Before the Fairytale: The Girl With No Name (Seventh Night)

by Iscah

  The girl put a little water in one of the pots but was anxious for her books and dare not fill it lest it spill over. She urged the goats to keep a steady pace, hoping they would reach a town or inn soon.

  Around noon they passed a soldier riding a tall, brown unicorn with a copper horn. "Sir, do you have any food I could buy?" she asked.

  "I offer my apology, little vagabond," he said. "But I only carry enough to take me to the next town."

  "How far this way until I can buy food?" she asked.

  "Best go home, little runaway."

  "I have no home," she said.

  "No father or mother?"

  "I'm looking for my father," the girl said. "His name is Mortagin." She knew this from his journals. "Do you know him?"

  The soldier shook his head. "Your mother sent you?"

  "My mother left me long ago," the girl said.

  "I must wonder then where you got the goats."

  "They belonged to the Elder I lived with, but he died, and the mayor said his property belongs to the village."

  "So it does," said the soldier with a frown. "Including the goats. Unless he specifically made a gift of them before he died?"

  "Not specifically," said the girl, a little perplexed.

  "Then you are a little thief," said the soldier. "I must take you back to the village with me to return the goats and determine your punishment."

  Other girls may have cried as the soldier dismounted and stepped closer, looking very formidable and official with his sword and armor, but the girl with no name was too angry to cry. She had lost her home to the village which had shown her no pity. Since they were unsuitable to travel, she had been forced to abandon her chickens, but to have her goats taken as well was unbearable. If they wanted her goats, what would stop them from claiming the wagon or small amount of gold and silver in her pocket?

  As the soldier reached out his arm for her, she let her eyes grow black and began to growl like a bear. He jumped back with a startled exclamation. The girl tried to give form to her anger. She let her fingers grow into claws, her skin to grow dark and thorny.

  The soldier forgot his sword, ran back to his unicorn, and galloped away as fast the unicorn's hooves could fly. Before he was completely out of sight, the girl was a girl again. She was still angry but much less scared. She had learned fear could be useful.

  Chapter 5

  The girl with no name had no interest in terrifying the countryside. She had read enough stories with ferocious dragons greedily guarding treasures and terrorizing villages to know such creatures were always slain in the end. She was old enough to start imagining about being wooed by a heroic figure and would prefer to be the rescued damsel or clever maid who outwitted the beast.

  Knowing she had a way to protect herself did allow her to continue down the road with more confidence. Her stomach was a growing, growling concern, but to her delight a few more hours walk brought her in sight of a tavern. The pleasant smell of baking bread and simmering stew stretched out to greet her and carried her the last quarter mile to the tavern door. She exchanged a piece of silver for a full belly, a room for the night, and a stall for the goats.

  The tavern keepers had a few young sons and a daughter close to the girl's own age. They were too far from town to attend school regularly, so they also took their lessons at home. The daughter was intrigued to see a girl traveling by herself and took to sweeping around her feet as an excuse to ask her questions. The girl was careful to edit her story, so she spoke of the search for her father but did not mention the death of the Elder.

  The tavern children were too short on friends to poke fun at potential playmates. They thought her lack of a name made the girl an intriguing and mysterious figure. When she saw their curiosity and kindness, the girl decided to share her books with them. Aside from his journals and a few books on magic, her father had collected a small library of histories and fables during his travels. The girl read to the tavern children from an adventure book with fairies and dragons and other things people no longer believed. Their parents were so delighted that they gave her an extra night at no charge and may have welcomed her for several more, but the girl had not forgotten her own quest. After the second night and second breakfast at the tavern, she bid her new friends goodbye, and they wished each other happiness before she parted.

  She had learned of a town called Ellsworth, about a day's travel away, from the tavern keeper, who bought the morning goats' milk from her and packed a lunch for her journey. With a much lighter step, she walked down the long road with a song on her lips and happier goats.

  Chapter 6

  Before nightfall, she reached the town. It was a larger town than the one she had left. It had a proper town square with stone-paved streets, and two-story buildings with apartments over shops. She enjoyed the sound of the goats' hooves on the stone.

  "Hey, girl!" a man with full brown beard and full round face barked at her. "No animals in the town square."

  The girl bit back her frustration, wishing rules and laws were posted more plainly. "Sorry, sir, I'm new here. Is there an inn where I can take my goats?"

  The man had a barking voice, but her politeness took some of the bite from it. "Back down where you came, take the dirt path, right or left makes no matter. Come to the stone road on the opposite side of the square, and the inn is a little ways down the stone road."

  "Thank you, sir," the girl said. Before she could turn her goats around, the loud clopping of hooves drew her attention to a horse-drawn carriage making good speed through the town square. The street was wide enough there was not any danger, but the girl pulled her goats closer to the edge to be sure.

  She waited for the man to bark at the carriage driver as he had at her, but the man merely bowed his head and waited for the carriage to pass.

  "Are horses not considered animals?" the girl asked after the carriage had passed them.

  The bearded man looked at her askew. "You can not expect noblemen to follow the rules of commoners."

  "Why not?" the girl asked, but the bearded man only laughed in answer.

  The girl turned her goats around and headed for the dirt road. It was far more traveled than the long road she had walked before, littered with ruts, animal droppings, and an unhealthy smell. She tried to be careful where she stepped. She could understand why they wouldn't want animals soiling the pretty stone streets, but she also thought they might be far easier to clean.

  The dirt road was a longer way around than the stone streets at the town center, but she reached the stone road and the inn before the sunset. It was twice as large as the tavern she had last stayed in, and there were a lot more people walking about.

  She tied her goats to a post outside and hurried in to inquire about a room and a stable. A woman stood at a desk in the entry hall. "May I have a room please?" the girl asked.

  "I doubt you can pay for a room, dear, or are there more in your party?"

  "I'm alone," the girl said. "Except for my goats."

  "We don't allow goats in the room," the woman said with her brow cocked in a way that made the girl think she might be teasing.

  "Of course not," she said. "I was hoping you had a stable. I have two goats and a small cart."

  "Aye, we have a stable," the woman said. "My rooms are full, but I have a bed in the women's dorm. Half a silver each per night."

  The girl handed the woman a silver and wrote her name on the register, another thing that was new from the last inn. The woman handed her two wooden tokens with numbers burned into them and told her to present one at the stable.

  The girl hurried back outside, breathed a sigh of relief to find her cart as she had left it, and took cart and goats around to the back. She paid a little extra money to have the goats fed and a little more extra to buy a dinner for herself.

  While she ate her dinner, she asked a young man, who from overheard snippets she understood to be native to the town, "Do you know where I could learn all the laws of the town? Is
there a place where they're all written down together?"

  The young man laughed to hear a girl ask such a question. "I suppose you might find such a thing in the town hall."

  "Aye," said his neighbor. "Or the bookstore. I think they have some law books there, though they don't take kindly to those who finger."

  The girl felt her heart flutter. "A shop just for books?" she asked eagerly.

  The men laughed again, but the girl was too happy to mind. She was growing more intrigued by the town and had nearly made up her mind to stay a few days rather than pass straight through.

  After dinner, she was pointed up to the third floor and the women's dorm. It was a long room with two rows of bunk beds, packed close together with only a narrow pass between. She had never seen beds stacked on top of each other before. There were several women laying claim to a bed, some already asleep, others changing from day clothes to night clothes in front of all the other women. The girl had never shared a room before and found this all very strange.

  She left her day clothes on, and after several minutes internal debate, climbed onto one of the top bunks, figuring if the thing fell through it was better to be on top than on bottom. The bed held, but now she spent a few minutes worrying what would happen if she rolled off in the night.

  She might have spent all night worrying, but she had walked a long way that day. Before she could decide to try a bottom bed, she was fast asleep.

  Chapter 7

  The girl survived the night but nearly fell off the bed in the morning when she forgot her height. The sunlight poured through the window shutters, which had been flung open by some early riser, and the girl remembered the intriguing town that awaited her.

  She went to give her goats their morning milking and tried to sell the extra to the innkeeper, but they were not interested. She drank what she could and offered the rest to the stablehands, who were glad to receive it.

  After she finished attending the animals, the girl set out to explore the town square and find the bookshop. Having grown up in seclusion she had never seen a shop before, but she understood the word from stories the old man had told. She bought a bun from the baker's and asked him if he had ever known a man named Mortagin. He had not. Nor had the clerk in the candle shop nor the lady in the fabric store.

  The dairy agreed to buy her goats' milk if she would bring it around back the next morning, but only at a tenth of the price they sold it. Still the girl thought it better than letting the milk go to waste. She bought an ounce of cheese from them.

  She stopped to listen to an argument between a butcher and a farmer over the price of a cow. When the men parted, the girl asked the butcher. "Why were you arguing?"

  "Not an argument, girl," the butcher corrected. "A negotiation. Men may talk in tones too rough for the ears of women folk, hey?"

  "My ears are fine," the girl said, though she still did not understand the need to shout.

  "What are you buying?" the butcher pressed.

  "Nothing today. I'm staying at the inn and have no fire of my own."

  The butcher snorted. The girl watched him for a while as he cleaned and sharpened his knives. A neatly dressed woman walked in with a basket under her arm, and the butcher smiled at her.

  "Good morning, Adele," he said in a pleasant and gentle voice. "What will you have today?"

  "A pound of beef," the woman said briskly, giving him a cool smile. The butcher chopped away merrily, wrapped the steak in a long, dry leaf and traded it for coin.

  The woman tucked the meat into her basket and turned to find the girl staring at her. "Why do you stare?" the woman asked her just as briskly as she had ordered from the butcher.

  "I was thinking how Adele is a very pretty name," the girl said.

  The brisk woman suddenly smiled. Her cool face warmed. "Why thank you very much," she said and walked out the store. The girl stayed where she was, looking very thoughtful.

  The butcher sighed. "Do you plan to stand there all day and pester my customers?"

  "Oh, no, sorry," the girl said. "I was just thinking how funny it was that people can change so quickly." The butcher squinted one eye in response, and the girl left so she would not pester him any longer.

  The town hall was easy to find, being quite literally the center of the town. The first floor was devoted to meeting rooms. The girl walked up a curving stair to the second floor and through an open door, where a wrinkly old man sat behind a large desk. "Sir," she asked. "Is this where all the rules of the town are kept?"

  "All the laws of the kingdom are here," he said. "What is it you want to know?"

  "I was hoping to read all the town rules," she said.

  The old man gained even more wrinkles as his white brows drew together. "All of them?"

  "Yes, please."

  "Those are all the laws of the town," the man said, pointing to a long wall full of books and scrolls. "And those," he said, pointing to the other rows of shelves. "Are rulings on how to interpret them."

  The girl's mouth fell open. "How could anyone ever read all those?"

  "I don't know if anyone has," the old man said. "Though I'm certainly familiar with most of them. Did you have a question?"

  The girl looked at all the rule books, and while she had a great love of reading, even she was put off by it. "Don't you think it's rather silly to have so many rules that no one could ever read them all?"

  The old man snorted irritably. "Nonsense, it's law. You can't expect the law to be simple."

  "Then how do you expect anyone to follow it?" the girl asked.

  "Common sense," the old man snapped. "Now ask a question or go about your business. I have no time for idle schoolchildren."

  "Why do you need so many shelves for interpretations?" the girl asked, too surprised to be daunted. "Are the laws so hard to understand?"

  "Circumstances must be taken into account," the old man said.

  "Like the horses of noblemen not being considered animals in the town square?"

  "Precisely," the old man said. "You must make allowances for men's circumstances."

  "I still think it sounds very silly," said the girl.

  Chapter 8

  When the girl stepped outside, she spotted a unicorn tied just beyond the stone-paved town square. This one had grey patches and a silver horn. Curious, she drew closer. The unicorn lowered its head and made it easy for her to stroke its forehead beneath the horn. "Are you an animal?" she asked.

  The unicorn blinked at her as though to reproach, no more than you are. She stroked the unicorn's neck, feeling its strength and warmth, and heard a hum of happiness come from the animal. They parted ways, never to meet again, but for a minute or so they were very good friends.

  She had almost finished her circuit of the square when she found the bookstore between the wine seller and the barrister. It was a small, narrow shop. A tall, narrow man stood behind the counter. "Do you need a binding?" he asked before looking at her.

  "I don't think so," the girl said.

  The bookseller glanced up at her. Keen eyes narrowed and inspected her fingers, dress, and boots for signs of dirt. "This is not a shop for idlers," he said. His voice was cautious as though he had yet to make up his mind about her. "Do you need something copied?"

  "I was told this was a bookshop," the girl said.

  The narrow man gave her a narrow smile. "You can see the books there, can't you?"

  "Oh, yes," the girl said, smiling with the eagerness of youth and eyes alight as only a great reader who has found their first bookstore can light. One wall of the shop was lined with two sets of shelves. The shelves held books, neatly displayed like works of art.

  "That shelf is new books, and the other is used ones, many of which we have restored," the bookseller told her. "Are you looking for something in particular?"

  "My father," the girl said, while she squatted down to look at the oldest and dustiest books.

  "Ah," the man said, as though this explained things. "He was to meet
you here."

  "That would be nice," the girl said. "But I don't think he's expecting me."

  "He's a book lover then, and you hope to find him here?" the bookseller tried again.

  "That's closer to it," the girl said. She carefully pulled the dustiest volume off the lowest shelf and gently blew the dust away. Out of habit, she asked, "Do you know a man named Mortagin?"

  "I remember a man by that name," the bookseller said with a new note in his voice.

  Surprised, the girl turned around quickly, the previously dusty volume cradled in her arms. "Does he live here in Ellsworth?"

  The bookseller shook his head. "It was many year ago, but I remember a man named Mortagin. He had a short stiff beard and pretty young wife. Quite a traveler, but not a merchant, which is unusual and why I remember him."

  "About twelve years ago?" the girl asked.

  "There about," said the bookseller. "He bought a book on history and another on fairytales."

  "I know the books," the girl said fondly. "Do you know where he went?"

  "He had come from Middlefort and was heading away, made some talk of going to Tivin next, but if he went, I can not say."

  The girl's heart sank. Tivin was another country, on the far side and south of the Gourlin desert. "Surely, you've seen him more recently than I have," said the bookseller, noticing her dejection.

  "I've never seen him," the girl confessed.

  "That is a sad story," said the bookseller. "Your mother left no clue for you?"