The Defender of Rebel Falls: A Medieval Science Fiction Adventure (The William Whitehall Adventures Book 1)

by Christensen, Erik

“Yes!”

  “Fine, then. I knew Sir Hendrick wouldn’t draft you—no, don’t say anything, you want it explained, so just stand there and listen. I knew he wouldn’t draft you, just like everyone else did but you. I knew you’d be shocked and disappointed, and whenever that happens you come here. I knew those clowns would hear about it, that they knew you’d come here, and that they’d follow you. So I set up some slings in the tree and waited. I’m just glad it wasn’t raining harder.”

  William waited through Jack’s tirade, but when Jack finished he had nothing to say. He stared at the ground instead.

  “Remember, Will, you asked me to spell it out.”

  William nodded, unable to look his friend in the eye.

  Jack pressed on. “So…you’re not mad at me then?”

  William sighed. “Actually, I’m mad at everyone and everything right now.”

  “I know. But me least of all, right?”

  “Jack, sometimes I don’t know why we’re friends.”

  “It’s because I’m so charming and witty.” He bared his teeth in a ridiculous fake smile.

  William laughed despite his mood. “Yeah, that must be it.”

  They walked in silence until they reached William’s house. Before they parted, Jack put his hand on William’s shoulder. “Listen, Will. Do me a favor?”

  “Hmph. Let me guess…”

  “Make the best of it,” said Jack.

  “Got it. Any other words of wisdom?”

  “Yes. Go easy on her.”

  As Jack walked away, William opened the creaky gate to his small yard. He ignored the front door; he wasn’t ready for what waited behind it yet. He stepped into the garden and looked for anything to distract him. He raked a few leaves and fed his rabbits. But the garden lay dormant, and there were no heavy chores to do until spring. Even the firewood was chopped and stacked neatly behind his wooden target dummy. He ran his fingers along the dummy’s notched edges; it was almost time to replace it. A few good swings of his sword and it would be firewood too…but his sword was inside. He sighed and grabbed some logs for the kitchen fire and steeled himself to confront the inevitable.

  Emma Whitehall looked up from her stitching as he entered, but her greeting died on her lips as she saw her son’s face. William dropped the logs beside the stove. “I know about the deal you made with Master Cairns.”

  “But…that’s…” she said. “He promised he wouldn’t say anything!”

  “He didn’t. I was only guessing, but now I know for sure.”

  Emma rolled her eyes and dropped her work on the small wooden table. “You could have asked me. Why is everything so noble and dramatic with you all the time?”

  Her soft, low voice and trace of old world accent took the edge off her retort, but it still stung. He crossed his arms and glared at her. “Would you have told me the truth?” he asked.

  “For the love of…why wouldn’t I?”

  “That’s true; it’s not like you’ve hidden your manipulations before,” said William.

  “Manipulations? What—”

  “Come on, Mom. It’s bad enough you kept me in school longer than I wanted. But you also asked Sir Kevin not to teach me everything I needed to get into the Guard. And you knew that’s what I wanted.”

  Emma grew flustered at the force of William’s accusation. “Sir Kevin is a good man, and he—”

  “And he did what you asked him to.”

  She pushed the dress away from her. “Fine. I admit it. Yes.”

  William turned his back on her and removed his boots. “You had no right to ask him to do that.”

  “Ask who? Kevin, or Lester?” she asked.

  “Either. Both.”

  “I only did what I thought was best for you.”

  He whirled and glared at her. “Really? You told me something a long time ago. You said your parents wouldn’t let you marry Dad. Was that true, or was that just a story?”

  “It was true, but this is different.” Emma walked toward William.

  “Huh? Tell me one way this is different.”

  Her voice trembled as she answered. “I’ve already lost my husband; I don’t want to lose my only son too. Is that so wrong?”

  Guilt weakened his resolve. He stared at the floor and shook his head in defeat. “No, I guess not.” He rose and drew her close as she had done to him so often in the past. She relaxed and put her head on his shoulder. Some of her long blond tresses had whitened; had worry done that to her? He thought of a way to quell her anxiety. “I suppose a Librarian would be paid better than a rookie Guard.”

  She pulled back and looked up at him with the first traces of a smile. “I had that in mind when I planned my manipulations.”

  He winced and thought of the years she raised him by herself. She had supplemented her miserable pension with long hours of sewing almost every day. He owed her gratitude, not resentment. He took her slender hands in his and brought them to his lips. “Truce?”

  Emma nodded and wiped the tears from her face as she returned to her work. William turned toward his bedroom, but his mother’s voice stopped him.

  “There was a time when we didn’t fight. Do you remember? In the old house?”

  William laughed and nodded. “Was it really so much bigger than this one?”

  “It was nine years ago, William. That’s a child’s memory. It was no mansion, but oh, what a garden we had…”

  William’s eyes lit up. “I played Guards and Bandits with Dad, that’s what I remember most. His shield was so big I’d hide behind it. He even let me hold his sword once. I could hardly lift it, but he could swing it one-handed…” His voice trailed off; his comments had upset her. She focused on her work, but telltale signs of sorrow showed on her face. “You know what I don’t remember, though?” asked William. “I don’t think I ever saw you sewing at the old house.”

  She smiled and peered up from her work. “I started when we lost your father so you could stay in school. My mother taught me…she said it was proper for a girl of my breeding. So we have that in common, William…both of us profiting from an education we never wanted.”

  “It’s not that I didn’t want it—”

  “I know. You always prattled on about the things you learned. Even now I buy extra candles because you read long after dark. So what bothered you so much about school?”

  William hesitated. “You know what it was.”

  “Oh, come on. You had friends there.”

  “One friend. Jack. The rest treated me like the butcher’s leavings.”

  “What about that girl? Melissa, I think her name was. You said she was nice to you. Whatever happened to her?”

  “She left school a year early. I never found out why.” William stared at the wall as he suppressed the memory. “I can’t break my contract. What if the people at the Library are the same as the ones in school?”

  She shook her head. “They won’t be.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “Sons and daughters of lords don’t work in Libraries, William. Neither do bullies.”

  After bidding her good night and lighting a candle, he drew the curtain to his bedroom. The candlelight glinted on the sword hanging on the wall over his bed. He took it down and turned it over in his hands. It was short, heavy, and as badly notched as his wooden dummy target. Sir Kevin had given him the sword for practice; it would never have served for real Guard duty. But now it was no more use to him than it was to his rabbits in their hutches. He was as trapped as they were—more, because he was aware of the difference—but his cage was built from honor, not wood. He wrapped the sword in an old shirt and tossed it into a corner out of sight. He set the candle on a shelf and thumbed through his small pile of books. He selected an old favorite, one with a faded dragon on the cover. He wished he could fly away on the back of a dragon, leaving behind the difficult choice he had to make, but that was just fantasy. If his father’s memory was truly to be honored, he would have to face reality and make a
difficult decision. Maybe his mother was right—his education was a resource he could draw on, even if it wasn’t his first choice. As he settled down to read, an idea took shape.

  As the Kingdom grew and the distance between major production centers increased, a Merchant class emerged, which was largely responsible for trade between regions. Their frequent travel often subsidized the cost of ship building, and in some cases kept certain travel routes open where otherwise it might have been deemed too expensive for the royal court to finance on its own. Successful merchants could retire on the proceeds of a single trade, but it normally took years to attain the necessary status and capital to do so.

  Planet of Hope: A History of Esperanza

  William woke from a dream in which he had saved a town from foes now forgotten in the morning light. The cold sun slipped through the shutters, chased away the invincibility that permeated his dreams, and left behind a dull resignation. Just one more day of freedom; one more day to pretend the dream was still alive.

  He wondered what Jack had planned today. There had been no need to confirm it the night before; every Sunday that Jack wasn’t traveling with his father, they would meet by his gate and go forth to find what entertainment they could. Some days they fished, other times they hiked behind Administration Hill. In high summer they might swim or find a shady place in nearby woods to play games or just talk. Anything, so long as they didn’t run into Oz.

  William threw on some clothes and slipped out the door before his mother awoke. Despite their reconciliation he still harbored some ill feelings, and he wasn’t certain what he might say to her. It was best to avoid it. He fed and watered his rabbits, jumped the fence and began the trek across town.

  Not the main road…not today. He held his breath as he passed the tanner’s shop and turned onto the path that followed the river. He had no love for the mudflats, or the shanty town that occupied them, but here he would be left alone. Channels of water gurgled between flimsy shacks and fractured ruins, a reminder of homes and lives taken by past floods. William reflected that if not for his father’s pension, he might have lived here too.

  The path ended; he climbed the stone steps and sighed in relief when he saw the Market Square was empty. With no crops to sell during winter, farmers had no money to buy anything. Come springtime, though, there would be early grain to sell, and ready customers for all sorts of wares. By summer the Square would be packed, and the air would be filled with the sounds of salesmen shouting, children screaming and banners flapping in the steady breeze. Today he heard only the sound of his boots on the soggy ground and the rain tapping on his shoulders. A dull gray statue of King Stephen stood on the center pedestal, its head covered in moss and bird droppings. William gave it a nod of respect as he passed by, and shivered as he pulled his coat closed.

  The shrouded sun had risen by more than a hand when he reached the tree-lined avenue among the affluent homes; it climbed another finger or two before he arrived at the Dorans’ gated estate.

  “You’re early,” said Jack, as he jumped off a branch, rolling gracefully to the ground to break his fall.

  William grinned and gave him a hand up. “And yet here you are waiting for me.”

  “I figured you’d be early.”

  William gazed through the gate at the large house. “How’s your mom?”

  Jack shrugged. “Dad’s home. She has her maids. As well as can be expected, I guess.”

  “And your dad?”

  “Bored, of course.”

  William rubbed his hands together. “So what’s the plan for my last day of freedom?”

  “We’re going to the Inn,” he said.

  William raised an eyebrow. “The Inn? What for?”

  “Well, for starters, they have beer there.”

  William laughed. “I don’t drink beer. Neither do you.”

  “I know. But they also have food.” Jack patted his stomach.

  William pretended to look at the trees. “I’m not hungry.”

  “Don’t be silly; you haven’t had breakfast yet.”

  There was no point in asking how Jack knew, less in denying it. “What’s your real reason?”

  “Lucy, the barmaid. She’s quite pretty, and—”

  “Jack…”

  “Fine, I’m looking for news.”

  “Huh? What kind of news?” asked William.

  “Any news. We haven’t traveled since my father retired. So it’s hard to find out what’s happening in other places, like Faywater Port, or New Athens, or anywhere else.”

  “Well, what does it matter? We’ll hear about anything important eventually.”

  “But old news isn’t news,” said Jack. “Otherwise they’d call it olds. News is valuable when it’s fresh off the boat, and the boats come to the docks, and the Inn is beside the docks. Also, Lucy, the barmaid, she’s really—”

  “Fine, we’ll go to the Inn,” said William. “Not what I was expecting, but I won’t complain.”

  The docks stood at a quiet spot on the massive Faywater river. A breakwater of rock and old lumber jutted out a little ways upstream, creating a harbor of still water where the river boats could dock without fear of being torn from their moorings. Standing here on the docks, it struck William just how wide the river was. Even from the end of the breakwater, neither he nor Jack had ever succeeded in throwing stones even as much as halfway to the far bank, despite frequent attempts.

  They walked between the warehouses and repair shops that lined the boardwalk until they reached the Inn. The sign above the door was a river ship, just like the ones that sailed up from the coast to trade. The docks could accommodate six of the real ones; today the only ship in sight swung on the sign above them in the morning breeze.

  Lucy was as friendly as Jack had suggested and greeted him with warm familiarity. “Good to see you, Jack. Who’s your friend? Someone new in town?”

  “No, this is my friend, William Whitehall. Will, meet Lucy.”

  Lucy’s auburn ringlets bounced as she looked at William. “Whitehall…you’re Orrin’s boy?”

  William suppressed an urge to grit his teeth. “I am.”

  “Well, sit by the fire, boys, and take the chill off. Forget about the corner table; it hasn’t been cleaned yet from last night. I suppose it’s too early for beer?”

  Jack hung his cloak on the post beside the table. “Do you have any of your mother’s chicken pies?”

  “If my father hasn’t eaten them all. What about you, William?”

  William shook his head as he took his seat. “Oh, I’m not hungry. Maybe just some tea?”

  “Don’t be stupid, Will,” said Jack. “You haven’t eaten yet. Lucy’s mother makes a pea soup with bits of smoked ham that you have to try at least once in your life.”

  “I’ll bring you a big bowl of that,” said Lucy. “And the tea.”

  “But—”

  “And I hope you don’t mind my saying…your father wasn’t here often, but he’s well remembered in our family. Always a gentleman.”

  Jack elbowed William’s ribs as Lucy scurried away. “What’s your problem, Will?”

  “I don’t want charity, Jack, and I’ve got no money to buy soup or anything else.”

  “Would you get over it? How many times have I eaten at your house? Besides, it’s good for business.”

  “Yours, or Lucy’s?”

  “Both.”

  William snorted. “I still don’t know what your business is.”

  “Neither do I, until I find it. That’s why I came here, to find out what’s new.”

  “How do you expect to do that when the Inn is empty?”

  Jack raised an eyebrow at William as Lucy arrived with their food. “So, what’s new, Lucy?”

  “Well, let me see…you don’t care about town gossip much, if I recall. You’ll want news from downriver, I suspect.”

  Jack dug into his pie. “Has there been any?”

  “Well, the wharf master says the season’s first sh
ip is coming in three weeks.”

  Jack’s eyes widened. “Really? That early?”

  Lucy nodded. “And the mail packet came with a letter asking us to reserve a room for a special guest.”

  That got Jack’s attention. “What sort of guest?”

  She laughed. “The paying kind. That’s all Dad cares about. But for what it’s worth, the letter came from the Duke and said it was for a friend of his.” She beamed as Jack’s jaw dropped and his spoon fell from his hand.

  “No kidding,” he said. “So, not the royal family then?”

  Lucy burst out laughing, and even William couldn’t help smiling. “Enjoy your food, boys,” she said as she hurried away.

  William scoffed at Jack’s smug grin. “You’re quite pleased with yourself. How does that help you? You don’t even know who’s coming.”

  “No, but I know when to be here next.”

  The soup tasted as good as Jack claimed, and William was trying to figure out a polite way to ask for a second bowl when a noise distracted him.

  “Beer!” A deep voice bellowed from the corner Lucy had told them to avoid. A red, pock-marked face topped with a mass of dark, disheveled hair appeared from behind the bench. “Lucy! Bring me a beer!” He winced in pain at the sound of his own voice, then leered at William. “What are you staring at, boy?”

  Jack leaned over and whispered to William. “Well, I see where Oz gets his charm.”

  William nodded. “His looks, too.”

  Lucy strode from the kitchen wielding a broom. “Roger Domnall, I’ve told you before you can’t sleep here. If you pass out here again, you’ll have to spend your evenings elsewhere.”

  “King’s ears, woman, stop yelling. Just bring me a beer to ease this headache and I’ll be on my way.”

  “It’s my father’s bar and I’ll yell if I want. You haven’t paid for last night’s beers, and you’ve drunk enough to make a nuisance of yourself anyways. Hey! Get back!”

  “Don’t you call me a nuisance—and stop swinging that broom at me, or you’ll be sorry!”

  William turned to Jack. “Should we call for the Guard? Hey—Jack! Where’d you go?” A quick glance confirmed Jack wasn’t under the table. He was torn between helping Lucy and looking for Jack; how could he abandon someone in danger like that? He decided to intervene. The elder Domnall was bigger and meaner than Oz, but it wasn’t just himself in trouble this time. He had no choice.