Nicholas Raven and the Wizards' Web (The Complete Epic Fantasy)

by Thomas J. Prestopnik

  After placing a few miles between himself and Kanesbury, Nicholas felt chilled and fatigued, yet believed he was safe from pursuit. But the need for rest badgered him, so he stepped off Grangers Road and plopped down in a grassy field to recuperate while contemplating all that had happened in the village–the robbery at the gristmill, his attempted arrest and escape, and the chilling murder of Arthur Weeks. Surreal images swirled in his mind like an endless bad dream.

  But he couldn’t deal with the situation logically and tried to block it out. He tossed the blanket roll Katherine had provided him on the ground and lay down, resting his head upon it. He gazed at the stars, brilliant gems that hypnotically soothed him and slowly washed the strain and exhaustion out of his limbs. He smiled, his eyes fixed on one constellation as if sensing its slow westward arc across the sky. He felt as if he was moving too, floating away to a place far from all the troubles that plagued him. As the stars grew unfocused, he chuckled and felt a cool wind sweep across his face and exhaled deeply as both eyelids closed and merciful sleep took hold.

  They were chasing him. Voices barked at Nicholas from behind, ordering him to stop. Thundering horses galloped closer and closer. No escape in sight. He ran as fast as he could, lungs burning, heart pounding. He could hardly see in the darkness, tripping over branches, scattering frosty leaves. Cold wind slapped his face. They had him cornered like a wild animal. Trapped!

  Nicholas sat up with a jolt, his head swimming with the remnants of an exhausting dream. Only the icy darkness surrounded him. How long had he been asleep? He glanced at the stars and noticed that a few of the constellations he had been observing were now sinking behind the western horizon. He realized he had slept for several hours and that it must be past midnight.

  He slowly stood, grabbed the blanket roll and continued along Grangers Road. Still cold and drowsy, he knew he should either build a fire or find shelter and get some proper sleep for the remainder of the night. He would quickly wear himself down otherwise at this grueling pace with no chance of arriving in Morrenwood or elsewhere in good health and spirits. He then wondered exactly where he was intending to go. His feet were moving, but he felt like he was walking in place.

  A short time later he spotted a farmhouse with a barn set in back of the property. A string of large oak trees dotted the area, reminding him of Maynard’s farm. He couldn’t imagine what his friend must be thinking now, wondering if Maynard felt saddened, betrayed or disappointed. The idea of turning himself in again invaded his thoughts.

  Nicholas hurried to the barn and slipped in through a side door. Three horses and a few head of cattle slept noisily in their stalls. He floundered in the darkness until he stumbled across a large pile of hay in one corner away from the animals and the main doors. Without a second thought, he dropped into the tangy smelling pile, untied the rolled-up blanket and draped it over his shivering body. He fell asleep in an instant.

  A pair of round, leafy green eyes stared unblinking at him when he awoke. Beams of morning sunlight shot in through a side window, illuminating the freckled face of a young girl not more than thirteen. She watched Nicholas with a mix of curiosity and infatuation. He sat up startled, a piece of hay stuck in his hair.

  “My mom says you can have breakfast with us if you’d like,” the girl said matter-of-factly. “We’re having eggs and fried beef. Do you like eggs and fried beef?”

  “Uh, sure…” Nicholas plucked the hay out of his hair, looking askance at the girl. “You’re, um–who?”

  “My name’s Holly Nellis. I live on this farm, mister. I found you this morning when I went to visit Elly. One of the cows over there,” she said, pointing in the opposite direction. “I always preferred Gretchen–for the cow’s name, of course!–but my dad chose Elly. Said the face reminded him of his father’s cousin Elly,” she said, punctuated by a fruity chuckle. “Anyway, Mom checked you out, mister, after I told her I found you. She decided not to poke you with a pitch fork. Mom let you sleep on instead because she thought you looked honest. I agreed.”

  “Thanks,” he said, still half dazed. “Is it all right if I get up?”

  “Sure. Eggs are frying in the pan.”

  “That’s just fine, Holly,” he replied, believing he should bolt as soon as he stepped outside the barn. He was still near Kanesbury and word of his escape may have reached this farmhouse. But since Mrs. Nellis hadn’t wakened him earlier at the point of a pitchfork, he assumed his presence hadn’t aroused any suspicion on her part. And a hot breakfast right now sounded too good to pass up, so he decided to chance it and stay. “By the way, Holly, my name is Nicholas.”

  He stood and rolled up the blanket, retying it around the sack of food Katherine had given him. Holly watched and grinned as if fascinated with a new pet she had been given for her birthday. Nicholas smiled back.

  “You’re sure your mother invited me inside?” he asked a few moments later as she walked with him to the house. A sweet smell of wood smoke issued from the chimney as a swirl of autumn leaves settled along a stone path leading to the porch. Nicholas set his blanket roll on the bottom step. “I’d appreciate a meal right now, but the last thing I want to do is intrude.”

  “You should have thought of that before sleeping in our barn,” Holly joked. “Besides, you know my name now, so I’m not a stranger. Mom and Dad always allow passersby a drink at the well if they need one. Sometimes they’ll give them a slice of bread and dried beef to send them on their way.”

  “That’s very kind of your parents. They must be nice people. I guess I picked the right barn to settle in,” he said as they ambled up the porch steps.

  “I guess you did.”

  A flood of warm kitchen air greeted them, peppered with the scent of frying eggs and sizzling slices of beef. Holly’s mother ushered Nicholas to a seat at the table as if he were her visiting son. Mr. Nellis, still at his seat eating breakfast, eyed him stonily for a moment until satisfied that the stranger seemed a good fit for his table, then smiled and extended a hand to shake. Before Nicholas could utter a few words of thanks, Mrs. Nellis set a plate of fried eggs and beef in front of him, accompanied by slices of buttered bread, a wooden pitcher of milk and a mug of hot spiced cider. In moments, the four of them were eating and talking as if Nicholas had sat down there for breakfast every day.

  “That’s an honorable thing, wanting to join up with the King’s Guard. You should be proud of yourself.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Nellis, but like I said, I’m still contemplating the matter.”

  Nicholas felt uncomfortable talking about the details of his life in light of recent events, but knew he had to tell his hosts something to explain his presence. But the longer he enjoyed their generosity and friendship, the easier it was to let slip details about who he was and where he had come from. But a part of him didn’t care. It felt wonderful to be included again after experiencing the harsh life of an outcast last night.

  “I’d like to pay for your hospitality, Mr. Nellis. I have a little money with me,” he said. “Or maybe I could chop firewood instead.”

  “Nonsense. Sally and I are more than happy to offer up our barn to someone on a cold night. Why, if old Elly didn’t mind having you sleep in there, why should we?” he said, erupting in laughter.

  “Russell, you are a wit!” his wife said, placing a hand to her mouth to suppress a fit of giggles. “Nicholas, pay no mind to him. He’s a teaser, that one.”

  “Sam’s just like Dad,” Holly said to Nicholas, poking an elbow in his side. “Always quick with a joke.”

  “Who’s Sam?”

  “Sam’s our son, Nicholas. About your age. He’s usually up by now tending to chores, but we’re letting him sleep late today,” Mrs. Nellis explained. “On account of the Harvest Festival. He and some friends were out celebrating late last night.”

  “Oh?” Nicholas said, his throat tightening as he swallowed a piece of bread. “Where did they celebrate?”

  Mr. Nellis slurped from his mug of cider befor
e greedily attacking the beef on his plate with a knife and fork. “Living out here in the middle of nowhere, Sam and his buddies usually tramp down through the fields into Mitchell, Ives or Foley to see what those villages have going on.”

  “Last year they went to all three villages!” Mrs. Nellis said with wide-eyed amazement. “In one night! Imagine that. Boys, you know.”

  “That’s great,” Nicholas said, at ease again as he picked up his fork. “Hope they had a good time.”

  “No doubt. But this year,” Mr. Nellis continued between mouthfuls, “the boys hiked into Kanesbury for a change of pace. Wanted to see how you people celebrate.”

  Nicholas turned a shade paler, nearly dropping his fork. “Oh really.”

  “I suppose when Sam wakes up, you two can compare stories,” Mrs. Nellis suggested. “Now wouldn’t it be funny as fish, Russell, if Sam and Nicholas ran into each other last night? And now here he is, having breakfast in our very own house.” She grinned at Nicholas. “Isn’t that a funny thought?”

  He nodded awkwardly while chewing on some bread. “I guess...”

  “Nicholas, why’d you leave your village last night?” Holly piped up. “I mean, with all the celebrating going on, why leave then of all times? What’s another day or two?”

  “Oh, eat your eggs, Holly, and don’t pry into the man’s business,” her father said, turning his attention to Nicholas while pointing a fork in the air. “Now who’s farm did you say you worked on, Nicholas? I conduct some business in Kanesbury on occasion.”

  “I don’t believe I mentioned it,” he uncomfortably replied.

  “I remember an Albert Hardy. Think that was his name,” Mr. Nellis thoughtfully muttered, scratching an ear. “You know him?”

  “More cider, Nicholas?” Mrs. Nellis asked simultaneously, taking his mug before he could reply.

  “No,” he responded to both questions at once.

  “I believe his name was Hardy,” Mr. Nellis said to himself. “Let me think...”

  “One more mug of hot cider on a chilly morning will do you good,” said Mrs. Nellis, hustling off to the wood stove and ladling out more of the drink from a steaming kettle. “Oh, I think I hear Sam skittering around upstairs,” she added, handing the mug back to Nicholas. “I’ll fetch another setting so you two can talk at the table. Holly, dear, pull another slice of beef out of the salt barrel and toss it on the frying pan.”

  “Sure, Mom,” she said, bouncing up from the table.

  “Now, Nicholas,” Mr. Nellis began, “if you’d like to stay here for a while and–”

  “You know, there’s something I need to do!” Nicholas blurted out, standing abruptly and knocking the table with his knee, trying desperately to think of an excuse to leave before Sam came downstairs. “Outside, there’s uh...”

  “Say no more,” Mr. Nellis added. “The privy’s just out back.”

  “That’s it!” Nicholas said, grateful for an excuse as he hurried out backward through the front door. “Thanks.”

  Holly grinned. Just at that moment, her brother Sam bounded into the kitchen, grabbing a slice of bread off the table and shoving half of it into his mouth. He washed it down with a cup of milk.

  “Not even a good morning first, Sam? We have a breakfast guest,” his mother hastily explained. “Some manners please?”

  “Sorry,” he said in muffled words. He playfully punched his sister in the arm before sitting at the table and looking around. “Who’s here?”

  “Sam, don’t be a gnat!” said Holly as she returned to the table rubbing her arm.

  “Don’t pick on your sister!” Mr. Nellis wiped a slice of bread through a river of egg yolk on his plate and devoured it.

  “If she didn’t look like a toad’s first cousin, I wouldn’t have to,” Sam joked.

  “Gee, let me set some time aside later to laugh at that one,” Holly said dryly. She stuck out her tongue at her brother.

  “Sam, behave,” Mrs. Nellis said as she hastily prepared him breakfast. “Did you have a nice time with your friends?”

  “Yeah, Ma. But you wouldn’t believe what happened last night in Kanesbury.” He stood to get some cider. “There was a murder in the village,” he said, dipping a mug into the kettle and scooping out some of the hot drink.

  Mrs. Nellis put a hand to her hip. “A murder? Sam, don’t take cider that way, you’ll drip all over! Are you serious?”

  Sam nodded enthusiastically. “It happened a few streets away from the main celebration.” He retook his seat. “Who knows, but I may have passed right by the murderer during the night!” he gushed as if it were something to be proud of. “Never had that kind of excitement down in the three villages.”

  “Well, Sam, I don’t think the Kanesbury village council planned such an activity to coincide with the Harvest Festival,” his mother said with a disgusted smirk.

  “Who got killed?” Mr. Nellis asked. “What happened?”

  His son explained the details he had collected by word of mouth the previous night, describing a foiled robbery, an escaped criminal and a dastardly murder. Mr. and Mrs. Nellis had never heard of Arthur Weeks when Sam mentioned the victim’s name. “I’m not sure who the guy was exactly. I couldn’t get every scrap of information. Too much commotion. Search parties throughout the village all night. Really exciting!”

  “Oh dear...” Mrs. Nellis shook her head, turning the eggs over in the frying pan and pinching some black pepper in a dish to sprinkle over them. The thinly sliced beef sizzled in its juices.

  “Who killed him?” Holly asked eagerly.

  “Some guy,” Sam said.

  “Holly, I don’t think you should be listening to this talk,” Mrs. Nellis cautioned.

  “Aw, Mom!”

  “Leave the girl alone,” Mr. Nellis said, his plate now cleaned.

  “The murderer worked with the guy he killed, from what I gathered,” Sam added.

  “Really?” Mrs. Nellis said, fascinated. She transferred the eggs and beef to a plate.

  Holly sighed loudly, rolling her eyes. “So who did it, Sam?”

  “Holly!”

  “Sally, let the girl be.”

  “No one you’d know,” Sam said, teasing his sister.

  “Dad, make him tell me!”

  “Sam, don’t annoy your sister.”

  “I’m not!”

  Mrs. Nellis was walking over with the plate. “Breakfast on the way, Sam. More bread?”

  “So who was he?” Mr. Nellis snapped.

  “Yeah, Sam, who was he?” echoed Holly.

  “No more bread, Ma.” Sam gulped his cider, setting the mug down with a thump before turning with a sigh and glaring at Holly. “The guy’s name is Nicholas Raven, as if it makes any difference to you!”

  Sam’s plate dropped from Mrs. Nellis’ hand and crashed to the floor. She stood paralyzed, her son’s breakfast scattered at her feet. Russell Nellis leaned back in his chair, the kitchen walls spinning in front of his eyes. Sam blinked in confusion as Holly jumped out of her chair and pressed her nose to the front window, searching the landscape.

  “What’s going on?” Sam asked, observing everyone’s surprise while scratching his neck.

  “Nicholas never planned to use the privy,” Holly said, her head buried in the curtains. “His blanket roll is missing off the porch steps.” She turned and faced her bewildered family. “He’s gone!”

  Nicholas ran along Grangers Road, distancing himself from the Nellis household until he felt safe to walk again. He imagined with horror the expressions on Russell and Sally’s faces should their son ever mention the name Nicholas Raven in connection with a murder. He felt awful for running out after the hospitality that the Nellis family had shown him, but he knew he had no choice. He wondered if they might contact the authorities in Kanesbury, tipping off Constable Brindle as to his whereabouts, or worse yet, come after him on their own. He occupied himself with these uncomfortable thoughts for the next half hour, constantly craning his neck to look back a
nd pausing to listen for the rumble of galloping horses.

  But after an hour had passed without meeting anyone other than a scattering of farmhands tending to their chores, Nicholas again felt safe. He unbuttoned his coat as the rising sun gently beat down. The tranquil countryside refreshed him, offering only the sounds of a passing breeze, some chattering blue jays and an occasional lowing cow, quite opposite the bedlam he pictured now overwhelming Kanesbury. He quickened his pace.

  Not wanting to stray too far to the northwest, he left Grangers Road twenty minutes later and headed for an expanse of woods to his left. He figured he could spend most of the day concealed among the trees while working his way south. Nicholas planned to emerge from his wooded refuge before dusk and hike through the fields to River Road and walk the rest of the way to the village of Mitchell to see what fate awaited him.

  When safely in the woods after noontime, Nicholas sat down against a tree to rest. He devoured some of the bread and meat Katherine had provided and drank ice cold water from a stream. The warmth and light of the open air didn’t reach into the dampness of the shadowy woods and he soon felt chilled again. He turned up his collar and buttoned his coat, feeling the spot where one button was missing.

  He recalled when Constable Brindle held up the piece of incriminating evidence in the Water Barrel Inn for all to see, condemning Nicholas on the spot in the eyes of many. He racked his mind to figure out how that button had ended up near the pile of spilled flour. He knew Arthur Weeks had lied about him being at the gristmill on the night of the robbery and wondered if he might have planted the button there himself. But how? He imagined Arthur sneaking into his work area while he was temporarily away from his desk, ripping a button from his jacket before slinking away unnoticed. He couldn’t think of any other explanation.

  But Nicholas wanted not to think about it. It made him too angry and he pushed the wicked affair out of his mind. Still having plenty of time to reach River Road before dusk, he decided to catch a nap. Finding a bed of leaves and undergrowth deeper inside the woods, he wrapped his blanket over him, lay down and fell asleep.