Ring of Dreams

The Lone Wanderer

Jane edged her way over to the only empty seat she could see: it was at a table in the corner where a few other people were sitting, but her feet were tired and she was ready to take a break from standing. She sat and carefully removed her pack. It wasn't even as heavy as the backpack she wore to school, but the weight was distributed differently and the straps had been digging into her shoulders. She rotated them gratefully. While she was trying to figure out her next move, a beefy middle-aged man wearing a stained apron that might once have been white came up to her and eyed her up and down with a single cutting glance.

"What'll ye have?" he asked brusquely.

"Oh!" she said. "I don't want anything, thank you."

He crossed his arms, looking irritated. "If yer not eatin' nor drinkin' I'll have to ask ye to leave to make room for t'other customers."

"Oh, well, then, w-what do you have?"

"Gallon o'ale for ha'penny," he said impatiently. "Mug o'wine for a farthing. Penny gets ye a hunk o'bread, tuppence stew t'go with it. Now, what'll ye have?"

"Let me see what I've got," she stalled, fumbling with the laces of her pack. Great. She had only been in town ten minutes, and she was about to get kicked out of the tavern for not having any money. She felt sick. Maybe he'll take that little box, she thought, but as she groped around for it, her fingers touched something small and pliable that clinked distinctively. Jane drew it out, puzzled, and discovered she was holding a little leather pouch about the size of her palm. She undid the drawstring, revealing a generous huddle of coins of all colors: copper, silver, even some that looked like gold. 

She jumped as a rough hand clapped over hers, covering the coins. It was the man sitting across from her at the table - he leaned closer and spoke with a low voice. "Best if you did not wave that around in here, my lady." Then, louder, he said, "Bread and stew for the lady, goodman, and two mugs of wine."

Jane flushed. "No wine for me, please."

The man frowned. "Are you certain, my lady? You seem quite pale."

She nodded. He was right, she didn't feel well, but from discreet past experimentation she knew that alcohol was only likely to make her feel worse.

He shrugged, dismissing the other man with an easy wave of his hand. "One mug of wine, then."

He removed his hand and Jane hastily closed the coin pouch, stuffing it back into her pack. She studied her new companion with little darting glances, shifting uncomfortably under his scrutiny. He was young, she guessed, although with the stubble covering his chin he could have been seventeen or twenty-four. In the low light of the tavern it was difficult to see clearly, but his hair seemed to be a medium brown, chin-length and a little shaggy, and his eyes were dark. He wore a plain brown cloak, fastened at the shoulder with a row of small buttons, and on his head he had a little pointed cap with the sides turned up. Just like Peter Pan, Jane smiled, or Robin Hood. She glanced at him again, fighting not to blush at the intensity of his gaze. Definitely Robin Hood.

The barman returned with a battered metal plate which he set in front of Jane before handing a thick ceramic mug to the man she was now mentally referring to as Robin Hood. Robin Hood passed him some coins and the man left, still looking irritated. Jane turned her attention to her plate: it was covered with lumpy gravy with little bits of meat in it, with a hunk of bread about the size of a large dinner roll on the side. Her stomach rumbled - she really was hungry - but she didn't see a spoon anywhere. After a sidelong glance at another patron eating the stew, she copied him and started scooping it up with her bread.

Robin Hood still stared at her in silence, sipping his wine as she ate. The stew didn't taste great, but it was warm and filling and she wiped the last of it up before she realized it. She had started nibbling at the rest of her bread (the parts that hadn't been soaked in stew were actually rather hard) when he spoke. 

"Now then, my lady," he said, leaning close again. "Who are you, and what are you doing in Dunstead alone, on foot, and carrying so much gold?"

Jane set her bread down on the plate. "My name is J- " she broke off. This was her dream. Her adventure. Why stick with the boring, literally 'plain Jane' name she had always disliked? "My name is - Genevieve," she said, sitting up straighter. "And as for what I am doing here," she paused, her imagination failing her. The truth, then. "I am looking for an adventure."

He smiled, though he tried it hide it, the kind of smile you give a child when they say they want to grow up to be Batman. 

Jane flushed again, this time in anger. It figured. Even in her dreams no one took her seriously. "Well, who are you then? And what is your business here?" Ha, ha, Robin Hood, she thought. It's your turn to sit in the hot seat.

"I am Edward," he said, his broad smile revealing neat white teeth as he made a little half bow over the table, "and I am but a simple traveler, on my way to visit my uncle in the borderlands."

Jane almost snorted. "What a terrible cover story," muttered. "That's the plot of, like, eighty percent of novels where the rightful heir to the throne is trying to gather support to overthrow a usurper."

Hard fingers closed around her wrist. "Mind your tongue, milady," Edward said, his tone a harsh whisper. "Unfriendly ears abound in a place like this. Who sent you?"

"What?" Jane squawked, alarmed. "I was joking, it was a joke! A - a jest!"

 Edward looked to the other side of the room. They had attracted the attention of a pair of burly men in leather vests, who rose and were weaving their way through the crowd as fast as the crush of bodies would allow. "A jest in very poor taste, my lady Genevieve, for now we must make haste!"

He rose from the table and dragged Jane with him. She barely had time to snatch up her pack before they were running for the door and bursting once more out into the sunlight.