Young Adventurers

by Austin S. Camacho

  The boy glanced at the broadsword sheathed at the man’s side and gulped.

  “What is it boy?” The man scowled. “You afraid to die?”

  “Well, no–”

  “Then get a move on. I’m fond of you, lad. No reason why your death shouldn’t be a quick, simple matter.”

  “You’re sure about this?” The boy got to his feet.

  “Yep. Either I kill you like the man you ought to be, or you run off like a scared little kid and never come back.”

  “Since you put it that way–”

  “Good fellow!” The farmer clapped his farmhand on the back with the pride of a father figure. “Let’s get this over with.”

  The pair stepped toward the door and threw it open, the farmer laughing like they were comrades, recounting old times with their arms slung about each other’s shoulders.

  Until it happened.

  A log crashed against the farmer’s skull, and he slumped to the ground. With a short gasp and a mumbled curse, he lay still. The boy could only stare.

  Tossing aside the log she’d used to brain her poor father, the girl leaned close to be certain he was still breathing. Then she screamed, “CAN YOU HEAR ME, PAAAAA?” When he didn’t even stir, she nodded. “Yep, he’s out.”

  The boy found his tongue right where he’d left it. “Why’d you do that?”

  “He was going to kill you, silly. I couldn’t let anything like that happen to you.” She stepped over her father and took the boy’s arm. “C’mon, we’ve got to get you a horse.”

  “But–why?”

  “Because if you don’t get out of here, he’ll kill you when he comes to, and then I’ll lose the only boy I’ve ever loved.”

  “Oh.” He nodded, pondering her words. “Oh! You mean me!” He grinned. “I love you too, you know.”

  She smiled. A glob of gruel dropped from her cheek. “I thought so.”

  They hastened to the barn and saddled up the fastest of the work horses–one that could actually trot. Then, as they led the steed outside, hand in hand, she spoke:

  “Uh…”

  He stared at her. She was so…amazing.

  “I had something really neat I was going to say.”

  He squeezed her hand. “You’ll remember.”

  She frowned and scratched at her head. The she said, “I’VE GOT IT!”

  His heart nearly stopped in his chest.

  She stepped in front of him. “Alfred,” she began, for that was his name. “From this day forward, you are a knave–hated by many, hunted by some, loved by one. We may never meet again, but in the hope that we do, I will save myself for you. I will hold you in my heart, whatever that means.” She gazed at him with her eyes half-closed, her voice near a whisper, her breath heavy. “I will wait for you.”

  He smiled at her. “Okay. Well, see you later.” He climbed up into the saddle.

  “ALFRED!”

  He fell off the horse.

  “Kiss me, you idiot!”

  “Oh–right.” He struggled to his feet. “Sorry.”

  A moment later, they were in each other’s arms, kissing as passionately as if it were the first time. Truth be told, it was the first time.

  “Oh Alfred,” she gasped.

  “Oh Gertrude,” he gasped, for that was her name. She smelled of hog slop and tasted of gruel, but he didn’t mind at all.

  Gertrude’s father stirred as he came to, so it was in Alfred’s best interest to hightail it. With one last kiss and embrace, he climbed onto the horse.

  “I’ll be back–someday.” He gripped the reins and gazed down at the young beauty. “Maybe.”

  Their eyes locked, and both were filled with deep, swirling emotions and unspoken flowery words. Both had gruel on their chins.

  She nodded solemnly. “I’ll be here.”

  Waving his hand in farewell, he kicked the horse into its fastest trot and rode off into the distance. Golden hair waving in the morning breeze, Gertrude watched him go for nearly an hour. She was just that far-sighted.

  During the days that followed Alfred’s departure, Gertrude’s father fell into a dark mood. He sat at the table from morning till night, scowling, hunkered over with a jug of mead always within reach. A giant, throbbing knot swelled from the side of his head where Gertrude’s log had struck him down. He did not say a word. He ignored the rats that squealed down from the thatched ceiling. He ignored everything. He was brooding, and the matter upon which he brooded held his full attention.

  On the fourth day of her father’s foul silence, as Gertrude entered the cottage after a hard day of completing all Alfred’s chores, the brooding man at the table finally broke his silence.

  He belched.

  “Nice to hear your voice, Pa,” she said brightly, gliding ever-so-gracefully to the kitchen where she planned to spend the next two hours fixing a fresh pot of tasty gruel.

  “I have settled the matter.”

  She glanced over at him. The look on his face gave her pause. “Pa?” She approached him with an uneasy feeling tickling her bowels. “What have you settled?”

  He stared straight ahead without a word. Then he rose from the table and boomed, “I must go to the village, fair daughter of mine.”

  She frowned as he buckled on his sword and pulled on a heavy cloak. “But it’s late, Pa. You’ll miss supper–”

  “Eat without me, Daughter. I must go.” He whacked her on the head affectionately, then turned to throw open the door. “Don’t expect me back till morning. I’ll stay the night at the inn.”

  The door banged shut, and the night swallowed him whole. Gertrude heard the creak of the barn gate opening, the clop of a horse, the creak of the barn door closing, the groan of her father climbing into his saddle, the wheeze of his urging the horse forward, and the slow, steady clop of the hooves ambling away. Her brow relaxed as the sound died into the distance. With a short sigh, she bolted the cottage door and collapsed.

  “Ug,” she grunted as her head hit the floor.

  But she didn’t feel the pain of it for long. The backbreaking work of the last four days had finally caught up with her, and she reaped the rewards. Instantly, a deep sleep overcame her, a sleep deeper than any sleep she had ever slept, and she dreamed sweet, amorous dreams of the wonderful boy she adored.

  It was nearly midnight before Gertrude’s father rode into the village. Most of the windows were as dark as the sky, but not the tavern. It glowed like a crackling hearth, inviting any weary traveler to come partake of its warmth. As Gertrude’s father drew close and dismounted, he heard raucous laughter erupt within. Any other time, the sound would have brought a smile to his lumpy face, for the men inside were his friends and neighbors. But tonight he did not smile. Tonight, he would not laugh with them.

  There was someone else he had to see.

  With a determined sigh, he came to the door of the tavern and shoved it open. The laughter died as all eyes turned upon the latest arrival. They all knew what had happened with his former good-and-faithful farmhand. They all had heard. They all had big ears.

  Gertrude’s father nodded curtly, his eyes sweeping over the men before him. Hesitantly, they nodded back. They didn’t know where he’d been lately, but rumor had it he’d been brooding. Never a good thing, that.

  In the back of the tavern, at a table smothered by shadows, a single eye reflected the room’s lantern light. It twitched to focus on Gertrude’s father. He looked back at it. Pausing a moment, he made his way straight for it.

  “Sorry about what happened, Frank,” said one of the farmers as he passed.

  Gertrude’s father nodded and remained on-course.

  “You should go after the knave and decapitate him you should, Frank,” another one suggested.

  “We’ll help you!” A cheer went up among his friends.

  “Where’s he going?” a more observant one whispered to the old geezer beside him.

  The geezer slapped a nearby set of false teeth into his mouth. “Looks like–�
� He swallowed as his eyes widened. “Sheriff Bile’s table.”

  “Sheriff Bile?” A gasp slithered through the lot of them.

  Gertrude’s father stood before the lone table and squinted his eyes, peering into the impenetrable shadows. “Uh–hello?” His massive frame weaved as he peered from side to side. “Anybody there?”

  Silence held the moment. Then from the darkness came a resonant voice: “Sit down, Mr. Grower.”

  Startled, Gertrude’s father instantly obeyed–forgetting to check first if there was a seat beneath him. He hit the floor with a tremendous thump. The eye watched him from the shadows. He shrugged apologetically at it as he struggled to his feet.

  “Perhaps you would do better standing,” the voice suggested.

  “Uh–yessir, maybe so.” Gertrude’s father took a moment to adjust his attire. Clearing his throat, he stood at his most respectable height. “Are you Sheriff Bile, sir?”

  “I am.” The eye did not blink.

  “Indeed? Uh-indeed, Sir Sheriff sir, indeed I have a proposition for you. Uh-thee.”

  “Is that so?” The voice carried an edge of humor.

  “Aye–uh-yes, indeed.”

  “Hmm,” the voice mused. “Would this proposition have anything to do with your farmhand’s sudden disappearance, perchance?”

  “Perchance?” Gertrude’s father frowned, then nodded. “Perchance yes. Indeed it would.”

  “I see.” Again the eye blinked. “Very well. Share your proposition.”

  He cleared his throat. “Sir Sheriff, I propose that you find the knave who stole my fastest workhorse and hang him by the neck until dead.”

  “Is that all?”

  Gertrude’s father frowned. “I think so.”

  The voice chuckled languidly. “Well, it seems you have left out a few details.”

  “I have?” He scratched at his head.

  “Your daughter’s involvement, for starters. The fact that she may have helped this knave escape, and the rumor that certain improprieties may have taken place between the knave and herself.”

  Gertrude’s father gasped, “Where did you–?”

  “News travels fast around a village this size. And I hear everything. One should in my line of work, don’t you think? I’ve heard the entire story more than once, and it’s quite a good one–something for the storybooks. An upstanding girl of high moral character seduced by an ignorant farmhand.” The eye narrowed. “Boys will be boys, after all.”

  Gertrude’s father swallowed. “But Sir Sheriff, you’ve heard it wrong–”

  “Mr. Grower, I understand your desire to protect the chaste reputation of your daughter, but allow me to be frank.”

  “If you want to.” He shrugged. “I’ve never much cared for the name myself.”

  The eye blinked at that. “You see, Mr. Grower, people are going to believe what they want to believe. No matter what you say, they will see things as they wish. The story as I heard it was a plump, juicy one, fit to satisfy the gossip-mongers of this village for generations to come.”

  “But–they never really did anything!”

  “Then why were you going to kill him?” The eye narrowed again.

  “Well, I–” He started to fidget. “It seemed like the right thing to do.”

  “And do you still want him dead?”

  “Of course!”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because–!” He was bellowing, and he didn’t notice until then that all of his friends were listening intently. “Because my daughter thinks she loves him! But she can’t. He’s NOTHING!!”

  The eye bobbed in the shadows. “He is a horse-stealing knave.”

  “Fit to be hung!”

  “Hanged,” the voice corrected.

  “Huh?”

  A shallow chuckle emerged from the shadows. “Mr. Grower, I believe I may have some good news for you.”

  “Indeed?”

  “You see, I have been waiting here for you these last few nights, planning to make you a proposition of my own.”

  The farmer’s puzzled furrows deepened. “You have?”

  “It is a proposition I have been hoping to make for quite some time now, from the first day I was assigned to this village. And I believe it will suit us both quite nicely.”

  There was a long pause, followed by an even longer one. The eye rose slowly, suspended in shadows. “But this is not a suitable environment to discuss such an important matter. Shall we adjourn to my office?”

  Gertrude’s father shrugged. “I guess so.”

  “Fine.” A gloved hand of black leather emerged to grasp the big farmer by the shoulder. “This way, Mister Grower.”

  Gertrude’s father swallowed and nodded as he was led into the dark.

  To say it was the cheery whistling of her father that woke Gertrude from the floor would have been half a truth. Of course she heard him as he prepared their breakfast, and eventually she would have wondered why he was so cheerful, but at the moment it was a rat dropping from the ceiling onto her face that–

  “YAAAAAA!” she screeched, lunging upward and giving the rat a kick that sent it sailing up into the thatch from whence it had come. “Stupid rats!”

  Her father turned from the gruel gurgling on the stove to beam at her with pride. “Daughter. Fruit of my loins. Beloved offspring. How I love thee!”

  She frowned at him and wiped a strand of hair out of her eyes. “Hangover, Pa?”

  “Ho-ho!” he laughed, bouncing and reddening. “Not today, fair daughter of mine!”

  “Did you sell that fat old cow you hate–the one that kicked you between the legs when you tried to milk her?”

  He held his belly and laughed. “Noooooooooo!”

  “Then why are you so happy?” Hands on her hips, Gertrude wondered if her poor father had grown senile overnight. Was it possible?

  “I-I’m so happy–because,” he wheezed, wiping tears from his eyes. “Because I–you’re–well, maybe you’d better sit down.”

  “Okay.” Folding up her legs, she dropped to the floor with a thump.

  Her father did likewise. “Ug,” he groaned, rocking side to side. “I think I landed on a fork or something–can’t be sure.”

  “You’ll find it later,” she said.

  “Right.” He cleared his throat. “Daughter, I have news for you that will make your little girl’s heart leap with joy! You want to know what it is? Do you?”

  She shrugged. “Sure.”

  “Well, here it is: the honorable Sheriff Bile wants you to be his wife!”

  Her jaw dropped open. “Huh?”

  He wheezed with delight, hugging himself and rocking. “My daughter–the wife of a sheriff–an officer of the king. Oh-ho! My cup overfloweth!”

  She could only stare at him.

  “Oh, I am so happy for you, Daughter–sooooo happy! You’ll never be in want of anything, ever. You’ll have food and clothes–not this stuff that rots off you every other month–and wealth. You’ll be rich!”

  “But Pa–”

  “Oh, Daughter, what can you say to such a wonderful offer? Are you overwhelmed? What can you say? C’mon, tell your old father.”

  “I feel like puking.”

  “Oh.” He frowned at her with concern. “It must be nerves. Take some deep breaths. Slow now, in through your nose, out through your mouth.” He demonstrated with great gusts that tossed his daughter’s hair all about. “There now. Feel better?”

  “No.” She wiped her hair out of her eyes and rose to her feet. “But it’s okay. Illness spurs greatness.” She frowned. “Or something like that.” She paced with a finger to her lips, eyes focused on the floor.

  Her father watched, his head tracking her sudden changes in direction, his own brow furrowed in like manner. Her reaction to the news seemed a strange one, but perhaps he didn’t know about such things. Gertrude’s mother (God rest her soul) had acted fairly nutty when he’d asked for her callused, leathery hand in marriage: she’d clobbered him
across the jaw and collapsed in a dead faint, revived later only to clobber him again. So perhaps it was normal for Gertrude to be pacing like this. Less violent, at least.

  “Pa.” Gertrude knelt beside him with an earnest look in her emerald eyes. “Pa, tell me something.”

  “Anything, Daughter.” He whacked her on the head with affection.

  She grimaced slightly, then asked in a low voice, “Did you work out some kind of sinister deal with the sheriff?”

  “Uh–” His eyes darted away. “What could you possibly mean?”

  Her gaze searched out his honest heart (usually located just below his natural heart, but sometimes it shifted around when he was being slightly dishonest). “You know.”

  “Well–” He started to squirm, his lumpy face puckering. “I–”

  “Tell me, Pa.”

  He sighed and hung his head. “Aye. That I did.”

  “What was the deal?”

  He groaned as if he were in pain, frowning, eyes downcast. “Well, I–” He shook his head in shame. “I promised him your hand in marriage if he would find Alfred and–”

  “Kill him.” Her tone was flat.

  He looked as if he might burst into tears. “Aye,” he gasped, nodding. The realization of what he’d done fell on him so heavily that both of his hearts sank into his bowels. “I’m so sorry, Daughter.” His teary eyes rose to meet her. “I wasn’t thinking. I worried so much about your future that I forgot to think of your happiness.”

  She touched his face tenderly. “Oh Pa, you can’t help it if you’re stupid sometimes.” She pinched his cheek with genuine fondness, then jumped to her feet.

  “I don’t know what I was thinking! I mean, killing that lousy, stinky farmhand is one thing–but roping you into a marriage with a guy twice your age? Oh, I’m so ashamed!” He covered his face with his hands.

  “It hasn’t happened yet, Pa,” she said with a determined look.

  “But it’s a done deal, Daughter!” he wailed. “There’s nothing we can do. As soon as the sheriff’s deputies bring back Alfred and hang him in the village square, Bile will be here on our doorstep expecting you to marry him!”

  Gertrude didn’t seem to hear her distraught father. She stared at the floor, thinking the hardest she had ever thought in her life–until a sudden idea struck her.