Rescue (By Eyes Unseen Book One)

by F. E. Greene

  From the safety of the doorway, Pearl had watched. She felt as astonished by their reactions as they were by the book.

  The next day her parents vanished.

  Pearl might have blamed the unusual book, but she didn’t. It was a book few remembered and fewer could read. Written in antescript – one of the cradle-languages – its contents looked like a child’s scribblings. The gliph on its cover could not be translated.

  That gliph was a symbol, her father had shared. The emblem of an ancient king. The trident crown, he named it.

  Throughout that last and restless night, her parents examined the book. In the morning they told Pearl what little they’d learned, then showed her where to hide it. She should not mention the book to anyone else. She was never, ever to sell it.

  Not that Pearl could sell a book like that in a place like Castlevale. In Biblius it might earn several thousand merits – enough to keep the bankers at bay. But even if she drove south and somehow found a buyer, Hollycopse would be lost by the time she returned. It was like trading the cow for a tankard of milk. Hieronymus would howl with laughter at the thought.

  Since he wasn’t there to do so, Pearl laughed at herself. However much she wished to be rescued, happy endings belonged in unreadable books. Common sense, not silly mythory, was the best ally she could find on what was swiftly becoming the worst day of her life.

  Chapter Five

  Standing in the midst of everything she held dear, Pearl decided her latest plan was hopeless. Aimlessly she spun like a weathervane in a gale as she attempted to condense her family’s belongings to a portable amount. Objects surrounded her like towering walls. She felt fragile and tiny among them.

  Absently she counted each of the campanile’s seventeen chimes. It was close to suppertime, but she’d given no thought to food. The idea of strangers standing in her kitchen, cooking on her helstove, and eating at her table made Pearl nauseous. Hollycopse, and its contents, were more than just holdings. She wasn’t ready to surrender what she loved.

  The rarest of her father’s books, including the one that few could read, now crowded the parlour. So did her mother’s best possessions which weighed less but consumed more of the room. Ledgers spread themselves along the baseboards. Quilts filled the airy spaces. It was a mere fraction of what the house contained, and Pearl ached to think of leaving anything behind.

  Then again, her parents had left everything when they vanished. That included her.

  A firm knock on the door interrupted Pearl’s dithering. Squeezing through the clutter, she entered the hall to see a familiar outline at the screen door.

  On the porch Hieronymus stood clutching a sizable spray of daisies. Although the festival was still three bells away, he was already dressed for the occasion. He’d combed his hair, shaved his face, and changed into a blue swainscoat that made him appear less stocky if not svelte.

  Behind him hovered a second figure – or so Pearl thought at first. It was broad like Hieronymus but also aloft. Its bulk dimmed like haze on a dusky lake.

  As Pearl reached the door, the figure vanished. Blinking, she paused to wonder what she had, or hadn’t, seen. Less and less she trusted her own eyes.

  She didn’t trust Hieronymus at all. Pearl latched the screen to secure it. Then she crossed her arms and waited.

  Hieronymus wasn’t deterred. “Good afternoon, Pearl. Have things gotten any better?”

  She guessed he knew they hadn’t. “Did your father tell you about the lien?”

  “I’ve brought you some flowers. Daisies are your favorite, aren’t they?”

  “Roses,” she lied. “This isn’t a good time.”

  “I’ve had them wrapped in blue ribbon. You prefer blue, don’t you?”

  “Pink, actually.” That also wasn’t true, and they both knew it. “I mean it, Hieronymus. I’m not in the mood for a visit, I’m not going to the festival tonight, and I –”

  He cut her off. “Pearl, I only came to apologize. I said some unkind things this morning.”

  Suspicious, she didn’t budge. “And?”

  “And I’ve brought you these flowers to show how sorry I am.” He extended the bouquet until its slimmest petals breached the screen. “May I come inside?”

  Reluctantly she let him. In the snug entryway Hieronymus lingered between the door and Pearl even though he’d marched inside, uninvited, at least a thousand times. Now he hesitated, savoring their closeness.

  Pearl stared back at him, picturing what Hieronymus might become – or should have been – if not raised by a ruthless father and an indulgent mother. Were he made to work hard for a year, and all that putty turned to muscle, he would be more imposing than the Most Honorable Lord Governor.

  Hieronymus wasn’t unhandsome. By sight alone he could inspire. If he used his cleverness to a better end, without dreading his father’s response, then his musings about charity might finally come true.

  Shifting beneath her scrutiny, Hieronymus cleared his throat. “Did you know there’s a lunch bucket on your porch?”

  “Oh. Yes.” Pearl refocused on what was. “We’ll have to sit in the kitchen. The parlour is a mess.”

  As he passed by, Hieronymus stopped to give an incredulous whistle. “More like a disaster. What are you doing?”

  “Packing. It’s not going so well.”

  “Father told me about the bank’s decision.” He reached for her arm to caress it with slow, tender strokes. “I am sorry, Pearl. Two misfortunes in one morning. What will you do now?”

  At any other time Pearl would have reclaimed her arm and ushered Hieronymus out. But this day was different. She felt too tired to fight another battle in a war she couldn’t win. Until Hieronymus fell in love with someone else, he wouldn’t stop bothering her, and in that moment Pearl minded less than usual since no one, except for Ned, showed her any concern.

  Hieronymus might seem like a selfish annoyance, but he had never – not once – ignored Pearl. And now he brought flowers and a rare apology. Even though she constantly disappointed him, he somehow clung to hope.

  They were not, Pearl realized, so different.

  When she didn’t push him away, Hieronymus took charge. Reclaiming the daisies, he led Pearl into the kitchen. It also was in disarray with cupboards flung open and cookware littering the floor. Hieronymus held out a chair for Pearl, then sat down across from her. He rested the flowers between them.

  “Let’s talk about options,” he suggested. “What happens next?”

  Pearl began with her least favorite – eviction from Hollycopse, relocation to an open field, and eventual starvation.

  “That’s all you have?” he asked. “There must be something else. Gravediggers meet cheerier ends.”

  “I could try to find my parents. But I wouldn’t know where to search, and I still need merits to survive, not to mention a wagon to sleep in, with horses to pull it.”

  “That’s more adventurous but not too promising. No doubt you’d enjoy it for a season, but when winter arrives, you’ll want a roof overhead. And what if your parents return to Hollycopse while you’re out looking for them? Tragedy.”

  “You think they’re still alive?” Pearl asked. “Really?”

  He offered a vague smile. “It never hurts to hope, I suppose. But unless they come back before 12 bells tomorrow, you’ll need another plan. Does anyone in town owe you a favor? Could you ask another family to settle the lien, then pay them back over time?”

  Pearl couldn’t. When she said so, Hieronymus dropped his gaze to the daisies.

  “I think you’re overlooking someone.”

  The tone of his voice made Pearl stiffen in her chair. Guessing what he wanted, she refused before he could offer. “I’m not going to marry you, Hieronymus. I’m going to marry someone I love.”

  “And what if you fall in love with a man like Ned Dreasy, one of those scraplings who live like pigs on the outskirts of town? Is that the life you had in mind?” The words weren’t kind, but he spoke them
like honey being dripped from a spoon.

  “I don’t know what I had in mind,” Pearl admitted. “But it wasn’t this.”

  “You’ve done well on your own,” he said. “You’ve kept Hollycopse afloat for five years. But aren’t you tired? I want to help you, Pearl. I’ll ask my father to pay off the lien on the farm. The council will reinstate your job at the schoolhouse, and this time they’ll give you a title.”

  “So what do you want for all this charity?”

  “Come to the festival with me.” When she refused, Hieronymus frowned. “I’m not proposing an entrothment here, Pearl. You’re the one who mentioned marriage. Just come to the festival, have a nice time, and leave knowing your home is safe.”

  “I’d rather pay you back.”

  “And I’ll gladly take the payment. But I’d like this, too.” Standing, he tugged his coat to restore its fit. “Instead of wasting the next few bells wallowing in this mess, fix yourself up and come have a good time. Show them how strong you are. Prove them all wrong.”

  When she reminded him, again, of what happened earlier when she confronted Mis Ruel and lost her job, Hieronymus merely laughed. He seemed completely at ease with the whole situation – bartering her farm for one evening together.

  All Pearl had to do was comply, and Hollycopse was saved. She would rescue her home while Hieronymus could keep hoping that she might one day leave it for him. Aware that would never happen, Pearl agreed to consider his offer before escorting him back the porch.

  Hieronymus handed her the lunch bucket. “Should I come get you at 20 bells?”

  Shaking her head, Pearl shut the screen door. Common sense made the right choice obvious, but she didn’t want Hieronymus growing too eager. She’d seen him at his most enthusiastic. He was difficult to endure.

  “If I agree to this, I’ll meet you at market arch,” she promised.

  He didn’t look satisfied. “What if you don’t show?”

  She forced herself to answer. “Then I’ve gone to find my parents.”

  His eyebrows lifted with disapproval. “Remember, Pearl – the best way to stay safe is to stay in place. And don’t forget to put those flowers in water,” he added.

  Pearl waited until he reached the gate before firmly closing the door. Many times, when they were still children, her mother had chased Hieronymus from the house – often with a broom and once with a pitchfork. Like a forgetful pup he would return the next day to whine wantingly at the screen. Occasionally he barged inside like he owned the place, swearing that Pearl had invited him in when she hadn’t.

  Maye Sterling considered him an absolute nuisance and shared that assessment freely. Pearl’s father, on the other hand, treated Hieronymus with an odd sort of pity, something the Most Honorable Lord Governor’s son could not tolerate.

  Hieronymus had been more afraid of her father, with his calm voice and soft heart, than her mother’s bracing rage. He was used to rejection. He was never prepared for kindness.

  Sighing, Pearl surveyed the disorder that surrounded her. It would take days to repair the mess she’d made in a single afternoon. If she decided to attend the festival, she could start restoring things now. Or she could leave it all for strangers to remove.

  Shutting her eyes, Pearl imagined walking away from Hollycopse. In her mind she strolled down Lake Trail Lane while a dull sun rose behind her. She kept moving until the stark night enveloped her, and she slept, sore and shivering, in a field. She woke without comforts like breakfast and fresh clothes. Alone, she lived at the earth’s whim.

  Opening her eyes, Pearl heaved a sobbing breath. With the farm as her anchor, she could endure. Homeless, she wouldn’t survive.

  Chapter Six

  Shortly before 20 bells, Pearl made her way to the farmhouse gate. When she opened it, the hinges squeaked in complaint, and for the first time in a long while, she noticed.

  On this particular evening she noticed everything about Hollycopse – its quirks and lackings and resilient charms. Above and around her, the earth exhaled, freed of the day’s heat and hurry. The air was placid, the sunset pristine. Indigo draped the wide horizon.

  Unlike the earth, the house was still awash in chaos. Dishes riddled the kitchen. The parlour looked storm-struck. Inside the front door an overstuffed backsatchel sat bulging with possessions. It had taken Pearl more than a bell to decide what should fill it, and her own choices surprised her as, again and again, she kept thinking of what her parents might want.

  That discovery left her wondering if Hieronymus was right. Perhaps she had been hiding from life rather than carving out her own.

  Earlier in the kitchen, over a plate of food she couldn’t taste, Pearl narrowed her decision to one of two choices – protect herself from failure or embrace it. Much as she yearned to do the brave thing, Pearl knew courage wasn’t her gift.

  So as she stepped onto Lake Trail Lane, Pearl left Hollycopse believing she would see it again. She wore her grey dress and a new pair of slippers she had saved for a special occasion. With little time to fix her hair, she corralled her willful curls with a ribbon. She owned no jewelry except for an heirloom pendant that was too precious to wear, even to a Rosperian festival. For the first time in years, she left the house without a sash.

  Atop the knoll Pearl heard the first of twenty bells. No doubt Hieronymus already waited at the market arch with arms crossed, foot tapping and head bobbing in nervous pulses. He was always early where Pearl was concerned. He tried to make her feel guilty for his own impatience, but she never let him.

  Pearl did feel guilty – not because of Hieronymus but about her choice to join him. No matter how good her intentions, she knew her parents wouldn’t approve. Hang the farm, they’d say. Load the wagon. Leave the rest. Head south and find a better town. Rosper wasn’t a generous land, but some parts cared less for reputation and merits. The Sterlings hadn’t settled in Castlevale for its society. They chose it because of the castle.

  That motive won them no favors. Once, when Pearl was a child, the Sterlings were barred from the Hoarding Festival. With harsh clarity she remembered the scene.

  As they had approached the market arch, Harrigan Stentorian intercepted them. Stiff and intractable, he wasn’t the lord governor yet. He had looked, to Pearl’s young eyes, like a bleak winter tree, the evil kind that came alive to eat children in frightening tales.

  Shrinking back, Pearl had clung to her father’s cloak while Harrigan ordered them home. The Stentorians were wealthy, but more than fortune was needed to take the reins of Castlevale. Ruthlessness was also required.

  There was more to that confrontation, Pearl eventually guessed, but her parents never mentioned it, and Pearl never asked. She recalled checking their faces when they turned to leave the arch. Pearl didn’t know what to feel – other than scared – but her mother looked confident, her father unbothered.

  Emboldened by their composure, Pearl had feigned her own. She knew they’d all been dealt some insult, but that happened a lot in Castlevale. It never seemed to worry her parents. So Pearl refused to let it worry her.

  Nor did the Sterlings hurry home. Instead they had stopped beyond the arch where the Bullevard ended and split. Always three pathways but only two choices – except for Pearl’s parents who stood staring at the mump. In silence they lingered until Alyn knelt beside his daughter.

  “A magnificent castle used to sit in this place,” he had shared. “Some people believe it’s still here. They say it hides from us until we’re ready to see it.”

  “Why does it hide?” Pearl asked. “Is it afraid?”

  “Not at all,” Maye assured her. “A king lives there, and he fears nothing.”

  “A lot of folks don’t want to know him,” Alyn said. “And because he’s a good king, he won’t force them to see the castle. He’d rather they find it first.”

  “The king loves us more than anything,” her mother added. “That’s why he hides.”

  Pearl had frowned at the mump. “But i
f he loves us, then he should let us see his castle.”

  “He does when we truly want to. Sometimes, Pearl, the most difficult thing is to ask.” Alyn paused to hug her. “No matter what happens, the king will take care of you.”

  “Won’t you take care of me?” Pearl asked.

  Her father offered a faltering smile. “Not forever. But remember, Pearl – you’re never helpless. When life becomes too difficult, when it’s worse than you ever imagined and you think you can’t bear it any longer, the king is waiting to rescue you. Call to him. Look for him. Believe that he hears you. He will send help, I promise.”

  Pearl had been tempted to call out right then. As they strolled home, she kept turning to check the mump. No castle appeared. But someday one might. Her parents believed it, and Pearl trusted them. They weren’t half as ridiculous as most Castleveilians. When she looked at them, she saw their real faces.

  But Pearl hadn’t seen those faces in five years. The two people who claimed to love her so much had left without a word. On the worst day of her life, no king showed up to rescue her. Only one person stepped forward, and all he asked in exchange was a dance at the festival where her family had once been dismissed.

  As she stood and stared at the empty mump, Pearl felt foolish for thinking she’d seen the castle that morning. Worse, she told the children at the schoolhouse what happened as if it were actually true.

  She was lucky to have only lost her job. If she weren’t more careful, she might find herself chained in a mad-wagon and carted to Desertry, a perilous border town on the edge of the Abstergian Desert. Instables dumped thieves and deviants at its bounds. While Pearl was neither, she did sound mad for claiming to see what no one else could.

  Of course no one from Castlevale had been to Desertry. It might be one more fable told to maintain compliance from children and parents alike. Still, everyone spoke as though Desertry were real – just like the mump’s plagues and lake’s dangers. Folks were quick to believe in evil things, but mention goodness, and they shook their heads.