“Owen?” My face went hot.
“You called out his name in your sleep.”
I hesitated for a moment, then grabbed another clump, pulling extra hard. “Never mind who he is.” It wasn’t a story I wanted to share, not with Griffin, not with anyone. Then, realizing I had him in a sort of headlock, I decided to test my luck. “Griffin, I need your help this morning.”
His shoulders slumped as he stared at the fallen locks. “What are you talking about?”
“I need to find the Baroness of Salt. The innkeeper said she’d be at the morning market. I need you to stay with me until I find her.” He’d keep me safe. Peddler wouldn’t dare take me away from a soldier of the realm. “As soon as I find her, you can leave for home.”
“Why do you need to find her?” he grumbled.
“It’s a long story.” Another lock fell away. “But if you take me to her, she will pay you one thousand coin.”
He snorted. “Why would someone pay one thousand coin for a dirt-scratcher? You’re crazy.”
“I’m not crazy.”
“That’s what everyone says about you. The way you talk to the cows. They say you’re crazy.”
I stepped back and waved the knife at him. “I’m not crazy!”
“Watch it with that thing.”
“Fine! Don’t help me. You’ve never helped me. All you’ve ever done is ignore me, Griffin Boar. You ignore me or you tell me to move out of your way.”
In a flash, he yanked the knife from my hand. “Give me that. You’re taking too long.” He sawed through the last clumps of hair, then stood. He looked so strange, so vulnerable without the mane. I held my breath. It was almost as if I’d witnessed the dethroning of a prince.
After rummaging through the soldier’s purse, Griffin found a straight razor. I watched from the water closet’s doorway as he pumped water into a basin and, with a bit of hard soap, began to shave his face. Then he stomped back into the room. “Move it,” he said, pushing me out of the way. He put on the tunic, then the scabbard, sword, purse, and knit cap. He crouched and swept the hair clippings under the worn rug. Then he took a long breath and unbolted the door.
“Griffin, listen to me,” I said, following him into the hallway. I pulled my bonnet over my head, tucking my hair beneath and tying it tight. “If you help me find the baroness, you’ll be rich. You can take all that coin back to Root and use it to rebuild.”
“I think you bumped your head during that ride downriver.” He started down the stairs. “Stay if you want. I don’t care.”
It was no use. He was as stubborn as my old donkey. I imagined trying to lead Griffin with a carrot and, despite my worries, nearly laughed at the thought. I couldn’t compete with the force that tugged at his heart—a desperate need to see his family.
When he suddenly stopped on the bottom stair, I bumped into him. “What—?” He raised his hand to silence me. Voices drifted around the corner.
“Where are those two soldiers that always hang out here?” a man asked.
“Igor and Burl? Haven’t seen those two rat turds this morning.” I recognized the innkeeper’s voice. “Why are you asking?”
“They’re always interested in the WANTED posters. Just got a new one for the Milkmaid. Says she’s a dirt-scratcher. Can you believe that?”
“A dirt-scratcher? But their sort is not supposed to leave the Flatlands.”
“Says here she’s got a bad foot.”
“A bad foot?” the innkeeper repeated.
Griffin’s entire body stiffened.
“That’s right,” the man said. “Says she walks with a limp. And look what else it says. The Baroness of Salt has been outbid. By the king himself!”
“The king?”
“That’s right. Says here King Elmer is offering five thousand coin. Says here the Milkmaid is to be turned over to the palace and to no one else, on penalty of death.”
“Five thousand coin?” The innkeeper coughed. “I could retire on that much coin.”
“Who would have thought a dirt-scratcher girl could be worth so much coin?” the man asked.
Griffin whipped around, but I silenced him by pressing my palm to his mouth. He narrowed his eyes as the conversation around the corner continued.
“Wait a minute,” the innkeeper said, his tone turning serious. “Did you say she’s got a limp? A girl come in here last evening. She’s got a limp. And she’s still upstairs.”
“Is her hair red?” the man asked.
“I’m not sure,” the innkeeper said. “But we could easily find out.” He lowered his voice. “She’s got a soldier with her, but we could take him. I’ve got no problem killing a soldier. They’re all thugs and rapists. Got a good blade right here.”
Griffin grabbed my shoulder, turned me around, then shoved me back up the stairs. I tripped. His arm around my waist, he lifted and whisked me back to our room. After bolting the door, he spun to face me. “Emmeline?”
“I told you about the reward, but you wouldn’t listen,” I said.
He backed me toward the window, his teeth clenched. “Tell me again.”
“I’m wanted. They call me the Milkmaid because …” The walls trembled as boots stomped down the hallway. Griffin grabbed the sword’s hilt as the door rattled.
“Open up. It’s the innkeeper. I have business with you.”
“We have to get out of here,” I said, grabbing his sleeve. “They’ll kill you so they can get the reward.”
“Move it!” he ordered, pushing me aside. As he darted toward the window, his boot caught on the little rug. The edges rolled over, revealing the locks of cut hair. With a grunt, Griffin opened the window. Cool morning air and the shrieks of hungry gulls drifted into the room. “We’ll have to jump,” he said. “I’ll go first, then I’ll catch you.”
The door rattled again as the innkeeper turned the key. But the deadbolt held tight. “We’ve got important business,” he called. “Open up.”
Griffin climbed onto the windowsill. After a curse, he jumped. The bedroom door nearly split as one of the men threw himself against it. I scrambled onto the sill. Luckily our room was on the second floor, not much higher than the donkey shed back home. Griffin stood in the road. “Come on,” he quietly insisted, trying not to draw attention. I gripped the sides of the window frame. I might have hesitated, might have worried about landing on my curled foot or breaking my leg or neck, but that’s when the innkeeper crashed through the bedroom door. So I jumped.
Griffin caught me. He didn’t even stumble. All those days chopping trees for his cottage, when he’d worked shirtless and the girls had watched, me included, had turned his arms into timbers. He set me on the ground, then looked around. “Hey there!” he yelled, dashing into the road and waving his arms at an approaching carriage. The driver pulled the reins and the horses, a pair of glossy black beauties, skidded to a stop. “I’m taking this carriage in the name of the king,” Griffin told the driver, his sword drawn. The driver released the reins and hopped onto the street.
“Stop!” the innkeeper hollered from the window. “Stop that girl.” He clutched a handful of Griffin’s hair. “They’re dirt-scratchers. Stop them!”
Griffin yanked open the carriage door. Then he reached inside and pulled out its only occupant, a woman in a checkered cape. “How dare you?” she said. “Do you know who I am?”
“Get in!” Griffin yelled at me.
Thanks to another push, I landed facedown inside the carriage. The carriage door slammed shut. I peered out as Griffin leaped into the driver’s seat. The woman waved her arms, screaming as we rode away in her carriage. As the horses picked up speed, the innkeeper ran from the Gull’s Breath Inn, waving a poster. Curious bystanders gathered around. The carriage owner grabbed the poster. They knew who I was. They’d come after me.
Scooting deeper into the carriage, my hand bumped into two small bags. I opened one. It was filled with white crystals. As I tasted a crystal, I knew what we’d done. We’d stol
en the carriage of the Baroness of Salt. But according to the latest WANTED poster, the baroness was no longer the highest bidder. King Elmer wanted me. He wanted my magic. And I knew what I wanted.
“Griffin?” I called out the window. “We need to go to Londwin City.”
“I know,” he called back.
I leaned against the seat, my heart racing along with the horses’ hooves. I was going to meet the king of Anglund. And free my people.
Chapter Thirty-one
Trying to find Peddler was getting me nowhere. He’d been seen here and there, but each time I followed the lead I was always a day or two behind. So, instead of trying to follow him, I decided it would be better to wait for him. And I’d wait in the place he’d be sure to turn up. Salt was the place because the latest poster listed a one thousand coin reward from the Baroness of Salt. Peddler wouldn’t be able to ignore that.
But my brilliant plan was dashed soon after I arrived in Salt, where I spied a new WANTED poster, listing a five thousand coin reward from the king himself.
So I was off to Londwin City.
My current location was a town called Lime, a main stop along the Merchant’s Highway on the way to Londwin City. I’d left my horse at a public stable, paying generously for oats and alfalfa. After a flavorless but filling meal at the tavern, I headed back to collect my horse. Town life moved around me. Women washed clothing in the fountain, a group of children kicked a sheepskin ball. Singing bled from the tavern as patrons came and went. Homesickness tugged at my heart. Was Mother worried sick? Probably. I’d sent scrolls so she’d know I was well, but I didn’t tell her that I wouldn’t return without Peddler. Nor would I return until I’d made sure Emmeline was safe. Now that the king wanted her, there was little hope she’d return to Wander with me. But if I could see her one more time …
What was that?
I stopped in my tracks and narrowed my eyes. Villagers crossed between shops, baskets in hands as they went about their daily errands. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary, but a feeling crept over me—like the way the air tingles just before a storm. Or the way skin prickles just before a shiver.
I drew a quick breath. A lone figure darted across the street, something tucked beneath his arm. It was his long, jerky stride that distinguished him from everyone else. He disappeared so quickly between two buildings, I thought he might have been an illusion.
Only one person ran like that.
“Peddler!” I screamed.
In a heartbeat, I was after him. Maybe I was mistaken. The man had black hair and wore a green merchant’s coat. But he shared Peddler’s odd way of moving, his long legs bending awkwardly like a stickbug’s. I raced around two chatting men, then turned into an alley. At the far end, the flaps of the merchant coat disappeared around the corner. Pumping my legs, I flew down the alley, bumping into a man who was carrying a crate of kindling. “Watch it!” the man hollered as the crate fell to the ground.
“Sorry,” I called, turning sharply on my heels. The narrow dirt road twisted between buildings like a snake. The merchant’s coat, green as Emmeline’s eyes, darted around the first bend. Following, I caught sight, then lost it, then caught sight again. He was fast, but not fast enough. Narrow timber houses lined this part of the road, pressed together so tightly that the roofs overlapped. At the next bend I gained on him, close enough to hear his terrified breathing. Clutching a loaf of bread, he darted a quick look over his shoulder—a mistake, for in doing so he stumbled. The loaf of bread fell from his grip. With a leap, I was on him.
We landed facedown on the packed dirt, me on top. He broke the fall with his hands, but the jolt sent a sharp pain through my newly healed rib. He hissed and clawed at the road. I rolled him onto his back, pinning him. The face I’d last seen at our dairy, beneath the half moon, stared up at me. His eyes widened. “It’s … you,” he whispered with thin, trembling lips.
“That’s right, old man, I’m alive!” I wanted to wring his neck. “Where is she?” I demanded, spit flying onto his face. He kicked, trying to free himself. I dug a knee into his thigh and pressed my thumbs into his wrists.
“Get off and I’ll tell you,” he said with a groan.
“Tell me now.”
“She’s with my daughter,” he said between clenched teeth.
I pulled my knife from my boot and held the tip to his throat. A droplet of blood seeped between the folds of his wrinkled neck. “You’re a liar. You will die, here and now, if you don’t tell me.”
“I’m telling you.” A ridge of black ran along his forehead where the hair dye had seeped into his skin. “I left her with my daughter.”
“Your daughter has leprosy. Why would you leave Emmeline with a leper?” I pressed the knife’s tip deeper.
“No one would look for her there. I knew she’d be left alone.”
Could it be true? It made sense. How could I have overlooked such a brilliant plan?
Peddler’s jaw relaxed. He stopped struggling, surrendering the moment. “You can’t blame me for taking her. I needed the coin to help my daughter. You understand, don’t you? You’d do anything for your family, wouldn’t you, young Mister Oak?”
He was trying to trick me. “I don’t believe a word you’ve said. You’ve hidden her somewhere nearby. Otherwise, why would you be here?”
“I’m here because I’ve been spreading the word about the Milkmaid who can make chocolate. That’s what I’ve been doing. And it worked because the news traveled all the way to the king.” He lifted his head, staring desperately into my eyes. “You got a horse, young Mister Oak? If you’ll give me your horse, we can work together.”
“Work together?”
“We’d be helping each other.” He smiled sheepishly. “After we take her to the king, we can split the reward. Think of all the nice things you could buy for your parents.”
I wanted to pound his head into the ground. “Where is she?”
“It’s a robbery!” someone shouted. “A merchant’s being robbed!” Footsteps sounded. A pair of boots appeared at the corner of my eye, then another pair.
“Call the soldiers!” a woman cried.
Ignoring the gathering crowd, I wrapped a hand around Peddler’s neck. “Don’t forget that you’re still a wanted man. I can turn you over to Wander’s tax-collector, and he’ll hang you for attempted murder.” I realized I no longer cared about Peddler’s fate. He was scum—pure scum. I wanted only one thing. “Listen to me. I can get you out of here. But only if you tell me where … she … is.”
Something sharp pressed into my back. “Drop the knife,” a man ordered.
“This isn’t a robbery,” I said, looking up just before a rake hit the side of my head. Someone yanked the knife from my grip. Two hands grabbed me and pulled me to my feet. For a moment my vision blurred. When it cleared I found myself surrounded by villagers—a rake, a knife, and an ax pointed at my chest. “Wait,” I said. “You’ve got it all wrong.”
“We saw it,” the ax-holder said. “You were trying to rob this merchant.”
Someone helped Peddler to his feet. “Thank you,” he said as he brushed dirt from his jacket, his eyes darting wildly.
“I wasn’t trying to rob him,” I said. “He’s not a merchant. That’s a disguise. He’s a wanted man.”
“Shut up, you,” the knife-holder said.
My mind raced. The man wielding the knife was small. I could easily fell him with one swift punch to the throat. Then I could whip around and take the ax-holder down with a kick to the groin. But the man holding the rake, two heads taller and built like a bull, was going to be a tough match. My head throbbed where he’d hit it with the rake’s flat edge. “Listen to me. He’s a wanted man. He’s the man who kidnapped the Milkmaid.”
The knife-holder’s eyebrows raised and everyone turned to look at Peddler.
But Peddler was gone.
Chapter Thirty-two
I stood in the tax-collector’s office, my wrists shackled. I’d tried to plead m
y case, but each word was met with a punch to the jaw by one of the guards.
Lime’s tax-collector was like an exact replica of Wander’s tax-collector—a well-fed, soft sort of fellow who grunted when he moved across the room, his feet sliding lazily, his enormous belly sagging to his knees. The kind of fellow who gave no thought to anything but coin. Maybe all tax-collectors were born from the same parents. When not stealing coin from citizen’s hands, they sat on their cushioned stools counting coin, stacking coin, plunging their hands into chests filled with coin. They probably slept beneath coin blankets.
King Elmer was of the same cloth. Nothing was more important than the collection of coin. He decreed long ago that tax-collectors, having the most important jobs in the kingdom, would wield the utmost authority. So he got rid of sheriffs and magistrates. No need for judges or juries either. Even town councils were beginning to disappear.
“You are hereby sentenced to hard labor in the mineral fields,” the tax-collector said.
“You’re wasting time,” I insisted. “If you send your men after Peddler, you’ll find the Milkmaid.” At this point I didn’t care who found Emmeline, as long as she was rescued from Peddler’s clutches. She was close by. I could feel it.
“Shut up!” the soldier ordered with a slap to the side of my head.
I glared at him. “Unshackle me and then try to hit me, you—” Whack! Again to the side of my head. I stumbled sideways, crashing into the wall.
The tax-collector rested his swollen hands on his table. His floppy black hat drooped over one eye. “I have read the WANTED posters. The man accused of stealing the Milkmaid has long white hair. Today’s witnesses claim that the merchant you accosted has short black hair. Your defense has no merit.”
“If you’ll just listen to me—”
“You want me to listen to you? So that you can claim innocence?” He curled his lip. “Innocence comes with a price.” He tapped his fingers, waiting for me to offer a bribe. I could have, if the soldiers hadn’t taken all my coin. Of course that’s what it came down to. Facts were of no concern. Truth was a mere trifle.
The Sweetest Spell Page 16
