Golden (8 page)

And still the weather stayed hot, and the tinker and his boy did not come.

Seven

Eventually, of course, the matter was taken out of our hands, for that is the way of things, more often than not. Returning from the orchard late one day, where I had been battling wasps for apples that the heat had brought down before their time, I saw a great cloud of dust. From the hill on which the orchard stood, I could trace the clouds path with my eyes: from the main road, off onto the several branching ones that, eventually, led to our front door.

No!
I thought. It would be bad enough for the mob to catch us at all, but for them to find Melisande alone ...

Without another thought in my head, I sprinted for home.

Halfway there, my brain kicked in, reminding me that if I simply burst in upon whatever I might find, not only would I be unable to aid the sorceress, I'd hand myself over to our enemies as well. So I stopped, set the basket of apples down, and took a breath. Then, leaving the basket where it was, I continued more slowly.

There was no one in the garden. The back door was shut, and I could hear no sound from inside the
house. In the whole yard, there seemed to be not a single breath of air. The back of my neck prickled with tension. I crept around to the front and found a horse standing in our yard. Its flanks were covered with sweat. White foam flecked its mouth. I stood for a moment, while my own sweat dampened the back of my dress, trying to decide what should be done. Unless cared for, a horse ridden as hard as this one could sicken.

I suppose there's nothing for it,
I thought, as I took a single step forward. If its master had evil intentions, the horse would suffer quite enough without my adding to its misery.

“Don't you touch him. Stay away,” a shrill voice called.

Instantly I took the same step back, cursing myself. I'd let my love for animals get in the way of my good sense. Again.

“I only want to wipe him down,” I said. “He shouldn't be left to stand. He's been ridden too hard.”

“I said stay away,” the voice said again, and now I could see to whom it belonged. In the lane right outside our gate sat a serving boy on a horse of his own. The lad was big and strapping, for all that his voice had been shrill. He had ears like pitchers. Great, doughy hands clutched hard at the reins so that the horse's feet were never still. It tossed its head and showed the whites of its eyes.

He is infected by his rider's fear,
I thought.

“I only want to wipe him down,” I said again.
“And I can bring you a drink of water, if you like.”

“You'll do no such thing,” the boy replied. “How do I know what you might put in it? You serve the evil sorceress.”

“I do not,” I answered smartly, probably more smartly than I should have done. But that word, evil, was pounding in my head, driving out caution. “I'm nobody's servant, and if you think that Melisande would harm anyone, you're just plain wrong. Maybe you should consider keeping your mouth shut. Your ignorance is showing, and it's not a pretty sight.”

“What would you know about pretty?” the boy shot back. “I've heard about you. They say that you are cursed and have no hair at all.”

“That's ridiculous,” I said, though I was responding to the first part of his words, of course. My voice was loud and brave, but by now my heart had begun to knock against my ribs. What was I doing, standing here arguing in the yard?

“Show me your head and prove it, then,” the boy challenged, for of course I had a kerchief on, as always, and my favorite one besides.

“I don't have to prove anything to you,” I said. At which he laughed, and it was not a joyful sound.

“You're afraid of me,” he said. “You ought to be.”

All of a sudden, I understood the urge to strike the first blow, to harm those you think mean to injure you before they get the chance. For his words made me angry, and my fingers itched to find a rock and throw it. But before I could do anything so rash—
before, in fact, I could do anything else at all—the front door of the house slammed back and a man stalked out into the yard. I spun toward him. He stopped short. We stared at one another.

He was a few years older than I was, or so I judged, dressed in the fine clothes of a wealthy man from the town. A merchant, perhaps. They always dressed well.

“So,” he said at last. “You have grown up tall. I wondered if you might, your legs were so strong.”

I did my best to hide my confusion, but I must not have been very successful.

“You don't remember me, do you?” he inquired.

I opened my mouth to say that of course I didn't, when I looked into his eyes. They were a color I had seen just once before, a blue more blue than any sky. In that moment, a memory I had forgotten I possessed returned to me, and I discovered that I knew him after all.

“You are the boy,” I said. “The tall boy who kicked the ball so well.”

He smiled then, and it was like the sun appearing on a cloudy day, just when you have given up any hope that such a moment might come.

“And you are the girl who was faster than any of us,” he said. He made a gesture, as if both calling attention to and dismissing the rich garments that he wore. “As you can see, we have both grown up.”

“You have done well,” I said.

He shrugged. “My father died young and I am his
only son. But I ...” He paused and took a breath. “I have never forgotten the day we met.”

The things you saw in your own heart,
I thought. But I did not say so aloud. For this I did remember clearly: Not even he had been able to hold Melisande's eyes.

“And so I came to offer you and the sorceress this warning: Leave this place with all possible speed, or you will answer with your lives.”

I exhaled a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding in.

“You came to warn us,” I said. “Not to drive us off.”

“The first will accomplish the second, so I'm not sure it makes much difference,” he said. “But no, I did not come to drive you off. I failed to defend you once. I would prefer not to make the same mistake a second time. Consider this the payment of a debt.”

He moved then, striding across the yard to mount his horse. Then, for one moment only, he looked down.

“I do not think that we will meet again. Go quickly, and fare you well.”

Then he spurred his horse back into the lane and vanished down it in the same cloud of dust with which he had arrived. But the serving boy, freed from his master's presence and his fear alike, was not quite done. With a great cry, he aimed his horse through the gate, straight at me, acting so quickly I had no time to step aside. With one fierce gesture, he yanked the kerchief from my head.

“I knew it! I knew it! You
are
cursed!” he cried.

With a final flourish, he tossed the fabric high into the air, then sped after his master, the horses legs eating up the road. And it was only then that I turned and saw Harry, standing at the corner of the house. In one white-knuckled fist, he clutched the tallest of our pitchforks.

Slowly I crossed the yard, retrieved my kerchief, shook it out, and put it back on. I did my best to keep my spine straight, like the stems of the black-eyed Susans that I so loved. Only then did I realize what strength it took to stand up so tall and straight and unafraid, no matter what comes.

“I'm sorry, Rapunzel,” Harry said.

“You didn't do anything,” I said. “You don't have anything to be sorry for.”

“Don't I?” Harry asked. “Thank you for reminding me.” And he came forward then, taking several steps and driving the pitchfork, hard, into the parched ground.

“What are you talking about?” I asked. Every bone in my body seemed to ache, all of a sudden. Even my brain ached, for it felt worn out and tired.

“How can you ask me that?” Harry cried. “I just stood there. I stood there while he hurt you and did nothing. It was over before I knew what should be done.”

“He didn't hurt me,” I said.

“Of course he did. Why else are you crying?”

And it was only as he said this that I realized it
was the truth. My dusty cheeks were wet with tears.

“I'm crying because I'm angry not hurt,” I said as I dashed them aside.” The wound he wanted to inflict was over and done with long ago. We've done nothing to them. Nothing! But still they'll come to drive us from our home. All because we're different, and they are fearful fools who require a scapegoat. Where's Melisande?”

“Here,” I heard the sorceress call.

She stepped out into the yard. On her back she had tied her own bundle. She set mine down at her feet. Her sewing basket rested in the crook of one arm.

“The cat and I have been coming to an arrangement,” she said. “He agrees not to scratch or cry out, if we agree to keep him in this basket for as short a time as possible.”

“I'm glad you had better luck convincing him than I did,” I said. I moved to her side and shouldered my own bundle. She handed over the basket containing Mr. Jones, then went back inside for the one in which we'd packed our food supplies. Then she came all the way out and shut the door behind her.

“Harry,” she said, precisely as if she had expected to see him there on this afternoon and no other. “There you are.”

“The tinker is at the next farm over,” Harry said. “He said that you would know the one. And he said you should go quickly to join him. There isn't much time.”

“I know.” said Melisande.

“What are you going to do?” I asked him. For there had been a note in his voice, one I wasn't certain that I liked.

“I've been thinking about that,” Harry said. “I'm taking the horse.”

“Oh, no, you're not,” I said. “He's coming with us.”

“No,” Harry said at once, and his eyes went to Melisande's as if seeking support. “Surely you can see that isn't wise. It's well enough known that the tinker stops at your door. If he's seen on the road with your horse...”

“But...,” I said.

“Harry is right,” Melisande spoke up. “If we are to ride with the tinker, we cannot afford to give anyone cause to search the wagon.”

“If anyone asks, I can always say that I stole it,” Harry went on. “I can travel fast and light, and meet up with you later.”

“In that case,” I said tartly, “I sincerely hope one of us knows where we're going.”

“Across the mountains,” Melisande said. “Three days' journey through the passes, two days across the plains beyond. On the morning of the sixth day, look for a tower rising straight up out of the plain. That is where we are going.”

“Why?” I asked.

But the sorceress shook her head. “Not now. There will be time enough for that when we are safely away from this place.” She turned to go, then
paused, her eyes on Harry. “Say your good-byes quickly. I'll wait for you at the top of the hill, Rapunzel.”

With that, she turned on one heel and disappeared around the side of the house, leaving Harry and me standing in the yard.

“Six days,” Harry said. “That's not so bad. Surely even you can stay out of trouble for that long, Parsley.”

“I am never any trouble,” I retorted. “That falls to horse-stealing tinker's boys.”

But I moved to him and reached for his hand before I quite knew what I had done.

“Be careful,” I said. “I want you to promise.”

“You're the one they're hunting, not me,” he said.”

“Harry.”

“Oh, all right. I promise, Parsley.”

“Why must you always do that?” I asked, horrified that I could once more feel the prick of tears at the back of my eyes, and I knew that anger hadn't brought them on this time. I stamped my foot, to drive them away. “I have a proper name. You might learn to say it.”

“Rapunzel,” Harry said. And again, “Rapunzel.”

And then he did the very last thing I expected. He caught my face between his hands and pressed his lips to mine. I forgot the heat of the day, forgot my own danger. All I could feel was the touch of his mouth. All I could hear was the sound my own heart made.