The sun had shone for hours by the time Bridgette roused herself from bed. She yawned in the golden sunlight streaming from the window. She turned to the looking glass, and thrilled to see her beautiful tresses, her fair cheeks, and her perfect figure. Not even Jenny ever looked so good.
The little mirror rested on a chest of drawers. On a whim, she looked through the dresser, and found a choice of lovely dresses that were just perfect for her. She tried on three before settling on a light blue dream that matched her eyes perfectly. As she gazed into the mirror, it seemed almost as if the blue in her eyes intensified, adjusting to her outfit until they were practically an electric-ice shade.
She tip toed down to the main room and found that she was the last to rise. Bickle and Maxwell were engaged in an intense conversation. Rosie was heating a pan on the hearth, and Alain walked in with a basketful of eggs. He was covered with chicken scratches.
“You don’t have the friendliest hens,” he said to Max, as he carried the basket to the kitchen. Rosie took the eggs, cracked them open and dripped the yolks onto the pan. “Wait at the table,” Rosie said glumly.
“Now Bickle,” said Maxwell. “You know I don’t have that many horses to spare, let alone wagons!”
“You have two,” said Bickle.
“And if it breaks, how shall I get to market?”
“Didn’t you say you had the boy?”
“Well yes, but what if he doesn’t make it this week?”
“You only need to make one trip,” said Bickle. “And I’m offering enough money for two wagons.”
Maxwell chuckled and shook his head. “You don’t look rich.”
“I do well enough for myself,” said the little man. “Besides, it’s nothing compared to the rewards the Baron of Beggars will be paying me, once he fills his bowl with alms.” He gave a sly wink to Alain.
“Ah… Bickle, I didn’t say anything about rewards…” he stopped when Bridgette gently slapped him on the shoulder. “Of course,” he adjusted.
The farmer laughed. “Well, who am I to go against the word of a Baron? I’ll take your money, and by all the magic in Shard, I hope I’m able to spend it without complication.”
Reaching beneath his vest, Bickle produced a small, clinking pouch. “Well said. I understand coin isn’t always so reliable out here in the country.”
Max nodded. “Animals and grain are the real markers of wealth,” he said. “Money is only good when there’s someone around who will take it.”
“Wonderful!” said Bickle with a satisfied smile. He then finally realized that the last of their party had risen from slumber. “Bridgette!” he called. “Glad to see you’re back with us in the land of the wakeful. Do you feel well?”
Bridgette smiled back and hugged the little man. “I feel wonderful, and all the better to wake up with good friends.”
“And it’s a pleasure to wake with fine guests,” said Maxwell.
“And a fair maiden,” said Alain. “And might I say, you look radiant.”
“Thank you,” beamed Bridgette.
Rosie came into the dining area with a pan full of cooked egg. She served each in turn, sitting down last to eat. But though she began last, she finished first. Bridgette watched her from the corner of her eye, but there was no indication of the conversation from the night before.
“Wonderful eggs, darling,” said Maxwell.
“They are quite excellent,” agreed Bickle Wa. “I’d wager Darus Flour never made a breakfast so fine.”
“You should cook for royalty,” added Alain, stammering to keep up with the freely given compliments of his companions.
“Thanks,” Rosie said in a dour voice, as if the praises were empty puffs of air. She stood up. “I’ll get the wagon out,” she told Maxwell. “And then the chores.” She wiped her hands on a strip of linen, and headed out to the stables.
“Is she alright?” asked Bickle.
Maxwell watched her go. “I think it’s a little quiet for her here,” he admitted. “My Pa told me that city girls like the farm at first. They find it peaceful compared to the city. But then, sure as winter follows fall, the city girls get bored. Sometimes they come back and sometimes they don’t.” He heaved a sigh. “I was hoping when we had a little one, she’d feel more at home. But so far we haven’t had any luck.”
“If she wants to go back to the city,” said Alain, “then perhaps she should go?”
“I can’t take her there,” said Maxwell. “The corn would rot without me, and a lot of mouths need this food. And she is my wife; I’d miss her terribly if she went away on her own.” He picked at his eggs with the fork, but finally he gave up. He glanced out the window. “Looks like Rosie has your wagon all set and ready for you gentlemen… and lady. You can go whenever you’re ready. I’d see you off, but the farmwork isn’t going to take care of itself.”
“That’s kind of you,” said Bridgette. “Thank you for all your help.”
“We appreciate it a great deal,” said Bickle, leaving the agreed upon money on the table.
“Have a safe journey,” said Max. Heading to the back door, he donned his hat and work gloves, and headed off into his fields.
Bridgette, Bickle, and Alain sat about the wooden table, eating their eggs. Rosie had not returned, and they had the run of the house.
“A rather sad marriage,” said Alain.
“Yes and no,” said Bickle, adding a second helping of eggs from the extra in the pan. “He loves her. And I think she loves him too. But they’re not happy.”
“If they’re in love,” said Alain, “How could they not be happy?”
“Any number of reasons,” said Bickle. “Max named one himself. She misses the big city. Or perhaps she is haunted by the past. Someone else she loves or fears. There are a hundred reasons she could be with the one she loves, yet still be unhappy.”
At this point Bridgette decided she’d rather leave Rosie behind. Someone that bitter and cold even to the man she loved would not be a particularly welcome friend to her little group. “Let’s go,” she said. “I think we’ve been here long enough.”
Alain nodded. “Sounds good to me,” he said. He rose in one motion. “And don’t call me the Baron of Beggars again, Bickle.”
“You didn’t like that name?” said Bickle Wa. “Do you prefer the Herald of the Highway? Or perhaps the Prince of Pikers?”
Bridgette didn’t bother to conceal her grin. They gathered up their belongings while Bickle suggested even more embarrassing titles to the increasingly grumpy Alain. Leaving the farmhouse, they saw that indeed Rosie did leave them a wagon. Four wooden wheels with a perch for the driver and companion, and a load of hay that could be used for fodder, sleeping, or hiding.
“Is one horse enough?” asked Bridgette.
“I didn’t bargain for speed,” said Bickle. “Not that a farmer is likely to have a good riding horse. But you and Alain can pretend to be a farmer and his wife, and I’ll take a nap in the hay. That should avoid the suspicion of the Scarlet Tempest’s soldiers. Unless Alain wants to engage in some dashing heroics that will risk all of our lives.”
“I know how to be subtle, you little shrimp,” said Alain.
“Oh, like how you wore that hooded cloak in Lewes? Going into a tavern with your face hidden and acting all mysterious isn’t how you avoid attention. It’s how you scream out: ‘Hey you! Look at me! I’m important!’ It’s the exact opposite of what you do if you don’t want to be found.”
“Well maybe I did want to be found!” countered Alain. “I wouldn’t have a beautiful lady and a wisecracking joker at my side if I didn’t!”
“Harmuph!” said Bickle. “Bridgette, you should have just let the guards skewer this clown like a pig. You would have been much better off sipping tea with me and my friends. Instead of going off on a madcap adventure.”
“I like it just fine,” said Bridgette. “And I love both of you too much to turn either of you down.” She kissed Bickle on the forehead, which made the little man blush as red as a tomato. And she threw herself into Alain’s arms. He hugged her tight, making her feel as safe as when she was in her room at home, under her blanket.
“There there,” said Alain. “Shall we be off? Our kingdom awaits.”
They climbed into the wagon, and Alain set the old horse down the road. Dutifully, the animal pulled them along, and though they weren’t winning any races, it was a fair change from going about on foot.
Alain was quite at home, perched on the wagon, with reins in hand. Bridgette scooted a little closer to him. She leaned her head on his shoulder until he wrapped his right arm around her shoulder. “Tell me about Harling Bay,” she said.
“Harling Bay is a port town,” said Alain. “They’re about twenty miles from the Meridian Sea, which is a bit far for a port. But my great-grandfather dug the Royall Canal to connect Harling to the sea. What was once a run-of-the-mill farming village became one of the wealthiest port towns in Shard.”
“How big is the canal?” asked Bridgette.
“Large enough for three trading galleys to sail down her abreast. It took twenty years to dig, but it was worth it. And it’s not only a center of trade, but it’s also a hub for travel across the realm. One can usually find a ship going anywhere you’d like to be.”
“Is that how we’ll get to your castle?”
Alain nodded. “Siram Port is on the other side of the Meridian Sea. It feeds the Ruby Castle. And in the castle we’ll find the Scarlet Tempest, sitting on my rightful throne. We’ll overthrow her, and her evil reign will end.”
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Bridgette gazed longingly at Alain. He was so beautiful. “Are you ready to be king?”
“Absolutely,” said Alain. “It’s what I was born for.”
“How will you defeat the Scarlet Tempest?”
Alain smiled as he turned to face her. “With the most beautiful girl of Earth at my side. With your help, Bridgette, there’s nothing I can’t do.” He gazed at her longingly, a spark of desire burning bright within his eyes. “May I kiss you?”
“Please,” said Bridgette.
He leaned forward, his hot breath tickling her lips. Their mouths touched. It was paradise.
“Whoa!” shouted Bickle. “What’s going on?”
They broke off the kiss, Bridgette red as a beet, and even Alain heated up to a scarlet hue. “Bickle!” she said. “Did you have to-“
Bickle scooted back to the far side of the wagon. “I’m not alone back here,” he announced.
A figure sat up in the hay, bundles of straw falling to the sides. Bridgette realized who it was at once. Her heart sank. “Rosie,” she said. “I didn’t say you could come along.”
“No you didn’t,” said Rosie, clearing the hay from her hair. “And that was rude of you.”
“Rude of me?” said Bridgette. “And stowing away in the wagon isn’t?”
“It’s not your wagon,” said Rosie. “It belongs to Max and me. And yes, I wanted to come along.”
“But why?” snapped Bridgette. “Didn’t you say-“
“I don’t have to tell you anything,” Rosie said, equally fierce. She glared at her with such force that Bridgette found herself backing down.
“All right,” Bridgette said. “You can come with us for a while.”
“Of course,” said Bickle, sounding a little uncomfortable. “Wouldn’t be right to kick you off a wagon, miles from nowhere.”
“Of course not,” muttered Alain.
Rosie gave a curt nod, and not a word of thanks. She leaned against the side of the wagon, her arms and shoulders slumped down into a picture of depression.
Minutes of silence passed, as no one wanted to be the first to speak. Bridgette finally did when she could take it no longer. “So where will we go in Harling Bay?” she asked Alain, pointedly ignoring Rosie.
“We’ll visit my friend, loyal Sir Tristam,” said Alain. “And go on from there.”
Rosie snorted. “What a bunch of crap,” she muttered. Nervously, Alain glanced at her. But after a cold glance, he returned his attention to the road and the horses.
“What do you mean by that?” Bridgette asked. But Rosie ignored her. Fine. Bridgette thought. Let her be that way.
Bridgette leaned back in the wagon, and watched the landscape pass by. She would enjoy herself, even with the deadweight.
The miles crept by, and Bridgette found herself remembering long road trips with her parents, when they drove through the empty lands to national parks in the middle of nowhere. She remembered being tightly strapped in the back seat, bored out of her mind. I don’t need to be afraid of her. She thought. This is MY Dream chest.
She tried to reopen conversation, but every time she said something, Rosie snapped at her with a sarcastic put down. Even Alain was cowed by Rosie’s crankiness. And Bickle must have decided that “etiquette” demanded he not further antagonize their “guest.” It didn’t take long for Bridgette to resent Rosie’s intrusion to their little party. She had been having the time of her life with her two friends, and here comes a grouch, forcing herself on them, ruining their time.
Maybe they would ditch Rosie in Harling Bay. She could find someone else to stay with until she got bored and moved on.
Hours later, they could see the edges of Harling Bay. Like Lewes, it had fields of farmland near the outskirts, but none as lush as Maxwell’s. Fish and imported goods fed the people here more than their own hard grown grain.
“Where shall we go first?” asked Bridgette.
“The outhouse,” said Rosie. “Maybe there we can have a break from your whining?”
“Shut UP!” shouted Bridgette. “We’ve been dealing with your sour mood since you showed up, uninvited!”
“Oh?” said Rosie. “And when you came to my house, and made your moves with my husband, what do you call that?”
“I did no such thing!” said Bridgette.
“No,” yelled Rosie. “You just showed up and expected us to take care of you, three strangers off the road. What, like you think you’re the only real person here? Is that what you think?”
“Enough!” shouted Alain, finally losing hold of his temper. Taking a breath, he said directly: “I’ve been thinking, and here’s the plan. Rosie, we’re going to need provisions. Find some place where we can buy food in bulk that travels well. There’s a pub in the center of town called the “Singing Pig.” We’ll meet you there. We won’t stay at the inn if we don’t need to, and we shouldn’t if we find Sir Tristam. Bickle, while Rosie shops for provisions, you can find some stable space for the horse and wagon. Then you can also meet us.”
“If you can’t handle two young ladies,” said Bickle, “then I don’t see how you’ll cope with the pressures of being king.”
“Don’t you start now too,” said Alain.
But Bickle shook his head. “Laugh, Alain. A king needs laughter to avoid turning into a tyrant.”
“Including laughing at myself?”
“Especially laughing at yourself.”
“Give me a break,” said Rosie. “You, a king? Max would make a better king than you. At least he can get eggs from a coop of chickens. You couldn’t rule a sandbox.”
“Stop that!” shouted Bridgette. “Apologize to Alain.”
“Why should I apologize to a phony like him? I wouldn’t even apologize to you,” said Rosie.
“Children!” said Bickle. “Just… stop that. The Scarlet Tempest won’t need to defeat us if we defeat each other.”
“Scarlet Tempest?” said Rosie. “Oh, like you really believe this bunk about her? It’s not like she’s any worse than this buffoon would be.”
Alain pulled back the reins. “Here,” he said to Rosie. “Get out.”
“But it’s still a mile to town!” she protested.
“A mile is not so long to walk,” said Alain. “Find provisions for us if you want to stay in our company. Or, if you prefer, go your own way and best of luck to you. It’s up to you if you want to rejoin us later or not.”
Rosie gave them a bitter glance and hopped off the back of the wagon without another word.
“Ya!” shouted Alain to the horse. It pulled the wagon again, faster than Rosie could walk, but not much.
They reached the town not too long after that. Alain gave the reins to Bickle, with directions to the Singing Pig.
“Fair enough. Enjoy your meet and greet with your friend,” said Bickle. He flashed a smile, and guided the horse in search of a stable.
“Do you know where this friend of yours lives?” Bridgette asked, once she was alone with Alain.
“I do,” Alain said, leading her downtown. “He rents a room near the marketplace. I’ve studied maps of nearly every town I might visit during my campaign against the Scarlet Tempest. So finding him shouldn’t be a problem.”
There was much to see… people hawking their wares, soiled children running through the dirty roads playing tag, and traders with strange dress from distant ports, bringing goods that had never been seen in these lands. But Alain paid attention to none of them. Ignoring the tents, he went to a wooden building that housed the store in question. He walked about the outsides of the edifice until he came to a blank wooden door.
“There we go,” he whispered, as he knocked on it five times.
“Who goes there?” said a voice.
“Water freezes me not, and fire will not burn,” Alain said.
The door opened. Behind it was a middle aged man with a heavy brown beard and a dirty tan tunic. He looked up and down Alain with dark eyes. He could not fail to notice Bridgette. “Who is she?” he asked gruffly.
“Her name is Bridgette,” said Alain. Then leaning forward, his voice dropped into a whisper. “She’s from Earth,” he said.
The stranger’s eyes opened with astonishment. He stepped aside. “Come in, come in,” he said. They wasted no time in doing so.
Inside, the man’s lair was a mess of half-eaten food, scattered papers, unwashed clothing, and a straw bed. He closed the door behind him and sealed it with a heavy wooden board. Turning, he dropped to his knees. “Your majesty,” he murmured.
“Oh come now,” said Alain. “Let’s not be silly. Present yourself to the lady, be a gentleman. Etiquette, as the midget would say.”
“I am Sir Tristam,” he said. “Knight to the Truehearts, the true Kings of Shard.”
“That’s not what Alain told me,” said Bridgette. “Aren’t you more than….”
“Wizardry is not always trusted,” said Alain. “But Sir Tristam practiced spellcraft more than swords.”
“Swords could prevent suspicion,” agreed Tristam, rising back to his feet. “But yes, child. I may look to be a regular old man, but I have some knowledge of magic.”
“Could I see some?” asked Bridgette.
Tristam chuckled to himself. Holding his hands together, he murmured strange words under his breath. Spreading his hands away, a gleaming globe of light appeared in the middle, glowing as bright as a lightbulb, and far more beautiful, as rainbow colors spread and played within the hovering, glowing ball.
“That’s lovely,” said Bridgette. “Can you do more?”
“Much more,” admitted Tristam. “This is just a light. Wondrous as it is, it’s a rather simple spell, often the first one learned by most apprentice wizards.”
“Do you think I could learn it?” asked Bridgette.
Tristam smiled, looking loveable behind his beard. “Could you?”
“If anyone could,” said Alain, “I’m sure Bridgette can. She’s a very talented lady. And remember, she’s an earthling.”
Tristam nodded. “We shall give it a try. But first, my prince, what do you need from me?”
“You know my mission, friend.” said Alain. “I must defeat the Scarlet Tempest, and all her sorcery. Do you have it?”
“Have what?” asked Bridgette, but the old man held a hushing finger to his lips. Crouching to the floor, he pulled out a bundle of old blankets from beneath the bed. Gently, he unwrapped them, revealing the treasure within: a sword, still sheathed in a brown leather scabbard.
“The Sword of Justice?” whispered Alain.
“The same,” said Tristam. Forged by your ancestor, Maracel Trueheart, to aid him in his struggle against the Mentalist Sorcererr. The Mentalist could control minds, so with this blade Maracel was able to protect his own will. As long as you hold the sword firmly in hand, your mind will be your own. Lose it, and the Scarlet Tempest will control you like a puppet on strings, as she did your father.”
Alain accepted the blade. “Much thanks old friend. You will be rewarded when I come into power.”
“Aiding you is reward enough,” said Tristam. Slowly he turned his gaze towards Bridgette. With a warm smile he gently touched her shoulder. “As for you, young lady from Earth, you want to learn magic?”
Excited, Bridgette nodded. “It sounds wondrous.”
“It is,” said Tristam. “And believe it or not, Earthlings are fast studies when it comes to the arcane. Must be all that school you go to. So, my dear, let’s begin. Go stand over there where you’ll have space to concentrate.”
Grinning from ear to ear, Bridgette stood in the middle of the room. “I’m ready,” she said.
“Take a deep breath,” he said. “And let it out. Good. I want you to feel relaxed. At peace. Magic works best when you’re calm. Tension can ruin any spell. Now I want you to picture light in your head… a bright torch, or the flame of the sun. Picture it in your mind.”
Bridgette pictured a blinding neon sign, like the one on the downtown supermarket.
“Now place your hands together,” said Tristam. “Imagine the light in your head travelling down your shoulders, through your arms, and into your hands. And now it spills out between your fingers into your palms… and place it there. Spread your hands apart when ready.”
She did so, imagining the neon flowing from her head to her fingertips. But when she spread her hands apart, there was nothing.
“It didn’t work,” she said.
“It almost never does on the first try,” he agreed. “We’ll start over. But now we’ll chant an incantation.”
“What does that do?” she asked.
“It helps focus the mind,” said Tristam. “But it’s also individual. Whatever word helps you relax or think of light will make the spell travel easier. Start again.”
Bridgette held her arms apart, like she was beginning warmups for Gym class. At Tristam’s encouragement, she spent five minutes focusing on her breathing, gradually clearing her mind and anxieties. "Glow," she murmured, a fitting word to focus on light.
“Now,” whispered Tristam. “Join your hands together again.”
Bridgette clasped her hands together. She would do it this time, she knew. She took five deep breaths.
“Picture all your troubles, all your tensions, all your anger, blowing out of your body each time you exhale,” suggested Tristam.
She did. Ashley, Karen, Rosie and school exited her body with each breathe of air.
“The light,” whispered Tristam.
The blindingly purple Neon sign appeared in her mind. She harnessed the radiance through her arms, letting it flow at full radiance. “Glow,” she whispered. “Lightbulb. Luminence. Fireworks. Sun,” she murmured, each word glowing brighter and brighter in her imagination.
The power flowed into her arms, wrists, hands and fingertips. She could feel it, bright and warm, floating in midair between her hands.
“You got it,” said her teacher. “Spread your hands apart.
She did. Floating in the air r, glowing like a miniature sun, was a small, spherical ball of light. It flashed with violet neon, gradually travelling across all the colors of the spectrum.
“I did it!” she breathed with excitement.
“It will burn for hours, even days,” said Tristam. “Or you can turn it off by just clapping it closed, and thinking of night.”
Bridgette did so. Dark! she thought, as she clapped in the air. The globe of light disappeared in her hands. Amazed, she focused again, running the thoughts through her mind, and summoned it back, as she had before.
“Your girl is very talented,” said Tristam.
“I knew she would be,” answered Alain. “Can you train her?”
Tristam nodded. “I can’t leave here to help you against the Scarlet Tempest,” he said. “My face is too well known. But I’ll teach her what I can, and she’ll be a powerful sorceress by the time your ship leaves.”
Bridgette smiled gleefully. “I can’t believe it,” she said. “I’m doing magic! How often does it work?”
“As often as you wish,” said Tristam.
Grinning from ear to ear, Bridgette could not contain her happiness. She recast the spell, again and again, and made three more globes of light until the little room was as bright as a sunny beach in the middle of summer. And a thought flashed through her mind.
I can’t wait to show everyone back home!