with centuries of erosion. “Why knights?”
“Patience, Joseph,” Freddy chided. “Christ, but you’re always so exuberant and eager. Restrain yourself for once.”
“Indeed,” Joe answered with barely a glance in Freddy’s direction, stepping forward and bending down to examine the stone nearest him.
Millie chuckled.
Freddy suspected it was at him, not in delight of him, and gave her his best withering glare as the servants began to walk their picnic toward the stone circle.
It only made her laugh more.
“By the by,” Freddy said with a casual roll of his shoulders, “what doesboimean in Portuguese, Joe?”
