At the Rowdie Inn Tuesday, Sep 23 2008

As Emerald approached the Rowdie Inn, she heard the once familiar sounds of drunken midday revelry and cheerful, unskillfully played music.  She smiled, remembering what fun she’d had there before attending more mannered functions at the castle, but found her steps faltering the nearer she got to the building.  She couldn’t explain it; all within seemed to be lively and bright, yet as she approached, a dark foreboding grew within her, a feeling she knew by now she must not discount.

An old man sat on a bench outside the cracked oaken door stuffing a long whittled pipe, his pack slung alongside him.  He peered up at Emerald and flashed a broken grin before leaning in and intoning, “Speak to Madame Rowdie about what you seek…she is a great woman…”

Well, thought Emerald, it isn’t a bad suggestion.  The widow Rowdie, owner of the inn, was not, by reputation, overly friendly, polite or helpful, but this mysterious old man seemed to have some sort of otherworldly knowledge.  Emerald smiled at him.  He scowled and coughed a cloud of green smoke.

Emerald pried open the heavy door and stumbled into the hazy, crowded hall.  Stepping daintily around leering drunk men, slack jawed pages and serving women with heavy laden trays, she realized part of the reason for her dread.  She had never been to this establishment without Juniper by her side!  Without Juniper and her everyready dagger, it all seemed so tawdry and dangerous.  What on earth was a knight of the king’s service doing in a place like this?

Through the crowd, Emerald spied the sharp chinned mistress of the inn, Madame Rowdie, surveying the crowd with a perpetual grimace.  She smiled with relief, picked up her skirts and made her way over. 

“Madame Rowdie,” said Emerald, with a demure curtsey. “I am in search of a man who is lodging here.  I do hope you can help -”

Madame Rowdie spat on the ground beside Emerald’s silk slippered foot. 

“Don’t give nothin’ for nothin’,” the innkeeper growled. “Not even to a ‘fine lady’ like yourself. You wanna find yourself a man for the night, I suggest you go the stables.”  She turned to a busty red faced girl holding an enormous tray of beers. “EVIE! You slip and you’re back upstairs workin’ on your back, savvy?”

Emerald blushed brightly, swallowed hard and forced herself to go on.

“Ah, no, Madame, I understand there is a Tobias Le Baron lodging here, and I wish to return something that belongs to him…”

“Eight crowns.”  The innkeeper scratched inside her elaborately piled hair, then reached her hand out to Emerald.  “And no less. You want information, you pay.”

“Pardon me?” Emerald’s eyes widened.  This woman was entirely disreputable! What was that old man thinking? In a flash, she remembered him from another day – suggesting she speak to Sir Peter Prique, “a great man.”  The old fool was insane! Emerald drew in as much breath as she could fit into her corset and raised her chin.

“I mean only to return something to one of your guests.  I will find Sir Le Baron, and when I do, I am sure Sir Le Baron will not be pleased to learn -” A great crash sounded from the stairway, a number of people, including poor Evie, stumbling onto the sodden ground.  Amidst the mass of bodies, a handsome man stood up and doffed his cap, revealing a head remarkably free of hair.

“Sir Le Baron?” he asked, his eyes locked on Emerald.  She felt her face flush again and her breath falter – but differently now.

“Yes?” she said in a small voice, as the pub quieted.

“I am Tobias Le Baron,” he said, bowing.  He rose with a smile and looked around the room, slight disgust registering on his face.  “Care for a walk?”

They exited the dank inn into a bright and clear day.  Sir Le Baron paused briefly at the doorway and shouted out a sarcastically jovial “FareWELL!” to the crowd.

Emerald turned to the bench, an indignant remark ready for her wayward advisor, but the mysterious man had disappeared, mysteriously, though a green cloud of smoke remained.  How very…mysterious, thought Emerald.

“I take it you know this area better than I, Miss..?” said Sir Le Baron.

“La Verte.  Emerald La Verte, of Goldenseal Cottage,” she replied, suddenly quite grateful at the prospect of a civilized conversation.

“What a lovely name…” The knight peered at her as if remembering something, then cleared his throat. “Now – what is it you wish to give me?”

Emerald flushed, her mind blank for a moment as their eyes locked. 

“Oh!” she cried, her hand fumbling in her cloak pocket for the crimson envelope.  “A letter – it blew from the main road onto my little greensward. I fear it has not reached its intended destination.”

Taking the letter from her, the knight’s face grew serious.  He recovered himself and hastily tucked the letter away.  He smiled at Emerald.

“What a conscientious young lady you are, and how astute!  You were able to tell my name from the symbols on the seal! Remarkable…”

Emerald opened her mouth to explain, then quickly closed it and smiled demurely.

“Twas nothing, Sir Le Baron…” she said, peering at him furtively. 

“Please, Miss La Verte – do call me Tobias, if it’s not too forward.” He looked cautiously at her, and continued as she nodded. “Would you do me a kind favor, if you have the afternoon free?  Show me the town of Lanolin?  I have not been here for many years, and I should like to see it as you do.”

Emerald felt glee well up in her.  She stifled a grin, and nodded politely.  What was this feeling?  Surely she was just happy for the opportunity for information – an answer to the riddle of the letter.  But there was something else as well. Somehow she felt a pull towards this man, this strange rugged man, from far away. 

She tried her best to banish these thoughts and continue to converse politely as they walked, but their glances at each other grew longer and longer as the day wore on, until she felt she could not bear the weight of them any longer without some resolution.

Tobias was from the King’s City, over two days’ ride away.  He was only here on some clandestine errand, yet here he was, enjoying the day with her.  Their talk flowed freely as they approached a meadow in which sheep were grazing.

“This is one thing I cannot understand about the countryside,” Tobias laughed. “The vast amounts of food in supply here! Surely it is not necessary, for example, for that one sheep to eat quite so much grass. It’s revolting really.”  He pointed to a lean looking ewe, munching a clump of clover. “And the food, even in the fine establishments in Lanolin, so very…rich! And creamy! It turns the stomach.”

Emerald felt her smile fading.  Perhaps he was not quite so fond as she’d been hoping.

“Well,” she said, quickening her pace. “I did not know that the King’s City found us ‘country folk’ so gluttonous.  I shall certainly have to watch my figure if I am ever invited to court!” 

Tobias ran to catch up, his face confused.

“Miss La Verte! I am terribly sorry if I have offended you! I assure you, you need not watch your figure – I have been watching it myself and it is quite fine.” He flushed and gulped. “I mean to say, you are quite lovely and I am sure do not eat as much as an animal would.”

Emerald could not help but giggle at his efforts.  She slowed her pace and took his arm when it was offered.

As they approached Emerald’s cottage, the late afternoon sun bathing the scene in a golden glow, Tobias stopped and looked fervently at Emerald.

“I cannot tell you how much I have enjoyed this day, Miss La Verte,” he said.  “Tomorrow I must return to the King’s City, where many duties await me.  But I shall endeavor to return in no less than a fortnight.  Indeed – every fortnight, if I may!” He pressed her hand to his lips, then, with great effort, released it, bowed and walked away.

Emerald watched him go.  What a fine gentleman, and what a fine day!  She hummed to herself, her steps light as she walked up the path to her cottage. 

A sudden feeling of dread stopped her hand on the door.  She turned and looked into the nearby copse, but spied nothing amiss.  She could have sworn, though…out of the corner of her eye, she’d thought she’d seen a short man, wearing the symbol of the Duke’s guard.  It couldn’t be, she thought, they’re all away on the hunt. 

She shrugged to herself and let herself into the cottage, leaning back against her door with a bright sigh.  It wasn’t until she’d eaten, bathed, read a bit and was readying herself for bed that she realized she hadn’t found out a thing about the mysterious letter!  Somehow now, though, it didn’t seem quite so important.  Whatever it pertained to, she was sure it would be resolved, and anyway, it had little bearing on her! It seemed that, at last, nothing could shake her hopefulness.

Poor Emerald was wrong again.

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Mal de Chasse Thursday, Sep 18 2008

Mid-afternoon, four days into the hunt, the men set off from the tent camp cheerfully, the wind lifting their capes as they galloped away.  The Duke halted only briefly, rearing his horse back to nod sternly at Juniper, who stood beside her tent with her arms crossed and eyes blazing.  His message was clear : do not follow.  She bowed with grand sarcasm and watched him go, then kicked a clump of dirt and stalked into her tent.

“The indignity!” she cried to her peregrine, Craquelin, who cocked his head in apparent sympathy.  “To be punished for my prowess! I can’t very help the fact that they’re totally inept hunters, can I?”  Craquelin picked up his leather hood and began to gnaw on it. 

“Exactly,” said Juniper, scooping the falcon up and setting him on her hand as she swept outside to examine her tent.  While outside the rest of the camp’s lodgings, one or two banners flew, displaying animals such as hares, foxes or badgers, Juniper’s tent was a mess of colors and fabric.  She had captured every heraldic animal in the first three days of the hunt, a feat normally endeavored without success over a fortnight.  Apparently this did not sit well with the men, especially after Bors de Gavin had run screaming from the black bear that Juniper easily picked off mere moments later.

Yes, Juniper conceded, perhaps she could have done without riding through the hunting party laughing and waving the three final flags in the stunned faces of some of the most important noblemen of the kingdom.  But to be told to stay in her tent all day like some naughty child, (and by a man she brought to the point of begging nearly nightly!) Well, it was not to be borne.

Juniper decisively threw a deep brown cloak about her, pulling the hood close around her face. 

“Today, I’ll wear the hood,” she said to Craquelin, replacing him on her shoulder, “and you can go without for a change.”  She quickly wrapped up some bread and cheese, mounted her grateful horse and set off for directions unknown.  She was out of sight of camp when she realized she’d neglected to bring a weapon of any kind.

“It’s all right,” she said to herself. “I wasn’t planning on hunting anyway. I just hope I don’t meet with any unsavories.”  As if suddenly not sure of it, she glanced over her shoulder into the dark of the woods.

After an hour, she came upon traces of the path the hunting party had taken.  She raised her head angrily and wheeled her horse in the opposite direction, determined not to meet with any of them.  If she strayed too far from camp and needed to find alternate lodging, so much the better. That would certainly send a potent message to the haughty Duke. 

She rode for hours, letting Craquelin fly occassionally and slowing to admire some startlingly lovely natural features, hidden grottos and forgotten shrines.  When her stomach began to complain, she stopped at an abandoned anchorage beside a lively stream.  She laid her cloak and sackcloth on the ground and sat to enjoy her repast, setting Craquelin down beside her to pick as he would at the bread.  She smiled, enjoying the sun warming her bare arms, and closed her eyes, listening to the calming sound of running water and wind rustling the leaves.

Juniper tensed and opened her eyes.  Intruding into the natural music was the sound of low voices and metal clinking.  Was she imagining it? No; the horse stood cautiously listening and the feathers on Craquelin’s wings were splayed in defensiveness.

Juniper motioned quiet to the horse, picked up the peregrine and stepped barefoot silently towards the back of the building, from whence the voices seemed to be emanating. She saw two figures, partly concealed in the shadows of the trees, but both clearly wearing the vestments of the Duke’s guard.  Juniper sighed with relief that they were not thieves. Still, what were they doing so far from the hunt?  She pressed herself closer to the wall and strained to hear their conversation.

“…the girl I need.  She is worth any price to my employer,” said the taller of the two, in a strangely patrician voice.

“I need some guarantee,” said the other in a peasant slur. “…never hurt…when you take her.”

Juniper leaned in closer to better hear.  Take her? Who?  The taller man removed a ring from his finger and gave it to the other.

“This is your proof,” he said.  “Show it to LeBaron. You’ll be further compensated.”

The smaller man laughed in a gravelley tone and pocketed the ring.  Juniper quickly took the ring from her own finger and allowed Craquelin to bite it once, then took it back and nodded to the falcon to fly away.  When she looked up, the tall man was backing away and his companion bowing to him.

“I’ll do whatcha say, sir,” said the smaller guard as he mounted his horse. “But I don’t see why anybody’d want to hurt Miss LaVerte!”

Juniper felt the blood rush from her heart. Not Emerald! What were they plotting!?  She staggered involuntarily from the building into the woods.  From here she could see more clearly the short guard riding away in the distance and the taller one unhitching his own horse, his face suddenly illuminated by a ray of sun.  It was the same guard she had encountered that night outside Peter Prique’s house!  His eyes raised from the bridle and met hers, shock registering darkly.

Without a moment’s pause she ran around the house to where her horse was grazing, stumbled and picked herself up again.  She knelt to gather her cloak and rose to find the guard at her back and his knife at her throat.  He smiled sarcastically, his eyes fixed on her intensely.

Her hand wandered to her thigh, but found no dagger there.  The man came around behind her and put his hand around her throat, removing the blade to his belt.

“Not armed today, are you, Juniper?” he murmured. “I must assume if you were, I’d be at somewhat more of a disadvantage.”  Juniper felt her face flush.  She glared ahead as his hand tightened and he walked her backwards towards the anchorage.

“As you mysteriously know my name, may I at least have the satisfaction of knowing yours?” she asked through a clenched jaw.  He laughed behind her.

“So polite! You must really be afraid, my dear.” She squirmed angrily, but he pulled her further back and tightened his hold.  “Don’t worry, I don’t aim to kill you.  But if you heard everything that was just said – well, I can’t have you following behind me, can I?”

“Perhaps you should kill me!” cried Juniper, her face flushing with rage. “For if you harm one hair on Emerald’s head, I will come after you with such vengeance as you’ve never seen.”

“I’m sure you will,” said the guard, dragging her into the dank, pitchblack anchorage.  “But not for several days.”  He wheeled her about and kicked the door shut, shutting out all light.  Juniper felt his mouth near her forehead.  “My name is Justjohn,” he whispered, and kissed her brow.

“That’s a bastard’s name,” said Juniper. 

She felt his hand at her throat, just below her chin.

“Good night,” he said.

Juniper opened her eyes to a bright noon sun streaming through arched open windows.  She lay in a clinic wing under crisp sheets, three young nuns peering at her, fascinated.  She swallowed and winced in pain.

“What happened?” she asked, her voice barely creaking out.  A pretty pale faced nun leaned in and patted her back down onto her pillow.

“Don’t trouble yourself! You’ve got a bad cold, but you’ve passed through your fever.”  One of the others nodded aggressively.

“Praise be to God that Sister Lucinda wandered to that old hermitage yesterday, or you mightn’t have been found in time!” said the third nun, as if she couldn’t contain herself. “Set upon by robbers, I take it! And bound up like that! Horrible thing, horrible.”  All three nodded, their heads bowed devoutly.  Juniper sat up, groggy.

“I have to go…I have to find…” she mumbled.

“No, no, no,” the nuns cried. “A few days more rest, at the very least.” 

Juniper’s head pounded, and she grudgingly reclined back onto the bed.  The pretty nun’s face perked up and she walked into the hall, returning with Craquelin on a stick.

“Your friend returned to you, I see!” she laughed. “I could tell by the anklet which matched your horse’s bridle markings.” She seemed greatly impressed with her detective work.  Juniper smiled weakly. 

“One other thing,” said the nun. “He was carrying this.”  She reached into her pocket and drew out a ring, handing it to Juniper.

Juniper examined it.  A heraldic ring – a falcon and a unicorn.  Only royals bore a unicorn on their crest.  Why was that peasant bastard carrying this? 

“Good work, Craquelin,” she said before her throat swelled and her eyes shut by themselves again, leading her into a fitful slumber. 

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The Misdirected Missive Thursday, Sep 18 2008

After a few days delay, the hunt set off with great fanfare. Emerald, though offered a fine horse and a distinguished place at the head of the party, chose to remain at home, seeing to the cottage that was now hers alone. She stood with the other remaining villagers, mostly cripples, children and the elderly, and waved to the departing crowd.

As she walked home, she noticed first the silence that had settled on the town, then smiled to herself as her ears piqued to the sweet sounds of birdsongs. Juniper, naturally, had brought her falcon along on the hunt. Though Emerald knew she’d miss her friend, she was glad that there was one fewer predator in the village for this fortnight. She meant the peregrine, of course.

Emerald stepped up to her cottage, her nose wrinkling at the summer flies that buzzed about her eithin bushes. As she bent to remove a stray frond from her pathway, something red caught her eye. Tumbling on the ground, tossed by the wind, was a small crimson parcel, coming from the main road and heading right for Emerald.

Emerald looked all about, but no one was in sight. The parcel, a letter, it seemed, blew up to her dainty feet and rested there. What was she to do, but pick it up? And once she had it in her hands, surely it was natural that she should examine the writing on it. And what should follow that, but for her to run hastily into her house and pry open the letter, which was addressed to someone else, and read it to herself? That indeed was what Emerald did.

The letter was an official decree from a man in the king’s service, name of Sir Tobias LeBaron (with various other titles and attachments), to a young man in the village who was, strangely, not directly named. The letter began: “To the young man, new to the service of the Duke de Cordon Bleu, who now goes by the name of John Justjohn, but who does not in truth go by that name.” What in the world could that mean? The letter continued in such a strange fashion that Emerald could only surmise that it was written in code.

“The small snail is quite well,” it read, “along with clouds that bluster and preen in preparation for seven locks of hair. Your mother inquires after you, and is in fine health, I am pleased to report. Cats dine upon steel but rarely upon ivory. I shall follow this missive after a space of two days and shall be staying at the Rowdie Inne.”

“Well, how asinine!” Emerald said aloud to the curious squirrel on her windowsill. “Half of it appears to be in code, and the rest is just plain fact! Or is it indeed?” She peered at the date atop the letter. It was dated three days previous!

There was one sure way to determine whether she was on the right track in deciphering the letter. She would go to the Rowdie Inn, a place she once frequented with Juniper before they were received so often at the castle, and inquire whether a knight by the name of Tobias LeBaron was in residence. If he was, Emerald thought, bowing her head penitently, she would return to him the message, which had obviously been misplaced by a very careless page. After all, it was not hers to pore over.

Emerald copied the letter word for word onto another sheet of paper, stored her copy in a horticulture book she had been referencing, then set off with the original to meet, she hoped, with this mysterious knight, Sir LeBaron.

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Juniper’s Revenge Wednesday, Sep 17 2008

The sound of rainy gusts hitting the little windows of her cottage roused Juniper from the deep wash basin in which she had drifted to sleep. She adjusted herself in the tub. The water was still warm, but alas, her muscles were still rather sore. Still, after a critical look at her pruny fingertips, Juniper raised herself out of the comfort of the bath and prepared to ready herself for another long night.

After drying, powdering and staring at herself admiringly in the mirror for a few minutes, Juniper slipped into the peacock blue gown that had been delivered to her that afternoon along with the steaming hot tub, a gift, read the card, from her gracious patron. She had rolled her eyes at that, but couldn’t help admiring the effort of such a trifle; it had taken four servants to deliver it up the hill to her cottage. She adjusted the bodice lower now, and turned quickly to the mirror to catch her own eye, feigning delighted surprise with a little innocent laugh. Practice makes perfect, she thought.

A resounding knock shook the door of the cottage. Who could it be, thought Juniper. She wasn’t expected at the castle for at least another hour. Juniper fastened her hair up hastily and hurried to the door. A little whimper sounded on the other side. Without hesitation, Juniper flung open the door.

Emerald sat at the foot of the door in a slump, drenched with rain, her eyes red from crying. With only a moment’s thought to her own gown, Juniper gathered her friend up and drew her into the cottage.

“Shhhh, shhhh,” she whispered, petting Emerald’s hair away from her sodden face. “What has happened to you, dear friend? Come and sit by the fireside and tell me all about it. I’ll find you some dry clothes to change into, and some warm wine to calm you.”

Emerald’s sobs did not subside until she was quite dry, her muscles loosened by the wine that Juniper poured. Juniper sat patiently, ready to listen. Whatever could the matter be?

At last, Emerald sighed deeply and turned from the fireside to tell Juniper what had befallen her at the home of Sir Peter Prique. As she spoke, Juniper stood up and began to pace. She felt her hands clenching and her face and decollete flushing with hot anger.

“But why did you not come and find me immediately?” she cried, when Emerald’s story had been told. “I would have stood by you, gone to his home with you. He would not have dared face both of us in such a fashion!”

Emerald sighed raggedly. “I tried to find you, Juniper,” she said. “You’ve hardly been home at all these past two weeks. I was quite concerned, actually.”

Juniper felt a sharp pang of guilt combined with a too-tight corset. She had been a distant friend indeed these past few weeks. It was time to fill Emerald in. She sat beside her on the little duvet.

“Do you remember the ball a few months ago at the home of Mme. La Monteuse? In which we met again with…”

“With the Duke de Cordon Bleu,” Emerald said. “Of course, how could I forget? But what has this to do with -”

“Do you remember,” continued Juniper. “How he offered, quite grandly, to be my artistic patron after I spoke of wishing to compose operas? Well, since then…oh, how do I put this delicately?”

Emerald snorted. “You? Delicately?”

“You’re right!” laughed Juniper. “Well, here it is. I dined with him at the castle, it became quite clear that I was only blustering when I spoke of wishing to be a lady composer, and well, things progressed.” She laughed delightedly. “I’m quite a kept woman lately!”

Emerald leaned in, shocked.

“You? And the DUKE?!?!”

“Yes!” cried Juniper. “Isn’t it marvelous?”

“But Juniper!” Emerald lowered her voice politely. “How will this affect your prospects for marriage?”

“You know that I shall never marry, my dear friend. How can I settle down with anyone when the high seas call me so….”

“Ah yes,” remembered Emerald. “The high seas indeed. But what about his little…eccentricities?”

“Oh that, well, yes, it is rather perturbing,” admitted Juniper. “But I’ve found it only rears its pretty head every month or so, and I assure you, it in no way changes what happens between us in his chambers. I am enjoying myself immensely! In fact, I even have a sort of influence over policy lately…” Juniper’s voice trailed off, as an idea began to form in her mind.

“Emerald,” she said firmly. “No man will treat you with such a lack of respect without feeling deeply the consequences of his barbarity.”

“But Juniper! Tell me you won’t return to dueling!”

“No, no, I have a much more savvy plan in mind this time, m’dear. Though I do miss dueling. No, fear not. You shall have your revenge.”

Much later that evening, Juniper found herself in the bed of the Duke. After having sated his appetites for the night, her body was quite lax, but her eyes and mind still sharp. She knew she only had a moment’s window before he would drift off to sleep.

“Henri…” she cooed, twirling locks of his jet black hair around her finger. “The most dreadful thing befell my friend Emerald yesterday. I’m quite broken up about it.”

“What is it?” he half snored.

“This really dreadful man, hardly gentry at all, publicly humiliated her after she had the temerity to ask for her window to be repaired. He left her, a lady once of the queen’s court in the street like less than a common whore! It is the greatest injustice and I only wish that it could be remanded!”

The Duke sat up a bit and smiled at Juniper warily.

“Does this mean that you’re going to return to dueling?”

“No.” Juniper sighed sharply, then kissed him full on the mouth. “I was rather hoping that you, as the greatest leader in the land, might put this Peter Prique in his place, or rather, take his place away from him.”

“Emmmm…” The Duke reclined again and shut his eyes. “I’ve got the hunt for the next few weeks. Emerald LaVerte’s aristocratic pride shall have to be restored in your own domain. Perhaps she could be placed beside us as we ride out tomorrow. She can have that nice chestnut you’ve always admired. How about that?”

Juniper quickly stifled her instinct to yell and throw. She drew a deep breath and thought hard. She smiled wickedly and turned back to her companion.

“But my darling,” she whispered. “You did not allow me to finish my account.”

He groaned softly.

“What he said to Emerald as he threw her into the street was that he would not aid or help any friend of the Duke de Cordon Bleu, that you were a despot and a parvenu to boot. And then…he mentioned…your little hobby.”

Within a fraction of a second, the Duke was out of bed, his fine figure outlined by the moonlight, throwing his vestments on, grabbing for weapons, and shouting for his guards. He exited the chamber in a whirl, the door slamming behind him. Juniper, happily forgotten, adjusted her hair, and slipped out of bed and into her deep blue gown. She hoped it would be blue enough to disguise her in the moonlight.

She crept stealthily up to the manor of Sir Peter Prique, where the Duke and his men had ridden full speed a moment before. She hid among the rushes and watched, gratified, as the wicked knight was dragged from his home and thrown down the stairs, much the way Juniper imagined Emerald to have been tossed aside. As she gathered up her skirts, preparing to make her way silently to Emerald’s cottage, a loud snap sounded from behind her. She whirled about, her hand ready to grab the dagger under her skirt.

A young man in peasant’s garb stood with his hands on the dagger at his belt. He stared at her stunned, then smiled and bowed deeply. He wore the crest of the Duke’s horsemen on his chest. Still bowing, he peered up at her with sharp dark eyes.

“M’lady.”

Juniper’s breath caught in her throat. Recovering herself, she turned away, then tossed a sharp look over her shoulder.

“You will tell no one.”

He smirked – smirked at her! – then walked confidently back to the group gathered outside Sir Prique’s home. Juniper huffed, then ran as quietly as she could back to Emerald, to tell her what had passed that night.

The next day, the story was on everyone’s lips all over the village. How the dastardly Peter Prique had finally been caught slandering the Duke, how they had raided his home and found plans and outlines for a treasonous alliance with a neighboring warlord, how he had been stripped of his title and his manor, and shipped to a work camp in the Americas. Emerald’s little cottage was granted to her by the Duke. Emerald thought this a very kind gesture, but Juniper knew it to be a bribe. After all, only they two knew the truth about the Duke’s proclivities.

Juniper felt very glad about the part she had to play, except for a faint dissatisfaction from the lack of actual physical combat. Next time, she thought, with a smile.

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The Dastardly Peter Prique Tuesday, Sep 16 2008

Emerald awoke one crisp morning in her little cottage to a terrific bang.  She arose in a hurry, and hastened to see what had caused the noise.  She gasped, then quickly drew her coverlet more tightly about her shoulders.  The front window of the cottage had crumbled and collapsed, leaving glass in Emerald’s birdbath, not to mention a gaping hole in her home, into which cold air quickly funneled. 

“What am I to do?” Emerald thought aloud.  “For I am not handy with heavy tools and glass blowing, and besides that, this is not my home…I am but a tenant!” 

From outside the window came a voice: “Speak to the owner.”

Emerald peeked her head out, suspiciously.  An old man with a pack slung over his back smiled at her, continuing his walk down her path.

“Speak to the gentleman you rent from,” he suggested, turning away. “He is a great man.”  And with that, he disappeared from view behind a large flowering plant.

Emerald smiled to herself. The universe had given her an answer, just at her moment of confusion. Perhaps she was not so doomed after all.

After carefully cleaning the mess in the birdbath and singing a light air to attract her friends back to their perch, Emerald strolled down the path which took her into town, to the home of her landlord, Sir Peter Prique.  She climbed the steep steps leading to his manor, then knocked confidently.  She heard noises within, but no answer to the door.  She knocked again.  No reply came from the house. She looked in the window.  There, she could see a man in a long hunting jacket, pacing back and forth.  Emerald drew up her courage and rapped upon the window. 

In an instant the door was opened, and the man she had spied smiled down on her.  It was none other than Sir Prique himself.  Emerald curtsied prettily and her landlord’s face darkened slightly, though the smile never left his lips.

“How may I assist you, Miss Emerald?”

Emerald noticed he did not invite her in, as a good gentleman was required to, but quickly drove the thought from her mind, so as not to lose her nerve.

“Good Sir, I’m afraid there’s been a bit of wall rot, I suppose they call it, and my forward window is quite in ruins.  I do wonder if you could replace it for me.  The cottage is growing quite frigid already.” 

“Of course, my dear!” he replied.  He placed his hand firmly on her shoulder, turning her back toward the path. “We’ll have that done for you straight away.  And perhaps a little rose-tint this time?”

Emerald, under the weight of Sir Prique’s push, stepped carefully down the steps.

“Yes, wonderful,” she replied. “But surely rose-tinted glass is too fine for a little abode like…”

“Not at all!” Sir Prique laughed. “It will be seen to.”  And in two steps, he bolted back inside the house and slammed the door shut.

“Good day,” Emerald said to the closed door. 

A week later, the window had not been fixed.  Not a soul had passed her way, not even the gardener, who was scheduled by Sir Prique to come every other day.  Even Juniper didn’t make her usual visits this week, for some mysterious reason.  Emerald felt quite despondent, and more than that, quite cold.  The wind blew in terrific gusts through the window at night, and this week had been a particularly rainy one, forcing Emerald to move all of her furniture out of the way of the soggy blasts. 

Finally, she decided to pay another visit to her landlord, to see what had been keeping the workers.  She gathered a thick wool cloak around her, then hurried down to town, ducking raindrops as she went. 

Emerald stepped up to the door of Sir Peter Prique and rapped upon it.  To her surprise, he appeared at once.  She stooped to curtsey, but was interrupted mid-dip by his strong grip on her arm pulling her up and into the house.  The door shut behind her as she gasped and rearranged her coiffure. 

“What are you doing here?!?” Sir Prique bellowed.

“Well, sir, the window has not been mended and -” Emerald gulped to hold back shocked tears.

“And what, little girl? I’ve done you a great favor, letting you rent my cottage after the disappearance of your parents. And now an even greater honor, agreeing to your ridiculous requests for maintenance, for even fancier decorations than you may have had in your manor!” 

Emerald’s chin rose at that.

“Sir Prique, I ask only that which is owed to me.  I pay for shelter, and shelter I intend to receive.”

Sir Prique’s face grew quite red and his hands clenched at his sides.

“You will receive nothing! You complain it is not done fast enough for your taste? It will not be done at all!”

And with that, the dastardly Peter Prique grabbed Emerald by her golden hair with one hand, opened the great oak door with the other, and shoved her down the stairs. 

Emerald collapsed in a heap, sobbing.  She could hear from behind her, the sounds of the door being shut and bolted, and the window shutters all being snapped into place.  Her hem was ripped and her bodice soiled by mud.  Humiliated and helpless, she ran all the way home to her chilled little cottage. 

When she awoke in the morning, she felt more lost than ever.  As if in a dream, she dressed and ambled down the road to the home of her good friend Juniper.

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Emerald’s Lament Tuesday, Sep 16 2008

It was late morning, and Emerald LaVerte wished she could stay abed, but life and polite society awaited her.  She sighed and looked out the window.  A bird alit on a low hanging branch, cocked its speckled head and whistled a sprightly tune to cheer the girl. 

“Oh little bird,” smiled Emerald. “You’re a dear little thing, aren’t you? How nice it is to be reminded of all the little joys in life.  But please, don’t stay here on my account. Fly! Fly freely, and let my heart soar with you!” 

Without a moment’s hesitation, the little bird took off into the sky, twirling in a figure eight, singing a merry song, interrupted quickly by the great cry of a falcon, which swooped up from nowhere and crushed the little bird in its mighty talons. 

Emerald’s breath caught in her throat, a ready tear frozen in her eye.  From next door came a shout.

“Emerald, are you home?” Juniper’s voice shook with excitement. “How do you like my new peregrine? He’s absolutely vicious!”

Emerald closed the shutters and went back to bed.

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The Lanolin Saga – Chapter the First…Idylls of the Ides Tuesday, Sep 16 2008

I should like to introduce to you, gentle readers, a young lady by the name of Emerald.  Gracious and graceful, as lit from within by the glow of her goodwill as her golden hair is lit by the sun on a day such as this one, Emerald waltzes through life with nature as her gown.  The air rejoices at her every breath, and willows weep that they can only hope to emulate the beauty of her carriage. Which is not to say that she slumps. No indeed! Emerald’s very being is the picture of blessings. Those who see her pass think to themselves, “What a very lucky girl, and what a lucky soul am I to have seen her!” Little do they know the invisible cloud hanging over poor dear Emerald – the cloud known now scientifically as “Murphy’s Law.”

And for those readers who are not quite so gentle as the aforementioned readers, I should like to introduce a young woman (it should be slander to name her a young lady) by the name of Juniper. A more contrary girl was never known in all of Christendom, though outside of Christendom I cannot vouch for.  Tall as a reed and quick as a whip, her moods and opinions shift with the wind, but her loyalty is fierce and true and, on occasion, steel-tested.

What adventures shall meet with these two lasses? None other than…THE GREATEST THE WORLD HAS EVER KNOWN!!!!!

Until next time, gentle and non-gentle readers…

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