by F. E. Greene
No one took the road going south. Overgrown and neglected, it was barely a trail that ended at a dilapidated bridge. Crossing the bridge seemed unsafe, so no one did.
That bridge led to a hill no one climbed. The mump, as most Castleveilians called it, tarnished their otherwise idyllic town, disrupting the vale’s placid sweep.
From the mump’s western side bulged a lake that became a source of frightening stories meant to keep children from its shores. If the mump was an eyesore, then the lake was a blight. Unkempt thickets fenced its banks, and deep waters obscured its bottom. No one could be bothered to name it.
Only Pearl’s parents were unoffended by the mump and unafraid of the lake. Before he vanished, Alyn Sterling often crossed the fallen bridge to study what remained of a staunch outer wall that surrounded the great hill like a crown. Unconcerned, he strolled along the lakeshore.
At first Pearl worried her father would succumb to the mump’s promised horrors – phantoms, plagues, a lifetime of bad luck. When he didn’t, she began to question what she learned in the town schoolhouse.
Beneath the market archway, Pearl wavered. Always she went right without thinking. But that morning she’d seen, or believed she had seen, a castle atop the great hill. The hill was a refuge Pearl never considered. If she climbed the mump, not even Hieronymus would follow.
Tempted, she stared at the bridge.
In response, the bridge turned solid. Pillars lifted, and mortar congealed. Crisply its planks snapped into place as a bell – very near and almost familiar – rang once.
Mouth agape, Pearl waited for the castle to reappear. This time, however, the mump stayed empty, and a warm, dusty wind swept down from its crest, forcing Pearl to shut her eyes.
When the wind died, she looked again at the fallen bridge. Its transformation hadn’t lasted.
Disappointed, Pearl resumed her flight.
At its lowest point, Lake Trail Lane vanished into a broad-banked stream that flooded on very wet days. Above those drifting waters sat a different bridge, modest yet solid and in good repair. Little Bridge was aptly named since there wasn’t much to it. Even so, it consoled Pearl whenever she crossed it. It was the bridge leading home.
Halfway across, she stopped to gauge her escape. Hieronymus hadn’t caught up, even with her delays, and Pearl wondered if he’d found enough good sense to finally leave her alone.
Then she heard wheezing, brisk and shallow, like a bellows pump priming a metalsmith’s fire. Peering upstream, she let out a groan.
Hieronymus lumbered toward her. Rather than keep pace through the town – a contest he could never have won – he had followed the stream from the schoolhouse to Little Bridge, where Pearl now stood debating whether or not to make a dash for Hollycopse.
If she hadn’t delayed at the mump, she would already be safe inside. Not that it mattered. Hieronymus would follow her there, too, pounding on the screen door until she answered. He knew her habits. And she knew his.
Nearing the bridge, Hieronymus slowed and flung himself at the rail. His body teetered even after his legs stopped. It took his lungs time to realize he no longer ran.
“Pearl…where are you…going?”
Had Pearl been in a better mood, she might have laughed at the pointless question along with his appearance. “Home, of course.”
“Now? In the middle…of the day? Why?”
“Don’t pretend you didn’t hear. Mis Ruel says I have to resign, but I won’t.”
His round face took on a crafty glint. “If you’re not resigning, then why did you leave?”
The shrewd question made her hesitate. “You saw what happened. Mis Ruel pulled the sash clean off me!”
“I also heard what she said. You were telling those stories again, weren’t you?” he demanded. “About kings and castles and impossible whatnot. Much as I despise Mis Ruel, I know she’s right. We can’t have the children thinking there might be a king. Once that sort of notion takes root, it upsets an entire land. Could you imagine Rosper being ruled by a king? We would all have to pay homage. And taxes! Disaster!”
Annoyed, Pearl began walking. “Lighting a candle won’t burn down the house.”
“It will if you tip it over!” As they left the bridge, Hieronymus chugged to keep up. “If you don’t stop telling those stories, Pearl, the instables will come for you. They’ll send you to Desertry. You’ll never return!”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not a criminal. I’m just out of a job. That’s all.”
“What about tonight’s festival? You said you’d go with me.”
“I said I might go – but not with you. After today, I’d rather stay home.”
“You’d always rather stay home.” Grabbing her arm, Hieronymus forced her to halt. “Hiding from them won’t prove anything. Come to the festival, and they’ll see that you’ve won.”
“Won what, Hieronymus? I lost my job today. I could lose Hollycopse.”
“Would that be so bad?” he asked. “You’ve lost five years waiting for your parents. They’re not coming back, or they would have already.”
With a firm tug, Pearl freed herself. “You don’t know that!”
“But I know you. I’d never want to hurt you, Pearl, and I hate to see you ruin yourself. All the best parts of you are wasted on that farm. I know you like to help others. That’s what I want to do, too, but I’ll never manage it without you to help me.”
Sincere as he sounded, Pearl didn’t believe him. Hieronymus spoke of charity much more often than he showed it. His urge to serve as Castlevale’s benefactor would dissolve the moment he inherited the Stentorian lumber mill.
Although he was smart like his father, Hieronymus lacked what discipline made the Most Honorable Lord Governor a threat to any who crossed him. While Hieronymus charmed and cajoled, his father controlled the course of events, large and small, often without uttering a word.
“You don’t need me, Hieronymus.” Pearl spoke in a practiced tone which, inside the schoolhouse, made all the children freeze when she only fussed at one. “You need to stop caring what everyone thinks. You want to be good, but you’re afraid of what your father will say. Or not say.”
At first his face buckled with hurt. Then he grinned. “You see, Pearl? That’s why I need you. You’re honest with me. Everyone else says what I want to hear, but you tell me the truth. Do you know how special that is?”
For once he sounded genuine. No one expected anything of Pearl while Hieronymus wore the town’s future like an ornate sash heavy with medals. Her simple life might be in jeopardy, but at least she had the freedom to fail.
Hieronymus saw everything as a contest because, for him, it was. And winning was his only option.
Realizing all this softened Pearl’s heart until she remembered why they were talking in the first place. She was supposed to be earning her wage at the schoolhouse, not listening to Hieronymus drone on about the burden of being elite. He lived an easy life no matter what he claimed. She, on the other hand, did not.
“I have to go,” she said. “I’ll see you later.”
Wisely he didn’t give chase, but as Pearl turned away, he called after her. “When? Tonight at the festival?”
“Just later.”
Praying Hieronymus wouldn’t follow, Pearl trudged up the low hill that divided Hollycopse from the town. If she kept answering his questions, then he would keep asking. He gained what he wanted by wearing people down. Still, he always seemed to know when he’d drained Pearl of all her patience.
As the road behind her stayed empty, Pearl forced her thoughts toward the real problem at hand. She would have to find another job. She never liked working at the schoolhouse, not with Mis Ruel judging her every move, but it put food on the table and paid the lien on the farm.
Nothing, on the other hand, earned just what it was worth.
Chapter Four
Hollycopse Farm sat just beyond the rise and fall of a knoll. Built from hardwood oak, the house rested high en
ough on its slope for a partial view of the mump. It contained seven rooms – five down and two up – with a large kitchen and cozy parlour, wide windows and short doorways.
For Pearl alone, the house was more than she needed, but she loved it too much to live elsewhere. No matter the weather, its rooms always smelled fresh. Only her father’s study collected any dust.
To those strolling by, Hollycopse wasn’t much to see. It lacked the tiered porticos and chiseled entries of Castlevale’s finer homes where whitewashed fencing, not messy hedges, ringed the manicured property. Wear and tear showed on the house’s sideboards. Mismatched shingles patched the roof.
Pearl tried her best to keep the porches swept, the windows spotless, and the shutters free of cobwebs. Like cleaning old teeth, it did little to help.
There were moments when Hollycopse transcended. Dusk was an ideal time to admire it from the knoll’s crest when the house seemed to float on golden light. All its flaws and lackings vanished as sunset gave it a finery that all the merits in Rosper could not afford.
At midday the farm wasn’t so lovely. Because she never walked home at lunchtime, when the sun was high and searing, to see Hollycopse in the draining light made Pearl hate even more what happened at the schoolhouse. She and Mis Ruel had argued before but not with such venom. Their disagreements never ended with a stolen sash and dismissal.
While Pearl might still manage to rescue her job, a more bothersome fact hung like threadbare drapes behind the day’s unraveling events.
In telling her story, Pearl didn’t lie. That morning she had seen the castle.
It arose on the mump like a sunrise. The peal of an unknown bell reached her ears. Pearl noticed a man sitting high on a tower, and he had noticed her back.
Lifting a hand to shade her eyes, Pearl checked the great hill once again. Like Hollycopse, the mump looked worn and overgrown. Its slopes were mostly vacant, its skeletal wall inept. A few ruins stuck like thorns from its crest.
Questioning whatever else she’d seen, Pearl returned her attention to the farm – which was real and in need of so many things. The hedges begged for a clipping. The compost overflowed. The barley stood ready to harvest, and among its bronze stalks walked a man whom Pearl had forgotten to remember.
Ned Dreasy was the one farmhand Pearl could afford to employ, and he did the work of ten without complaint. Ned kept all of Hollycopse – its crops and gardens, back field and front yard – in good health.
In spite of his efforts, the farm never flourished. More and more Pearl paid Ned with its reapings. More and more he walked home empty-handed.
In a burst of panic, Pearl blurted his name although he was too far away to hear. Ned and his family relied on Hollycopse to survive. For years he’d accepted fewer merits than he earned out of pity for Pearl’s situation. But Ned couldn’t work for nothing. No one in Castlevale did anything for free – especially the poorest folk even though they were the ones most inclined.
Without a job of her own, Pearl couldn’t pay Ned. Without Ned, Hollycopse was unmanageable.
As she dashed down the knoll, Pearl grappled for a plan. Somehow she would regain her position at the schoolhouse if only to preserve Ned’s at Hollycopse.
Pearl plowed through the front gate, neglecting to shut it, and bounded up the gravel path to the porch. Rabbits scattered, plunging under the hedges. Birds fled, chattering in protest. The farm itself seemed disturbed by her early return.
Yanking open the screen door, Pearl stalled when a square of paper dropped onto her shoes. Someone had sent a letter.
She set down her lunch bucket, then lifted the note, its fold sealed by a crimson blotch of wax. The intricate crest of Castlevale’s town council was mashed into its center. Snapping the wax, she unfolded the dense linen paper.
AN address to Pearl Sterling
I write to inform you that the liening sum of 1500 merits upon your property has come due PER the agreement initiated and endorsed by Mr Alyn Sterling with a co-endorsement from Mrs Maye Sterling you must produce the required sum or forfeit your hold upon the property of Hollycopse Farm Lake Trail Lane Castlevale Rosper BOTH house and adjacent farmland are subject to this agreement
PLEASE deliver the noted sum to the offices of Barker and Partners Ltd at no later than 12 bells one day hence this posting A copy of the lien agreement will be provided to you upon payment of the required amount
Sincerely
J A Barker
Chief Overseer
Castlevale Pecunarium
A flourishing signature filled the letter’s bottom half. Pearl stared at its swirls until the sound of her name made her jump.
“Mis Pearl?”
With his usual shuffling reluctance, Ned waited at the porch’s edge. He was built like the barley stalks he tended in the field, his body little more than a long tilting column topped with a burst of sun-bleached hair. Every summer his chestnut skin turned one shade deeper, stained from a lifetime of working outdoors.
“Some satchelback delivered it two bells ago.” Never motionless, Ned seemed more fidgety than normal. “I saw him scurry off. What’s he brung you?”
Unsure of how to begin, Pearl held open the screen door. “Come inside. We’ll talk in the parlour.”
“Oh no, mis.” When Ned slapped at his oatsack trousers, dust smudged the air. “I’m too filthy.”
“Of course you’re not. It’s a farmhouse, not a castle.”
Knowing he’d follow, Pearl stepped inside and headed left into the parlour. Its bay window gaped at the front lawn, and she took a seat on the couch opposite. As Ned crept through the doorway, Pearl gestured at a large, soft chair beside the window. It had been her mother’s favorite place to sew because the light was good.
Ned shook his head at the offer. “I’ll take the hassock, if you please, Mis Pearl. Less for you to clean later. What’s brung you home so early?” He plopped onto the chair’s footstool, limbs folding at awkward angles.
As he waited with a blank expression, Pearl didn’t know what to say. The letter from the bank was more than she could absorb, much less explain. She decided to keep things simple.
“I’ve lost my job,” she told him. “I can keep you on until the barley is harvested. Then you’ll have to find other work.”
His grimy brow furrowed. “So you won’t be at the schoolhouse?”
“That’s right.”
“But if you got reduced, how can you pay me until autumn’s done?”
“It’s only a season.” Pearl tried to sound calm. “What matters is having you here for the harvest.”
“And after that?” Agitated, Ned scratched the back of his head. “No one needs a fielder come winter. It’ll be spring before I find new work.”
“I know.” Pearl lowered her gaze to the letter in her lap. “There’s more, Ned. As of tomorrow, I’ll likely be turned out of Hollycopse. My parents borrowed merits to purchase the farm, and Mr Barker wants me to repay them by 12 bells.”
“Haven’t you got them?”
“Fifteen-hundred merits? No, I haven’t got them.”
Ned’s eyes looked ready to tumble from his skull. “Gobs, that’s a lot of coin.”
“It is.” Pearl’s voice cracked. “It’s too much. Not long after my parents left, Mr Barker came to visit. He said the bank would allow me to live here if I paid a sum each season. It was the same agreement he made with my parents. But he assured me that as long as I kept paying, I wouldn’t lose Hollycopse. Clearly he’s changed his mind.”
When she handed Ned the paper, he glared at the letter like it was to blame for all the world’s problems. Although he couldn’t read its words, he was starting to understand.
“So this morning you got reduced, and now you’re being turned out of your house. Why keep paying me if you won’t be here?”
Pearl forced a halfhearted smile. “It will give you time to find work somewhere else.”
“Can’t you use my wages to pay Mr Barker?”
�
��It wouldn’t be enough. I’ve always tried to save money, but between the bank’s lien and expenses for the farm, there was never much left over.” Faltering, Pearl began to cry. “I’ve failed to keep the one thing my parents left me. I’m going to lose Hollycopse.”
Ned left the stool to kneel beside her. “Please, Mis Pearl. It’s not worth crying over. Believe me when I say I’ve heard worse. Perhaps if you tell all this to Mr Barker, he’ll understand. How can he ask you to pay money you haven’t got?”
Pearl wiped her face with her sleeve. “You know how this town is.”
He nodded. “I’d ask you home to stay with us, but we’ve seven already and only two rooms. I’m not sure where we’d put you.”
“That’s all right, Ned. I’ll find somewhere else.”
Where that was, Pearl couldn’t guess. She wasn’t losing only four walls and a roof. Anyone turned out of their home had to clear all possessions by the bell of due payment. Anything left behind became property of the bank.
Even if she did load up the wagon, Pearl had nowhere to take it and no way to get it there. Ned needed the horses to pull the reaper, or the barley would go unharvested, and he would starve, too. The bank’s lien endangered more than one household.
Overwhelmed, Pearl felt despair settle like dead weight on her shoulders. Fear dug into her skin as if it had claws. For five years she’d lived on a precipice, always reeling at its edge but never losing her grip. Now she was falling into oblivion.
Untangling his legs, Ned moved to the doorway. “Thank you for telling me all this, Mis Pearl. If you need me in the house today, just ring the porch bell. I’m glad to help however I can since you’ve done so much to help me.”
Pearl responded with an absent nod as fresh tears threatened to fall. “Of course,” she whispered. “I’ll ring the bell.”
When Ned had gone, Pearl stayed on the couch, thinking, until thirteen chimes sounded from the campanile. Lunchtime was done, but she still wasn’t hungry.
Ignoring the bucket she’d left on the porch, Pearl drifted into her father’s study. Its contents would fill ten wagons at least. All together those books and maps might fetch a thousand merits in a marketplace farther south, near Biblius and its library.
