by LeRoy Clary
Tom said, “Gather what you want. This is where we start walking again.”
“If we stayed in the boat and slipped past them in the fog, do you think there are more soldiers further down the river?”
“I would bet on it if I was making book.”
“Making book?”
“Another way of saying I’d bet anything on it, Gareth. Thanks to Jenkins, he gave us the warning we needed, or they would have seized us right there where they caught him. They probably have a fast boat or two ready to give chase in case we tried to evade them, or maybe a stand of archers ready to let loose a volley of arrows.”
“Will Jenkins be all right?”
“Course he will. To them, he’s just another boat heading down river, and they have no idea that he even knows of us. He’s been down the river a time or two. He’ll just tell them most of the truth, but not all. He’ll soon be floating downriver again, which reminds me. Be sure to speak softly. Sounds carry funny in fog, sometimes over long distances.” Tom stepped from the boat to the muddy bank. He leaned back into the boat and rolled up the blankets with their food inside, keeping a keen watch the whole time.
Gareth also stepped into the boat again, waking the dragon in the process. He placed the strap of his bag over his shoulder and rubbed the soreness where it rode. He should have made a wider strap. The dragon seemed happy to reenter the leather bag that had held the egg headfirst. It curled up and lay still. The bag felt almost natural swinging at his hip after the days he’d carried it. Stepping into the soft mud of the shore again, he rolled his blanket around the remainder of the food and tucked it under his arm.
Tom nodded down river. “Might be some of those damn teachers of yours looking for us on this bank, too. Most people use the river for travel. I’m thinking we head away from the river and find ourselves a different road going in the right direction. Then we need to hide ourselves because they’ll have all the roads watched, too.”
“So we only travel at night?”
“Nope. They’ll have sentries out at night, and we’ll stumble onto them before we see them. Anyone traveling at night is suspect, so they’ll take a long look. Probably your teachers, the Brotherhood, are walking along every back road around Drakesport all night long. With their fast-talk ability, you can bet they’re waiting for us, and they know what we look like. Or, what we used to look like.”
“Then what do we do?”
“Well, first there’s a few things we need talk about while we get away from here. You know, things to understand between us.”
I thought we already had a deal. “What sort of things?”
“These teachers of yours. Or monks, or the Brotherhood if you prefer. Seems like there’s a hundred or two of them searching for you. For the life of me, I can’t figure how one young man can be that important, so if you’re the king’s long lost son or something, this is a good time to tell me. That way I can make plans.”
“I am nobody!”
Tom flashed a smile, which relieved all the tension in the hopeless-seeming situation. “Then I guess you and me are going to have to hide in plain sight.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Gareth jogged every few steps to keep up with Tom’s rapid pace as he trudged down a well-worn path winding through the thick underbrush beside the River John. Residents of a few cabins on the side of the hill probably used this path daily. As usual, Tom walked like a man half his age or a man possessed. Gareth mentally adjusted the age estimate of Tom to a third of his original. Tom never seemed to hurry, but he never seemed to slow down, either. Tom moved quickly and effortlessly, speaking little, arms swinging with each step. After the fog lifted they traveled beneath the wide limbs of a virgin forest filled with hardwoods of maple, ash, oak, and every other sort spreading above. The trees thinned long enough to catch glimpses of nearby rolling hillsides and the snow-capped peaks of unknown mountains in the far distance.
“Tom, a while ago you said we’re going to hide in plain sight. What does that mean?”
“It means you and me are going to change who others see when they look at us. They won’t think about questioning us or reporting our whereabouts. Those teachers of yours have undoubtedly spread our descriptions far and wide. A handsome, distinguished older gentleman and young scallywag of a pup traveling together will get noticed. Even our new haircuts and my shave will not slow them down for long. I have a few ideas, so just hang on while I scout around for what we need. I’ll know it when I see it.”
The cryptic answer didn’t provide much solid information, but the confidence his voice carried would do for now. Gareth felt the dragon stir in his bag, probably upset from being jostled and disturbing its sleep as they moved back under tall trees. The path followed along a slippery stream bank. He placed his left hand into the opening and felt the animal wrap itself around his wrist as if comforted by the touch. He kept his hand there. The awkward posture upset his balance, but he ignored the discomfort and tried to keep pace.
As they crested a small hill, the heavy foliage thinned along one side of the path. Gareth paused for a breath and found the clearing was a field of newly planted hay, maybe alfalfa. The rows were neat and straight, and he felt a pang of envy. It reminded him of Odd’s farm in Dun Mare. The neat rows of the field also meant a nearby farm. Farms usually had barking dogs and defensive farmers protecting their homes and crops from travelers.
Tom walked a dozen paces ahead. Now he slowed and moved carefully, probably watching for signs of farmers, too. A small cabin appeared in a small valley below them. They paused on the hillside behind a stand of willows, watching the windows of the cabin, and the empty fields. The sun was high, but farmers rose early and had probably been busy with chores for hours. A stout barn and several small outbuildings stood near the cabin, all looking old, neat and well kept. Crops grew in at least three nearby fields.
Beyond the cabin wound a strip of a two-rut dirt road.
Tom said, “Rest here. Stay still and watch for me. I’ll be back, one way or another. Whatever you do, don’t get excited and try to rescue me.”
“Not arguing, just trying to understand. Why do I stay?” Gareth asked, settling himself on a fallen log to watch.
“I don’t want the people down there remembering you being around here, in case anyone asks. I’m speaking about your teachers, of course. Many old men stop by local farms looking for temporary work so I won’t stand out if I’m alone, but those people following you are looking for an old man and a younger one, together.”
“I assume they’ll have dogs down there. Will they smell my dragon up here?”
“Your dragon, is it now?” He chuckled and gave Gareth a pat on the shoulder, “The dogs probably can’t smell it from here, but that thing is beginning to reek if you hadn’t noticed.”
Gareth had noticed.
In the distance, the door to the cabin slammed open. An old man with a long dark beard stepped outside and paused to oversee his farm. Stretching, he looked at the sky and the heavy clouds hanging above the northern horizon. He whistled and a pair of yellow dogs bounded from inside the house. The farmer limped his way to the barn, moving slow and looking pained with each careful step.
With a small salute, Tom headed down the hillside, skirting the edge of the fields so he couldn’t be seen by the farmer. Once down to the road that passed in front of the farm, he turned in the farm’s direction as if he had traveled a distance on the road.
Gareth watched Tom closely. He noticed Tom start to limp and walk much slower, moving like the farmer had, as he headed for his barn. Tom neared the cabin, and one of the dogs spotted him. A torrent of barks followed. Both dogs rushed in Tom’s direction, leaping and sprinting, each trying to arrive first and bark loudest. They were both yellow, and they looked so alike they may have come from the same litter a year or two ago.
Tom knelt and held out his arms to greet them, laughing and calling to the dogs as if they were old friends. They pulled to a cautious stop in front o
f him and sniffed while the farmer limped out of the barn and in their direction. Tom petted them and shook hands with the farmer when he arrived. Tom had not moved closer to the farm. He waited, as was custom and good manners. They spoke for a short time on the road, and Gareth saw them both chuckling at something. Then they walked back to the barn and disappeared inside as if they were the best of friends, the dogs chasing a stick Tom tossed again and again.
The sun shifted far higher in the sky before a mule pulling an old wagon creaked into view from the double doors of the barn. A newer wagon sat outside under what looked like a red apple tree. Behind the wagon trotted a brown and white goat tied to the rear corner by a rope, not seeming to appreciate the tugging rope at all. Tom sat in the wagon seat waving goodbye to the farmer as he slapped the reins to get the attention of the mule. It looked tired even though the day had barely begun. The dogs barked and ran beside the wagon until the farmer called them back several times.
Ears of corn filled the bed of the wagon almost to the top of the sideboards. The wagon didn’t look like it could manage a heavier load without breaking down. The mule looked old, stubborn, and traveled at half the pace a young man walks. Together, Tom, wagon, and mule looked to be a sorry team. Only the goat balking at being pulled along had any vitality.
Tom now wore a different shirt. Pale green and loose fitting with long sleeves, it was much like most farmers chose. A darker green patch on one shoulder stood out displaying a crude repair, even at in the distance. At the road, the wagon turned away from the cabin and in the direction where Gareth and the dragon waited on the hillside. As it moved nearer he saw the small motion Tom made with his hand, and he slipped through the trees to the edge of the road, taking care to keep underbrush between himself and the cabin, carrying the dragon in his arms.
Tom shook his head when Gareth started to climb onto the seat of the wagon. He handed Gareth a straw farmer’s hat, old and worn, and he said, “I’ve been thinking, some. Putting together, a few ideas of things past. It had to be that damned woman at Priest’s Point who made your clothes who talked too much. Word reached the Brotherhood. That’s what sent that white boat chasing after us. That’s one puzzle solved.”
“I had the same thought.”
“Should have shared it with me,” Tom barked.
“But it does not say why the white ship chased us.”
“Damn. You’re right. I thought I’d figured it all out, and now I have to do more thinking.”
“Sorry. How’d you get the wagon?”
“A few silver coins changed hands. He gave me a fair deal.”
Gareth snorted as he examined the sorry state of the wagon and mule. “A few silver coins for this?”
“He threw in the load of corn for almost nothing. I paid extra for the goat. Now, you untie that goat and walk on the road ahead with her, like we’re not together and don’t know each other. Get a good lead on me. You should be able to hear the wagon behind, so don’t get too far ahead.”
Gareth said, “I see. We’re splitting up because they’re looking for a bearded old man and larger young one, both with long hair, traveling together. Not farmers.”
“So we cut our hair and travel apart and act like locals. If asked, you’re taking that goat to an uncle’s farm near a village called Prosper. Make up a name for yourself and a story to go along with it. Throw a couple of ears of corn in your bag with the ends sticking out like they’re your lunch. Maybe nobody will look in there and find your new pet if they see corn ears sticking out.”
“What about your name and history?” Gareth asked.
“My name’s not your concern because you don’t know me, remember? I’m just a hired hand driving this old wagon load of corn down to Drakesport town to sell at the farmers’ market. I do this with all our extra crops at my brother’s farm where I live. I’m a little slow when I talk. . .” He took a deep breath and let it escape between pursed lips. “And slower to answer.” Another breath. “Even the Brotherhood won’t want to talk to a dullard like me for long.”
“Drakesport. I’ve been wondering about that. I mentioned this once, but does the Army buy baby dragons?”
Tom avoided his eyes. After a hesitation longer than Gareth anticipated, he answered, “Son, to tell you the honest truth, I don’t know. About all I do know for sure is those damn teachers, or Brotherhood, or whatever they are, want us really bad. When I say ‘us’ I mean you more’n me. And I don’t think they’re your friends. I know they’re not mine. If you disagree, then you should meet up with the first pair of them you see and surrender.”
Tom gave the mule a slap on the rump, and it trudged ahead.
Gareth slapped the wide-brimmed hat on his head, untied the goat and quick-walked ahead of the wagon, tugging and urging the goat to walk faster. As he passed the wagon, he said in a conspiratorial voice, “My name’s Tim, son of Faring. We live on a goat farm half a day behind us. This is the third goat I’m delivering to my uncle in Prosper this year because we’re having a good year.”
“Talk educated like that and they’ll nab you right off. Drop yer eyes and talk through your nose, like this” Tom pinched his nose. “Better yet, only talk when you have to. Farmer boys your size haven’t had time for school so it’s expected. Just do a lot of nodding and smile at anything they say. Add some shrugs, too, like you have no idea of what they are saying but you’re agreeable. And look away when they talk, like you’re thinking about something far away.”
Gareth nodded, disappointed at Tom’s corrections, and he yanked the goat by the halter to walk faster, instantly feeling sorry for the action when the goat bawled in protest. He realized he didn’t know the way to Drakesport, but he kept walking. Tom seemed to know everything and would correct him if he turned the wrong way. The comforting sounds of a squeaky wheel and the soft rumble of the loaded wagon followed him.
Before mid-morning two teachers appeared on the road and walked in his direction. They moved in their usual stiff manner without swaying from side to side. They wore their hoods pulled low over their shaved head to protect their eyes and pale skin from the sun. Their hands were concealed in their sleeves. Always before Gareth had admired their mechanical method of walking. Now he found himself thinking of it as ‘slinking’ and somehow evil. Their quiet ways had somehow transformed into spying.
Gareth realized he didn’t know how other people greeted teachers when meeting them on the road. He’d always been their student, with them coming to him, but acting different from others on the dirt road would draw attention. He considered mumbling hello but didn’t trust his new persona or accent. One mistake and they would spot it.
The distance between them closed fast. Gareth gradually moved to the side of the road and held his goat on a short leash, watching the two men closely from under the brim of the straw hat. He kept his face impassive. Their eyes seemed to drift past him, and both looked directly ahead as if seeing little in front of them. Neither nodded or said anything. Indeed, they acted as if he was merely the shadow of a bush growing at the edge of the road.
Well, now I know what to do when I see them. Just stare and move on.
The goat lowered its head and reached for a tuft of grass. Gareth pulled a handful of grass and used it to keep the goat following eagerly at his heels, feeding it from his hand now and then. They paused at the first stream for a drink and made sure the wagon still rumbled behind. When he heard it getting near, they continued.
Tom must have told the farmer a tall tale to get a full load of corn, as well as the mule, goat, wagon and the old clothes. Some tale it must have been, and more than a few coins had probably changed hands. He felt certain Tom had done the deal in such a way that the farmer didn’t have much information to share with the Brotherhood if he chose to tell. Gareth would bet that Tom had convinced him to hold his tongue, anyhow.
Gareth wondered how he could underestimate Tom so many times in only a few days. Perhaps that was Tom’s strength. Others also saw him as a poor f
armer or fisherman with little education. Nothing threatening about him. Gareth was beginning to see the cunning, intelligent man under the disguise. Tim. I’ll have to remember my new name. While walking slowly along the road, he fleshed out his story, in case anyone should ask. Tim would be easy to remember. Tim. Tom. Nothing is worse than forgetting your name.
“I’m t-takin’ this baby goat to m-my uncle.” Gareth talked to the goat, practicing his new stuttering dialect, perfecting the mannerisms of a slow-witted farmer who had never attended school. “Takin’ dis billy to m-my uncle.”
The goat glanced at him and looked away as if it didn’t approve.
He felt the dragon stir and pulled the flap of the bag aside. The animal paused and looked up at him with a mouthful of yellow corn and green shuck. It snorted once and lunged back at the ear of corn as if afraid Gareth was going to take it. He let the dragon have that ear while pulling another from the bag and gnawing on the sweet, raw kernels as he walked. When he looked inside the bag again, only bare cobs remained of the other three ears.
Another pair of teachers waited in a small glen beside a bend in the road where they were concealed until a passerby was only steps away. They stood together, saying nothing, and watching everything. Their eyes barely touched on the farmer-boy and goat.
Ignoring them, Gareth continued to the next field of lush wheat standing nearly waist high and allowed the goat to eat lush mouthfuls until the wagon came in sight around a bend. Tom’s eyes flicked to Gareth, and then back to the mule and the road ahead, almost as if the boy and goat were invisible. The mule never broke stride.
Tom’s telling me something.
Gareth reached for the halter and pulled the goat closer, ready to flee, if needed, or hide if possible. A flash of movement behind the wagon drew his attention. Dull green. He recognized them, despite their overall similarities. Years of interaction with teachers as he sat at their knees listening to them gave him the ability to discriminate between similar appearing teachers, a skill that others might not have. Those are the same teachers I saw a while ago. They’re following Tom. Should I stay here or start walking, again?
