A table sat in the left corner of the blacksmith’s shed that was covered with crafted knives and hatchets. It made Samuel think about the throwing knives he purchased weeks before. He’d left them by his cot. He did have his hunting knife tucked inside his new peacoat. The only order the sheriff had given him for the festival was to bring a weapon.
“If you get a bunch of people together, pluck them out of their normal routines, then give them free booze, things are bound to get stupid.”
“Won’t all the patrolmen be in the square?” Samuel asked.
“Mayor’s still on a quest to find his thief, so he’s keeping half my force at the estate. Entitled piece of shit.” He spat. “Don’t let it get to your head, kid. You being armed is just a precaution. Don’t try and be a hero. You hear me? You leave the real work for the real men.”
Charles nudged Samuel forward with an elbow.
“Sword swallowers canceled. I was looking forward to seeing a performance.”
“Sword swallowers?”
“Name speaks for itself. One time, at my school, they had this whole brigade of entertainers stop by. Watched this one guy shove a burning cutlass down his throat like it was nothing. It was insane.”
“Wow.”
Samuel draped his new peacoat tighter across his chest, fighting the urge to adjust his bowtie. He was uncomfortable in his garb, the clothes making him feel like an imposter. Pairs of eyes studied him as he moved along through the square with Charles, eyes that saw through his fancy garb. Samuel lowered his head, watching his own feet shuffle. As much as he wanted to belong, he knew that he didn’t.
A greenlands band played upbeat music on the makeshift stage. The ditties sounded exotic, like they’d been written for a warmer and kinder place. There were four musicians on the stage. Three of them played on stringed instruments, while the one in the center beat his palms against a giant drum. They were far more talented than the last band that had played, at Landon Swen’s funeral. How much money had the mayor spent to cart them up?
They came upon a group of girls close to their age. Charles stiffened his neck. The girls were huddled together giggling about something. One of the girls was exceptionally pretty, her blond hair falling down her shoulders and her round cheekbones nearly as pale as Zei’s. Her blue eyes locked onto Charles before she turned to her friends and smirked. Charles picked up his pace.
“Bitch.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Charles scrunched his lips. “She’s mad because I’m not into her. As if I’d waste my time.”
Samuel looked back, seeing if he could spot the girl. “The blond one?”
Charles yanked him back around. “Yeah. Come on. Keep moving.”
Samuel didn’t know much about love, but he never thought of Charles as a bold romancer. Society didn’t take kindly to women having relations before marriage. Most of them ended up working in whorehouses after that.
“My dad’s been on my case lately,” Charles said, kicking a glob of dirt as they moved along. “Saying I need to grow up and ‘be a man.’ Whatever that means. So, to make him happy, I invited that stupid girl over to the estate and all. We drank whiskey, talked awhile, and ended up necking a bit. I just wasn’t into her. It’s always like that. I mean. She’s a logger’s daughter, anyway, so it’s not like anything could ever happen. She was so desperate, Sam. You should’ve seen it. Girls like that are dumb and annoying. I don’t see what all the fuss is about.”
Samuel shrugged, unsure how to answer his friend. He knew little of love and passion and sex, but he was pretty sure he liked girls. He liked Claudette. Before he knew it, they were walking alongside the butcher’s shop. Samuel found his feet carrying him to the glass window. He peeked inside. A lanky man with long arms and slightly sunken cheeks stood next to Laura behind the meat counter chatting with several visitors. Samuel recognized him as Laura’s husband.
Claudette stood in the center of the shop holding a large tray full of tiny cuts of meat. She was wearing a red frock dress with black tights and flats. Her hair was fastened back in some sort of elaborate braid that was composed of three separate parts, one of which encircled the top of her head like a crown. Samuel could’ve never done something as complex to Zei’s hair.
Zei. How was she? Could she hear the festival noise from inside her cell? Was it driving her mad? When Samuel left her by midmorning, she was writing a list of simple words that he’d taught her from the day before: cup, snow, sun, pig, and Sam. He wanted her to recognize his name.
Charles tapped his shoulder.
“Tavern is giving out free drinks. Not that it matters to me. But they’re supposed to have some new fancy brews from Boram. Getting harder to get their good beers with all those damn riots. My dad’s probably hanging out over there.”
“The sheriff too. I’m going to go inside this shop, if that’s okay.”
“Suit yourself.” Charles walked backward right into the masses behind him, and people shifted to the side to avoid being hit. “You know where the tavern is, right? Meet me there?”
Samuel nodded and waved before turning to the shop’s door. If beer tasted anything like the liquor the sheriff had given him, he would be fine without it. He opened the door, and the bell above it rang. He pushed his glasses farther up the bridge of his nose as he came by Claudette. She smiled, and it made his breath quicken.
“How are you?”
She jiggled the tray slightly.
“Bored. And my arms hurt. You look handsome.”
Samuel bit into his lip. “Need help?”
“You can’t do everything for me.”
She lifted the tray up with one hand, showing off the cooked meats with the other.
“Free sample? The mayor paid for extra meat so we could serve it to everyone at the festival.”
Samuel picked a meat that appeared to be some sort of sausage. He bit into it, and his taste buds instantly took a liking to the flavor, but he was nervous about chewing funny, so he used his hand to cover his mouth. He swallowed without fully masticating, and the lump of meat nearly stuck in his throat.
“It’s really good.”
The people that had been chatting with Laura and her husband left the shop, and Laura glided out from behind the counter. Her hair was tucked back in her usual bun, but she was wearing a nice dress instead of a bloody apron.
“I heard what you did for my daughter,” Laura said with a slight bow. “Thank you.”
Samuel went stiff and bowed lower.
“It was nothing.”
“Kindness must run in your bloodline.”
Laura’s face was nearly as hard as Zei’s, but unlike Zei, he could feel warmth in her words. The law was broken that night when the old butcher touched his father, but Laura never reported the incident. A wave of silent gratitude was exchanged between them, and it had nothing to do with killing a pig. His father had helped her father pass peacefully. Unlike most, she seemed grateful for what his father had done. He was thankful for that.