by Robert Evert
“You watch that?” Ida asked, horrified.
“Not the burnings. Anybody who believes in witches nowadays is an idiot. The witch hunts make me sick to my stomach.”
“But…the hangings?” Ida said, even more mortified.
“I don’t sit up close. At least, not since the incident with the eyeball.”
“The eyeball?”
Natalie dithered. “Well, if you really want to know, there was this one time when I was right up front, practically pushed against the gallows. Talk about being crushed! I thought my ribs would crack. Anyway, when the trapdoor opened and the rope jerked taut, the thief’s eyeball popped out and hit me”—she pointed to her forehead—“right there.”
“Oh, gods!” Ida and Hadley cried out together.
“It wasn’t too bad.” Natalie leisurely kicked her feet. “I made it into a nice stew.”
“You’re lying!” Ida shouted.
Natalie smirked.
“I knew it—I knew you were lying!” Ida jabbed Natalie with a finger. “You poser, you fib!”
“Oh, come on, you guys. Did you really believe I’d come to watch somebody be murdered? You obviously don’t know me very well. I detest all of that gory stuff. A little blood and I’m nearly as bad as Had.”
“Hey!” Hadley said. “I can stand blood! And we know you well enough to never guess what you’ll do next. That’s why we always believe your crazy stories.”
“Honestly, Nat!” Ida clutched her hand over her heart. “You scared the life out of me. Eyeball popping out! How do you think of those things?”
“I was going to say his entire head ripped off, but I didn’t think you’d buy it.”
Ida fanned her face. “So help me, if you make me faint…”
Natalie pretended that her eyeballs had popped out and mimed blindly searching for them along the wall.
“Stop it!” Ida laughed. “By the gods, you should have been a boy.”
“That’s what I’ve been telling you.” Natalie glanced around the park. “It’d certainly make things a lot easier.”
For many moments, they sat listening to the minstrels’ music and tapping their fingers against the cold stone. Suddenly, Natalie pointed toward the stage. “Look!”
“What?” her friends asked, straining to see.
“There’s Randell and his men.”
“Where?”
“Right there, by the front left corner. See them? He has a brownish-green cloak. The guy with red hair.”
Hadley and Ida squinted.
“That’s him?” Ida asked doubtfully. “He looks older than I would’ve thought.”
“Who’s he talking to?” Hadley asked.
“I think…” Natalie struggled to see. “I think it might be Lord Arnett.”
“The fat lout,” Ida muttered. “Have you seen that man eat? He eats like a pig!”
“All men do,” Natalie said, searching the murmuring crowd for anybody else remotely famous. “There’s Sir Percival. I bet you anything he’s going to join the quest this time. I hear he’s been training up in Green Hill.”
Hadley shook Natalie’s arm. “Who’s that?” She pointed to a lean, solitary figure brooding by the east wall, far from the stage.
“That’s Brago.”
“Geez!” Ida said. “All the king’s adventurers are here!”
“They should be.” Natalie scanned the surrounding faces. “Evidently, King Gwain of Wood Haven proposed this quest.”
Ida attempted to wipe off the bird poo she’d accidentally put her hand in again. “So?”
“Gwain always picks easy adventures,” Natalie explained.
“He’s an idiot,” Hadley said. “Good looking, but an idiot.”
A group of men passed by. Glancing up at them, one muttered something about “stupid girls.”
“That’s right!” Natalie shouted back. “We climbed up here all by ourselves, without a prick amongst us!”
Unnerved, the men hurried away, but Hadley and Ida went rigid, eyes wide and mouths open.
“Nat!” Ida whispered.
Natalie shrugged. “What? Don’t you ever hear how men talk? They say far worse, believe me.”
“I know, but…honestly, aren’t you worried what people will think? How’re you ever going to attract a boy with that mouth?”
“Anybody who really loves me will love my mouth, too,” Natalie said. “I’m not going to change to please somebody.”
Hadley snorted. “There you go about love again. You know, you might be quite content marrying somebody you can tolerate. Look at my mother.”
“I don’t want to look at your mother. And I don’t want to be content.”
“What do you want, Nat?” Ida asked.
Hadley seized Natalie’s arm again and pointed to the nearby gate. “Nat, look!”
In the middle of a mass of people entering the village green strolled the hulking figure of Sir Edris, crimson cloak floating behind him in the wake of his long strides.
“Edris!” Nat yelled.
The knight turned.
Mortified, Hadley and Ida tried to cover her mouth, but Natalie knocked them away.
“A silver piece says Randell wins this one!”
“I’ll take that bet, young man!” Sir Edris saluted and wove his way closer to the stage, surrounded by his well-wishers.
“Nat!” Hadley exclaimed, after he’d gone. “He spoke to you! Sir Edris actually spoke to you!”
“I can’t believe it!” Ida said.
Natalie folded her arms. “He thought I was a boy.”
“What did you expect?”
“Even you have to admit, Nat, Sir Edris is gorgeous,” Hadley said. “I mean, look at him!”
Natalie blushed.
Hadley pointed to her face. “See? You think he’s attractive! Don’t deny it.”
“I won’t deny it,” Natalie replied, and then added, “but there’s more to a man than just broad shoulders and nice hair.”
Ida snickered. “Are you going to talk about pricks again?”
“What? No! I mean, it isn’t about looks or how much money a man has. It’s about what he dreams.”
“Dreams?” her friends repeated.
“What the hell does that mean?” Hadley asked.
“Oh, never mind.” Natalie started to scan the crowd again.
“Oh, no you don’t, Nat,” Hadley insisted. “For once in your life, you’re going to open up and tell us what you’re really thinking. Finish what you were saying, and don’t make anything up. What do a man’s dreams have to do with anything?”
Natalie thought for a moment as Hadley and Ida leaned in closer.
“Well, it’s that I want somebody who…” She struggled to find the right words. “I want somebody who wants something. Something he’s willing to work hard for. Something he’d dedicate his life trying to get, you know?”
“What, you mean like a nice house?”
“No! Not a ‘thing’ thing. I don’t know. I want a man with some sort of—”
Horns blared from the park’s center stage.
“Shut up!” said Natalie, relieved. “It’s starting!”
“Of course,” Hadley groaned. “Perfect timing.”
The fanfare ended with a flourish as a herald strolled to the middle of the stage.
“You know”—Ida straightened her skirt—“I don’t know why you even care about these silly games. Look around. We’re the only women here!”
“There’re a couple standing over there.” Hadley pointed to three women by the east gates.
“They’re harlots!”
The herald raised a hand, and the crowd’s bubbling din diminished.
“Shhh!” said Natalie. “Here it comes.”
“In the days of old…” the herald began.
“I wonder how he projects his voice like that,” Ida said. “I wish I could sing—”
Natalie shushed her.
“…there was one hero who repeatedly faced danger at behest of his
king…”
“I’ll bet you it’s Ivan the Bald,” Natalie said excitedly. This time, Hadley and Ida hushed her, though more out of retaliation than actual interest.
“…one hero who was so revered by kings and commoners alike, that he was known as the Minstrel of the Gods!”
“He’s talking about Balen!” Natalie told them.
“…I speak of Balen the Bard!”
At once, the crowd erupted into animated conversation.
“Now,” the herald cried louder, his voice rising above the noise, “we’ve all heard of the minstrel’s many exploits—how he drove the white wolves from the northern plains of Anora, how he single-handedly prevented a war between King Leopold and King Andrew the Fourth as their armies converged on each other. However, there is one tale that is of particular importance.” He paused, letting the tension percolate. “The tale of Balen and the Monster of Black Wood!”
Another murmur rolled through the commons. The legend of how the minstrel killed the ogre of Langston Forest was a favorite fireside story of the region; at no other time in history had an ogre ever been killed by a lute.
“If you recall,” the herald continued, “three centuries ago, King Harold the Elder of Ettenburgh rewarded the minstrel with a harp of gold and sapphire.”
The buzz grew louder, anticipation building.
“You may also recall that said harp mysteriously disappeared, shortly after the minstrel’s tragic death.”
“How did Balen die?” Ida asked.
“Nobody knows,” Natalie hissed. “Now be quiet!”
“By royal decree,” the herald announced, “His Majesty, King Michael the Magnificent, your benevolent leader and protector, will bestow upon any person, or persons, who brings Balen’s golden harp to His Highness…” Another pause. “Four thousand gold coins!”
A collective intake of breath swept through the park.
“Four…thousand…gold,” repeated Natalie, Hadley, and Ida, together.
“Gods!” Natalie exclaimed. “I wonder how much the other kings are offering for it!”
Trying to be heard over the clamor, the herald shouted, “And be it known, anyone aiding or otherwise assisting adventurers from other realms, or turning Balen’s harp over to other kings, will be dealt with in the harshest manner possible. Good luck to all of you who dare its undertaking. Let the quest begin!”
He motioned to the minstrels, who resumed playing, as the dwarf cartwheeled across the stage, ribbons of yellow and green in hand. Groups of men began to leave the commons, headed this way and that, talking eagerly to one another. From atop the wall, Natalie, Hadley, and Ida watched them go.
“Four thousand gold,” Ida said again. “Well, that’s something to dream about, now isn’t it?”
Hadley stared at Natalie.
“What?” Natalie said.
“You’re going to go after that harp, aren’t you?” Hadley asked.
“Me?” Natalie laughed, jumped to the ground, then helped her friends down. “Don’t be stupid. One: I’m a girl, although others may doubt that. And two: adventuring is a complete waste of effort. Think of all the money Sir Edris, and Brago, and Randell and his men spend running here and there, trying to obtain whatever the kings fancy. Think about how much gold they need for supplies alone. They’d be better off saving their money and buying a business or something. That’s where the real money is.”
“Where?”
“A business! Some place where you can make your own rules and run things the way you see fit.”
“You’re dreaming again.”
“Better than being stuck in reality.” Natalie picked the dirt from underneath her fingernails. “So, where’re you two off to?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Hadley watched the men file out of the village green. “Maybe I’ll go to the markets or something.”
“Want to go walking in the hills?” Ida asked. “It’s such a beautiful day.”
Hadley examined the blue sky. “It is, isn’t it?” she said. “All right. Let’s go along the Lesser Green and up into the pine trees. We can collect pinecones for Yületide decorations. You coming, Nat?”
Natalie gestured dramatically to her stained and patched overalls. “I’ve gotta get to Henry’s. I have a lot of work to do this afternoon. But maybe we can get together later?”
“Of course!” Hadley agreed eagerly, hugging Natalie. “Maybe we can go on a picnic.”
“That’s fine.” Natalie hugged Ida. “If you don’t mind eating under the stars. Thanks to all these adventurers in town, Henry’s stables are full. I won’t be done until late evening.” She noticed their reactions at once. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. I don’t mind. I really do enjoy working. I mean, I’m around horses all day—what’s not to like?” Natalie gave a strained laugh. “Plus,” she added, “more work means more money!”
“I’ll tell you what,” Hadley said. “Tomorrow night, let’s go to a nice tavern. I’ll pay.”
Natalie began to object, but Hadley held up a well-manicured hand.
“None of that, Nat! I just got my allowance, and it’s either I get drunk with my friends or buy a new dress. I’ll let you choose how I spend it.”
Natalie laughed again, this time more sincerely. “All right. We’ll see. But I do have to get going.” She hugged them both a second time. “I love you two. Thanks for caring.”
“Hell,” Ida said, “if you’re not going to get a man, somebody has to look after you.”
Chapter Two
Later that evening, as Natalie headed home from Henry’s Livery and Stables, she passed by Upper Angle’s lower library. Natalie was tired and stank of sweat and horse manure, but she was wide awake and nobody seemed to be about. That was a rarity. Usually the streets of Upper Angle’s Fourth Terrace were busy well after midnight.
She checked the stars twinkling blue and green overhead. Late enough for everybody to be at the taverns talking about the king’s latest quest, but not so late the night guards would be searching for vagrants.
Natalie hesitated, her mother’s stern warnings echoing in her head. But she didn’t care. She needed something new to read, or she’d burst. And it wasn’t really stealing. Other than a few books she’d had to sell for food, she’d put back everything she’d ever taken.
After strolling around the formidable stone building, Natalie came to the window she always used. Glancing up and down the deserted alley, she slid her tiny knife between the loose windowpanes and knocked aside the latch. She paused, listening.
Crickets chirped. Drunken men sang a few doors down. The Greater Green and Lesser Green Rivers roared as they swept by outside the city’s walls.
Slowly, Natalie lifted the window. Then, with the skill of an acrobat, she dove into the darkened room, rolled along the floor, and sprang to her feet without making a sound. Pleased with herself, she listened again. The musty silence settled around her.
Natalie pulled off her manure-covered boots and hid them under a desk. In stocking feet, she snuck into one of the main reading chambers. As she’d predicted, nobody was there. Why would they be? It must have been approaching ten o’clock.
She climbed up the circular stairs to the third floor, where she meandered about the endless rows of richly carved shelves lined with old books smelling of dusty leather, looking for anything that might catch her fancy.
She pulled down an alchemy book and leafed through its thick brown pages. Although it was written in the common tongue, most of the words were well beyond her understanding. Natalie loved to read, and she was fairly good at it, but she still had a great deal to learn before she became anything resembling a scholar. She slid the book back into its place and selected another.
This one was on botany and had hundreds of painstakingly drawn illustrations, many in color. She recognized several of the plants, especially the big leafy ferns that grew along the river or deep in the folds of the forested hills. This made her pause.
Perhaps she could find usefu
l plants, like arrowroot, and sell them. Or better yet, she could make potions and salves. People were always buying such things. But she’d need something on herbalism, not botany. Natalie slipped the book back into its place and moved on to another row.
A few strides away, white moonlight slipped through a window, cutting through the blackness of the deserted library. Natalie peered out.
Upper Angle was beautiful, especially at night. The streets that wove their way up the lopsided hills were lined with lanterns, illuminating the shops and buildings on each of the city’s nine terraces. In the valley below, moonlight shivered across the rivers as they rushed around the outer walls, the east rapids sounding like a lullaby in the calm night. Natalie inhaled deeply. Hadley was right—the trees did smell wonderful in the autumn.
Upon the crown of the western-most hill, King Michael’s castle reached up to the stars. Guards marched along its parapets, red torchlight moving back and forth like fireflies on parade.
Natalie’s smile wilted.
Damned nobility. They were why women couldn’t own land, or businesses, or do anything worth doing. They were why so many women were tried and burned alive for witchcraft. And Heaven forbid a woman say something intelligent, or criticize the king’s policies. A man might have been able to get away with it; a woman, however, had to know her place.
Natalie raised her middle finger and shook it at the castle. She knew it was childish, but what else could she do?
After a couple of deep breaths, the anger faded. She watched the guards march in the night. Then somebody pushed back a chair, its legs vibrating across the wooden floor. Natalie froze.
Her immediate instinct was to run as fast as she could—through the aisles of books, down the stairs, and out into the alleyway. But curiosity got the better of her. Who’d be in the library this late? A monk? A scribe? Doubtful. It was too dark to transcribe anything, and open flames weren’t permitted near the books. Then, who? She stole along the rows of bookcases, trying not to sneeze on the dust her silent steps kicked up.
A small yellow light flickered in the middle of the room.
Natalie peeked between the bookshelves.
Somebody sat at a table, hunched over a large red book, turning its pages with a quick, snapping motion. She couldn’t see his face, but she could tell it was a man—broad, but not overly muscular. Wiry, her father would have called him. She also noticed he was wearing shoes: not the expensive satin ones worn by nobility, but the old leather kind typical of poor tradesmen.