The wagon went out of sight, and then Billy did, too. Horatius reached low and grabbed the dangling rein. He coaxed the mule to keep moving and the two plodded in the direction Billy and Chloe had disappeared.
***
“I saw Horace!” Chloe gasped.
“What? Where?” Kaitlyn said, jolting up to the edge of the bench and grabbing Chloe’s hands. “You saw him?”
“And he saw me. He looked so angry. He was talking to that goat woman then he turned and saw me. He was so scary looking.”
“Who is Horace?” Agnes asked.
“He’s an old friend of ours,” Kaitlyn said.
“Not a friend. We know him, but he isn’t a friend.”
“Really?” Kaitlyn said. “But I thought—”
“No, he’s not.”
“Is he coming after you? Is that why we had to leave so fast?” Agnes looked frightened.
“It didn’t look like he was,” Chloe said.
One of the drivers stuck his head through the side window, hanging from the roof, upside-down. “M’lady, there seems to be someone chasing after us.”
Agnes let out a squeak and her hand flew to her mouth. “Is he dangerous?” she asked Chloe.
Kaitlyn said no at the same time Chloe said yes.
“He hardly looks dangerous,” the driver said.
“He is terribly dangerous,” Chloe insisted.
“You really think so?” Kaitlyn asked Chloe.
“I know so. Think of all that has happened.”
“I am. And I don’t remember where he was dangerous.”
“What did he do?” Agnes asked.
“He might have killed my family.”
“Shall we shoot him?” the head still hanging in the window said.
“No!” all three said.
“Not yet,” Agnes said. “Is he catching up?”
The guard left the window. His head popped back a moment later.
“We have well outdistanced him,” he said. He pulled back up out of sight, and they could hear him scrape across the roof back to his post.
Agnes looked at Chloe and Kaitlyn, her eyes wide again with fear. “Will he hurt us? We could alert the magistrate, if he is a murderer.”
“He isn’t,” Kaitlyn said. “He’s going to fix everything.”
“Pan is going to fix everything. Tonight. Horace hasn’t done anything to help.”
“Tonight? What is happening tonight?” Agnes asked.
Chloe hadn’t meant to tell Agnes. Not yet.
“We expect a visitor. That was the message we got last night. He is supposed to come tonight. He’s the man we saw in the dungeon in Aberdeen. Pan,” Kaitlyn said.
“But he was being tried for treason,” Agnes said.
“They didn’t have any evidence. He was let go. And he is supposed to be here today. He is okay. He is going to help us,” Chloe said before Kaitlyn could say anything more.
“Help you what?”
Chloe was trying to figure out what to answer and was relieved when the guard popped his head back into the window opening. “He is gone. Stopped running and left behind. We did not need to shoot him.” And he disappeared again.
“Oh my,” Agnes exclaimed. “What a day! If my laird husband knew what he sent me home to, he would have kept me by his side.”
***
Horatius passed a stall with caged birds—pigeons, grouse, pheasants. Geese strutted in a small pen with a rope net over it to keep them in.
He pulled the tether and stopped the mule. “Good sir, do you have a white dove? Not yet a fledgling, preferably.”
“Aye,” said the man at the stall. “A perfect squab for you.” He went among the cages back by the goose pen and returned with a small stick cage tied with rough jute. Inside was the most beautiful dove. The down was starting to change, and new juvenile plumage was just beginning to emerge.
“I want to buy it,” Horatius said.
“Tuppence.”
“I will give you a penny. And that is too much.”
“But I willna give you me bird for it. I said tuppence, and tuppence it is.”
Horatius couldn’t negotiate a price without any money. What was he thinking? “I will trade this mule for the dove.”
“What would I do with an old broken mule?”
“Sell it. It is worth three shillings at least.”
“I do not buy and sell mules. And especially that kind. I sell birds. Tuppence.”
“I’ll give you this knife for it,” Horatius said, pulling out the dagger from his belt. “I’ll trade you this.”
“I have a knife.”
“It’s a fine blade.”
“Tuppence.”
Horatius fingered his sword hilt, but he couldn’t give it up. He didn’t know what was ahead facing Panahasi. “These are fine leather boots. The best you’ll ever see.”
“Your feet are too big.”
“Please tell me then, man. What can I give you for the bird?”
“Tuppence. I already told you.”
Horatius snorted at the man. “I’ll be back. Hold that bird for me.”
“I will sell it to the first who has the coin and wants it!”
He kicked the mule forward, lambasting the merchant with profane obscenities. The man just laughed and put his dove cage back where he’d gotten it.
CHAPTER 49
A dream that he was flying woke Panahasi. It was a marvelous feeling again to have his wings spread and the dimensions rush past him as he shifted from realm to realm, and then to soar through the atmospheres unfettered by his ridiculous, marred human body. In his dream, he was once again flying alongside his father, Satarel, a prerogative he had not enjoyed since Satarel had cursed him and left him grounded twenty years before. Since just one small miscalculation when he tried to give his father the long coveted honor of chopping off Horatius’ head. He could have done it himself and had it finished. But he’d passed the task to his father, who was struggling to hold the soul of that idiot Scotsman and wasting time, and the moment was lost. I still cannot fathom how even after I shoved my sword through his chest, Horatius found the will to transfigure and escape. Miraculous. It had to have been some kind of Divine Intervention. He could not have done it alone.
And because of it, Panahasi had been marooned on earth in a godforsaken century. He’d made one tiny mistake by trying to allow his father the fun, the satisfaction, and look what it got him. If Satarel had not wasted time cursing and banishing him, Horatius would have been caught and annihilated. But Satarel had no tolerance for mistakes. He hated any whom he could blame for keeping him from what he wanted. He said Panahasi had acted with arrogance and tried to usurp him. By trying to take control of the situation, he had insulted his father and at the same time, cost him his most desired prize.
The years of exile had worn him down, left him damaged. Without the ability to transfigure, and not even transmute, he could not regenerate his human form, and the years were taking their toll. The few elementary tricks still achievable only left him disheartened. Any sorcerer could duplicate them. If he did not escape soon, he’d deteriorate to a point from which he might never recover.
But his deliverance had come. Horatius had unknowingly provided him with everything he needed. By bringing the girl—one of his father’s own humans—to the very century in which he’d been trapped and giving her a desperate need to travel, now Panahasi had a human he could take to the Prince, going over his father’s head, and regaining his strength, powers, and stature. He might even gain greater advantage for the unprecedented delivery of Unexpired Human sacrifices, a rare occurrence. And an additional blessing: Horatius was somehow out of commission. Otherwise, he would have shown up. He must have angered his father even more—or worse, angered They—and lost his powers. Whatever had caused his impotency, Panahasi would enjoy proceeding without interference.
He rose from the bed of leaves in the forest where he’d bedded down, unable to produce the coin needed to
secure a bed at an inn, and slapped away the debris from his tartan. He did not even mind this time, knowing how close he was to regaining all he’d lost. He scratched his chin and bumped up against the hideous scar on his face. He ran his fingers along it and realized it might be the last day his face would be malformed and ugly. He would once again be the gloriously beautiful creature he’d enjoyed being for centuries before.
He stepped out of the tree line and turned toward the castle where the girls waited for him. He would go, collect them, and proceed to the rendezvous with the witch. He would go now, even though it was still daylight, in the hope he would get to eat. A disadvantage of being trapped in the human form was he still had to yield to its corporeal demands. Only a matter of hours now and all would be changed. No more starvation. No more privation. He was about to soar again like the angels and enjoy the freedom of power. And revenge.
***
Horatius and the mule trudged away from Market Square and in between the parallel ruts leading south out of town. Billy came running back toward him, a long distance away yet. He ran slower than when he’d started. After a few more yards, he stopped and bent over with his hands on his knees. He stayed that way a minute, then stood up and staggered toward Horatius, walking first with both hands on his hips then with both holding his right side.
When he finally got close enough to be clearly seen, his freckles stood out like dots of mud on his bright pink face. His hair stood straight up all around his head, and he was as sweaty as though he’d fallen in a pond.
“Got away,” he puffed out, still short of breath. “But…know where they went.” He sat down and put his head on his crossed arms over his knees.
“Good work. Are you okay?”
It took a few puffs before he got out an answer. “Aye. Will be. Just need…a moment.”
After Billy sat staring at the ground and got his breath back, he jumped up. The pink in his face was fading and his freckles were not as prominent. His hair was drying straight out in every direction. “The wagon went to a castle on a hill. I will show you.”
He picked up the rope and pulled the mule to head back where he’d come from.
“Wait,” Horatius said. “I know the castle. I won’t be any use to anybody until I’m healed. We need two pennies. I found a perfect dove, but the seller won’t budge on the price.”
“Should I ask the angels again?”
Horatius didn’t want to get into what he thought about Billy's last effort to get money from the Celestials. That Billy thought the bag of money was from angels was fine with him. But he wasn’t convinced it wasn’t just some crazy coincidence.
“No. We need to find something in the market. Have you ever been good at picking a pocket?”
When Billy’s fists curled up and shook, Horatius knew he’d made a big mistake.
“That again? Do you think that little of me? Why do you keep thinking I am a thief?”
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, all right? I’m desperate here. I’m not thinking straight.”
“Obviously.”
“Can you do anything for hire?”
“A course. I do all the time.” With the challenge, his anger evaporated.
“But here, today. How can you make tuppence?”
Billy looked back at the crowd and pinched his mouth together in thought. “I could haul or deliver someone’s purchase. Or man a stall while the owner slakes his thirst somewhere. Let us go see.”
He rotated and pulled the mule back toward town. When they were back in the center of the crowd, Billy approached a merchant who was packing his wares back into his wagon.
“Can I help you, sir? I will load your wagon for only tuppence.”
“Git boy. I dinna need yur kind o’ help.”
They moved on to another stall. “Good sir, could I earn a penny helping you?” Billy asked as sweetly as Horatius had ever heard him speak.
“Nay, thank you lad. I have it taken care of.” The man ruffed his red hair, making it stick out more than before.
Billy continued to scan the crowd. He asked several more merchants to hire him, but all with the same results.
They came back around to the man with the dove. Horatius hated that he was stuck on the back of the mule, but he had to make do. He used the best negotiator voice he could muster.
“Good man,” Horatius said, “would you consider hiring my strong lad here in exchange for the dove? He may look small, but he is as strong as many a grown man. He is a good worker like you have never seen.”
The bird merchant looked skeptical at first, but then a smile spread out his thin lips. “Aye, I think I will at that. Lad, I have two geese that need delivery over to Castle Street. If you get them there, I will give you the dove as payment. I canna leave me stall and they wanted them right away. Can you do that?”
“Aye, sir. I can.” Billy looked up to Horatius and grinned.
“You be careful, son. Geese can be mean.” And there are two of them and much bigger than Hugh’s pigeon.
“Dinna worry. I will be fine.” Horatius gave him his stern look. “I will be careful.” He followed the man back to his goose pen. The geese were almost as tall as Billy. Horatius hoped he would be fine.
One of the geese hissed at Billy, but with the quick movements of an experienced birdman, the merchant wrapped and tied a strip of cloth to muzzle first one bird’s beak then another. Horatius hoped it was enough to keep the birds from giving Billy any trouble.
Billy’s eyes were big when he walked out of the pen with a giant bird tucked under each arm, but he held his head high as though he would not allow himself to be frightened.
“I will wait for you over by the well,” Horatius told him.
Billy nodded and left for Castle Street. Horatius watched as he shrunk in size with each step away down the road. The birds were quiet and it looked as though it might be an easy way to get the dove they needed.
Billy left Da behind, forgetting about him as he put all his concentration on holding the birds. They strained against the hold he had on them. He wanted to reposition them, but they were already slipping and he worried they’d get away if he changed anything.
He was not one street away from the Market Square when the birds began to wildly fight against him. One bird pulled its head from his grasp and pecked him in the head twice. Two rapid strikes right above his ear.
“Ouch! You rascal, stop that.”
It answered by doing it again.
Billy shrieked. “If you keep that up, I might have to get rough with you.” He chased the goose’s head around with his hand, which was not easy with his elbow tightly clamping the goose against his side. Once he caught its neck, he gripped it as though it were a snake eager to sink its fangs into him. Now that the goose was mad, he could barely keep hold of it.
By the time he got to Castle Street, he’d almost dropped the birds half a dozen times, and they kept getting their necks out of his clutch. Everything hurt from pecks all over his body but he was proud he was winning the struggle. He found the manor where he was to deliver the birds and went around to the back entrance. He kicked the doorframe with his foot.
A fat maid opened the door and greeted Billy with a stern glower. “Wot took yeh so long?” She grabbed one goose, twisted its neck in a sharp snap, plunked it down on the step, then took the second and did the same.
“Well, I coulda done that,” Billy said.
She harrumphed at him. “Well I jus’ did it for yeh, didna I?”
Billy held his tongue and turned out his palm, hoping for a penny for his trouble.
“Off with yeh, lad. I already overpaid at the market. If my mistress wasna in such a bother for roast goose, I wouldna ever paid such a price. Noo, git.” She picked up the two limp geese and slammed the door on him.
Billy stuck out his tongue at the door then began retracing his steps toward town. He passed up a long, straight stick then thought better of leaving it. He ran back and picked it up. Trailing one end behind
left a deep furrow in the sandy dirt of the road. When he swiveled it side to side, it made a long snaky trail behind him. He alternated skipping with running, then taking giant steps, almost as big as one Da would take. The stick made a good sword when he fought off a giant invisible dragon. It became a shiny trumpet when the queen arrived and he announced her appearance.
After the queen disappeared, his arm smarted like the devil. To see the back of his arm, he twisted and twirled in a circle, chasing his elbow. A huge welt swelled where the wicked goose had pecked him. He’d ignored it when it happened, he was trying so hard to deliver the geese without dropping or squishing them. But now after fighting off a dragon and playing a trumpet, his head hurt and his arms stung. He lowered the stick back into the dirt and let it draw a long straight line behind him.
A long way off by the edge of town Da was walking toward him. Walking! Altogether benumbing! He is not riding Bethesda, but strolling along just fine on his own two legs. Maybe he had gotten the dove already and had broken his curse. Billy picked up his stick and broke into a gallop.
“You are all right! What happened?”
When he got close enough, it became clear that was not Da, but another dark man as big as Da. A nasty scar down the side of his face pulled his mouth and eye into an ugly expression.
Billy froze and watched the man come on. As he approached, Billy backed out of the rut into the grass to allow the man to pass.
The man stopped when he caught up to Billy and stared at him. Billy shrunk back, not certain what the man intended. His eyes were scary.
He grabbed Billy’s stick. Billy tried to hold on to it, but two tugs and he got it away. The man broke it over his knee, threw the pieces down, and looked hard into Billy’s eyes. Then he broke into frightening laughter. Billy forgot all about the sting of the welt on his elbow.
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