by Bob Craton
CHAPTER 5
The Boy
The packed dirt of the road through the Westanian countryside was smooth enough but only one lane wide. A pasture lay on the right side with forest to the left. The man and boy rode in a small cart, and ahead a rider on a horse coming in the opposite direction rounded a curve. The horseman was not moving fast and he stayed in the center of the lane.
“I think he wants us to pull over, Pop,” said the boy.
“We’ll have to if he doesn’t yield. If he wants to talk, I’ll ask him about directions.”
The approaching man wore a long leather coat and a wide brimmed hat. As he came near, the rider held up his hand and Pop reined in his cart-horse.
“Hello, strangers,” the man said. His voice was firm and his eyes hard, but he didn’t seem hostile. “Just passing through, are you?”
“Yes, friend,” said Pop. “We’re looking for Minx Crossing. Is this the right direction?”
“It’s the next village you’ll come to. You know someone there?”
“No, sir. We’re just looking for work.”
“What kind?”
“Any type at all, even if it’s just odd jobs.”
“Pop can do anything and I can help,” the boy chimed in.
“Pop?” said the rider with a touch of amusement showing.
“My name is Poponio. My boy calls me Pop for short. His name is Pattrit.”
“I’m Mattias Dalyn,” said the rider. “I’m the constable for this county.”
“Very nice to meet you,” said Poponio. “If you don’t mind me asking, do you know if any jobs are available in the village?”
“No, you’re out of luck there, friend,” replied the constable. “It’s a small place and folks aren’t likely to hire outsiders. You’d do best to keep on going to Merville. It’s a bigger town. When you get to Minx, anyone there can tell you which road to take.”
“Thank you for the advice,” said Poponio. He noticed that Dalyn was surveying the cart-horse.
“Your mare doesn’t seem to be a horse that should be pulling a cart,” remarked the constable. “She’s bigger than a plow horse but those long legs make her look more like a runner.”
“No sir, she’s always been a work horse and a good one during her prime years,” replied Poponio. “Or at least that’s what the man who sold her said. I wouldn’t swear he was telling the truth about every detail, but she clearly was a decent horse once. I never could’ve afforded her except for her advanced age.” Dalyn noticed the gray around the animal’s muzzle and the dullness of its brown coat. Shrugging, he turned his attention back to the man and boy.
“Good looking son you got there. How old are you, lad?”
“Seventeen,” the boy said.
“Pattrit! Stop doing that,” Poponio said before the constable could look askance. “He’s a good boy, sir, mostly. But he is prone to exaggerating. He’s really fifteen.”
“Boys always want to be older than they are,” Dalyn said. “But when they get to be our age, everyone wants to be younger, eh Poponio?”
“Very true, sir.”
“Well, I’d best be on my way,” the constable said has he nudged his horse to go around the cart. “By the way, I told the truth about jobs. You really would be better off in Merville. That’s not just something I said to get you to leave my county.” He tipped his hat and rode on.
As the cart moved forward, Pattrit looked back at the man and said, “He was suspicious.”
“Just curious, I think. It’s a constable’s job to be that way.”
Then the boy grinned and said, “I was right, wasn’t I?”
“About what, son?”
“That people will believe I’m fifteen.”
“Yes, you were right,” said Poponio. “Never tell your true age, I always say, and since you’re tall, it’s easier to convince folks that you’re older rather than younger.”
“I bet they’d believe I’m sixteen. After all, they believe you’re a man.”
“Don’t be in a rush, son. Staying two years ahead of your real age is enough for now.”
