Journey's Middle

by B. K. Parent

  It was a good thing I had gotten really good at hiding my emotions where Da was concerned. To know he was already out of the town took away a great deal of the stress I had been feeling all day.

  “I, for one, have had enough of crowds for one week. I think I would enjoy traveling by the back byways, if that is alright with you,” stated Master Clarisse. “Master Rollag has requested Evan’s company for the journey to Springwell-over-Hill.” Master Clarisse glanced at Evan as she said this and noted the somewhat pained look on Evan’s face. “It won’t be so bad lad. You have kept up with your studies, and I would rather have Master Rollag quizzing me than a panel of masters somewhere down the road.” Master Clarisse noticed that Evan did not look convinced.

  Master Clarisse then turned to Beezle and asked, “What are your plans, Beezle?”

  “It appears that word has gotten back to my uncle that I am rather good at promoting our cheeses, and he wants me to travel on to the next fair at the very least. If you don’t mind, I’d like to keep you and Nissa company. Uncle is sending a cart load of cheese down from both his estates and mine. The cart I was selling out of is headed back to be loaded up for the fair after next, so I would appreciate room for my gear in your wagon Master Clarisse, if that would be agreeable to you.”

  Master Clarisse agreed that Beezle’s gear could travel in her wagon. With everybody’s travel plans sorted out, and the knowledge that Oscar and his brother would reserve spots for everybody at the next fair, the group broke up. We all used the remaining daylight to get our respective wagons and packs packed so that we could leave as soon as the fair closed the next day, or at least leave as soon as we could.

  On the one hand I was sorry that our entire group would not be traveling together. On the other hand I was relieved, for I did not know just what we were heading into. While I did not want to put my friends in jeopardy, I was also grateful I was not taking this next leg of the journey alone.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Gerta spent just enough time in the Princess’ bedroom to strip the used linens off the bed before she returned to the sitting room. Princess Esmeralda was standing next to the fireplace, which Gerta hoped was a good sign.

  “Your Highness,” Gerta said, “could we talk in the bedroom?”

  Princess Esmeralda nodded consent and swiftly headed into the bedroom with Gerta following, closing the door behind her.

  “We must be quick, Your Highness, for there isn’t much time. You, as you are now aware, you have been kept under control since leaving the capitol by some type of concoction. Trying to act as if you still are must be an enormous strain, and unfortunately could be seen through at any time. There are some folks loyal to the Regent, and not you, who think now is the time to eliminate you. Your very life is in danger the longer you stay in Snoddleton. I’m not trying to be overly dramatic about this. There are those who were loyal to your mother the Queen, and thus are loyal to you. We would help you.”

  Princess Esmeralda had always been a quick study and had spent a lot of the previous day trying to figure out what had happened to her. Someone had certainly been putting something in her food or drink that had allowed her to function but had not allowed her to really be in command of herself. She had been like one of the puppets in the market square that entertained children, but as yet she was not completely sure who was pulling the strings. Obviously, it had to be someone in high command, since she had been surrounded whenever she left the royal manor by a group of royal guards, and not the royal guards she knew. Her ladies-in-waiting had not been allowed to come on this trip, which was unusual, and the maid they sent along seemed scared of her own shadow most of the time. Princess Esmeralda had begun to suspect not all was well in Sommerhjem earlier in the year, and her concern had grown as spring flowed into summer. It would do no harm to listen to what the housekeeper had in mind.

  Having been given consent to continue, Gerta said, “We have gained information that the man called Raven is in town and is being held in reserve to ‘take care of the Princess’ should you somehow gain any kind of backbone, more than insisting that you want to attend the summer fairs. He will be instructed to dispatch you without haste. You are not safe here nor are you safe in the capitol anymore. To put it bluntly, Your Highness, you need to survive until your birth date, which will land on the third day of the grand fair at the capitol at the end of the summer.”

  If the Princess was shaken by this information, she did not show it, which impressed Gerta. Maybe there was hope yet, if Princess Esmeralda could be given a chance to grow into the type of ruler her mother had been. Peace was always a tenuous gift in Sommerhjem, and there had been scattered reports filtering in from the border to the north that there were changes happening that might not bode well in the politics of the land across the border. There was also the growing dissatisfaction with the Regent’s handling of his duties, and what many saw as an over-stepping of his authority. Tension was building both within Sommerhjem and to the north.

  “What do you suggest?” asked Princess Esmeralda.

  “We need to get you out of here to a place of safety, and we have very little time. Here is what I propose. I asked Clare, the head royal baker’s apprentice, to help me clean this day. She left minutes ago just before the changing of the royal guards. The new royal guard doesn’t know she was here. I stole her cloak and propose that you walk out wearing it, carrying the used linens and towels on your shoulder to cover your face. You will need to go down the back servant stairs and out the back door. We are fortunate that it has been raining, and looks to do so again, so once you are outside, you can keep the hood up on the cloak. You will need to head towards the fair. A man in Glassmakers Guild livery will catch up with you. Ask him if he knows where you can find a vendor who carries pilcher cream. He will answer you by saying ‘Why yes, you can find it at Mistress Ruezakee’s shop. Do you know the way?’ Can you remember that?”

  “Yes. Is there a back up plan if I do not run into this man?”

  “Yes. If for some reason, you don’t run into the man from the Glassmakers Guild, then head into the fair and go to the booth of Shueller the shoemaker. His booth is along the inner wall. Make sure no one is in his booth and then enter it, and again inquire about pilcher cream. I know this is a very risky plan, but it was the best we could do on short notice. The only thing we have on our side is surprise.”

  “What of you? They will blame you for me being missing.”

  “I have an idea on how to avoid that,” Gerta said with a sly smile.

  “What do you need next?” Master Rollag asked Jonzee through the back of the wagon.

  The wagon was tucked away inside a rickety back garden shed, hopefully away from prying eyes. Master Rollag had arrived there a short while ago to try to assist in any way he could.

  “Can you hand me that small hand plane? No, not that one, the one next to it. Yes, that’s the one. It’s too bad Nissa isn’t doing this. She’s a much better hand at wood than I am. This panel is getting hung up on the lower edge. There, I hope that takes care of it. Ah, that fits now. Come on in and see if you can detect any gaps or difference.”

  Master Rollag entered the wagon and walked to the front to crouch beside Jonzee. Moving his lantern near the front panel, he looked closely but could detect nothing but what looked like the front of the wagon. Jonzee then reached out and pushed against the top left side of the front panel, and it silently swung open, revealing a small space containing a bench and nothing else.

  “It can be locked from the inside, and while cramped, it should be adequate for a short distance. I have drilled a series of small holes under the driver’s seat, which should escape detection but will allow in fresh air and some light. Small tight places are bad enough without also having to sit in total darkness.”

  “I have all of the boxes at the Hall of Masters you will be carrying to Springwell-over-Hill, plus two
small stained glass windows which you should be able to slide back far enough to open the panel. Everything is fragile, and you can call attention to that fact if you are stopped, but try not to call too much attention to yourself. Hopefully you will be out of the town before they know your ‘cargo’ has gone missing. Now we had best get the wagon hitched up and loaded as much as possible so you can get cleaned up and make your appointment,” suggested Master Rollag.

  Gerta moved swiftly to the wardrobe and began moving things around. She emerged from the back with a small pile of clothing and handed it to the Princess.

  “I would suggest that you change out of those clothes as quickly as you can and into these. They are clean and serviceable. Even with a cloak to cover you, your own clothes would be inappropriate for a baker’s apprentice, should the cloak blow open in the wind. In that small flat box on the bed you’ll find a pouch with some coin and a fair badge. Also, you need to put these boots on. They may be a little big but should be alright if you add an extra pair of socks, for your slippers would be even more noticeable.”

  Princess Esmeralda had to agree, especially considering her slippers had the royal crest embroidered on them. The urgency in Gerta’s voice and actions were contagious, and so Princess Esmeralda quickly changed into the clothes the housekeeper had handed her. She still was unsure this was the right thing to do. The letter from Lady Celik had been genuine, that she was sure of. Gerta seemed vaguely familiar, and sometimes you just had to trust your instincts. The Princess’ instincts were screaming at her that she needed to hurry.

  “Here’s what I think you should do next. Tie me to the chair here in your bedroom with the curtain tiebacks and place a gag in my mouth. That way I can look all weepy and confused when I am discovered and tell them that I just don’t know what came over you. When asked what you were wearing when you left, I can tell them you were wearing a baker’s apprentice’s cloak that she and I had thought the rag pickers had taken by mistake. I had had it with me when I came in. Please hurry, Princess, for there is not much time. Tie those knots tightly now and may luck be with you.”

  Princess Esmeralda, with slightly trembling fingers, tied the housekeeper to the chair, placed a gag in her mouth, and gently tied it. She then put on the baker’s apprentice’s cloak, grabbed up the dirty linen and towels, placing them on her shoulder, and took a deep breath to steady herself.

  She walked out of the bedroom, opened the sitting room door to the hallway, and said over her shoulder in a lower pitched voice than her own, “Glad I’d be to take this down to the laundry on me way, and thank ye Your Highness for likin’ me pastries.”

  She hoped she was not overdoing it. She tried to walk normally past the royal guard and down the hall to the backstairs and must have succeeded, for the royal guard did not call out to her or even pay all that much attention. She supposed that the royal guard at her door was not really the biggest hurdle she would have to get by before she got out of the royal manor. Hopefully no one would be all that interested in a baker’s apprentice.

  Shueller spent the morning packing most of his tools and supplies in his cart. He had spent the night before cleaning up his homewagon and making it ready for travel. He had several things to do yet this afternoon, but he wanted to have his booth closed and everything ready to go by the time the fair closed. Unfortunately, all of the rumors that were flying around were making folks anxious, and he had more folks dropping in wanting repairs and wanting him to produce new boots and other leather items in an instant. Under other circumstances, Shueller would have been delighted with the business, but this day he really wanted to get on with what he had to do.

  By noon, all of the repair work was done, he put a closed sign on his booth and took off to the food market within the fair to gather supplies for the road, and then went on to a rover friend of his who was an excellent seamstress. He hoped she had been able to make up his order, considering the short notice he had given her. It was becoming worrisome that so many folks were involved in what was about to transpire over the next few days, but it could not be helped. It was risky to have more than one folk know a secret because it meant that more than one folk could inadvertently slip and give the secret away.

  At least he knew that once he made the rendezvous point where he was to take on a passenger, no one else knew his plans. He had not told anyone about his plan to meet with the Neebing blessed rover lass, and what he would ask of her. It was better that way, for if questioned, the others could not give anything away. The riskiest part of the plan had been going to talk to the rover Nissa. He somehow had convinced her to go along with his plan and hoped he was not making a mistake.

  Chapter Fifty

  I thought they might as well have closed the fair down yesterday for all the business going on this day. So many folks had pulled out early that at least half of each lane was empty of booths and vendors. Despite so many having left before the fair officially closed at the noon bell, it was still going to be a wonder if we were able to get out of town before midnight. In spite of protests from almost everyone, the Regent’s agents had insisted on every wagon being stopped and searched with no explanation as to why. Rumors had filtered back all morning that rovers were once again being scrutinized more closely than others. Oscar, Bertram, and I took extra care checking over our carts and homewagons to make sure no one had hidden something in them that would cause us trouble. We had found nothing, and by the time we got into the queue to “check out” of the Snoddleton fair, enough protests had been raised that there were equal numbers of town peacekeepers at the check-out point along with a mixture of royal guards and the Regent’s agents. They were all so busy watching each other that it was almost comical. The rovers were being given no more scrutiny than anyone else.

  After all the rumors, all the fuss, all the delay, the “checking out” was really nothing more than someone having me open the door to my cart for them to look in, and the same for the homewagon. Too bad I was not smuggling the crown jewels or a large anything, for all the effectiveness of those cursory looks. This loss of revenue to both the town and the fair participants, the closing of the fair a half day early, and the long wait in the line to leave the fair only to have someone merely give a glance into our wagons seemed to add insult to injury for most of those leaving the fair. It certainly made the Regent less popular than he already was. It seemed like a lot of fuss for nothing.

  Amidst the grumblings, mumblings, rumors, and speculation that had traveled the fairgrounds all morning was an undercurrent of growing anger. On the heels of news that we were going to have to endure a delay leaving town due to having to be checked out, were the number of rumors circulating that the Regent was imposing a curfew in all towns, that everyone had to be off the streets by dusk. Another rumor suggested that he was going to be imposing taxes on all goods sold at the fairs, including food, clothing, and other goods needed for daily living. Someone was overheard to suggest bitterly that if he could find a way to impose a tax on the air we breathe and the water we drink, he would probably do so.

  I, for one, was glad to be on the open road again and not sure if I really wanted to go to the fair at Springwell-over-Hill, or any of the other fairs down the line. Much as I liked being with the friends I had made, the increase in the rules and regulations, not to mention scrutiny, was making me anxious. I began to miss the easier travel at the beginning of the season and the smaller towns. If I had not committed to meeting up with the others at the next fair, and was truly on my own with no obligations, I think I would have made a different turn when we reached the lane the shoemaker had indicated we should turn off on. As it was, with the crowds on the royal road, I was just happy that we had only had to stay on it for little over an hour. Once we turned off, there were few others traveling our way, and with the rain the day before, the dust from those ahead of us was minimal, for which I was very appreciative. Eating dust for miles on end was always less than pleasant. On
e by one the wagons, horses, and walkers ahead and behind our small caravan turned off to local farms or down other lanes, leaving our two wagons and one rider alone on this stretch of road. It would seem that most of the others who had been at the fair had chosen, if they were heading to Springwell-over-Hill, to take the royal road. The farther we got from town, and the fewer folk we met on the road, the better I liked it.

  We had been traveling for a little over two hours, and I was beginning to get worried that I had missed the landmark that the shoemaker had marked on my map, and then described in great detail, when Beezle, who had been riding ahead, came back and told me he thought he had spotted where we needed to turn.

  “Can’t be all that many broken down millhouses next to a dried up stream bed along this lane,” suggested Beezle, and I supposed that was true.

  At some time in the past, the stream that had run the mill’s waterwheel had been re-routed by nature, and the mill abandoned. All that now remained were the walls, and amazingly, the waterwheel. The roof was gone, and the old stone walls were gray with age and vine-covered. Trees had grown up inside; their branches and leaves now provided a roof over the old mill. It is a place that had we not had a ways to travel, I would have liked to have stopped and explored.

  We turned onto the lane that would take us due east, and the land began to gradually climb upwards. While the new lane was narrow and not much more than very shallow wagon ruts, it was fairly clear of brush and tall grass. I began to get curious as to why that should be so and stopped my homewagon on the pretext that now that we had turned off, I wanted a chance to get out of the homewagon and stretch my legs. Beezle and Master Clarisse did not object, nor did the horses who were content to munch the taller grasses that grew on the edge of the lane. Upon closer examination of the road bed we were on, I realized that the reason the grass did not grow tall was because there was rock under a very thin layer of soil. Using my boot, I scuffed a bit of the soil and grass away and discovered the rock under the turf was actually cut paving stones. This lane in times past may have been an important road to somewhere.