by B. K. Parent
When I arrived at the shoemaker’s booth, I saw that it was closed up and felt disappointed, for I had really hoped to catch Shueller before he became busy. I was just turning away when I spotted him walking up the lane towards me.
“You’re about early this morning. The smells coming from the bakers’ area were just too tempting to ignore, and I am a fool for hot crusty bread spread with a generous amount of creamy butter,” Shueller said, smacking his lips in an appreciative manner. “Come, I have plenty.”
The little rover opened his booth and ushered me in, placing the basket he was carrying on a bench. He sat down and patted a place alongside the basket, indicating I should join him. Without asking me if I wanted a piece of bread, he tore off a chunk, handed it to me, and then passed me a small crock containing the butter. Common courtesy suggested that I accept the bread he offered. Who was I fooling? Just the smell of it was making my mouth water. We ate in silence for awhile before Shueller spoke.
“I am glad you came back. How are the boots fitting?”
“The boots are terrific. They’ve molded to my feet, and I didn’t feel a tight or hurtful spot all yesterday. I spilled a bit of water on them by accident last night, and the water beaded right up.”
“They should be waterproof through the heaviest downpours, but I would suggest you not go wading in puddles, creeks, rivers, lakes, or oceans for any period of time,” Shueller stated, with a twinkle in his eye. “Now if you want boots that can do all that, we can negotiate.”
“Much as I would love a second pair of boots that could take on even an ocean, my purse is a bit slim after you robbed me blind for the first pair,” I said jokingly. I am not usually so comfortable with folks I hardly know, but somehow the little shoemaker put me at ease.
“I also wanted to thank you for the plaque you gave me yesterday. Can I inquire how you came by that design?”
I did not know how to answer him. It seemed like a really innocent question, but so much lately was not quite as it seemed. The Huntress had not told me I could not tell anyone that she had given me the book of patterns, and yet I felt protective of that secret.
“I suspect that you’ve had an encounter with one of the most elusive foresters.”
I tried not to look startled that he had guessed, but I am not sure how successful I was. His next words did not exactly reassure me that I had been able to fool him.
“Ah, lass, I’m not asking you to tell any more than you wish. It is just an old man’s curiosity, for I thought the old craft had died out in my youth. When I was young and traveled from one end of this land to the other, designs like the one you carved me were carved in door frames and on window shutters, not only on rover homewagons but on huts and cottages of folks who lived in or near the grand woods of Sommerhjem. Mind you, that was when I was just a lad. As the forests grew smaller, as the land changed, the old ways were either forgotten or discarded. Your plaque brought back a flood of memories, and for that, I thank you.”
“You’re very welcome,” I replied.
Shueller was quiet for a moment, and then shook himself. “I almost forgot why I wanted you to come back here this day.”
“It was to check the fit of my boots, wasn’t it?”
“In part. Did you notice anything odd about the forester who was in here at the same time you were yesterday?”
“Odd?” I questioned.
“He struck me as odd. He was dressed as a forester, and yet I noticed something just a bit off about him. I saw his hands were way too smooth and unmarked for someone who works out of doors and in the woods. He also stayed only a moment after you left, and then he followed you. Never said a word to me. You got troubles, lass? I don’t think he was following you because he saw you, was smitten, and just had to make your acquaintance. Not that any lad of discerning taste wouldn’t be smitten just by the sight of you, mind you.”
Once again I was struck by that overwhelming wish that this was just a regular summer, because I think I could like this fellow rover and would seek his gentle good humor out from fair to fair, but this was not a regular summer.
“I don’t know many foresters,” I answered cautiously, “but something about this one did strike me as odd.” I did not feel I could tell him about my ring, which had not called to the forester’s ring. “Some of my friends noticed that there have been a number of folks at this fair who appear to be in costume, like the forester, and something just doesn’t ring true about them. But that doesn’t really answer your question, does it? I don’t think I’m in trouble, but I thank you for the warning about being followed. I will be more cautious after this.”
The shoemaker then changed the subject, seemingly satisfied that I was duly informed about the forester. “Are you heading on to the next fair at Springwell-over-Hill?”
“Yes,” I replied, for I had no reason not to continue to the next fair, each town bringing me closer and closer to the capitol.
“Know anything about herbs and plants, lass?”
“Yes, I sell some in my booth. Why?”
“I’ve been trying to find someone who might have a small pot of pilcher cream. Good for these old bones you know,” Shueller stated, looking at me much too close for comfort.
“I’ll check my supplies. Do you need some right away?”
“No, I’m good for now, but I’ll look you up at the Springwell-over-Hill fair, if that suits.”
“That would be fine,” I told him trying to remain calm. “I’d best get back to my booth. Thank you for the bread.”
“Stay safe, lass,” Shueller said, as he stood and walked me to the entrance of his booth.
The opportunity to say anything more was lost when a family passed me entering the shoemaker’s shop, but he had certainly given me a bit to think about on the walk back. I took a different route through the fair heading back to my booth than I had taken to get to the shoemaker’s booth, and I checked as discreetly as I could behind me to see if anyone were following me. No one was that I could tell.
I had hoped my visit to the shoemaker would have been a distraction from what I knew was going on at the royal manor. Master Clarisse had filled me in. We were all worried about Evan’s friend Clare, but there was nothing we could do but wait until afternoon when Evan would be back from his lunch meeting with her. Obviously, it had not turned out that way. I had been doing fine with my meeting with Shueller, in spite of the talk about the seemingly fake forester, but then the little shoemaker had to go and bring up a need for pilcher cream. What was I to make of that? I hoped I would get a chance to ask Da.
Shyla was all excited when I returned to the booth, for she had sold the box she had made and had an order for one more. I found I liked being a teacher, and by teaching her, I actually think I learned more than she did. Since my stock was getting low, I determined that I really had to buckle down and make some more puzzle boxes. This night when the fair day was over, I had best spend time whittling some more small whimsies, which had proven to be both profitable and popular. Because I was concentrating so hard on the delicate task of putting a puzzle box together in between customers, and since I had had two breakfasts, I did not notice the noon hour had come and gone, until Master Clarisse leaned over and called to me to get my attention.
“Nissa, would you watch my booth while I leave for awhile?”
“Sure, no problem,” I said, somewhat distractedly. Something in Master Clarisse’s voice made me look up. “Something wrong?”
“Evan should have been back by now, and I am getting a bit worried. I want to wander down to the bakers’ area and see if I can locate him.”
It took only a quick glance at the sun to realize that it was creeping close to mid-afternoon. Master Clarisse was right to be worried. I told her that I would look after the booth and wished her luck. What could have delayed Evan? Hopefully Clare was safe. Once Mast
er Clarisse left, time seemed to drag, and I finally had to put down my puzzle box project. I tried to distract myself by turning a bowl and found the rhythm of shaping the wood soothing. As I started to litter the ground beneath my feet with wood shavings, I began to attract a few folk who stopped to watch the bowl emerge from the block of wood, so I did not see when Master Clarisse and Evan arrived back at their booth. Once the crowd dissipated, I glanced up from my bowl and noticed them waiting on several customers who had moved from my booth to theirs. Of course, it was at this moment, because I desperately wanted to know why Evan had been late, that there was a surge of folks at our booths, all looking and asking questions. Good for business, but really bad for the nerves. Finally, there was a break between customers at both of our booths, and Master Clarisse motioned I should join her out back at her wagon.
Even before I had a chance to ask her anything, she said, “Clare is fine. Everything went as planned. She was late because she had been pressed into service by the housekeeper from the Crestbury royal manor, who had been called in to put things to rights at the Snoddleton royal manor, and who just would not take no for an answer. It seems the housekeeper for the royal manor here in Snoddleton passed away late winter, and the Regent had not seen fit to replace her. Someone in the royal party took it upon him or herself to send for the Crestbury housekeeper. Apparently she is a dragon of a woman and grabbed anyone who was within her sight to work. Clare spent several hours sweeping and dusting before she could safely get away.”
It was a relief to know that Clare was safe, and the only danger that extended her adventure was to be made to stay longer cleaning out fireplaces and pulling down cobwebs. There was still the worry about whether the Princess could carry out her charade. However, Master Clarisse’s next words to me sobered me right up from the high I was feeling over Clare’s safe return.
“The housekeeper noticed how wan the Princess was looking and called for Lord and Lady Snoddleton’s herbalist. I don’t know if that is going to be a good thing or a bad thing for either the Princess or the housekeeper. Here’s to hoping that the ruling family of Snoddleton is loyal to the Crown.”
“If they are loyal to the Crown, then all of our plotting and risking Clare will be for naught then,” I said.
“Maybe not, for if they are loyal to the Regent, the herbalist could make up a plausible excuse as to why the Princess looks wan and prescribe something which will make things even worse, or whoever has been keeping the Princess under control may decide that she is more of a liability than she is worth. Now that the day is winding down, I am going to leave Evan with the booth, go to the Hall of Masters, and fill Master Rollag in.”
“Before you go, I had an interesting conversation with the shoemaker this morning. He had noticed a forester in his shop yesterday who had come in when he was fitting me with my new boots and mentioned that the forester was off somehow, like the folk Evan and Clare observed yesterday. He also said that the forester left right after me and appeared to be following me.”
“I’ll let Master Rollag know. These players who are not as they seem are worrisome. I had best be on my way.”
The rest of the afternoon went by swiftly. I suggested to Shyla that she might want to go find her family and share her news that she had sold her box and maybe spend some time wandering the fair. It was just the right note to end her day on. Much as I liked having her with me and teaching her, she also needed to spend some time just being a youngster at the fair. Something I would not mind doing. I closed up and headed back to the campsite and hopefully a fine dinner of Mistress Jalcones devising.
After the dinner dishes were washed and put away, I sat by the fire with Evan, the Jalcones, Oscar, Bertram and their families. Beezle had not shown up for dinner, which had me a little concerned, and Master Clarisse had not returned either. I knew where Master Clarisse had headed, but I did not recall Beezle mentioning that he would be not be at dinner this evening.
“Beezle’s awfully late this night,” I said to Mistress Jalcones.
“Oh, I forgot to let you all know. He stopped by before and mentioned someone from home had stopped by his booth earlier this day, and he was going to go out to dinner with the lad. Seems his friend is in town only this night.”
Mistress Jalcones’ words made me feel a little better, though I was still worried about Master Clarisse. I got out my whittling knife and began to work. Oscar brought out his violin, and his son brought out his drum. As they played, others from nearby campsites came over, adding their own instruments or voices to the tunes being played, and soon quite a crowd was gathered, filling the night with music. I am not much of a singer and never could get the hang of playing a musical instrument, but my foot was tapping as I carved.
I think many of the folk gathered would have enjoyed staying much longer, but Mistress Jalcones, in a break between the end of one song and the beginning of the next one, gently reminded the players that tomorrow was going to come very early, and we had best break up and get some rest. There was reluctant agreement amid some grumbling and mumbling, and soon the group dispersed. As I stood up and brushed wood chips off my pants, I realized that it was my night to take some grain to the horses, and I had not done so. Unfortunately, I realized this after everyone had left, and while I was reluctant to head off in the dark by myself, I knew I needed to get this chore done.
Grabbing a pail of feed, I quietly called for Carz, and he slipped out from under the homewagon where he had been lying and fell in beside me. Once we got to the pasture area, he slid off into the meadow to hunt. Holding my lantern aloft, I moved through the horses and oxen searching for ours and found them near a huge oak tree that grew near the pond that served as a watering hole for the animals. They pushed and nudged each other, trying to get more than their allotted share of the grain. I had just finished with the last handful and was turning to pull my lantern off the oak limb I had hung it on, when someone grabbed my arm.
Chapter Forty-Six
Oh, no you don’t, I thought as I twisted to my right and swung the bucket that was in my left hand towards what I hoped was the head of whoever had just grabbed me. I had little or no night vision at this point. I had been looking at the light of the lantern as I had reached for it, so when I came twirling towards my attacker, I could make out only a dark shape. Just as my bucket was about to connect with my assailant, he or she toppled over backwards, letting go of my arm in the process. I staggered forward, trying not to step on the now prone moaning figure before me. Carz then settled himself next to the body lying on the ground, put his paw on his or her chest, and leaned his head toward his or her neck. He had apparently knocked down my assailant from behind before my bucket could connect with any body part. I had been hoping for the head.
“No, Carz, stand down, do not attack,” I called frantically.
To my great surprise and horror, Carz’ head continued its downward motion, and I had visions of having to flee the fair because my hunting cat had just killed someone. As those thoughts were running through my head, I saw Carz’ mouth open slightly, and he began licking the prone figure’s face.
“Oh, ugh, stop that. Yew, cat slobber,” moaned a voice.
“Beezle?”
“Call your hunting cat off, will you? Move it, rodent breath. Yetch!” Beezle replied.
“You may need to thank that hunting cat for saving your sorry hide, you loggerheaded toad-spotted gudgeon. Why would you sneak up on me and grab my arm like that, you lumpish, hasty-witted, hedge pig?”
“Whoa, no need to be insulting. I really did not mean to startle you, and would you please stop calling me names, call off the hunting cat, and help me up?” Beezle asked somewhat plaintively.
“I should just leave you on the ground and have Carz continue cleaning your face, you, you . . .”
What other inventive names I had planned to call Beezle were abruptly silenced, for I was startled
speechless when the glass in the lantern shattered, and the light was snuffed out. I dropped to the ground covering my head, which was a natural instinct, wondering what had just happened. Just then, I heard and felt something whiz by over my head and smack against the large tree beyond me. The horses started becoming very restless and jittery, as another something thunked into the ground near me, and a third one caused a rather large splash in the stream beyond the tree. We needed to get someplace out of the line of fire, and someplace where we were not under hoof.
“Can you get up?” I called softly to Beezle.
“I think, under the circumstances, I am going to stay down,” he replied.
“We need to move. Let’s get to the large tree closer to the stream. If I remember, it’s climbable,” I suggested.
As we scrambled toward the tree, several more projectiles flew by, one catching me on the right shoulder, almost knocking me to the ground. Carz had had the good sense to climb the tree before we got there and was followed swiftly by Beezle and me. At this point, while we were out of immediate danger, we had also literally treed ourselves, which might not be so good in the long run. There now was no place to go but up. Being up the tree turned out to be a good thing, however, because just as we each got ourselves settled on a sturdy branch behind the trunk, one of the horses let out a squeal and thundered off, causing a panic among the other horses. Soon the sounds of many hooves could be heard pounding the ground.