by Diane Rapp
******
Dr. Alexander inhaled the spring air with a tinge of regret as he shuttered the window and prepared to catch a short nap. Krystal was finally resting peacefully with busy servant women gliding on silent feet to her bedside. They would summon him quickly at the slightest change in her condition.
Although deeply fatigued, he lay wide-awake, willing himself to sleep. His mind reviewed his years of work, his years of failure. Secretly working in his laboratory, running experiments and improving techniques, he laboriously relearned methods doctors once employed to implant embryos into barren women.
Old records retrieved from the spaceport provided valuable research material. Pieces fell into place. The knowledge became clear, and during the process, he learned other bits of medical history. After finishing here, Alex wanted to delve into methods of curing deadly ailments.
Krystal couldn’t survive another miscarriage. Worried about the latest development, he wished he knew more about normal pregnancies. Midwives spouted old folk remedies without easing his mind. On this backward planet he felt helpless.
“She’s carried the child eight months. If she can only hold out a little while longer…” The latest concoction helped her retain the fetus. The old records described accounts of successful “Test Tube Babies” but offered very little information about preventing miscarriages. Revisiting scientific data, the doctor drifted into a fitful sleep.
******
Krystal pretended to sleep. Pressing her fingers against her protruding belly, she felt kicks. The baby turned. She enjoyed watching bulges appear on the tight skin surface and crooned, “It will work this time. Won’t those old crones eat their words when I proudly display you to the crowd.”
“I thought so! You’re not asleep!” Chella said, approaching so silently she startled Krystal. “You must try to rest.”
“I am resting! What else can I do, since I’m not allowed to leave this bed? Tell me what’s happening in the council. I missed hearing about the last meeting.”
Chella knew Krystal wouldn’t sleep until she heard everything. “The council objects to the idea of a free market. Those idiots don’t understand why production increased twenty percent last year. They claim it’s from good management, but we know Donovan’s market incentives gave the peasants reason to work hard. Greed blinds them to the benefits of a free economy.
“And Lord Hembly’s the worst!” Krystal added.
“Right you are!” Chella nodded, dipping a cloth into a bowl of cool water and carefully folding it with her slender fingers. “Donovan should have slit Hembly’s throat during the tournament! One slip of the blade might save us all years of trouble.”
Krystal immediately thought of another enemy that Donovan could have killed. Thinking of Jarrack, a twinge shot through her belly.
“Hembly wants all commodities turned over to the Lords, who promise to split wages equally among all workers. Fat chance! His scheme destroys the incentives that spur increased production!”
Krystal leaned back and allowed Chella to stroke her forehead with the damp cloth. “Why should people work hard when less productive neighbors share rewards equally? I hope Hembly can’t induce the Lords to vote in his favor.”
Chella carefully stroked damp hair back from Krystal’s forehead. “Donovan struggles on every front to make changes for everyone’s benefit. He refuses to issue a proclamation to end the bickering…”
“Did the Lords finally accept guild representatives?” Krystal asked, her pleading eyes urging Chella to tell more.
Chella’s white teeth sparkled against ebony skin as she smiled. “What a brilliant move on Donovan’s part! The guild representatives arrived. The council refused admittance, and they left peacefully. Two hours later the council received a message—the transportation guild blocked all roads into Havenshire. Half an hour later other messages said the Merchants’ Guild closed their doors to all customers and the Smiths’ Guild extinguished their forges. The list grew hour by hour. I’m surprised they held out for most of the day. Finally realizing their vulnerability the Lords granted full representation to guild masters.”
Drifting off to sleep, Krystal mumbled, “Donovan argued about the guilds for so long. Since the guilds are so important to the economy, giving them council representation is only fair.”
Krystal imagined Donovan removing blocks that formed the monarchy one by one. Smiling he held up a block labeled “Guild Representation” and placed it into his pocket. Could Donovan retain the king’s power by “listening to the advice of the council?” Did the Lords realize Donovan followed their “advice” with more regularity, slanting their opinions toward his own goal?
Donovan yearned for the day people demanded elected representatives. Using men like Trenton, he planted revolutionary ideas in communities. Donovan hoped to instigate change while avoiding violence.
On the other hand hereditary Lords resented change, feared free elections that undermined the aristocracy. Rather than protecting their subjects, the Lords’ mercenaries harried the guilds, disrupted the marketplace, and demanded tribute. When Donovan reprimanded guilty Lords, he gained enemies on the council. Change was a slow, dangerous process.
“The guilds will make a difference,” Chella said. “The members are open-minded, not like the hide-bound Lords.”
“Thanks for telling me. I don’t want to be a nuisance, but I felt anxious about Donovan’s progress. He never wants to discuss the council.”
“He’s concerned about you, worried you don’t get enough sleep. You really need to build your strength. If I’m caught in here talking with you I’ll be flogged.” Chella grabbed Krystal’s hand and squeezed.
Krystal laughed. Recently Donovan raged over the public flogging issue, arguing to abolish the practice. Disgusted, he issued a proclamation and the Lords nearly revolted. The new system of public embarrassment for minor crimes and jail terms for severe infractions seemed more effective.
Musing about the changes during the last three years, Krystal drifted into a gentle slumber. She dreamed of her beloved gardens, meandering along colorful pathways, drinking deeply of delightful fragrances. She heard the musical laughter of little girls, scampering among the flowers, and smiled in her sleep.
******
Donovan watched Krystal, so peaceful in slumber. He felt guilty. During the latest crisis, Krystal forbade Alexander to call him from an important council vote. The bleeding stopped and the pregnancy continued.
Why didn’t I sense her distress? Even now, standing close to my beloved, I can hardly feel her mind. Why did our mental bond weaken during this particular pregnancy? Does the child drain her powers?
He hoped their child might inherit Krystal’s gentle nature. Could mental powers pass between mother and child? Perhaps this child would survive and end the constant stress placed on Krystal by the demands of producing an heir.
Although the danger of miscarriage was past, Donovan worried. Her belly looked too large and her energy drained. Krystal said he worried too much, like any new father, but the fear of losing her stabbed his heart. Quietly, he left the room.
Candlelight flickered making shadows dance on the kitchen walls as Maggie dozed, a half-knitted baby garment clutched in her hands. Donovan tried to sneak past without waking her but his boots scraped the stone floor.
She stretched and stuffed the knitting into a basket at her feet. “You hungry? That meeting drew on too long. You look like a half-starved puppy.”
He felt guilty about disturbing Maggie, but somehow the mothering attitude of the small woman eased his tension. He knew Maggie missed Trenton—they all missed Trenton’s hearty laugh, his constant teasing, and even his off-color jokes—but Maggie wouldn’t leave Krystal just now. As the pregnancy neared its conclusion, Maggie’s cheerful chatter distracted Krystal from pain and soothed everyone’s fear. Hearing her cluck at him, Donovan enjoyed the sense of normalcy and let Maggie feed him—her particular nourishment fed his soul and his body.
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******
As days grew warm, Dr. Alexander allowed Krystal to sit in the sun and enjoy the scent of the garden, hoping the sun’s rays might bring color to her pale cheeks. The gardeners worked furiously, making the garden look especially beautiful for their patroness.
As her belly grew larger, Krystal’s mental powers diminished. She couldn’t hear the minds of her friends, couldn’t summon strength through the amulet. She fingered it now in habit, like a worry stone.
The castle bustled with activity in preparation for the spring festival, tailors sewing bright garments and cooks creating savory delicacies. Throngs of people arrived from all over the kingdom. Spirits soared as rumors of an impending royal birth spurred minstrels to write lively tunes for the young king and his lovely queen.
Dr. Alexander escaped his cluttered lab and walked through the garden to Krystal’s chair. Maggie sat knitting next to her charge.
Krystal beamed. “Isn’t it wonderful, Alex! Spring makes me feel so alive. I can’t wait to enjoy the festival with music and merriment.”
“You can’t expect to attend!”
“But I feel wonderful! I’ve carried the baby more than eight months, well past the danger of a miscarriage. You can’t expect me to pine away in the tower while a festival beckons from below.”
“You can’t take risks!” He sputtered, wringing his hands like a dish wife.
“Risks? Everyone hovers around me, acting like I’m a delicate flower. I can’t stand it!” Seeing his back stiffen, Krystal realized a temper tantrum gained her no points. Modulating her voice into a soothing tone, she said, “Alex, I’m fine. If I feel the slightest tremor, you can whisk me back into that dank hall. This festival celebrates the beginning of life, and it’s on my own doorstep, not halfway across the kingdom.”
Dr. Alexander frowned. “I don’t like it! You can stress yourself with too much activity.”
“Stress? Sitting in the tower feeling self-pity and anger stresses me more than watching from a comfortable lounge. Please Alex, I promise I’ll be good.”
Maggie stifled a giggle and the doctor arched an eyebrow. “Since Maggie evidently agrees with you, I hold her personally responsible for your well-being! You must see that Krystal remains immobile, avoids excitement, and alert me at any sign of discomfort.”
“Oh Maggie!” Krystal clapped her hands like a little girl. “He agreed! Isn’t it wonderful?” Krystal’s cheeks turned pink and her eyes sparkled.
Maggie clasped Krystal’s cold hand. She said, “It’s all very exciting, but we should go inside.”
Krystal frowned. “I’d rather stay outside in this glorious sun.”
Maggie shrugged. “I just thought you’d like to decide what to wear.”
Krystal sighed and agreed to be dragged indoors.
******
Trenton kept pace alongside a slow, heavily laden cart. Sparks held her head low, stealing mouthfuls of grass, as Trenton talked to the young farmer driving the cart.
“Spring festival at the castle is a good time for folks, ever so good this year,” the young man said.
Trenton eyed the wagon full of produce. “Good crop?”
“Aye, a good harvest reaps rewards, especially without the Lord confiscating the best of the crop. King Donovan has the right idea! A man works harder when he profits by his own labor.”
“See you at the festival, good journey.” Trenton grinned, urging Sparks to pick up the pace as he examined the happy faces of other travelers. Entering the festival grounds, it gave Trenton pleasure to find booths filled with fine goods for sale.
When Donovan forced the Lords to levy taxes at a flat ten percent, his enemies sneered and predicted calamity. The resulting abundance proved him right, allowing Lords to prosper by increased productivity. How could the Lords complain when their income actually increased at the lower tax rate? Given time, they would learn, given time.
Trenton knew Donovan studied the theory of free enterprise from Earth’s history. It worked beautifully until government demanded high taxes and massive regulations, killing incentive. Learning from the mistakes of others, Donovan endorsed a free market on Drako.
Carrying a pack almost empty of pelts, Trenton fingered a pouch filled with coins. He knew the value of the product he offered and got his price.
Trenton spotted a tailor’s emblem and stopped at a stall filled with fine garments. The tailor eyed Trenton’s remaining pelts, fingering the soft fur. The craftsman listened to Trenton, nodded, gathered the furs, and retreated to a cutting table in back.
The bathhouse was Trenton’s next stop. Sparks might not mind a ripe scent, but he knew Maggie would take one sniff and screw up her face in disgust. He allowed the barber to trim his full beard into a rakish style, admiring the result. Maggie disliked rough texture against her soft cheek, but she understood his need for a disguise. After all, Sir Hembly’s best men passed him through their lines without a second glance.
Trenton felt nervous. He straightened his jersey, and viewed his image in the glass. “Don’t know what she ever saw in you,” he muttered. Could I convince her to leave the castle? I must try to find a baby to adopt.
Sparks galloped when she recognized castle turrets ahead. Trenton let her go. He missed Maggie, needed to see her as much as Sparks needed food. The horse charged toward the stables, her short legs churning as turf flew. Entering the king’s tower, the guard barred Trenton’s path until he offered the current password. The guard peered curiously into his face and said, “Upon my word! Is it Trenton under all that hair?”
Trenton chuckled, clasping his old mate’s hand. “Good disguise, eh?”
“Yeah! Most don’t look past the surface to spy out an identity.”
Trenton climbed to the upper suites, following the musical sound of laughter. Maggie sauntered comically around the room in a large dress made of golden satin. The bulge at her belly made Trenton’s eyes widen.
“It’s Trenton! Look at his face, Maggie.” Krystal burst into uncontrollable giggles, pointing at the pillow that plopped on the floor at Maggie’s feet. Maggie squealed and ran to Trenton. Tripping on the train of her dress, she tumbled into Trenton’s outstretched arms. The long sleeves hung three inches beyond her hands, looking like flippers, and stuffing popped out of the bodice.
Trenton roared as they both landed in a heap on the floor.
“What’s this?” Donovan heard the commotion and came running. He looked perplexed to find wriggling bodies entwined in silk and Krystal trying to control her giggles.
Krystal said, “It was a choice scene, Donovan. Maggie helped me choose a dress by modeling the ensemble fitted with pillows, and Trenton popped in just at the right moment. One thing led to another.” Laughter erupted again, Krystal’s cheeks flushed with merriment.
Donovan offered Trenton a hand. “Trust you to add a comical note to the endeavor.” He turned to Maggie. “Should we hire Trenton as our court jester?” Donovan stared at Trenton. “What’s that on your face, man?”
“I thought I’d attract a pretty wench, sporting the latest style of face hair.” Trenton cast a sidelong glance at Maggie. She giggled—not the reaction he hoped for. “It’s a disguise! Those dimwitted soldiers the Lords hire can’t see beyond the hair.”
Donovan nodded. “Get rid of it. If anyone sees you looking like a woolly bear in my company, you won’t likely fool them when a disguise is important.”
Trenton rubbed his face. “Hadn’t thought of that.”
“That’s why I’m king and you’re…I don’t quite know what you are…perhaps Maggie can clear up the mystery.” He grinned at Maggie, moving his fingers in a scissors gesture. “See to his face, will you?”
“Aye, aye, sir!” Maggie saluted and stepped out of Krystal’s dress. “Come with me, my hairy one.” She grabbed Trenton’s hand and dragged him into her room.
“Blast you, Donovan!” Trenton grumbled.
“What?” Maggie’s dark eyes flashed with reproach.
“It makes you look like an old crag, and you know how I love the feel of a nice smooth chin.” She spoke in a husky voice. “Shall we denude you?”
“What do you have in mind, little girl?”
Tilting her chin up, she said, “I’m big enough to handle the likes of you!”
Trenton lifted her off the ground and planted a kiss on her ripe lips. His weathered hands felt awkward stroking her through velvet. She seemed so small, standing a full foot shorter than Trenton, like a porcelain doll. He felt like a hulking brute.
“Don’t look at me like that.” Her husky voice sounded strange coming from such a delicate looking creature.
“How am I looking at you, lass?”
“Like you’re afraid to touch me. By now you should know I won’t break.”
Trenton’s white teeth flashed behind a broad grin. “I marvel at my tremendous luck. You’re so beautiful, little one. How could a mountain man like me ever capture a beauty like you?"
“Who said he did?”
“Oh?”
“Perhaps the girl caught the trapper.” Her lips curled in an enticing smile as her small hand stroked his leather jersey. “Why didn’t they keep zippers on this planet? It would be so much easier for a lady to seduce her man.” She pushed him onto the mattress.
“Do you want it to be easy to seduce a man?”
“I married you didn’t I?” Her kiss lingered on his lips and he knew she’d missed him.
“What a lucky bloke I am!” Trenton said.
“You won’t get lucky until we get rid of this!” Maggie tugged on his beard and moved away from the bed. “Now where did I stash my scissors?”
******
Jarrack arrived outside the castle walls, followed by his men. They had abandoned traditional robes to avoid attention, but Jarrack stiffened as Bryant walked across the compound in their direction. Bryant paused to greet friends in a nearby booth, and Jarrack’s group disappeared behind a wagon loaded with trade goods.