In Which the Almanac Finally Proves Useful
We followed Hero, Sir Danton, and their unremarkable horse through the woods to Mortico. Albert took the opportunity to give a lengthy commentary about the morning’s events. I don’t know how he could claim to have seen any of it, since he had been cowering behind a rock, but to hear Albert tell the story, my duel with Sir Danton had been the match of the century.
Mildred’s almanac called for rain. So we traveled under a bright blue sky to Mortico. Tate and I were speechless when we saw it. Hero’s home was exactly how I had imagined a castle should look. The tall stone walls were capped off with battlements. Enormous towers stretched up into the sky, complete with flags snapping in the wind. There was even a drawbridge that lowered to span the moat.
We rode over the drawbridge and into a huge open courtyard. It was like a scene out of a minstrel’s song. A smith hammered away on a blade. A stable boy was watering horses. Several girls passed, carrying baskets of eggs.
We gave our horses over to the care of a stableman— who was rather taken aback when Albert requested hay kebabs for his breakfast—and followed Hero and Sir Danton into the castle. The entrance hall was nearly as fantastic as the outside. Shields and tapestries lined the walls, with torches stuck in brackets between them. Everything was perfect—until we walked into the Great Hall.
The room was crowded with tables, every one of them filled with people. These individuals were not quietly breaking their fast. They filled the room with some of the stupidest conversations I have ever heard.
“I hate my horse. Why won’t grandfather give me a new one?”
“That isn’t sky blue; it’s cornflower blue.”
“Mother, he’s looking at me again!”
“Reginald, you are the stupidest man alive.”
“Pastries are so dull. Why can’t we have something else?”
And on and on and on.
Tate and I followed Hero as she led Sir Danton to the high table at the front of the room.
“Are they always like this?” Tate asked.
“They’re just getting started,” she said. “Wait until they have full bellies.”
Hero brought her grandfather to his seat in the middle of the high table, and instantly the crowds surged forward like locusts descending on a new crop of wheat.
“Grandfather, I hate my room. Why can’t I change with Philip?”
“Uncle, don’t you think it best if I take over managing your finances?”
“Grandfather, my dresses are so out of fashion.”
A middle-aged man sitting on Sir Danton’s right shooed them all away.
The complainers sulked as they returned to their seats. “It’s not fair,” was muttered by more than a few. Sadly, most of them were adults.
“Who are these people?” Tate asked Hero as she led us toward a table in the back of the room.
“My family,” Hero said, clearly annoyed. “They never visited when Grandfather actually expected something of them. But once his memory began to fade, they started turning up like mushrooms.”
“Are your parents here?” Tate asked.
Hero’s face lost its annoyance. “No, my parents are dead,” she said, and gave us a look that made it clear the subject was closed.
After we had eaten, Hero found us a room. It was large and well furnished, but we had to share it with a boy named Melvin. Melvin did nothing but grumble about how unfair it was that I had a sword, and he didn’t. I hid Guardian in the bottom of my bag after that. If this boy realized precisely which sword I carried, I was sure I would never hear the end of it.
That night, I decided that the beds were really the only nice thing about Castle Mortico. They were made with straw instead of rocks and had actual bed linens. Tate and I went to bed early, in part because we were tired, and in part just to get away from Hero’s family.
I woke up before the sun and shook Tate. “I say we g-get out of h-here before the h-harpies wake up,” I whispered.
Tate nodded and rolled out of bed, landing quietly on the rushes that covered the floor. Melvin mumbled something in his sleep, rolled over into the space where Tate had been, and went back to snoring.
We snuck our way through the castle, getting turned around more than once, and finally found the stables. Hero was waiting for us.
“I have decided to come with you to Rona,” she said. “We’re going to slay a dragon,” Tate said.
Hero gave us a sharp look and then shrugged her shoulders. “It doesn’t really matter. I’m coming with you.”
I already had more company than I could really use; but when I opened my mouth to explain that she fixed her dark eyes on me with a look that threatened my life if I gave her any trouble.
“F-fine,” I told her.
Hero offered Tate a horse, but he was a little wary of the big ones. He finally settled on a pony named Sparkles. There didn’t seem to be anything sparkling about the pony’s gloomy expression, but I couldn’t really comment. I rode a horse named Albert.
So, we left Castle Mortico, Hero leading the way. It felt as if I was supposed to be the leader of this strange party. But since I had no idea where we were or how to get to our destination, I let her lead.
It turned out that Hero had opinions about more than just roads. That night, she told us that we had been doing nearly everything wrong. I would have grumbled at her, but her way of arranging pine needles did make for softer beds, and the turnips did taste better cooked. She even showed us which of the plants we passed were edible. I begrudgingly had to admit that we were more comfortable with her along.
Before turning north into the mountains, the road to Rona dipped south to trail along the coast. Mildred’s almanac predicted snow, so of course we were covered in sweat. We were all glad to see the ocean and feel the breeze that blew in off the water.
As we rode along the edge of the beach, we saw a man huddled beside an overturned boat. Hero frowned and then turned her horse to ride over to him. Tate and I followed.
“Do you need help with your boat?” she asked.
“No,” the man said in the most miserable-sounding voice I had ever heard.
Hero looked from the fishing nets stretched out on the sand to the man.
“Aren’t you a fisherman?” she said.
He nodded.
“Then why aren’t you fishing?”
“There was a terrible storm last month,” the man said, growing paler as he spoke. “I nearly drowned.”
“You haven’t gone back out on the water?” Hero asked with a frown.
“I know. I’m a coward,” the man said, and then he began to cry.
“You are not a coward,” she told him firmly.
Hero looked up at Tate and me with a glance that made it clear we were supposed to agree with her.
“I’m sure you’re real brave,” Tate said.
I looked from the ocean to the boat and then found myself walking back over to where Albert was carrying on a one-sided conversation with Sparkles. I opened my saddlebag, pulled out Mildred’s almanac, and walked back to the little knot of people on the sand.
“H-here, t-take this.” I handed the would-be fisherman the book. “It’s an almanac.”
Tate gave me a questioning glance.
Hero mouthed the words, “You said that it was always wrong.”
“I-It doesn’t w-work like other almanacs,” I told the fisherman. “It s-says the opposite of the w-weather.”
He just looked at me, confused.
“So if it s-says that it will be a s-sunny day, then you know to expect a s-storm.”
The fisherman still looked uncertain, but he took the book and opened it, turning to the day’s date. “Snowy and cold,” he read with the halting speech of someone who doesn’t read much.
“See, it’s s-sunny and h-hot,” I said.
“It’s always wrong?” He looked hopeful for the first time.
“Always.”
We helped the fisherman turn over his boat and drag it down to the water. By the time we got back on our horses, he was loading his nets. Our group continued along the shore road, but Hero was watching me.
“It was kind of you to give him the book,” she said as the road rose over a sand dune.
I shrugged. “It was h-heavy to c-carry,” I said.
But I don’t think she believed me.
If the fisherman checked the almanac that night, he would have chosen to stay home that next day. Because even as we slept under the stars, there was a storm brewing.