Chapter 17

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Hi well I'm here well still not here but I am here so how you guys been holding up?
I'm just messing here is the chapter.

Star and Mrs. Diaz arrived at the Poyle farm a little before dusk, feet aching. Mr. and Mrs. Poyle were pleasant, plum old pumpkin farmers. When she first knocked on her door, Star had kept her hood up, and had tried to pretend that they were both just simple travelers, and tried to pay them for the use of one of their rooms. But Mrs. Poyle had screamed "Oh Henry! It's our Princess!" and from that point forward, would not accept any money. The fat, pipe-smoking Henry Poyle had put out some pumpkin pie and cider for them to eat, and Dolores Poyle had given them new clothes and insisted on washing their old ones.

When Star had tried insisting that none of this was necessary, Henry had grunted "Nonsense. It's an honor, yer majesty. And we're likely to be the only friendly face yer going to meet around here." As they ate pumpkin pie, he had warned them against visiting the village up ahead. "I don't know where you're headed, Princess, and it's none of my concern. But if you want to let me in on it, I can tell you the best way there."

Star had decided against telling the Poyles where exactly she was headed. They seemed loyal enough, but they might have suspicions if they found out she was headed towards the ruins where the warlock that had a burning eye hanging in the sky was. Instead, she and Mrs. Diaz insisted on helping the Poyles with their chores. Which really amounted to Mrs. Diaz helping the Poyles with their chores, since a lifetime of castle living had made Star useless with the concept.

When night descended, they gathered in the living room to sit by a roaring fireplace and joke and laugh. The Poyles never asked any uncomfortable questions, completely respecting Star's privacy. It was going to be a comfortable night's sleep, Star thought. When she had the chance, she had to see that the Poyles were rewarded for their hospitality.

Then, just as they were about to retire for the night, there came a sharp rap on the door.

"Comin'," said Mr. Poyle, hopping out of his chair and waddling to the door, opening it.

There, silhouetted in the moonlight and the sickly orange light cast by the burning eye, was the imposing metal frame of Captain TickTock. His yellow lantern eyes flickered from Mr. Poyle to the living room, locking on to Star. "Hello, Princess," he said coolly.

Marco, Janna and Ferguson had fled the inn in Bandit's Point, leaving behind a veritable riot when they did so. They had hopped out of the second floor windows into a pile of filthy hay, and by the time they were down the street the inn had already erupted into an inferno, fire pouring from the windows. Ferguson had given an innocent smile and a shrug.

Luckily enough for them, they had quickly found a street sign pointing the way to the Poyle farm. Marco suggested traveling off the road, in case they were being followed from Bandit's Point. So, difficult as it was, they trotted their way through the forest lining the road. Fortunately, the combined light of the moon and the burning eye in the sky lit the night, so though he struggled with the pack on his back, Marco could easily see the way.

The Poyle farm was not far away at all - in fact, the farmhouse could almost be seen from the edge of town. Very soon, the forest gave way to fields of pumpkins, huge ones, some the size of small houses. The house up ahead looked cheerful enough, he could tell that a fire was roaring inside from the lights dancing from the windows. He wondered if Star was sitting by that fire.

As they drew closer, though, it became clear that something was wrong. There was shouting, the sound of screams, and breaking glass. The three rushed forward, hiding behind a large pumpkin, until they were about thirty feet from the house. Marco gasped.

There, in front of the merry little farmhouse, was Star...being dragged along by some clanking, steam-shooting robot. Without thinking, he tossed the pack from his back, and before either Janna or Ferguson could stop him, dashed forward, sword drawn.

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