1
" Halt glared at his friend as the whistling continued.
'I had hoped that your new sense of responsibly would put an end to that painful shrieking noise you make between your lips' he said.
Crowley smiled. It was a beautiful day and he was feeling at peace with the world. And that meant he was more than ready to tease Halt 'It's a jaunty song'
'What's jaunty about it?' Halt asked, grim faced. Crowley made an uncertain gesture as he sought for an answer to that question.
'I suppose it's the subject matter' he said eventually. 'It's a very cheerful song. Would you like me to sing it for you?'
'N-' Halt began but he was too late, as Crowley began to sing. He had a pleasant tenor voice, in fact, and his rendering of the song was quite good. But to Halt it was as attractive as a rusty barn door squeaking.
'A blacksmith from Palladio, he met a lovely lady-o'
'Whoa! Whoa!' Halt said 'He met a lovely lady-o?' Halt repeated sarcastically 'What in the name of all that's holy is a lady-o?'
'It's a lady' Crowley told him patiently.
'Then why not sing 'he met a lovely lady'?' Halt wanted to know.
Crowley frowned as if the answer was blatantly obvious.
"Because he's from Palladio, as the song says. It's a city on the continent, in the southern part of Toscana.'
'And people there have lady-o's, instead of ladies?' Asked Halt
'No. They have ladies, like everyone else. But 'lady' doesn't rhyme with Palladio, does it? I could hardly sing, 'A blacksmith from Palladio, he met his lovely lady', could I?'
'It would make more sense if you did' Halt insisted
'But it wouldn't rhyme' Crowley told him.
'Would that be so bad?'
'Yes! A song has to rhyme or it isn't a proper song. It has to be lady-o. It's called poetic license.'
'It's poetic license to make up a word that doesn't exist and which, by the way, sound extremely silly?' Halt asked.
Crowley shook his head 'No. It's poetic license to make sure that the two lines rhyme with each other'
Halt thought for a few seconds, his eyes knitted close together. Then inspiration struck him.
'Well then couldn't you sing 'A blacksmith from Palladio, he met a lovely lady, so...'?'
'So what?' Crowley challenged
Halt made and uncertain gesture with his hands as he sought more inspiration. Then he replied. 'He met a lovely lady, so...he asked her for her hand and gave her a leg of lamb.'
'A leg of lamb? Why would she want a leg of lamb?' Crowley demanded
Halt shrugged 'Maybe she was hungry "
― John Flanagan , The Tournament at Gorlan (Ranger’s Apprentice: The Early Years, #1)
10
" That Mistress DuLacy is quite a woman.” Halt looked quickly at him and grunted something that Crowley took to be agreement. Hiding his grin with some difficulty, the red-haired man continued, in the same overly casual voice. “I thought that when this is all over, I might call upon her.” He stared straight ahead, but when Halt said nothing, he stole a glance at his friend. Halt wore a stricken expression. The thought of his friend Crowley—witty, urbane and totally at ease with women—paying court to the stunning young Courier was too much for him to bear. Had it been any other man, he might have offered to fight him. But Crowley was a friend—more than a friend, in truth. Halt had come to think of him as a brother. In fact, he held him in a higher regard than his real brother, who had tried to murder him to gain access to the throne. "
― John Flanagan , The Tournament at Gorlan (Ranger’s Apprentice: The Early Years, #1)
12
" Berrigan gave vent to a meaningful cough, which seemed to conceal the word rubbish inside it. Pritchard looked up at him with a smile. “Oh, and of course, I received a pigeon mail from Berrigan a week or so ago, telling me what you’re up to.” Halt and Crowley both swung round to look at the occasional jongleur. He shrugged. “Didn’t I tell you we keep in touch from time to time?” he asked, indicating Pritchard with a nod of his head. “No. Egon said he did. But I don’t recall your mentioning it,” Crowley replied. Berrigan thought for a second or two, then said, “Pritchard and I keep in touch from time to time.” “Highly amusing,” Crowley said, giving Berrigan a withering look. Berrigan managed to survive without being too withered. "
― John Flanagan , The Tournament at Gorlan (Ranger’s Apprentice: The Early Years, #1)
18
" Crowley made an encouraging gesture with his hand, indicating that Halt should proceed. “So,” he said, “talk away.” Halt leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and let his gaze travel round the small semicircle of faces. When he was sure he had their attention, and that all protests and jokes were stilled, he spoke. “There are five of us now . . . ,” he began. He got no further. “Well,” said Crowley, “I’m glad that’s settled. I was wondering, seeing how I have trouble counting past three. But if you say there are five of us now, that’s good enough for me.” He settled back down to slump against the log, pulling his cowl forward to shield his eyes. Halt regarded him with enormous patience. The silence stretched out between them. Finally, Crowley roused himself, grinning at his friend. “Oh, did you want to say more?” he asked innocently. Berrigan and Leander hid grins. Egon, still not sure of the prevailing dynamic in this little group, watched without expression, but with great attention. Halt sighed. Sometimes talking to Crowley was like trying to herd smoke, he thought. "
― John Flanagan , The Tournament at Gorlan (Ranger’s Apprentice: The Early Years, #1)
20
" Crowley was just exercising his new authority as leader of the group,” Halt put in, with a smile. Norris turned his gaze to the Hibernian. “He’s your leader?” Halt nodded. “Elected him last night,” he said. Norris studied Crowley for some time and pursed his lips. “Was that a wise choice, do you think?” Halt took a deep breath. In addition to having no sense of humor, Norris apparently had no sense of tact, either. “Tell me,” Halt said eventually, “do you understand the concept of a joke?” Norris sat up straighter in the saddle, looking a trifle affronted by the question. “Of course I do!” he said. “I have an excellent sense of humor.” Halt’s eyebrow shot up before he could stop himself. In his experience, people who claimed to have an excellent sense of humor usually had none at all. “Well, what you heard was a joke. We—were—joking,” he said, enunciating the last three words slowly and distinctly. Norris looked doubtful. “Didn’t sound very funny to me.” Halt shrugged. “You had to be there to appreciate it,” he said. “I was. I was right here!” Norris protested. Halt shook his head slowly. “My point exactly. You were here. You had to be there.” Now Norris looked confused, so Halt decided to explain. “That was another joke,” he said. “It wasn’t very funny. "
― John Flanagan , The Tournament at Gorlan (Ranger’s Apprentice: The Early Years, #1)