Approaching Fragrant Grove’s general area, Cal was surprised to see odd clumps of people heading in the same direction as him. When he asked one such group what was going on, they told him how they were from a nearby hamlet and were heading over to Fragrant Grove to watch the tournament this afternoon.
The news caught him afoot. Having lived in Riversdale for years, naturally he’d heard tales about the neighbouring village, but among those there’d never been a mention of tournaments or any other tradition that’d attract people over from the surrounding lands.
Then again, they had been changing their image as of late, so he supposed this event could be part of their transformation.
Seeing as the people from the hamlet were in a hurry to get good seating for the show, Cal gave his thanks and followed on behind at a slower pace; the aches from the morning had lessened with time but were still at a level that limited his motion.
To help recuperate, he’d foraged runner nettles on the way that he now chewed on. These had a milder sting than stinging nettles (although still pretty horrendous when placed in the mouth), and were typically dried up, ground, and mixed with other ingredients to make potent stimulant tinctures; they could also be chewed on for a weaker energising effect. Doing so had made Cal’s muscle aches somewhat more manageable, though he still wished for something with direct pain relief application.
It was some hours past noon when he reached the village outskirts, where he noticed the sides of the roads were lined with flowers. Amongst others, there were gooey buttercups, bright pansies, and creamy tulips; in some areas these had been planted in neat patterns, where in others the seeds had been thrown at random to create motley carpets of abstract art.
In addition, there were also bundles of fragrant flowers planted on every street corner as though they were village sentinels: lavenders and jasmines, hyacinth and wisteria, roses and peonies. Their layered scents overwhelmed one’s sense of smell, sweet and redolent to the point you were ceaselessly sniffling and patently aware that you were but one bad step from triggering a chain of sneezes.
Indeed, in the last few minutes alone, Cal had sneezed more times than he had over the last few months.
If there was a hell specially made for those with hay fever, this was it; he could only be glad he wasn’t one of them.
On the other hand, though, it was a paradise for insects as proven by the buzzing and clicking sounds abound; it was to the point that it seemed the villagers here tracked the passage of time by the steady flow of bees bumping into you, every last one of them hopelessly drunk on nectar.
Cal could tell who the village inhabitants were – as opposed to visitors – by their drawn, pasty expressions, as though they’d sneezed so much in recent times that parts of their souls had been sneezed out alongside the mucus.
The locals’ noses were red, swollen, and spotty from being ceaselessly wiped, and many of them opted to hide this by wearing cloth masks over their mouths and noses. What stood out the most about the people, however, was the listlessness and debility he saw in them that stood in sharp contrast to the liveliness and loudness the village had been reputed for.
Yet, it was far from being all negative as he equally saw many things that pleasantly surprised him.
For example, the streets were spick and span; the buildings looked recently cleaned and renovated; and the locals wore fresh, colourful clothes, with flowers clipped to the lapels of shirts and brims of hats – though, from the way everyone followed this style, it looked less like a fashion trend and more a uniform.
Going further in, Cal saw there was a checkpoint to pass through in order to enter Fragrant Grove proper, manned by stuffy-nosed guards who were also scattered about the area.
Unlike Riversdale’s finest, these officers were no good at knucklebones or darts for they were unwilling to put in the hard graft to become professionals. That said, at least they took a more active approach to maintaining public order, for example by helping direct the flow of people into the village.
The sight of officers maintaining public order stunned Cal, and he felt they had to be up to something dodgy, or at least have some kind of ulterior motive in mind to be acting so strange.
Regardless, he couldn’t avoid them as he needed to pass through the checkpoint to go any further. He was crossing the road to join the queue for the checkpoint when he felt a pinprick of pain, and abruptly found himself relegated to the backseat; Penbrooke had returned in perfect time to avoid the long, laborious trek.
How very fortunate…
----------------------------------------
A pebble bounced off the window, making a resonant thud. “Come on, Rudy. No one heard anything about what happened, I swear.”
The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.
A muffled, rumbling voice followed. “Didn’t we hear from—”
“Ssshh!” broke in the first voice, whispering something inaudible to their partner.
The two then waited for a response that never came.
Another pebble bounced off the window. “Come on, lad. Okay, maybe some people did hear tidbits here and there, but so what? Like no one cares.”
Once again there was no reply.
“The stones you’ve been chucking have been too small,” declared the second voice. “He could be sleeping, and just hasn’t heard us yet. Try this one instead.”
“The Saviour help us…” swore the first voice with a sharp intake of breath. “Billy, look at this thing… It would smash his window to pieces if I threw it!”
“Exactly,” the second voice agreed. “Let’s see him sleep through that, eh.”
Silence followed, as if the idea was being seriously considered.
In fear they would actually follow through, Rudy leapt out from under his covers and dashed to the window, pulling it wide open. “What do you idiots want?! Leave my window alone!” His voice was hoarse and marred by melancholy.
Not having his glasses on, he glared at their blurry figures; his eyes had been rubbed too much and now appeared red, the tear tracks below catching the afternoon light.
On the street below, Big Al peered up at Rudy with a small pebble in his grip; Billy stood beside him wearing a cheeky grin, and playfully shoved his buddy’s shoulder. “See, I told you it’d work.”
Big Al smirked and dropped the pebble, though keeping his attention on Rudy. “Come on, lad. There’s no point in locking yourself up in your room just to sob. Honestly, no one knows a thing about what happened.”
“How do you know, then?” fired back Rudy, his voice cracking with emotion.
Big Al had evidently not thought through his argument very far before coming here as he looked stumped by the simple question.
His lack of response allowed Billy to answer in his stead: “It’s your mum. We ran into her, and she told us how ever since you got back, you’d locked yourself in your room and been crying nonstop about pissing your pants in public. She asked us if we could cheer you up.”
“It wasn’t piss!” Rudy screamed back, his tears starting up again. “It was sweat from running!”
Billy was about to refute him when Big Al slapped his bigger friend on the shoulder and gave him a harsh look.
Big Al then turned to Rudy with a mollifying expression. “Exactly. And we knew that from the start, lad, which is why we’ve been correcting everyone who we’ve heard say otherwise. Anyway, that stuff’s not important…” He waved his hand dismissively. “What’s important is that we heard from Jessie’s ma how you were going to go tutor the lassie later today.”
Sniffling, Rudy wiped his eyes and hiccuped. “It doesn’t matter. I’m not going anymore.”
Big Al clicked his tongue and shook his head. “Oh, don’t be like that, lad. Don’t let this silly stuff get to you – you’re made of tougher stuff than that. Just treat it like water off a duck’s back, you know.”
“I don’t care. She’s a meanie!”
Billy nodded his head sagely. “It’s true – she has a mean streak alright. Back in the day, she used to make fun—”
“No, no, that’s not true,” Big Al loudly interjected. “Jessie gets a bit excited at times – that’s all. Besides, she’ll be all sweet to you now, Rudy, knowing how much she hurt you: she’s a good lass at heart, really.”
Billy nodded his head sagely again, apparently accepting his role as the voice of wisdom here. “Especially after that earful she got from her mum, that’s for sure. I heard her dad wasn’t spared, either.”
Big Al smirked. “Oh, I can confirm that one: it’s the latest tale going around the Leatherback Riders. When we first voted him in as our president, we all thought he’d lead our group to greater heights than ever before. Who’d have thought he’d instead be stripped of his leather jacket, forced to chair our last meeting in…” Big Al scoffed, his head wagging in disbelief at the mere memory, “…in denim of all things, and now scolded in public too, all before the year’s even through.”
The diminutive bad boy lifted a cigarette from behind his ear, smoothly lit it using a matchbox kept handy in his jacket pocket, then made a contemplative gaze into the distance. “Truth is, under his instruction, we’d been planning of ways to get back at Jessie’s ma during our meetups, to take her down a peg or two, you know.”
Big Al paused and took a deep drag. “But after this most recent episode, we’ve been questioning whether to pick an easier target. I mean she’s already deputy mayor owing to her experience in the big city, and the rumours go that even the mayor listens to her beck and call. Either way, she’s practically guaranteed to be the next mayor since no one’s willing to run against her.”
He paused again, seemingly chewing over his next words. “She may be Jessie’s ma, but she’s also a fierce monster; never forget that, lads, or you’ll live to regret it.”
“If you learn to live in the present moment, you won’t be bothered by regrets anymore,” Billy helpfully offered. “You must learn to let go of your past mistakes in order to live your life to the fullest; let the winds carry them away from your memories.”
“Okay, well, you’ll be dead to regret it, then,” Big Al clarified with a twist of the mouth.
“If I’m dead, how can I regret anything—”
“I thought you said you came here to make me feel better,” Rudy weakly protested from his window, “Not go on about Jessie’s ho— her mum, I mean…”
“Yes, of course, lad,” Big Al said, somewhat flustered at being called out on his tangent.
(Billy, on the other hand, showed no sign of shame, for a sage bestows their advice indiscriminately, not for the promise of gratitude but for the simple act of sharing wisdom).
Big Al continued, “All I’m saying is that if you promised her you’d tutor her daughter, I’d reconsider any notions you’re currently having of doing otherwise. You wouldn’t want to make an enemy out of her…”
Rudy felt shivers run up his spine, his sadness and shame all of a sudden engulfed by fear.
Yet, a few moments of thought later, Rudy also realised he’d never heard any such tales about Jessie’s hot mum before: could it be Big Al had simply overheard false information from hanging around the wrong crowd of people? After all, the Leatherback Riders were well-reputed as punks and rascals in the village, and were only tolerated because of the Riversdale Guard Force’s extraordinary patience and compassion towards troublemakers.
But before Rudy could mention any of this, it appeared Big Al had read his mind and known of his concerns.
“In case you’re doubting the legitimacy of this confidential information, know that I got it from the Bald Boss himself. And there’s no source more reliable than him given he’s next to her all the time and, as a result, the chief victim under her reign of wickedness!”