Snuggle down.
All the way down.
Pull the covers up over your shoulders.
Let your head sink into the pillow.
And go heavy.
Tonight.
Were going to a castle.
Not for battle,
Nothing like that.
Nobody is fighting anybody tonight.
And nothing exciting is going to happen at all,
I promise.
We're going at the very end of the day.
When the castle is tired.
And the light is going.
And everybody is getting ready for bed.
Because a castle has an awful lot of things in it that have to be put to bed.
And somebody has to go around to see them all.
One by one.
Tonight.
That's what we're going to do.
You don't have to stay awake for it.
Fall asleep somewhere in the middle of the round.
It's perfectly fine.
In fact.
That's kind of the idea.
It's evening.
A long time ago.
And the light is going out of the sky.
The castle stands up on its green hill with the field spread out all around it.
And the last of the sun is touching the very tops of its towers.
And turning them a warm and dusty gold.
Down below the walls have already gone grey and cool and blue.
Rooks are coming home to the trees by the river.
Circling and calling and settling.
And their voices get further and further away.
And then stop.
Somewhere inside the walls,
A bell rings.
Not a loud,
Urgent,
Wake-everybody-up bell.
A slow one.
A few notes soft.
Rolling out over the fields.
Telling Everybody.
In the kindest possible way.
That the day is now finished.
And it's time to cover the fires.
And go to bed.
And inside the castle.
In a passage where the stones are already cool.
A boy called Hal lifts down a lantern from its hook.
Lights the stub of the candle inside.
Encloses the little door.
Flame steadies.
A small,
Warm circle of light gathers itself around his feet.
In hell.
Sets off for the last walk of the day.
First,
The Halls.
The enormous room where everybody eats.
But you'd hardly know that now.
Because the tables have all been taken to pieces.
The long boards have been lifted off their trestles and stacked away against the wall.
And the whole floor is opened up wide.
And empty.
Strewn with fresh rushes that whisper under Hel's shoes as he crosses it.
The far end,
The great fire is burned all the way down.
A woman is kneeling in front of it with a long-handled shovel.
Drawing the ashes over the last of the embers.
Banking them up into a soft,
Grey hill.
So that the fire doesn't go out.
And doesn't burn.
That simply sleeps under there all night.
Keeping its heat to itself.
Ready to be woken up in the morning.
The light in the hall goes dim and rosy.
The great carved chair by the hearth sits empty.
Along the walls,
Servants are unrolling straw mattresses to sleep on.
Taking in that low,
Easy.
Murmuring way people talk.
When they're nearly already asleep.
Stretched right across the warm stones in front of the banked fire.
In everybody's way.
And not moving for anyone.
Is an old grey hound.
Called NoseWise.
Who has been asleep since supper.
And intends to go on being asleep until breakfast.
Hal steps over him.
Knows wise does not so much as open an eye.
And that was one more thing in the castle.
Safely asleep.
Down a few steps.
And along.
Into the kitchen.
Which is the warmest room in the whole castle.
And still smells wonderful.
The cooking fires are dying back to a red glow.
The great cauldron has been swung off its hook.
Two boys are scouring out the last of the pots with sand and water.
And the sound of it is soft and scratchy and rhythmic.
And they're not really talking.
Just.
Working.
On the long table under a cloth.
There is a great hail mound of bread dough.
Sitting quietly.
Doing its slow,
Secret work in the dark.
It'll rise all night while everybody sleeps.
And in the morning.
It will go into the oven.
And by the time the castle wakes up properly,
The whole place will smell of freshly baked bread.
Up in the rafters where the warm air gathers.
A cat called Gib is curled on a beam with her tail over her nose.
On duty.
In the loosest possible sense of the word.
The last pot goes onto the shelf.
Somebody rakes the fire down.
The kitchen dims.
And that was one more thing in the castle.
Safely asleep.
Out through a door and across the courtyard now,
And the air is cold and fresh after the kitchen.
And Hal's breath makes a little cloud in the lantern light.
The stables are long and low and dark.
And the smell of hay and horses.
They've all been seen to.
Every hole is brushed down.
Every hoof checked.
The remains are filled.
Fresh straw,
Shaken out deep and clean.
As Hal comes along the row with his lantern.
One or two great heads swing around to look at him over the stall doors.
Enormous dark eyes.
And warm breath.
And ears turning forward.
He stops.
And rubs the nose of the big bay the end.
Who was his particular friend.
Who lips gently at his sleeve to check whether anything interesting has arrived since this afternoon.
Nothing has.
The horse sighs an extremely large sigh.
And goes back to standing still.
All down the line,
There are small,
Comfortable,
Shifting sounds of animals settling in.
Hoof moving in the straw.
A long slow breath.
Somebody pulling one last mouthful of hay.
And chewing it thoughtfully.
In the dark.
Hal pulls the door behind him gently.
And that was one more thing in the castle.
Safely.
Round the corner.
There's a little round tower all of its own.
With hundreds of small square holes in the walls inside.
In nearly every hole,
There's a dove.
HAL doesn't go in.
He just stands at the door for a moment and listens.
Because doves settling down for the night make one of the best sounds in the world.
Soft.
Round.
Bubbling murmur.
Rising and falling.
Dozens of them all at once.
All burbling quietly to one another in the dark.
Now and then there's a small flutter as somebody shuffles further back into their hole.
And gets comfortable.
And then.
.
.
The murmuring goes on.
Such a sleepy sound that Hal has to remind himself to move.
And that was one more thing in the castle.
Safely asleep.
Back inside and up a curling stair.
Into a small stone room.
Where the lantern light swings and slides across walls.
Here.
On a wooden stand.
And the knight's mail coach.
A long shirt made of thousands and thousands of tiny iron rings.
So that when the light moves across it,
It ripples very slightly.
Like water.
His helm sits on top.
His shield leans against the stand below.
Because they're all arranged there together.
In the shape of a person.
Whole thing looks.
Hal always thinks.
Exactly like somebody very tired.
Who was sat down for a rest.
Put their head back.
And fallen fast asleep,
Standing up.
The male gives one faint metallic whisper as the draft from the door moves it.
And it's still again.
And that was one more thing in the castle.
Safely asleep.
Now,
Up the last of the stairs and out onto the top of the wall,
Into the open air.
It's properly dark now.
And cold and enormous.
The stars are coming out over the fields.
Far below the river is a long,
Faint,
Silvery line.
And the wind up here is soft.
And smells of grass and rain.
At the corner,
The watchman is walking his slow round with his own lantern.
And when he sees hell.
.
.
He lifts his hand.
He'll be up here all night.
Going round and round the walls.
Keeping his eyes on the quiet,
Dark field so that nobody else has to think about it at all.
Every hour.
He'll call out to say that everything is fine.
And every hour,
All through the night.
Anybody who half wakes up will hear him.
Know that everything is fine.
And go straight back to sleep.
All's well,
He says quietly.
As hell goes past.
And it is.
Last of all,
Down to the gate.
There's a heavy creep.
And a slow,
Deep rattle of chains.
And the great drawbridge lifts up out of the dark.
On Hari.
Until it settles.
Closed against the gatehouse with a soft,
Solid final thump.
That you feel in your feet.
More than you hear.
Then the poor Cullis comes down behind it.
Tooth by tooth.
And touches the ground.
And stops.
And that's it.
Castle Isher.
Everybody who lives here is inside.
Every fire is banked.
Every animal is fed and mated down.
Every door is closed and the walls are thick.
And the Watchman.
As walking his round up above.
And there is absolutely nothing left to do.
But that was the last thing in the castle.
Safely asleep.
Hal climbs the stairs,
Back up to the hall with his lantern.
His own place is a straw mattress along the wall.
Not far from the banked fire.
With a blanket that smells of wood smoke.
He puts the lantern down.
Blows out the little candle.
And the small warm circle of light.
Closes up.
And disappears.
He lies down.
The hall is dark and enormous and quiet.
Banked fire glows faintly under its grey ashes.
Breathing dimmer.
And brighter.
And brighter.
Somebody somewhere across the hall is already snoring gently.
Nose-wise,
The hound is a large,
Warm shape by the hearth.
And in a little while.
.
.
There's a soft thump on the mattress.
A kitchen cat arrives.
Walks up Howl's legs exactly as though they were a rope.
Turns around three times.
And settles against his side.
Far above on the wall.
The watchman's voice drifts down through the dark,
Small and calm.
And far away.
All's well.
Hal's eyes close.
And that's where we'll leave him.
Whole castle sleeping on its green hill under those stars.
Fires bang.
Horses at it.
Doves murmuring in their round tower,
Gates shove fast.
And one man walking slowly around the walls all night.
So that everybody else can rest.
Everything seemed to.
Everything's safe.
Everything exactly where it should be.
Goodnight,
Hal.
Goodnight Nosewise.
At 9k.
Good night,
Horses.
Goodnight,
Doves.
Goodnight,
Castle.
