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?”
“Being in the leather business, I have made sheaths for many a knife and Pedersen’s are known far and wide for their beauty and the sharp edge they hold. I have seen a number of them,” Shueller replied.
He knew that sticking to the truth was his best choice at this moment, not knowing where this conversation was heading. Hoping to end this meeting as soon as possible, Shueller tried to think up a quick solution that would not look suspicious and call any more attention to him than leaving early would.
“Your sheath will indeed part ways with your knife sooner rather than later. I may have a solution for you, unless you are looking for something fancy.”
“Fancy has never been my style, and I would be thankful for any help you can give me as long as it is within the realm of what I can afford,” the forester replied.
“You will have to give me a moment while I check in my cart, but I think I might have something that would work for your knife,” Shueller suggested and opened the back of his cart.
The cart had a narrow isle down the middle of it and was lined with shelves and drawers along both sides. As short as Shueller was, he did not even have to stoop as he climbed in and walked halfway back, pulling out a drawer here and a drawer there, looking like he had all the time in the world. Mumbling quietly to himself, he checked a few more drawers, and then finally pulled out what he was looking for.
“Here it is. Nice to know my memory isn’t failing me. Year or so back, a gent dropped this sheath off to be repaired and never came back for it. I heard later he had met an untimely death. Never knew where that phrase came from, untimely death. Would seem to me that any death would be untimely.” Realizing he might appear as if he were babbling, Shueller stepped out of the cart, but not before he noticed the forester seemed to be taking a great deal of interest in the interior of his cart. “Let’s try this one,” Shueller said, as he drew the knife from the old worn sheath and slid it home in the new one. “Not an exact fit, but certainly much better than the one you have now.”
Shueller and the forester haggled over the price, and once that was settled on, the shoemaker got some oil out of his cart and waterproofed the sheath.
“A good coating of oil every so often will keep the leather supple, and the sheath will last longer. Also helps the knife. Now is there anything else I can do for you?”
“Thank you, no. This looks to be a fine sheath, and I appreciate you taking the time to help me. I will spread the word to other foresters that they should look for you at the fairs. Your craftsmanship is very fine,” the forester said.
“Always appreciate the business,” Shueller replied, as he once again closed up his cart, checked the homewagon and horses before he climbed up into the driver’s seat, and began wending his way out of the fair and out of Snoddleton.
Jonzee took the package from Master Rollag, walked casually out to the lane, and headed further into town. He did not feel the least bit casual as he tried to keep an even pace heading towards a rendezvous that could very likely get him, at the very least, hanged, if all did not go well. So very much could go so very wrong. So very much depended on what happened in the next hour. Now it was just a matter of luck and timing. Pulling his cloak tighter around himself, he set off at a brisk pace towards the royal manor, checking frequently to make sure there was no one following him. It was a pretty simple matter of moving to avoid the puddles left on the lane and taking a quick glance over his shoulder. The intermittent rain showers had been happening off and on all morning, but it did not seem to have kept anyone inside. Folks were going about their business as normal, which was better for Thorval and what he needed to do next, since he would not stand out as a lone figure walking up the lane. He knew he could not get too close to the royal manor, nor could he linger near it without drawing unwanted attention to himself, but he hoped he could get close enough that he could connect with the Princess without causing suspicion. He was just about as far as he dared go when the skies opened up, and the rain came down in torrents, what his mother-in-law would have called a gully washer. With the rain pounding down, visibility grew limited, and Thorval pulled into a doorway so he would not get soaked to the bone, bumping into someone hidden in the shadows.
Holding the bread baskets in front of her like a shield, Princess Esmeralda saw the outline of a man slip into the opening with her, as the thunder boomed overhead. This was not good, Princess Esmeralda thought. I am trapped here in a dark doorway with a stranger who is blocking the way. Why did I even think leaving what I thought of as the safety of the royal manor was a good idea? I cannot just announce I am the royal heir and think that whoever is blocking my way will automatically show me deference. I have no weapons on me, and I do not think beating the man who is blocking the way with bread baskets is going to be very effective.
Lightening flashed again, followed by another window-rattling thunder boom, but in that light she saw a guild crest on the man’s cloak. Could this man be the one she was supposed to meet, she wondered? Taking a chance that it was, and the man standing in front of her was the right man, she spoke.
“I see I am not the only soul who is out in this frog strangler of a rain,” Princess Esmeralda said, hoping her voice held steady.
After all she was a Princess and had faced down, well, not much of anything, come to think of it.
“A true gully washer if I ever saw one,” Thorval answered, not believing his luck that he had pulled into an opening with a young woman carrying bread baskets, if he were not mistaken. Could this be the one he had been sent to find? “Were you on your way back to the fair?”
“Ah, actually I was on an errand and trying to find a vendor who carries pilcher cream. Do you know of anyone?”
“Why yes, you can find it at Mistress Ruezakee’s shop. Do you know the way?”