by LeRoy Clary
“Yes, so I touched it.”
An uncomfortable silence filled the room as loud as if a hundred people shouted. Finally, he said, “Young lady, if I had anything of value to hide, I would keep you far away. You have a remarkable ability to find keys hidden in slots in bedposts and secret drawers. What else was in the drawer?”
Hannah thought of the place below the flagstone. She hadn’t mentioned it. The glass bead, book, and the tooth must have special value well beyond what was in the drawer. She said, “There were keys, coins, and a rolled piece of parchment. It’s all on the table, but the coins. I took them.”
William looked and said, “The coins were probably for filling his purse while strolling the market. You will need money, and I wondered how to get some for you, but that’s taken care of. If we had time to search for more locks in the room, we would probably find homes for the keys. But, what is this?” He untied the ribbon and rolled the small piece of parchment out. Blood red ink spelled out three lines of words, while the crude image of a flying bird decorated the bottom.”
“Read it,” Hannah prompted.
“The words are unfamiliar. Reading it aloud may cause any sort of problem from a rainstorm or fire to a dragon appearing in our midst. I suggest you leave it here where you won’t lose it or get it wet, but it belongs to you so do as you like. Now, again, what were you doing with the knife when I came in?”
“Cutting my hair. Everyone on the roads is looking for a girl, probably heading for the Palace. I can pretend to be a boy and go the other way.”
“Just put your hair under a hat, you don’t have to cut it.”
“If they ask me to remove my hat they know I’m the girl they are after because I tried to hide it.”
William closed his eyes and said, “Sir James, forgive me.” He went to a workbench and found a pair of scissors.
Her eyes fell to the drawer where the coins were. “There is something else you must do. Sir James promised to pay a family near the Earl’s Castle for two horses he took from them, and for the buildings on their farm that were burned by those chasing us.”
William sighed and asked, “Including the contents, I suppose? It sounds like him. I can dispatch someone to locate and pay them in a few days.”
“You can use the coins from the drawer,” Hannah offered.
William said, “Money will not be a problem for that trite expense. Do you remember the name of the family?”
“No, but the father fought with Sir James at the battle of Bloom Hill, and his wife was there, too. They have three boys.”
“A burned farm located near the castle with a warrior who supported the Knight will not be hard to find. You will need to carry money with you. Speaking of which, the sun is setting, what are your ideas of escaping, other than the haircut I’m going to give to you?”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Hannah discussed her general plans for leaving while William cut her hair into a stern bowl-cut, similar to how most younger boys wore their hair. The results were sure to be far better than if she had continued with the knife-that-made-cuts-that-never-heal, not to mention the choppiness of the job from inexperience and not seeing the sides and back of her head as she cut. She asked, “Did you bring any food this time?”
He paused, inspecting his work and wiping away strands of long blonde hair that had fallen onto her face. “Food?”
“I have not eaten.”
“At all? Today?”
She nodded and risked him chopping a place in her hair as she turned to face him, but he’d already pulled the scissors away while moving to her front, a pained expression on his face. “I’m sorry, it’s my fault, I guess.”
She shook her head. “Too much has happened today. It’s not your fault at all. I’ve been hungry before.”
“No, not that. I thought I made it plain. There’s food here in the kitchen right over there. I assumed you would help yourself.”
Hannah’s head spun as she focused on the corner of the room he’d called a kitchen earlier, but she hadn’t seen anything to eat, not even a stove or oven. Overall, a poor excuse for a kitchen, but if there was food . . ..
William saw her confusion and said, “In the cupboards.”
“Those little doors?”
“Six gods, girl. Have you never even seen a cupboard?”
“I’ve seen drawers and cabinets for storing things. Never for food.”
He held her head still with the fingers of his left hand, his other hand snipping the hair quickly and with the confidence of one who had performed the same job many times. “We’re almost done here. Can you hold on a little longer?”
He quickly finished and escorted her to the tiny storage bins in the kitchen cupboards. Most were dry-goods, grains such as oat, wheat, and barley. But there was also a variety of nuts, and even a loaf of stale bread, the outside so hard she tapped on the crust with her fingernail before deciding to eat it. Hard bread soaked in milk would be a treat for a fire-starter if she had milk. A bowl held carrots, turnips, and radishes that had shriveled since they were placed there. However, the carrots and turnips were semi-fresh. Hannah took three of the carrots and a handful of salted crackers she found in another bowl. There were other bowls, mostly empty.
“Eat,” William prompted, standing aside. “Tell me your plans.”
Instead of answering, Hannah bit the end off of a carrot and chewed while she thought how to answer. William was her only ‘friend’, yet she had only met him this day. Her instincts told her to trust him if for no reason other than Sir James had trusted him. But she had met Sir James only a handful of days earlier, and her judgment may be flawed on several counts. With people trying to kill her, she needed to be cautious
But following the line of thinking further back a few more days revealed that Sir James her father trusted each other, the kind of trust that comes with a lifetime of familiarity. “I’m going away to learn, just as Sir James said I should do, but with his death and the people here who hate me, I have to go somewhere else to live.”
“I tend to agree with all you say so far. The person behind the rewards for your death has posted rewards that I have heard were greatly increased this morning. He or she will not stop. Or cannot. The death of the Old Mage and Knight are too public, and if that person is found out, it would be the King’s province to punish anyone involved.”
“He would be angry,” Hannah said, still chewing.
“Oh, more than that. Both the Mage and Knight were personal friends of the King, as well as both of them were closely related to him. Their deaths and the attempts on you are as much as personal attacks and threats to the King. He knows that with this threat to his rule, his life is hanging like the last leaf of a tree in winter. The only difference is that he cannot escape to safety as you can. I am sure he will support your choice.”
“I see. The sorceress that was kind to us, Sir James and me, is a good woman. I think she will help, and perhaps even teach me. Her tree is hidden from all but those who sense magic.”
“That sounds like a good plan. Tell nobody else because you have to get there, first. An escort won’t help; it will make matters worse. You will have to do this on your own, Hannah. Your haircut makes you look like a boy, to some extent. More like a girl with straw-colored hair who cut it herself, I’m afraid.”
Hannah shrugged, anxious to leave now that darkness had fallen. She glanced at the dark windows and took another bite of carrot.
William rolled his eyes and said, “You have already packed what you are going to take with you?”
“Yes, most of it.”
“I have a few ideas that may help,” he reached for the small bottle of ink she had used for penmanship and removed the stopper. He poured the ink into a mug of water and stirred.
“A spell?” Hannah asked.
He chuckled without humor. “Of a sort. This spell will turn your yellow hair black.”
He poured the ink and water over her head and used his hands to work it do
wn to the roots. His hands turned black, but he ignored the change as he used a convenient rag to wipe her hair, forehead, and neckline. “Well, that certainly makes you look different.” He went to the fireplace and scooped the ashes into his hands and rubbed it into her hair and onto her forehead, cheeks, forearms, and clothing. He said, “I dyed some of your skin, but you’ll have to live with it. The soot will hide the ink, I think.”
“If they stop me, I’ll say what?” she demanded, picturing in her mind how she must appear. “That I’m the son of a court jester?”
“No, you are the son of a mason. You help lay the bricks with him. No, you mix the mortar and keep it to the right consistency, that’s why the ash and soot. Still, if anyone looks closely, they’ll see it is a dye. Wear a hat pulled low.”
“Do I look as awful as I think?”
“Worse. But that’s probably good. Nobody will suspect a princess to look as awful as you. They may not even want to speak to you, especially if you act angry, spiteful, and run before you fight. You might say your father sent you to your uncle’s farm to clean the pig pit, and that’s why you’re so smelly.”
“You’re going to make me stink?”
“No, just tell them and most will back off before getting too close to you.”
She looked around the room, the scrolls, the containers of unknowns, the secret compartments yet to be found, and thought of all she might learn if she could stay. They King had promised to keep the room sealed for her, and she bit her lower lip to seal the promise to herself of returning one day. Then she squared her shoulders and said to William, “I don’t suppose you want a hug?”
“From a filthy boy smelling of a pig?” He laughed again, and this time, it sounded real.
“I have a long way to travel. Will you promise me again to seal this room until my return?”
“The King will honor our agreement, but I will make sure if I have to seal it myself. However, if you hear of the King’s death, that would be the time to return and stake your claim to your rightful inheritance as well as these rooms and all the contents in them. Any mage in the kingdom would love to own what your father has collected. You will need ears in this Palace to keep yourself informed. The death of any above you will adjust your position closer to the throne—and that puts you in more danger. I suggest you leave now while it is dark. Do not try to communicate with me for at least two full years. If your message or messenger falls into the wrong hands, it may cost your life.”
“How would I do that if I wished? After two years, I mean.”
“You would write me a letter when you learn how, telling me you are in good health and other faint information that will assure me of your intentions. You will include at least two happenings in this room that nobody else will know, like asking me to cut your hair once more.” William stood and walked to the door to the terrace. “Think you can climb down without help?”
“Of course.”
“The Palace main gates close at sunset. There is a guarded doorway to one side of the gate that remains open for a while longer. Ignore the guard. If he asks you a question, ask him if he smells the pig pit smell from when you cleaned it.”
She smiled. “That will make him stay away.”
“I wish I could do more, Hannah.”
“Without you, I’d be dead by morning.” She placed the strap of the bag containing the paintings and other personal items over her head and tossed one leg over the brick half-wall. She straddled it, taking one last look inside, grasping for anything else to remember her father. But in a room full of all that he owned, the small painting she carried in a canvas sack along with her meager supply of food, were the most important possessions. The painting was images of her father and mother, and she doubted another painting existed.
She twisted around so she faced the wall, and inched down the stone wall using her toes to hold her place until she hung by her hands. The fingers refused to let go until she saw both candles go out in the workshop and she heard the door firmly close. She kicked herself away from the wall and dropped, hitting the ground feet first, with bent knees. She managed to remain upright despite the distance and she slunk down an alley smelling of urine and age, and into the shadows of a small road lined with closed doors to shops, homes, and workspaces.
That road took her to a larger one that ran at an angle, and from there, the massive Palace gates shimmered in the yellow light of several smoky torches. Guards marched back and forth on the walkway above, as she looked for the small doorway that would take her outside the walls.
Others were leaving the Palace, too. Most looked like tradesmen or farmers who had been selling their goods in the market. They were finished for the day and headed home to their farms. She saw a man and woman wearily carrying bundles of their unsold fruit and vegetables. Behind them trailed five children, each carrying smaller bundles, all as dirty and ragged as Hannah. Hannah walked faster until she almost joined them, pausing when one girl turned and looked at her suspiciously. Hannah smiled and kept walking as if she was part of the family.
When they reached the gate, all passed through in single file, the guard yawning his boredom, his eyes dull and tired from a long day, she assumed. Outside, she increased her pace and passed the family, soon leaving them behind and almost catching up with others who were on the road ahead. When the shadows of overhanging trees grew deeper, she stepped off the road and ducked into the forest.
She had a blanket taken from the bed, but the night was warm, and she intended to walk for much of it. She and the Knight had traveled with the setting sun at her back to get to the Palace. She would do the opposite to return.
But she intended to follow familiar landmarks, if possible. Everything on the trip had held her attention because she’d never left the Earl’s Castle in eleven years, so in her mind, she remembered it all. Or did she? Hannah started to retrace every step with Sir James, from the arrow striking her father from the depths of the night to the river they crossed to reach the farm where they got the horses, and then on to where they found the sorceress called Evelyn in the tall trees.
From there it became vague. She’d been tired and scared, and the back trails had all looked much alike. Wait, she remembered the valley with the farm where they had ‘bought’ the old wagon and mule after using the ‘grapes’ that made the farmer forget. From that farm, they had followed the road all the way. She only had to remember the way from that farm back to the tall trees, and even if she got lost, she could ask people for directions to the trees that touched the sky. There could not be many places where the trees grew to that size.
Her near panic reduced to the more common fears of tripping in the dark, wild animals attacking, highwaymen camped on the paths she followed, sudden cliffs to fall down, lakes to drown in, and bats. She hated bats. The night turned darker as the moon set and she decided that the distance from the Palace would be enough to protect her. She sat under a fir tree and spread her blanket around her like a cloak as she ate for the first time that day.
She woke with the sun and mentally marked where it rose. She’d follow the road to the farm where they ‘bought’ its wagon, but from there she would keep the morning sun in her face. That should take her back, and then to the forest with the huge trees and the sorceress with the floating pink dots and Evelyn.
The road was off to her right, but too far away to see or hear the people traveling on it. Even if there were not hundreds of people trying to find her to collect the reward, Hannah found she enjoyed the new experience of walking on the paths made by animals instead of roads. Being exposed outside in the open left her anxious. Her entire life had existed around one small castle, and mostly inside the morning kitchen. Her brief excursions had been within the protective stone walls. Being able to see to the horizon left her a little uncomfortable, while the trails closed in and welcomed her with folded arms. Protected her.
As these thoughts were slipping and sliding in her mind, she watched all around her with the wonder of seein
g it all for the first time. The leaves of one plant were scalloped while others were smooth or jagged. The bark was different textures and colors on the trees. Even the ground changed as she neared streams and it grew soggy, or when walked under trees over ground that felt as hard as stone. Her mind was looking, watching, wondering, and learning when she first heard nearby voices.
She paused in mid-step, too scared to lower her foot. The hunters, she’d listened to, always say that movement is what you see first; not color or shape. You watch for movement like deer, alert and poised, ready to flee. A successful hunter remains motionless, not even turning his head.
Many evenings she’d sat outside the tavern and listened to the men talk about hunting, and it all came rushing back to her. Some had been an exaggeration or outright lies, of course, but there was usable information, too. Hannah slowly turned her head and looked to where she’d heard men talking and laughing. Not more than ten steps away, behind some low brambles, three men gathered in a circle, concentrating on something on the ground in the middle of them.
She couldn’t move away. One had his head down, but his face would be looking directly at her if he even slightly looked up. Any movement and he’d see her. Only the stand of bushes and brambles knee-high grew between her and the three men. They were so intent on what lay between them that none paid attention to their surroundings.
They dressed in clothes almost as ragged as hers. Their hair appeared oily and bits of leaves stuck to the long hair of one. Between them, on the grass, were a few copper coins, probably the loot of a recent robbery. They were trying to split the coins between them, but the numbers were not working out, as one shouted, “Yer’ takin’ the most.”
“Am not,” the one facing Hannah snapped, and he shuffled the positions of the coins again.
The third chilled her when he snarled, “Five small coppers ain’t nothin’. We should be out there finding that little girl.”
“I think she’s just a bedtime story to get us all caught by the Knights,” the first speaker said. “But I should get two coppers because I’m biggest.”
