I quickly grabbed Beezle’s shirt front and pulled him inside the homewagon. It may not have been proper to have him in the homewagon, but I suspected my reputation was worth far less than what he had just dropped in my hand. Not that I could tell what it was, since it was a plain flat metal container about an inch in diameter and about a half inch in height. At least I thought it was a container at first glance.
“Have you looked at it? Do you know what it is?” I asked Beezle.
“Not an inkling,” Beezle replied, “and I have tried unsuccessfully to open it too.”
I motioned Beezle to follow me and sit down at the table. I lit the lantern, for the interior of the homewagon had grown dim. I tried twisting the upper and lower parts of the container apart, but that did not work. I tried to wedge the fine blade of my knife into the seam and pry the two parts apart, but that also did not work, and I nearly cut myself trying. I did not want to use too much force for fear I would damage whatever it was. I was getting rather frustrated, and as a puzzle box builder, I think my pride was taking a huge hit because this was a puzzle, and I was not finding the solution. I was about to give up and hand it back to Beezle when I noticed a small hole on the side near the top edge.
“Here, hold this for me, I’ll be right back.”
I left my homewagon, quickly crossed over to my cart, and rummaged near the back looking for a box of tools my Da had made. I thought I had thrown them in the cart when I had packed what seemed half a lifetime ago. Not there. Now where would I have put them? It was then that I remembered I had put them in the cupboard above Da’s bed with the other gifts for the Neebings when repacking to travel to Crestbury. In the box, if I remembered right, were small carving and woodworking tools that Da had forged for me for delicate work, and he had also made very miniature tools, small axes, small spoke shaves, and others. I remember him joking with me, saying they would come in handy if we ever took to the road again, and we could gift the Neebings with them. I recall there was a very, very small awl. I walked back into the homewagon and took down the box which was, of course, just where I had put it, in the cupboard over Da’s bed.
Sorting through the small items in the box, I did not so much find the awl by seeing it but rather by sticking myself with it. Holding on to it between thumb and forefinger, while sticking the damaged finger in my mouth, I walked back to the table and began to explain to Beezle what I thought the hole I had found meant.
“I think this has a spring or latch inside, and something needs to be inserted to release it,” I told him.
I gently inserted the tip of the tiny awl into the hole. Nothing happened, and so I applied a bit of pressure, something clicked, and the top half separated from the bottom half. Just as I was about to open the container, a knock came at the back door of the homewagon, so I quickly put the semi-opened container into the box holding the tools and slid it into an upper cupboard.
“Who is it?” I asked.
“Master Clarisse. Could I come in for a minute?”
“Come in and welcome,” I said, and I truly meant it. Over time I had grown to trust both Beezle and Master Clarisse, and having her here when we discovered what the object was that I had picked up at the Inn of the Three Hares made me feel better.
“I spoke with Master Rollag this day, and he asked me to ask you if you would come to the Hall of Master’s tomorrow night after the fair closes. The Glassmakers Guild is in charge of security tomorrow night, and he thought we could keep him company over a late dinner.”
I told Master Clarisse I would be happy to join Master Rollag for dinner. I wondered if Da would be there also as a member of Master Rollag’s team for watching the Hall of Masters. I could only hope, but right now there was a more important task at hand. As Master Clarisse turned to head back out, I said, “Could you stay a minute, please?”
“Of course.”
“Join us at the table,” Beezle suggested, moving over on the bench seat to make room.
I got up and retrieved the box from the cupboard containing the object. While I was taking it out of the box, I gave a brief history of where it had come from. Master Clarisse listened intently while Beezle, with small patience, listened to me review the story. Very carefully, I lifted the now unlocked lid off the container. Now that I could see inside, I had no more clue as to what I held than I had had before, but from the choral gasps that came from my two companions, that was not the case for either of them.
“No wonder you, Jonzee, and Beezle were being searched for in every nook and cranny of Crestbury,” exclaimed Master Clarisse. “I cannot imagine that is the real one, but it sure looks like it.”
“The real what?” I asked, with what I know was a touch of frustration in my voice.
Master Clarisse leaned very close and whispered so softly that at first I thought I had not heard her right. Had she really just said that what I had tucked in my shoe and dropped into Beezle’s hat was the royal seal? No, that could not have been right.
“The what?” I repeated.
“It looks like the royal seal. The seal that is pressed into wax to make documents or other items officially from the Crown. This is the Princess’ seal, which was made when the old queen died, her seal being destroyed upon her death. For most of the official documents and other items that needed a stamp of approval from the Crown since the death of the queen, the Regent’s seal has been used. The Princess has only used her seal for more social occasions or needs, such as she will this week when she gives her approval to the top winner in a number of categories of baked goods,” said Master Clarisse.
“You remember when Farmer Miles Deaver and I were upset that the Princess was not going to be at the Glendalen fair because our cheese would not be judged by her, and so we could not win the Princess’ choice for best of a type of cheese? Winning that Princess’ seal of approval means a great deal, can certainly increase both your pride in what you have made, and also increase your ability to sell your product. There are many folks who are snobbish enough to want only ‘the best’ of a particular item and will pay for the privilege,” said Beezle.
“Why would the group that was plotting at the Inn of the Three Hares have the Princess’ seal?” I asked.
“An excellent question,” answered Master Clarisse, “which is worrisome on a number of fronts. Do they have the real seal, or is this a copy, and what do either of those possibilities suggest? If it is the real seal, then what does that mean concerning the health and well being of the Princess? If it is a copy, then how do they intend to use it? I can think of all sorts of twists and turns that could be plotted out if an individual or a group possessed the royal seal.”
“But isn’t the Princess’ seal only good for as long as she remains alive, so it would be in their best interest to make sure the Princess stays that way. From what I overheard at the Inn of the Three Hares, the Princess’ life did not seem all that secure,” I mentioned.
“That is true, but it would also be a way of fooling folks that the Princess was alive, but, oh, let’s say, traveling, or in some other part of Sommerhjem, or . . .,” Master Clarisse started saying but was interrupted by Beezle.
“. . . staying at the royal hunting lodge in the Blackhammer Mountains or, well you get the idea,” said Beezle, after receiving a somewhat irritated look from Master Clarisse. “Sorry for interrupting, Master Clarisse. My apologies.”
“Apology accepted. I was also going to say they could use the seal in a variety of other ways in the name of the Princess, which I am not sure I even want to think about. I think we need to get this information to Master Rollag as soon as possible. Do you have someplace safe you can keep the seal until tomorrow when we go to the Hall of Masters?”
“Yes,” I replied.
I was not going to tell them where, for there are a few secrets about rover homewagons that are only known in general to other rovers, and only specifically to the owner of a particular rover homewagon. Only Da and I knew where I would put the seal that others, even with a lot of time and careful looking, would not be able to find it.
“We had best get going, don’t you think Beezle? The fair starts tomorrow, and we will need to get up early. Come on and let Nissa get some sleep, if she can,” proposed Master Clarisse.
After they left, I tried to settle down and go to sleep, but my mind just kept going on journey after journey of possibilities, so it was quite late before I slipped into the sleep of the exhausted. Morning came much too early, and it was hard to get into the routine of a day at the fair. I got to the booth and set up my wares. Nana’s herbs were all set out in their display. As the fair towns got bigger, fewer and fewer of Nana’s herbs and medicines sold. I think because in the big towns, there were more sources for herbs than in the smaller towns and villages. I mostly made sales of the rarer plants specific to our north coastal region and our sea-misted hills. It was typically other herbalists who bought from me now. I did not mind so much, for I had enough to do trying to keep my stock up on my own products and be the main seller for my booth. I could see why this worked so much better if you had two or more folks running a booth. Oscar had other family members as did Bertram. Master Clarisse had Evan. I wished Da were with me.
For some reason, I just did not feel like working on the carvings on the sides and top of the chest I had started yesterday, and so I found a smaller piece of wood and set about laying out one of the Huntress’ designs to make a small plaque. I was glad I started small for the designs were more intricate than at first glance. I got so involved in the carving that it was hard to pull myself away to wait on potential customers. Shyla came by midmorning and I took the time to help her finish her box. Her father had given her a small bit of coin, and she asked if I would sell her some wood. I suggested we get someone to watch the booth at noon and venture off to find some wood sellers, for I needed some wood for inlay. I told her they might have some wood she would like and could afford. Normally, I would find wood in nature and not buy it, or I would barter for it, such as I had when I met Master Rollag. I could teach her this, but this day we would see what we could find at the fair. It was a measure of her father’s encouragement that he had parted with hard-earned coin for her to continue to begin learning a craft.
It did not take us long to find several booths that sold the rarer woods to furniture makers and woodworkers. I could have spent all day looking through their stock, or just standing inside their tent pavilions smelling the wood, but I did not have that luxury. It was clear that neither Shyla nor I could afford much of what we saw here. One of the sellers must have noticed our disappointed faces, for he came over to talk to us.
“I see by the sawdust and wood shavings still clinging to your clothes that you know wood,” he said.
“Yes sir,” I answered. I noticed that Shyla had positioned herself behind me, staying close. “We had hoped to find some wood that was affordable, but your wood is beyond our purse.”
“I watched you, and you have the love of wood, as does the young one hiding out behind you,” he said, with a twinkle in his eye as he looked at Shyla, who looked ready to bolt out of the tent at any minute. “Come with me to the back tent, for I think I might have some wood there you might like and can afford.” He then led us through an arch in the back of the larger pavilion tent into a smaller tent that was attached. Stacked here on racks was more wood. “Most furniture makers and woodworkers would not look at this wood for it has wild grains, knots, cracks, and holes. But if you are making smaller objects or novelty items, it might suit, and quite frankly, I would be willing to offer a great price just to not have to move it on to the next fair.”
Shyla and I spent the rest of our noon hour picking out some of the smaller pieces, and then bargained as hard as we could to get a good price. In the end, we had done so well that the merchant threw in delivery that afternoon of the wood we could not carry. All and all, the hour we just spent had been a stroke of luck. The wood we selected was of varying types and lengths, and some that I had never seen or worked with. It was also good to know that this particular merchant would be traveling the fair route, so perhaps we would visit him again.
It was nice to have company in the booth for the afternoon. Shyla’s questions and my carving between customers kept my hands and mind occupied, so I did not spend much time thinking about the upcoming dinner with Master Rollag, or the possibility of seeing Da again. At the end of the working day, I packed everything up and locked up the cart. Back at my homewagon, I brushed my clothes off, so I would look somewhat presentable, and was ready to leave when Beezle arrived. I had retrieved the royal seal from its hiding place and had it safely tucked away in my inner pocket. It would not do at this point to have what had caused such a hue and cry lifted by a pickpocket.
It was not a long walk to the Hall of Masters, which was just inside the gate to the second ring of the town. The Hall of Masters was housed in a tall stately building with a wide open front and more windows than I had ever seen in a building. Master Rollag met us at the entrance and gave us a brief tour of the exhibits. The Hall of Masters at the Snoddleton fair was a showcase for work by artisans and crafters of extraordinary talent. I could only dream of having one of my works displayed in a hall such as this, but since I was not of the guild system that seemed unlikely, though not impossible.
We had a pleasant dinner with Master Rollag and other members of the Glassmaker Guild, but Da was not present. I suppose I should have suspected that, but I was disappointed just the same. After we had finished eating, Master Rollag indicated that he did not have watch until later, and perhaps we might like to join him on the roof for our after dinner tea.
“Great view,” he said, “and we could watch the sun set over the town.”
He had set chairs and a small table out on the roof. After we were settled, a man in Glassmakers Guild livery came through the roof door carrying a tray loaded down with steaming mugs, and I had to catch myself from leaping up, for it was Da.
“Ah, Jonzee, thank you. I’d like you to stay for awhile if you would,” Master Rollag requested. “I think you know all of these folks.” After Da sat, Master Rollag continued. “We never really had much time to all gather after our adventures in Crestbury. I thought we needed to put our heads together and see if we can make any sense of that night.”
Beezle and Master Clarisse looked pointedly at me. I cleared my throat and told Master Rollag and Da about the object that had bumped up against my shoe, and what we had discovered upon opening it. I told the group I felt very uncomfortable having it, now that we knew what it was. Master Rollag then suggested that it needed to get to Beezle’s uncle.
“Your uncle needs to know about this turn of events. Do you have the seal with you, Nissa?” Master Rollag asked.
“Yes, I didn’t feel comfortable leaving it in the homewagon, and I would be relieved if you took it,” I answered back, all the while fumbling in my inner pocket to get it out and hand it over.
“This is not a good omen,” stated Master Rollag. “Master Clarisse, can you spare Evan tomorrow? I think he needs to spend time with his friend Clare. Caution him to be very careful, but we need to know more about what is happening to the Princess. She is scheduled to judge the pastries tomorrow and having that young rascal in the crowd would be a help.”
We talked awhile longer, sharing information and speculating on what it all meant. I had just poured myself a second cup of tea when Master Rollag said, “Now then my young friends, it is getting late. Beezle, Master Clarisse, would you mind helping me move a display downstairs? Nissa, would you mind helping Jonzee move the table and chairs inside and bring the tea things down to the kitchen? No, no, don’t get up, Nissa. You haven’t finished your tea.”
These were requests I was happy to say yes to, for it meant I would be able to have a short time to talk to Da. What a fortunate piece of luck.