Ned walked a few feet and turned around. "Don't dawdle now! We must find lodgings before night or we may be robbed of more than our gold."
The pair, not wanting to anger him, jumped at Ned's command and hurried after him. They walked on in silence, each prepared to take cover along the road in case their new enemies should present themselves. The teenagers walked on either side of the old man, and Fred noticed Pat glanced at him several times. He scowled at her. "What? Is something wrong?"
"I want to know how you were able to avoid the pay-dirt magic," she replied. Fred shrugged, but Ned let out a chuckle. She shot him an ugly look. "What's so funny?"
"Haven't you guessed? He didn't fool or deflect the magic because he has no greed for money," Ned explained to her. "No doubt it comes from his having never had any."
Pat scoffed at the idea. "How ridiculous, of course everyone wishes for gold. It's man's greatest motivator."
"And woman's," Ned added.
Fred listened intently to their conversation. When the secret was revealed, he glanced down at his palm. It was true that he hadn't wanted the gold, but only what the gold represented; freedom. He wanted to be free of the servitude of any lord, to be his own man. That meant being free of money he knew he'd never earn, and wouldn't steal.
"Boy." Fred was shaken from his thoughts by the title; Pat was calling him. "What skills do you have? How much can you lift?"
"My name is Fred," he replied. He would be polite, but he wouldn't let himself be pushed around by a girl hardly older than himself, and wearing armor, too.
Pat wrinkled her nose. "Fred? What sort of a name is that for a boy? Haven't you any longer name, like Frederick?"
He shrugged. "Maybe, but my parents never mentioned it before the Boo took them when I was seven," Fred told her.
The girl frowned. "Boo? What in the world is that, some sort of monster around here?"
The old man chuckled and Fred looked at the girl as though she was a fool. "No, the Boo came for them. Haven't you ever had someone taken by the Boo?"
"How the hell should I know? I don't even know what the hell it is," Pat countered.
Sensing a headache-inducing argument about to erupt, Ned sought to intervene. "In some areas Boo refers to Death, probably stemming from the idea of one being scared to death," the old man informed her.
Pat cringed at her lack of sensitivity. "Oh. I...I didn't mean anything-"
"I don't care. It was a long time ago," Fred interrupted. Remembering his parents reminded him that he was traveling away from both his home and their graves.
The remaining four miles were crossed, and they rounded a bend to gain their first view of their destination. The town was set in a low plain beside the river that provided the area with irrigation and drinking water for Damskov's manor. The bushes along the road gave way to stands of trees that stood in patches, beneath which grazed cows in green fields. The town itself and its buildings were housed behind thick stone walls ten feet high and three feet thick. Gates led into the town, and were watched by armored men with swords at their waists.
The nearest gate was also watched by a few of the knights of Damskov. The three companions stopped at the side of the road behind a group of stones. Other travelers passed by to sell wares in the town marketplace. Pat glared at Ned. "What now?"
Ned pulled at his beard and glanced around. His eyes lit up when they fell on a tall, covered wagon that rolled toward them. The driver on the box was an old woman, and the steed was a sorry mule. He stepped into the road and flagged the cart down with his staff. The old woman grudgingly stopped her vehicle, and her narrowed eyes looked at the old man. "What's wanted?" she snapped at him.
"We're in need of help, old mother," Ned politely replied. "Will you allow us to hide in your cart so we may enter the town?"
The old woman looked over the three, particularly Fred. He frowned in turn; there was something strange about the woman's face. Almost like it didn't fit right on her head. "And why are you wanting to do that? Got yourselves into some sort of trouble?"
"Something like that," Ned admitted. "It may be dangerous, especially if our foes finds us."
The woman straightened her small form and cackled. "You must think me a fool, but I'll go along with this joke." She nodded back toward the wagon. "Hop in and hurry, for I've fruit to sell. And mind you, don't squish any of my vegetables!" she scolded as they quickly climbed inside. No sooner had she said that than Pat stepped on a cantaloupe. The vegetable gave a soft squish and, as a last revenge, squirted its juice in Pat's eyes. The old woman turned her head and glared at the girl. "You'll be paying for that one, Miss Armor."
Pat scowled but didn't argue. They seated themselves on the crowded floor and pulled the extra cloth from the wagon covering over themselves. The woman cracked her whip and they plodded off down the road. The wagon rocked from side to side at a pace equal to a toddler's. The distance was short and they soon heard the noise of people and commerce; they'd reached the town gates.
"Whoa there, old mother," a man's deep voice called out. The wagon slowed to a stop. "What have you here?"
"Vegetables as always, now let me pass," she shot back.
"I'm afraid there's been some trouble along that road you came from, so we'll have to ask to search your cart." Fred's heart pounded and he heard the sound of armor clank alongside of the wagon.
"Now wait a minute! I won't have your filthy hands on my vegetables!" their driver protested. "If'n you're going to touch them then you need to wash your hands!"
There was a general murmur of laughter from other people who passed by the wagon on their way into and out of the town. A crowd even formed to watch this affair. The lead guard stepped forward and uneasily glanced at the onlookers. "Listen, old mother, we will only take a moment to look for-"
"-to look for nothing with your grubby hands!" She waved her hand back to the river outside. "You go wash your hands in there or you're not touching my food!"
The crowd burst into glee at the old woman showing up the guards and ruffians. The men shifted uneasily and clinked in their armor. "We only want a quick look, old mother. We'll only lift the tarps."
"And ruin my good tarps with your hands? I say wash them and look, or let me pass. You're keeping me from selling some damn good vegetables to these fine people."
The lead guard scowled at her obstinance. "I've been patient enough with you, old mother, but you'll do what we say, or we'll turn you back."
The onlookers murmured their disapproval at his threat. The woman was old and hadn't harmed anyone; the guards were demanding a look only because their knight friends wanted them to do so. The crowd pushed in on the knights and the guards whipped their heads around at the people; they saw only angry faces.
The old woman saw the crowd was on her side and smiled. "Will you let me pass or no?"
The guard growled, but waved his hand toward the entrance. "Very well, get along with you, you old hag!"
"And a good day to you, too, gentlemen!" she cackled. She took the whip to her sorry mule and the wagon lurched forward into the town.
The three passengers breathed a sigh of relief; they'd made it past the worst spot, and now only needed to avoid their enemies. Their driver took them to the marketplace, and climbed down from her perch. She opened the rear of the wagon and swept off their covers. "All right now, out with you! You've had your fun, and I've had mine, but now it's time to get to work." They climbed out, but the woman firmly grabbed onto Pat's arm. "Hold a minute. You owe me something for the cantalope. That was my best and I expected to get a silver out of it."
Pat scowled; she'd hoped to use some of the pay-dirt to give to the old woman, but it only turned to gold. The girl dug into her pocket and pulled out a silver coin. "Here," she flatly replied, and tossed the coin into the old woman's hands.
The old woman clicked her tongue and shook her head. "Not even a thank-you for my efforts? You need to learn some manners, girl."
Pat blushed at the scolding, and opened her mouth to snap a retort. Ned swept up to her and held his hand over her mouth. He smiled at the old woman and bowed his head. "We're very grateful for your kind help, old mother. May your vegetables sell well this day."
The old woman smiled and bowed her head. She tottered off to ready her wagon, and the three companions were left on their own. Fred now had a clear view of their surroundings, and he looked in awe at the sights around them. The wooden houses with their thatched or tiled roofs were crowded together with no thought to design, creating angled streets and dark, narrow alleys. The buildings were three or four stories tall and housed every sort of person. Women of infamous houses sat themselves on the wide windowsills and showed off their wares, dwarves worked their forges on the ground floors, and there were even a few stray elves in their brown cloaks who mingled with the aristocratic merchants in their homes.
The marketplace lay in one of the few open areas in the town, and the stalls crowded in one each other in mimic to the houses. People, carts and animals bustled about. Small children herded geese and chickens, adults tugged cows and oxen to the sale yard situated on a wide street off the marketplace. People shouted their wares and prices, others haggled and still more merely browsed the wide selection of food, trinkets and tools.
"Keep your eyes out for a castor," Ned warned them.
Fred wanted to ask what that was exactly, but his companions hurried forward and all he could do was follow them. They wound their way through the stalls, hagglers and shoppers, and went into a narrow alley. The doors to the buildings lined the walls on either side of them, and wares were set out for perusal. Ned led them to the shop closest to the alley entrance, and paused at the battered, half-rotted door. He turned and looked over the youngsters. "Mind you, don't touch anything unless I've given you permission. There are some unusual items in this shop, and some of them aren't friendly," he advised them.
Fred and Pat glanced at each other, and followed their guide into the shop. Fred was presented with new and strange sights. Shelves upon shelves lined the walls of the small shop, and those were filled with jars and books. The jars were made of a murky glass that distorted the contents, but Fred was grateful for that; he swore some of the jars contained eyeballs and pickled bats.
A counter stood in the back with an old woman behind it. Ned went up to the old woman and gave her a smile. "Good afternoon, old mother. Have you any pay-dirt in stock?" She nodded at a barrel close at hand, and Ned opened the lid. He dipped his hand in and brought up the mud. "Pat, will you give me your hand to test this?" Pat grumbled, since she knew and envied Fred's immunity to the greed charm on the mud, and went over to assist.
That left Fred on his own, and he browsed a shelf close at hand. There were only books there, and he took down a large tome. He opened the book and was disappointed when there weren't any pictures. His interest quickly faded, he closed the book and put it back on the shelf. However, when he pulled away the book came with him. Fred turned and stared at his hand; the book's spine was attached to his fingers. He jumped back and waved his hand wildly in the air; the pages of the book flapped and the covers slammed together, but the tome remained pressed to his hand. He grabbed the book with his other hand and felt his trapped hand slip from the binding, but now his formerly free hand was stuck to the book.
With all the commotion Fred caught the attention of the other three, particularly the old woman. "Mind the jars, boy!" she scolded.
Ned sauntered over to Fred and caught him by the shoulder before he flung himself into a couple of barrels full of acid. "Whoa there, Fred. What's bothering you so much?"
"I can't get this book off! It won't let go!" Fred yelled. He pulled and yanked, but his hands only traded places with being bound to the book.
Ned chuckled and patted the boy on the shoulder. "Some books just can't be put down until they're read all the way through. Perhaps you should just read what's inside and see if that breaks the spell," he commented.
Fred paled at the suggestion. "But I can't read!" he told Ned.
Ned jerked back and his eyes lit up in surprise. "Well then, that is a problem," Ned mused. He stroked his beard and nodded at the back of the book. "Perhaps you should finish the book anyway."
"But I told you I can't read!" the boy insisted.
"Open the book to the end," Ned suggested. Fred stood there in disbelief, but the old man only grinned. "Go on, open it to the last page."
Fred thought the plan sounded foolish, but he did as was asked. The moment he opened to the last page the book, in its precarious position, slipped from his hand. Ned swiftly stooped and caught the book before it hit the floor. "A relatively safe lesson in curiosity. Mind you heed it," he lightly scolded.
"I'll heed it outside," Fred replied.