by B. K. Parent
Just as I was about to get back into my homewagon and take up the reins once again, I felt a prickling sensation on the back of my neck, as if we were being watched. I motioned the others over and mentioned the watched feeling to them. Both had also felt it. Beezle suggested that he could ride back along the way we came and check, but Master Clarisse and I both felt it was foolish for any one of us to go off on our own. We all agreed to go on, but now with much more caution, frequently looking behind ourselves.
The lane continued ever upward as the trees grew thicker, and the day grew longer. Looking into the trees, I could see large boulders here and there and rocky ridges. The land was getting rougher, and the lane steeper. I was beginning to despair that the shoemaker was off on his distances and times, fearing we would still be climbing upward when full dark set in. Just as those thoughts passed through my mind, the road leveled out between two tall cliffs. As we came out of the dark and narrow pass, the view that greeted us was spectacular. A small green valley lay before us, bathed in the late afternoon sunlight which glinted off the stream that ran down the middle of the valley. I could see the small grove of trees Shueller had mentioned. The way down into the valley was not as steep as the way up had been, and it was with great relief that we arrived before dark. The shoemaker had been right. There was a very nice sheltered site that our wagons fit nicely in, and enough dry dead wood within the small grove of trees to provide a small nearly smokeless fire. For some reason, I felt better knowing we were on the leeward side of the valley so what little smoke and wood fire smell drifted away from, rather than down, the valley, and our wagons and the trees blocked the light from the fire. We did not talk much, for sound carries in a small valley such as this, and I was reluctant to alert the shepherds. Not knowing what was to transpire on the following day, and still being a little spooked by the feeling that we were being watched, not calling attention to ourselves seemed like a good idea.
Upon careful examination of the campsite, I began to find indications that someone had camped there recently, perhaps within the last day or so. Master Clarisse suggested it might have been a sheepherder, but I could see no indication that sheep had grazed nearby. Some of the grass close to the campsite had been grazed, but more like by just one or two animals, probably horses based on the scat left behind. Wagon tracks led from the campsite back up the way we had come. As near as we could tell, someone had come into the valley, camped for a short period of time, and then left, going back out the way they had entered. We certainly had not met anyone on the way in, nor passed anyone after we turned at the old mill. Just seemed odd that someone would enter this valley, which was certainly off the main routes to anywhere, stay a short time, and then head back out the same way they had come in.
Because the day had been a long one, we all headed to our respective beds early on. Since it had been some time since I had been in a place where I thought putting down the Neebing room might be appropriate, I selected a small cast iron kettle and placed it in the Neebing room before I cranked it down. Even if I were still not totally convinced that Neebings existed, I felt better following tradition. Taking a cue from Carz who was already asleep, I pulled the covers up, but sleep did not come immediately. On the breeze came the bleating of sheep. It was a faint sound, so they must have been at the opposite end of the valley.
It felt like I had just closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep when a soft knock came at my door, and Master Clarisse suggested I might want to get a move on. It seemed too dark outside my window for it to be morning, but then I remembered that we had camped in a long narrow valley, and the sun, while up, probably was not showing over the hilltop yet. Before I left the homewagon, I pulled up the Neebing room and was surprised how relieved I felt upon discovering the cast iron kettle had been replaced by a very tiny clay pot sealed with wax. I did not have time to find out what was in the pot, for Master Clarisse was once again at the door softy calling to make sure I had not gone back to sleep. After a quick cold breakfast, we hitched up our horses and prepared to continue our journey. Beezle decided to once again take the lead, but I noticed that he did not journey so far ahead that we could not see him.
The lane we had been following, which had led up to the campsite, continued south down the center of the valley, following the stream. Continuing to follow the lane was not what the shoemaker had told me to do. He had said a faint path ran along the top of the eastern hill through the woods. He had not been mistaken about how narrow the path was, but he was also right that it could accommodate the wagons. The rise up to the top of the hill was not as steep as the way down into the valley. The trees on either side formed an arch overhead creating a dark shadow-filled tunnel that the early morning sun could not seem to penetrate. I could only hope that the path remained clear, for there was no place to turn around once we had committed ourselves.
At the top of the hill, the path turned south and leveled out, but did not widen out. I still did not know what to expect once we reached the spot the shoemaker had indicated on my map. When we reached the top of the hill, Beezle suggested he should scout ahead. Just as I was about to object, Carz jumped down from the homewagon and padded down the path, stopping only once to look over his shoulder to see if Beezle were following. While I was uncomfortable with Beezle being out of sight, for again I had a feeling we were not alone in this woods, I felt better that Carz was accompanying him. We traveled for several hours this way. Beezle ahead out of sight for awhile and then he would return, report what was ahead, turn around and head back. Carz did not return with him each time, but Beezle reported that Carz would always meet him when he reached the point he had turned back from. Finally, Beezle returned to report that the landmark the shoemaker had told me marked our meeting spot was just a little further up the path, but he could not see anyone there.
Shueller had not been jesting when he said we would recognize the meeting spot even in the dark. The standing stones which formed a circle in the clearing on the east side of the path we were following could not be missed unless you were blindfolded. Coming out of the semi-darkness of the tunnel of trees into the bright sunlight was disorienting enough, but to see the ancient stones, weathered grey with time, mottled with lichen, still as tall and proud as the day they were raised, bathed in streams of sunlight, made my breath catch, as did the unnatural stillness of the clearing, once we had pulled our wagons to a halt. I know there are ancient sites in our land, built in a time before my kin came here, but I had never seen one before. I do not know how long I sat there staring before I roused myself and climbed down from the homewagon. Master Clarisse and Beezle joined me.
“Any idea what happens next?” Beezle asked.
I was tempted to answer him flippantly, suggesting that in this place anything could happen, but I did not.
“I don’t know. I only know that Shueller said I should meet him here no later than noon this day. I guess I expected to find him here before us.”
“I didn’t see any wagon tracks on the path as I scouted ahead. I did ride a bit further than this spot, and didn’t see either a wagon or tracks indicating that anything larger than someone walking has been on this track in a very long time,” said Beezle. “When did the shoemaker say to be here by?”
“He asked that we be here by noon, which is still at least an hour away. Why don’t we pull the wagons over into the clearing on the west side of the road, into the shade, and give the horses a rest and some water. They should be able to graze, and we can stretch our legs. I for one would like to take a closer look at those standing stones over there,” I indicated by pointing my arm towards the circle of stones.
Master Clarisse pulled her wagon over behind mine, and we tethered the horses to convenient trees. While our horses were trained to stay where they were halted, it was always wise to attach them to something when in strange territory. If something should spook them, it was at least much harder for them to bolt, dragging a wagon behi
nd them. While we were checking harnesses and giving the horses water, Carz had stretched out beneath our homewagon as if he had not a care in the world. I hoped this was a very good sign that all was well in this small glen. He did get up and amble over when we headed in the direction of the standing stones.
Up close the stones more than showed their age, for the elements had taken their toll and the once square corners on the stones were now rounded with age. Over the years, lichen and moss had worn away the faces of many of the stones. It was quite remarkable actually that all of the stones had remained standing. As we grew closer, I could see that beneath the lichen, carved on the stones, were symbols or words, but in no language I had ever seen before. There was a feeling of peace about the place, and I hoped whoever had built it would not mind if we entered, for we certainly meant no harm or disrespect. Carz entered first, followed by Master Clarisse and Beezle. I brought up the rear.
Beezle spotted something in the middle of the circle, so we all gathered around to look, all focused on what lay before us. A soft growl from Carz alerted me, and I looked up to see folks, one in each of the openings between the standing stones.
Chapter Fifty-One
The walk down the hall to the backstairs from her chambers went without a hitch. The royal guard did not even glance up. So much for guarding the Princess, she thought to herself as she descended down the stairs. Once Princess Esmeralda reached the bottom of the stairs, she cautiously opened the door and peered out into the narrow dimly lit hallway, wishing she could remember the layout of the manor, or that the royal architect had designed all of the royal manors the same. Indecision held her in place, wondering if she should leave the bundle of laundry in the stairwell and chance someone coming along and recognizing her, or if she should continue to carry it and hope no one stopped her thinking she was stealing the royal linens. She decided to leave the bundle on the last stair and chance slipping down the hall and hopefully out of the manor undetected. She knew from experience that most of the folks who surrounded her paid very little attention to serving and tradesfolk who looked as if they were going about their business. She hoped that would work in her favor.
Stepping into the hallway, Princess Esmeralda began to stroll towards what she hoped was the service door and a way out of the manor. As she continued down the hall, she could smell roasting meat and hoped that meant she was close to the kitchen and thus the back door of the manor. The hall branched right and left. Looking left, she could see a door to the outside, which was propped open, letting in a cool breeze, heavy with the smell of rain. To the right was an opening that led into the kitchen. Just as the Princess was about to turn left, a voice called out from the kitchen.
“You, baker’s apprentice, come and get this load of baskets to take back to the bakery.”
Shueller finished packing up his cart and hitched it to his homewagon. With all the rumors swirling about the fair, he was glad he was leaving early and hoped there would not be too many others who were also leaving ahead of schedule, crowding the road, and delaying him. Once he left the fair, so much depended on luck, and there was no turning back now. The plan had been set in motion. So very much could go wrong, but the thought of what might happen if the plan failed was not something he wanted to think about. Best just check the horses and homewagon one more time and then move out, Shueller thought to himself. Just as he was climbing up onto the driver’s seat, a voice called out to him.
“You, shoemaker, a moment please.”
While some of the load had been placed in the wagon earlier for appearance’s sake, a few more boxes were being added at the Hall of Masters. Master Rollag helped Jonzee load the last of the supplies and boxes of glassworks into the wagon, once again surveying the load to make sure it looked normal and would also allow access to the hidden space behind the false panel.
“That is the last of it,” Master Rollag stated. “Now, you have the directions straight?”
“Ay yup. I’m to deliver the box of wine goblets to Lord Binsen at Ustad Manor. Thanks for arranging for me to take this load, for by leaving this day I should have plenty of time to get to visit my niece after stopping at Ustad Manor and still get to Springwell-over-Hill before the fair opens,” Jonzee replied, in a voice just loud enough that anyone close by who was interested in their conversation could hear them.
The route was of course a ruse, for Ustad manor was just an hour south of Snoddleton and convenient to some little traveled back lanes, which would allow Jonzee to reach his rendezvous place without attracting much attention.
“It’s a good thing we loaded up now. From the looks of that sky, there is another rain due shortly,” commented Master Rollag.
“Now, I have one more errand for you before you take off.” Walking back to the rear door of the Hall of Masters, Master Rollag reached inside and brought out a small rectangular package, wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine. “I need you to deliver this to Mistress Varriet. Do you remember her address?”
“Yes sir,” Jonzee replied.
“You had best hurry before the storm hits,” Master Rollag commented. Leaning very close to Jonzee as he handed him the package, Master Rollag quietly said, “Good luck and be safe, my friend.”
Princess Esmeralda did not know whether to make a dash to the back door or go to the kitchen. The choice was taken out of her hands when the cook directed one of the kitchen drudges to pick up the stack of nestled baskets that were sitting by the opening to the kitchen and bring them out to her.
“Thank ye,” the cook called out. “If I sent Runchkin here out with the rain coming, he wouldn’t know to get out of it, and then I would have a wet, miserable, and most likely sick, kitchen helper on my hands for the next few days.”
Princess Esmeralda gratefully took the baskets from Runchkin, making sure to keep her head down. After giving her the baskets, Runchkin turned and shuffled his way back to the kitchen, and Princess Esmeralda gave a slight wave to the cook as she turned and headed towards the back door. As she reached the back door, she put her hood up and hoisted the baskets up on her shoulder as she had seen workers do, hoping she did not look awkward doing so. Just as she was about to step through the back door, one of the special royal guards pushed his way past her, shoving her a bit, causing her to fumble with the baskets. Her mouth opened to give him a royal tongue lashing, but she stopped herself just in time. Ducking her head and readjusting her load, she moved through the door to an unkind reprimand from the special royal guard. Trying to control both her temper and her nerves, Princess Esmeralda walked out to the gate past the gate guards, who did not pay much attention to her, and headed down the lane. It occurred to her that if someone were truly determined to cause her harm, they would have very little to stop them if the guards and other staff were always this lax. Now if only her luck would continue to hold.
As Princess Esmeralda continued down the lane, she was even more grateful for the baskets the cook had asked her to return to the bakery, not that she knew where that was, nor did she have any intention of returning them. It did make her look more like a baker’s apprentice and less noticeable to most of the folks she passed, who were more intent on getting where they were headed before the rain came again than noticing her. Following the directions the housekeeper had given her, she continued on and remained on the lookout for someone dressed in Glassmakers Guild livery. What was she supposed to say to him? Oh yes, something about pilcher cream. What in the world was pilcher cream anyway? Just as she was contemplating pilcher cream, the skies opened up, and it began to pour. Standing out in the pouring rain would certainly make her memorable to anyone who was watching, so Princess Esmeralda slipped into the nearest opening, out of the pounding rain.
Shueller glanced over his shoulder to see the man he had thought of as the false forester standing behind him.
“Something I can do for you, good sir?” Shueller asked politely, while trying
to look calm and relaxed.
“I can see you are preparing to leave, and I don’t want to delay you, but having been to your booth and those of other leather workers, I have concluded you are the best at leatherwork at this fair. I wonder if you could take just a moment to tell me if this knife sheath is worth repairing.”
The forester then handed the knife sheath, still holding the knife, over to Shueller. The shoemaker, although anxious to be on his way, knew he could not at this moment draw any undue negative attention to himself, so he graciously took what was handed to him and looked at it. Upon close inspection, he could see that the sheath had not been made for the knife it now housed, nor had it been made in recent memory, for the leather was old and cracked, and the stitching was frayed and in some places broken. Shueller pulled the knife out and felt a small jolt of surprise, for he recognized the craftsmanship of the knife. He would recognize Thorval Pedersen’s work anywhere.
Hoping nothing had showed on his face, he said, “Does this sheath hold great sentimental value for you?”
With a hearty laugh, the forester answered, “Absolutely not. I acquired the knife without a sheath and have been using this old one. I was afraid it would finally give up and split apart, and I would find myself reaching for my knife and come away empty handed. ’Tis a fine knife, it is. One of the finest I have ever owned. Made by one Thorval Pedersen. Do you know his work?”