A tiny woman with a face like a rotting pumpkin, the proprietress donned a pair of spectacles and stepped up to take a closer look at Cressi. “Never thought I’d see one of you in my shop ever again.”
Cressi cringed as she dropped a quick curtsy to hide the guilt in her eyes. Was it really that obvious?
“I think I’ve made a mistake.” Cressi backed up to the door. “I’ll be going.”
“Not without what you came for first.” The shopkeeper stepped in front of Cressi and closed the door.
Cressi froze. This was the worst idea she’d ever had. She shouldn’t have allowed her instincts to take over and drown out reason. Everyone had heard the stories of what the Upper Middlelanders had done to suspected charmers after Himself’s final decree. Drownings, hangings. Far too many people with a talent for herbs were killed simply because they had no friends in high places to protect them—friends like this woman obviously had.
“You’re a young one, aren’t you?” It was hard to tell if the shopkeeper was disgusted or impressed. “Makes sense though. Why waste someone with more experience? Better let your sort be exposed than us, especially the way they say the guards in the Lower Middlelands barracks are dropping from the fever.”
Relief flooded in. She hadn’t seen Cressi as a charmer but as a lowly nursemaid come to treat the guards down with the fever.
“Yes,” Cressi replied a bit too brightly. “I’m here to help with the fever.”
“They expect me to give you supplies, no doubt.” The proprietress clucked her tongue. “By the Goodness of Himself, I’ll do it, it’s my duty to the Land, but I want it taken out of my tax for the season. Understand? You tell them, nothing for free.”
“Yes,” Cressi said, mustering a tone of authority. “I believe that will be fine.”
The proprietress wiped her hands and turned to scan her well-stocked shelves. “You’ll be wanting some willowbank and this green nettler, I assume?”
She offered the jar of nettler to Cressi to smell.
Green nettler was conventionally used to clear congestion, but as Cressi inhaled, a thousand tiny pinpricks broke out over her skin. It felt like in her hands the nettler could be used to raise a rash.
“Yes, we need that,” Cressi said. “But the fever victims are having a hard time sleeping. They’re very restless. Something to help them sleep, deeply, for a long time would be best. What do you recommend for that?”
“Linden flower will do, or valerian root. Or . . . these.” The proprietress set a jar of large red berries down next to the linden and valerian. “Ferrita.”
Cressi breathed deep of all three. The linden and valerian evoked only a slight sleepiness in her, but the ferrita berries smelled of a long, deep sleep.
Combined with the nettlers, she’d have the makings of the perfect brew to sidetrack the guards when the time came.
“I’ll take all three.”
While the proprietress weighed and packed up the herbs, Cressi found herself drawn to a large glass jar sitting on a corner shelf behind the counter. It contained a thick, gelatinous substance, the color of which was almost an exact match for the verdigris pawn. It didn’t speak to her the same way herbs and plants did. Rather than evoking a kind of physical or emotional state in her, whatever this was, it enchanted Cressi into an almost empty-minded kind of trance. She could have stayed there gazing at the swirl of color all day, all year, for the rest of her life had the proprietress not stepped in between her and the jar.
While the woman’s disposition had not been exactly sunny up to this point, it turned decidedly stormy. “Anything else?”
Cressi shook off her fascination and deposited the five packets of herbs in her apron pocket. “You’ve done enough, thank you. This will help immensely.”
“That’s four and one-half coins’ worth you have there,” the proprietress scolded as she followed Cressi to the door. “You make sure they reduce my tax by that much. You hear me?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Cressi replied as she exited the shop.
Cressi tucked her head and hurried back to the wagon. Keb and Boz were nowhere in sight, leaving her ample time to stow away the packets from the apothecary alongside that vile brew Cook had prepared.
Her plan was beginning to take shape.
Chapter Sixteen
The Vexing Man
By the time Beau and Nate finished moving the final cask, the day was growing long.
“That’s the last of them.” Nate approached the carter, his hand outstretched. “We’ll take our coin now.”
“You get paid after I sell them. All of them,” the carter grumbled.
“That wasn’t our deal!” Nate shot back. “You can’t change the terms after we did the work.”
“I can do what I want as long as the coin is sitting in my pocket and not yours. Now get on the wagon and out of my way. I’ve got customers approaching.” The carter pushed past Nate and greeted three men pulling a wheelbarrow behind them.
Knowing Nate wasn’t likely to drop it that easily, Beau wrapped a friendly arm around his shoulder. “He’s only got fifteen more casks to sell. We’ll be rid of him soon enough.”
Nate shrugged Beau’s embrace off and flexed his fists. “I know how to be rid of him even faster.”
“Fighting will only call attention to us. We just need to get our coin then be on our way to finding Doone.”
Nate reluctantly shook out his fists. “You don’t have be so sensible all the time. Sometimes the only way out is to act. Dare to risk it all.”
“You mean like when we climbed into the back of a wagon to escape the Manor?” The implication that he was too compliant stung. Shades of his father’s disapproval hovered overhead. “Being daring doesn’t have to mean being stupid.”
That glint of lightning flashed in Nate’s eyes. “Are you calling me stupid?”
“Never. But I am saying we can be smarter than him and get our way.”
Nate weighed Beau’s words before easing back. “A frog is smarter than him.”
“So is a rock,” Beau added with a chuckle. “That’s why we should help him sell off the last of these casks. Here, watch.”
Beau cleared his throat and took a few steps closer to where the carter was negotiating with his buyers.
“Of course, we have to be patient.” Beau raised his volume a little too loud and turned his tone up a little too bright. “Goods this rare don’t come around all that often, and gents smart enough to see their worth are rarer still.”
“That last one saw the worth, though, didn’t he?” Nate replied, picking up on the game.
“He sure did,” Beau announced. “Three casks’ worth.”
The carter shot Beau through with a nasty glare, but Beau saw his customers’ body language had softened. Gone were their hunched, protective stances, replaced now with the open posture of three people eagerly waiting to spend their coin. In less time than it took for the carter to return his full attention to the transaction, the customers were demanding to buy two casks each.
After the men left, six casks in tow, the carter moved on the boys, pinning them against the wagon. “What game you playing?”
“Just helping you move your goods, sir,” Beau said, summoning a smile.
“Who told you to do that?”
“Common sense,” Nate said. “We want our coin, the sooner you sell your . . . whatever you’re selling, the faster we get paid.”
“Oh!” The carter’s yellow teeth flashed in the fading light of day. “So you wanna get paid, do you?”
“You know we do,” Nate shot back.
“Well, boys,” the carter clucked. “Afraid it won’t be up to me much longer if you get paid or not.”
“What does that mean?” Nate’s fingers were twitching, itching to grab his blade.
“You two know what the reward is for returning runaways to the Manor? Enough to buy me a proper house.”
“We’re not runaways!” Nate snarled, but his voice cracked, lea
ving room for the truth to leak out.
“It don’t matter if you are or aren’t. Mastery House will take you all the same.”
Beau felt the air contract around him, squeezing his chest tight. “You . . . you’d sell us to the Manor? How could you do that?”
“You maggot scum!” Quick as a flash, Nate pushed the carter as he pulled his knife and lunged forward. But the cart man moved fast too. He swung his bandaged arm out, knocking Beau down to the ground as he went after Nate.
As Beau scrambled to get up he saw the carter hit Nate, sending him flying backward in one direction, his knife in another. Before Nate could rebound or Beau could find his own feet, the carter planted his heel on Nate’s chest.
“Who you calling scum?” he spat.
“Did I say scum?” Nate snarled, his voice strangled by the foot on his throat. “I meant vermin.”
As the carter twisted his heel deeper into Nate’s chest, Beau charged forward. He was no match for the man, but he didn’t care. But just as he was within striking distance, he felt himself being dragged back, the collar of his shirt pulled tight around his neck.
“That’s enough of that,” came a smooth, silvery kind of voice from behind Beau. “Leave him be, Grater.”
All Beau could see then was the expression on the carter’s face turning from smug satisfaction to a kind of cowardly terror as he scrambled back and away from Nate.
“I didn’t see you there,” Grater sniveled. “Didn’t know you was here.”
“Apparently not,” came the voice.
The hand holding Beau’s collar released him then, leaving him to stumble forward. And that’s when Beau got his first view of the stranger. Tall, powerful, and almost too handsome by half, he exuded a kind of cool control as he stepped to Grater.
“Now perhaps you’ll explain to me what’s going on here.”
“Just getting the boys to do the work they said they’d do.” Grater shrank back even farther.
“That’s a lie!” Nate said retrieving his knife. “He wouldn’t pay us what he owes us. He was trying to sell us ba . . . to the Manor.”
“That’s not very nice, Grater,” the stranger said.
“You gonna believe these two over me?” The cart man tried to laugh it off.
“I’ll believe anyone over you. And get that bandage off your arm,” the stranger said. “I warned you not to try that nonsense just to catch pity and unwitting children.”
“I got cut!” Grater mewled.
“You did not. I see you trying to siphon mercy off from those that deserve it again, you’ll have cause for more than one bandage.” The stranger turned to Beau and Nate. “How much does he owe you?”
“Four coins. Two each.” Nate flipped the fringe of hair back from his eyes.
All it took then was one look from the stranger for Grater to open his purse and count out four coins.
“Good,” the stranger said once the boys had their coin in hand. “Now back on your wagon, Grater. I don’t expect to see you, that fake wound, or your shoddy goods around here again. Understand?”
“There are them that can’t afford what you—” Grater began but quickly withered under the stranger’s glare. “Fine, I’ll sell elsewhere.”
“You do that.” The stranger waved Grater off, then wrapped an arm around each of the boy’s shoulders. “How about we go and get you some of that good roasted meat or maybe some sweets?”
“Why not both?” Beau replied.
“Now there’s a fine idea,” the stranger laughed as he led the way toward the festivities.
The stranger bought two large plates for the boys; one brimming with roasted meats and the other piled high with strawberry hand-pies.
Beau happily pulled one of the pies off the plate and was about to take a giant bite into the sweet, syrupy treat when Nate ripped it out of his hand.
“Hold on. The last person who gave us free food just tried to sell us to the Manor. What are you looking for in return?”
“Not a thing. You’re free to enjoy as much as you like or throw it away. I’ve got a game to get back to. You two would be wise to watch who you get involved with out here.” And with that the stranger gingerly plucked the berry tart from Nate and handed it back to Beau before walking off.
As he receded into the crowd, Beau couldn’t help but feel there was something oddly familiar about him. It wasn’t so much that Beau thought he’d seen the man before, as he recognized his confidence. He walked with a kind of swagger and surety that left Beau expecting to catch a whiff of cloves, for the only other person he’d ever seen carry themselves with such authority was Himself. Although the stranger, with his clear, bright eyes and that confident tilt of his chin, exuded a gentler kind of authority. Like someone you could trust.
“That was . . . odd,” Beau said. “I feel like we should thank him properly.”
“He didn’t seem to care.” Nate took a bite of food and rolled his eyes skyward in bliss. “All I know is now we’ve more coin to do with as we please. Come on, I wanna see the hammer-throwing contest up close and proper.”
“What about finding Doone? It’s still so far to the Bottom.”
“We can spare some time for fun, Crafty,” Nate said.
“Can we really?” Cressi had already been in Barger’s custody for more than a day. Who knew how long he’d wait to level his punishment?
“Besides,” Nate continued, “we need to find a ride out first. In the meantime maybe we’ll hear something about where exactly to find Doone.”
Nate was right—they couldn’t exactly walk to the Bottom. And maybe they’d get lucky again. “Fine, but we focus on finding a ride, all right?”
Nate agreed and led the way through the gathering. After they’d stuffed themselves full of food, they wandered every corner of the festivities. From the archery and wrestling matches to a rousing match of stoolball, the boys got swept up in the excitement of the games. At one point Beau heard someone mention Doone’s name, but a fire-eater happened to swallow a flaming sword nearby at that same exact moment, and the explosion of delighted oohs and aahs drowned out their words.
As daylight dimmed, the games came to a sudden end, and the crowd began assembling in the center of the field. Though no less festive, the mood of the crowd had shifted into something more restive and expectant. The air crackled with heat as right before a storm.
“What’s happening?” Beau asked.
“I heard someone say something about the vexing man.” Nate replied. “I’ve no idea what that is, but I sure want to know. Come on.”
Beau resisted; they’d already spent too much time. “No. We need to find a way to get out of here now.”
“You kidding me? It’s just starting to get good.”
Nate grabbed Beau by the wrist and dragged him into the center of the crowd. For the first time now Beau could see what everyone was assembled around—a larger-than-life straw effigy. Adults and children alike were taking turns stuffing things into the straw before stepping back to rejoin the crowd. Though the face of the effigy was roughly hewn and comical in expression, the likeness made Beau’s bones tremble.
“Is that meant to be . . . Himself?”
“Yes, and look there, perched on his shoulder.” Nate laughed. “None other than that snake heir of his.”
Beau followed Nate’s gaze to where a large snake sat coiled atop the straw man’s shoulder. While the body was serpentine, the face was made to look like a younger version of Himself.
Beau’s mouth ran dry. “Why are they doing this?”
“It’s an old tradition that’s long since been outlawed to get rid of worries and vexations,” a woman who was standing next to Beau explained. “Those who can write put it in words, the rest tuck rotten fruit or moldy bread to stand in for their troubles and woes.”
“What kind of troubles?” Beau asked.
“The usual.” Though her face, hands, and back had been ravaged by time, the woman held her chin high. “Fear, hun
ger, sickness. Not enough coin. The Manor’s never-ending cruelty. All of them go in the vexing man.”
“Then what?” Beau asked even though he wasn’t sure he wanted the answer.
“We burn it,” the woman said. “Send all our problems up in smoke.”
“We should do that too, Crafty,” Nate crowed. “Wait, we need a scrap of parchment.”
While Nate ran off to find something to write on, Beau remained stuck to his spot. The gathering, which had looked to him like the epitome of freedom and joy, wasn’t just a brief reprieve from the difficulty of people’s lives. It was an act of rebellion.
“Does it work?” he asked the woman.
“You tell me,” she said. “Season in and season out, we still got to pay our taxes to the Manor or risk losing our farms, our families. The best pickings of every harvest get sent up north to feed them that have so much more than us. Himself and his heir don’t care for our misery, only their comfort.”
Beau wanted to tell the woman she was wrong about the heir. He wasn’t anything like his father. If he had any power at all, he’d never let greed or injustice prevail or let people suffer. But he couldn’t say that without raising the crowd’s anger, putting his chances of freeing Cressi at risk.
Instead he simply said, “I hope it does work one day.”
“The Manor will fall.” The woman spoke with certainty. “All things eventually do. Until then, thanks to the fever, we get this chance to once again burn the vexing man and get a taste of what freedom will be like. Look, they’re lighting it up.”
The crowd roared with delight as three men bearing torches set the vexing man aflame. Cries of “Liberty!” and “For All!” bounced through the assembly like soap bubbles from a wand. Here was one thing Himself had not lied about—the people of the Land were ripe for a revolt. Yet if this was a revolutionary act, it was nothing like the menacing and destructive mayhem Beau had been warned about all his life. People trying to unburden themselves of their woes, envisioning a better future was nothing if not hopeful and creative.
The Verdigris Pawn Page 10