“Where did you steal that silver?” he demanded.
“It was a gift. But I have one more request.”
He waited.
“When those men come looking for me, you just tell them you have never seen us. Say nothing else. To do so might trap you in a lie and you cost your head. You never saw us, never heard anyone speak of us, and it is as simple as that. Remember, you cannot reveal what you never saw or heard.”
“If people ask about the silver coin I suddenly have?”
“A good question,” Sara said, speaking for the first time. “It is a gift from an uncle just before his death.”
“My older brother died last spring. He was successful and might have given this to me.” He held it up to the watch the sun flash off it.
“Good,” Prin said, then realized her answer could be taken wrong. “I mean it is a good story to tell, not good that your brother died.”
Tom rolled the coin in his hand, then it came to rest in his outheld palm. He glanced at Prin and said, “Keep your silver. I’ll make it here on my own as soon as I get a crop planted. You’re always welcome to eat here and to sleep in my barn. I don’t charge friends for good manners.”
She leaned forward, “I can see in your eyes that you’re a good man. But you need a little help, and I’m offering it to you. It’s not charity, it’s a business deal. I expect you to set aside half the profits over three years to share with me when I return, not a copper less.”
He closed his fingers over the coin and jabbed a thumb at the direction of the barn. Then he went inside the dilapidated house to cook the meager dinner he offered, leaving them to find their way to the barn.
Pulling the wide doors open to air out the stale barn, Sara said, “You amaze me. In the middle of nowhere, you find us a friend who will eventually earn you a tidy profit, if I’m not in error, and a meal and a place to sleep instead of staying in that very public inn where any searchers are sure to ask about you.”
“It might give us an extra day or two head start. We leave before the sun is up.”
“You’re sure you’re only thirteen?” Sara asked with a chuckle.
“No.”
CHAPTER THREE
Prin devoured the simple porridge Tom served for dinner, thinking it tasted better than the sweets she had served at the ball at the Earl’s Castle. The stale bread he apologized for was softer than the hard bread the cooks had provided for her morning meals her whole life. Sara didn’t seem to share her enthusiasm.
The young farmer, Tom, had answered questions as they ate dinner, and learned the city was called Indore. It sat on the banks of the River Otter. The port was busy with ships coming and going, and strangers were more the rule than the exception. He warned them to be wary of The Order of The Iron Ring, which he told them was a group of warriors originally formed to prevent petty crime, but some said they had grown as powerful as the king’s army and they made terrible enemies, but excellent allies.
They’d talked deep into the night, but his help was mostly second-hand because he’d only visited Indore twice, and much of his information was second, or third hand. They gleaned all they could get from him until they could remain awake no longer.
Sara woke Prin early, before sunrise, and they gathered their few belongings in the dark, well before Tom awoke and might delay them with his talk. The morning was darker than normal, and rain fell steadily. They pulled their blankets over their heads like hoods to shed some of the water, and to hide their faces, a fortunate coincidence with their bald heads. Both wanted to be well down the road on their way to the city before dawn.
Because of the rain, they decided to travel on the road where they could walk faster, and hopefully, nobody along the way would remember them amid others on the road. The few people outside were heading for Indore, most with small wagons filled with vegetables and fruits to sell that were home grown. It was the same everywhere. Selling at the local market was one of the few ways a farmer could earn coin instead of trading or bartering. While that worked out many times, there were still things only hard money could buy.
When they trudged up behind a pair of boys pulling a wagon, they slipped past them with a quick, “Morning.” Their pace was faster than most others on the road, but neither was willing to slow.
Later, nearing the edge of the city, they were still in a hurry to put more distance between them and the mountain pass, they approached a family of four from behind, each of them carrying sacks on their backs filled with apples. The younger ones, two boys about six and eight, struggled to walk under their loads, especially on the slippery, wet surface.
Sara held out her arm to bar Prin from walking so fast, as they watched. The youngest boy stumbled but caught himself before he fell. To Prin, all of them looked worn out, cold, and wet, as if they had traveled some distance. She whispered, “Follow my lead.”
Sara dropped her arm and hurried a few steps to catch up with the struggling family. She said, “Hey, why don’t you let us help?”
The father shook his head, his embarrassment clear. His wife stood aside, but her eyes held a plea. Prin stepped to the youngest boy and said for all to hear, “We would like a few apples but cannot pay. If we carry part of your load, will you give me two for our breakfast? We have not eaten today.”
Most of what she said was true, and it gave the father a way to accept their help instead of charity. Offering to work for apples allowed him to keep dignity, something Prin had learned early was often more important than money. Never strip a person of dignity, or there is nothing left.
The six of them knelt on the road and redistributed the loads to the relief of the boys, and mother. Prin and Sara used their blankets, with the ends tied together to form slings filled with apples. When done, each sling didn’t contain a lot of apples, but the smaller loads the boys carried allowed them to walk faster.
The wife hadn’t said a word, but she secreted a few thankful looks that said more. Even better, Prin realized, was that they now appeared to be a family of six, not two girls alone on the road, that someone might remember. She couldn’t think of a better way to hide where all could see her.
On the outskirts of the city stood shabby houses and small farms that didn’t look prosperous enough to support anyone. Even Tom’s ramshackle farm where they spent last night was better off than some houses they passed, and the few people venturing outside looked little better that vagabonds and thieves.
But the rain had temporarily ceased, and the clouds seemed brighter. Prin’s mood improved.
The mother of the boys said, “You can eat an apple before we get to market, you know.”
“How far is it?” Sara asked as the sun peeked through the clouds.
The mother seemed to be getting over her shyness. She said, “Oh, we’re going to the public market down by the waterfront, not the big bazaar in the center of town.”
“Why that one?” Sara asked as if she knew about both and wanted to know why one was better than the other.
“The men on ships always want fresh fruit and will pay more for them.”
Sara glanced at Prin. “I see. That’s good because we were going down that way, anyhow.”
The buildings became packed closer together, and there were more people walking, standing, or working, on the streets. Many had milk cows or goats, and each house seemed to have a full garden surrounding it. Others had rows of clothes hanging to dry in the wet air, while women washed more. A little rain couldn’t prevent them from earning their meager living.