“But are they lovely lemons?” said Sage.
The grocer nodded.
“Say it, then,” said Sage.
“Lovely lemons,” said the grocer. “We’ve got the loveliest lemons. Lovely, lovely lemons.”
“That’s good,” said Sage, “cause my foolish brother here forgets to ask every time, and we need lovely lemons if we’re going to make our lovely lemon liniment.”
“Well, sister, you can be certain now,” said Coral. “My good man here will declare once and for all that his lemons are lovely lemons for making lovely lemon liniment. Then we’ll pay him this big bag of gold and be on our way. Okay?”
“Fine,” said Sage.
Both knights turned toward the greengrocer and waited. The old man shifted a bit on the box and cleared his throat.
“Go ahead,” said Sage.
The grocer made a nervous chuckle. “Yes. Well, I am happy to declare that my lemons are lovely lemons for making lovely lemon liniminamin.” His tongue seemed to shrivel on the last word, and he mumbled a noise that sounded like a lemon tumbling down a hallway.
Sage didn’t say anything. Her right eyebrow raised slowly.
The grocer tried again.
“Lovely lemon liminim.”
“We don’t make liminim, sir,” said Coral.
“Lovely lemon liminimin. Lovely lim liminent. Lovelem liminint.”
The grocer’s attempts were getting further and further from the phrase as his mouth seemed to fill with more and more marbles. Coral looked around and spied that dirt-covered boy, Puck, dressed in far too little clothing for the wintertime, leading the burly innkeeper by the arm. The two squeezed into the front row to watch the tournament.
“Very well,” said Coral, putting the coin purse back on his belt. “I’m sorry to have bothered you, my good man.”
Sage made a curt nod. They both gave the disappointed grocer a salute and walked off. In the distance, Sasha watched as they walked away, and the grocer resumed his job of starting the tournament.
She grabbed Latouche’s boot so that he would pay attention and said, “Listen. Look at that knight across the way.”
“I see him,” said Latouche, looking at Belfort. “He’s huge.”
“He’s huge, and I can guarantee that he’s scared. Even though you’re half his size and much, much weaker.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“But he’s still scared, because he knows that anything can go wrong. He knows there are unknown dangers in this world that we can never see coming. And he knows if something happened to him, he wouldn’t see his daughter again. So he’s right to be scared.”
The grocer called for the knights. “Ready!”
The crowd stood up.
Latouche nudged his boot away from Sasha.
Sasha said, “Do you see what I mean? Belfort isn’t brave because he has no fear. He’s brave because he faces his fear and does what he needs to do anyway.”
The grocer shouted, “Get set!”
Sasha said, “Face your fear.”
Latouche scoffed. “If you say so.”
“CHARGE!” called the grocer.
Belfort tilted forward, and his warhorse began to gallop. Latouche did the same.
The crowd roared.
Sasha cringed as she watched. The odds weren’t good for Latouche. The great Daytime Knight Belfort rode at full speed. But when he lowered his jousting spear, everyone could see that something was wrong. The top half of the wooden spear had been cut. It broke off as he rode and dangled by a splinter. The crowd gasped.
“Gorch,” said Sasha under her breath. It was clear now how Baron Gentry planned to win. He must have wagered that Belfort would lose, so he had the lamplighter cut the knight’s spear.
In the seconds before the two soldiers met, Belfort made a quick decision. As soon as he saw his broken spear, he shrugged and dropped it.
“No!” said Coral.
“He’s unarmed,” said Sage.
The crowd and Sasha and everybody held their breath for the moment of impact.
Belfort rode toward Latouche holding nothing.
Latouche thrust his spear forward.
Belfort turned sideways and leaned forward to let it hit his armored shoulder pad. The spear exploded into a thousand pieces, but Belfort remained seated. It was as if Latouche had run into a wall. The force of it knocked Latouche backward off his horse.
Latouche hit the mud. His horse rode on.
Belfort continued to the other side.
Belfort had won.
Latouche had lost. So had Vadim Gentry. As soon as the joust was over, the baron skulked out of the festival, shouting at Gorch.
Sasha had no idea what to do.
The crowd rushed onto the field to celebrate. Several boys tried to lift Belfort onto their shoulders but couldn’t. The grocer jumped up and down on his box yelling, “What a match! Hail to the heroes! Two great warriors. Everything thirteen percent off!”
Puck and Nestor ran to Latouche and helped him up. Sasha joined them. “Are you okay?” she said.
Latouche looked a little dazed. Nestor clapped him on the shoulder and said, “My boy, what a show! You really gave that mountain a wallop!”
Latouche smiled. He said, “That was terrifying.”
“’Course it was,” said Nestor, chuckling. “Only a doofus would look at that blond gorilla and be unafraid. It shows smarts to be afraid. But you did it anyway.”
Uncle Nestor slapped him on the back again. For the first time all day, Sasha saw a smile—a real smile—on Latouche’s face. She only had one part left in her plan. She said, “That was real bravery, wouldn’t you say, Uncle Nestor?”
“Sure would.”
“And you could probably tell the story for years.”
“Sure will.”
Uncle Nestor re-created the crash by gesturing with one hand like a galloping horse and hitting it smack into the other. Then he laughed. Puck did it as well. He punched one hand into the other and made it fly backward. He howled with laughter and rolled in the snow.
“Well, if it’s a great tale of bravery,” said Sasha, “then maybe it should go up on your wall.”
Latouche tensed. Uncle Nestor had been laughing so hard that he had to wipe a tear from his eye. Then he said, “Aye. You’re right. Come by the inn, and we’ll see if Mina would be willing to paint our Latouche, the man who faced down a mountain.”
“Really?” said Latouche.
Uncle Nestor put his arm around him and said, “Merry Yuletide, kid.”
Puck made a happy grunting sound and hugged Sasha’s leg. Sasha was so happy she laughed and cried at the same time.
As she and Puck walked back to Papa’s honey mull cider stand, Sasha patted Puck on the head and said, “Merry Yuletide, Puck.”
Somehow, even with all the trouble, even though she didn’t have any gifts to give or to get, Sasha had never been merrier.
Her mother was still a thousand miles away, but Sasha knew she was safe. And that was the only gift she wanted.
Besides, she had Papa.
And she had Puck, whatever he was.
And she had saved the Juicy Gizzard once again.
DANIEL NAYERI was born in Iran and spent a couple of years as a refugee before immigrating to Oklahoma at age eight with his family. He is the author of several books for young readers, including Straw House, Wood House, Brick House, Blow.
ESTRELA LOURENÇO was born in Lisbon, where she later studied animation. She moved to Ireland in 2009 and has since worked as an animator, animation director, and episodic director. She is currently storyboard revisionist for Hasbro. Past clients include Disney Television and Cartoon Network. As a freelancer, she works in comics and illustration.
/>
Sasha and Puck and the Cure for Courage Page 5
