Chapter Eight:
Reasons and Regrets
I stood dumbly. Watching the space where Ben disappeared. Hoping, wishing, he would come back to me. He didn't. Finally, I found my ability to move again. I had to explain to Ben. I couldn't let him leave like this. I couldn't let him think I was in love with someone else. I ran down the two flights of stairs, nearly blind with my determination.
I raced into Ben's room and stopped. It was completely empty. He’d even removed the covers. All the markings that made it his had vanished. Things I had never known I'd noticed were gone. I walked to his bed. Sitting on top, as pretty as you please, was Winston's letter. He'd known I would come and try to explain. He must have packed everything before he'd come to find me. Now it was too late.
I looked down at the letter, at its smooth clean surface, dotted with tiny hearts. Such a harmless thing, and yet it had brought ruin to the life I had built here. I was tempted to crush it in my hand, to rip it into a thousand pieces, but I knew I couldn't. I would eventually want to read what he had to say. Not now, not when my pain was so great, I didn't want more news of things I had no control over.
I shoved the letter into my pocket and curled onto the bed. Closing my eyes and pretending that Ben hadn't just left me. I had grown to depend on him so much. He had been everything I had needed to get over the betrayal of my family. Now, without him, I had no hope of anything. All was lost. Once again, I was alone.
I must have drifted off because the next thing I knew, Pud was standing before me, a bowl of soup in his hands, and a gentle smile on his face. "You should eat, Rory." He said slowly, setting the bowl on the ground in front of me. I shook my head and turned to face the wall.
I could hear Pud sigh, but instead of leaving as I thought he would, he curled up beside me, flinging his skinny arm around my shoulder. Hugging, offering a sibling like comfort I had forgotten. He continued to hold me like that, letting me cry, until once again I fell asleep.
It was well past nightfall when I woke. Pud was fast asleep beside me, huddled to me for warmth. While we slept, they’d thrown a blanket over us. I rose from the bed and untangled myself from Pud. He snuggled deeper into the spot I had been. I threw the rest of the blanket on him, watching as he clutched it tight.
They had also removed the soup. I was sorry for that, my stomach growled. From the hall, I could hear the sound of a storm beating outside. Without my cloak, a midnight snack was out of the question. I was tempted to go back to sleep, but I was too wide-awake. Instead, I went to the washroom, lighting a fire in the small stove. I sat before it, letting the flames hypnotize me.
I sat until the sun rose, forcing the night's storm into submission. When I heard Pud rise, I knew I needed to as well. I followed him silently to the kitchens where he made me a plate of eggs, and sliced me off a piece of last night's ham. I ate while he chatted at me, until the room was so full of people that he couldn't manage to cook and talk. I went outside, unable to bear the looks I kept receiving.
Pud told me Ben said his goodbyes to everyone before he left. He’d saved me for last. They didn't know I was the true reason he left. Without me, he would have stayed. They were his family. He would have visited his mother, but he would have returned to them. I had stolen that from them.
I sat in the square on a damp crate, numb to the cold. After he finished eating, Lock came and found me. He took my hand and led me to my room. He made me sit in the hall with him while he painted. He didn't force me to speak. He didn't ask questions. He just painted, leaving me to wallow in my pain.
For three days, we did this, until I would simply wait for him in the hall once I was finished with my breakfast. On the fourth day, he met me in the hall, but his hands were empty. "Rory," he said gently, "I'm done." I blinked, feeling a stirring of curiosity.
I looked at the painting of myself in wonder. In it I stood, not as an empty shell, but strong. She was a girl who looked courageous enough to run away from home on a mere hope. Where had that girl gone? Had she left with Ben? Had she too, run away from me? No. I could feel her, deep inside, burdened with a fresh layer of pain.
I stared at the girl on the wall, feeling her rise within me, bringing me her strength. I felt her purpose, my purpose. I still wasn't ready to give up. I couldn't just sit and wait for someone else to save me. I hadn't been looking for Ben when I found him. I was looking for a fairy. For months, I didn't allow myself to think on how much time I was wasting. I hadn't let myself see how strong the thread keeping me here was. Now that bond was severed; Ben had left, I could too.
I looked at Lock, a feeling of power residing in my chest. It caused my heart to beat faster, stronger. "Lock, I have a favor to ask you." He looked at me, and I could tell from the tilt of his brows that my sudden enthusiasm was unexpected.
"Rory," he began his tone skeptical.
"No, Lock, I think you might like this one! I think I have a plan!"
He sighed heavily. "I always hated it when Ryler said that." I grinned. A compliment if I ever heard one.
"Thanks, Lock!" I scampered towards the stairs.
"Wait, Rory,” he called after me, "aren't you going to tell me what this 'plan' is? Or even about?"
I stopped. In my haste to start putting things together, I forgot to tell Lock my plan. "Lock, you’re going to help me find a fairy to lift my curse."
He scoffed. "How am I going to do that? I'm a painter. I don't listen to village gossip. If you’re looking for a fairy, you should ask SkyAnn. She feeds on that kind of stuff. It might get her to like you better." I shook my head.
"I don't want her to know what we're doing. While we were on that raid, I saw a book in the study. A census of all the magical creatures in the area, from the year I was born." He didn't even blink.
"So?"
"So? Lock, if I could find the name of a Fairy, it would be so much easier to track them. I might even be able to figure out where they moved to, if they were big enough in the community. I could go wherever they are and ask them to remove the curse!"
"Yeah but, Rory, how am I going to be able to help you? If you haven't noticed, I'm not really a thief, and neither are you." I glanced down at the small scars dotting my skin and shrugged.
"That's the beauty of my idea, Lock. You’re not a thief. You’re a painter. A painter who sells to the high standing Lords in the area. No one would think twice about you going to see a Lord to show off one of your new pieces. I'll go with you, and when no one is paying attention, I’ll steal the book. It's an old one. No one will even know it’s missing, your reputation won’t be on the line.”
“There's a problem with this plan you know. I haven't painted any new pieces. I've been working on your portrait."
I frowned. "Alright, well, that just delays us a few days. It’ll give us plenty of time to prepare. Just don't tell anyone where we're going, Lock. I don't want any of them trying to stop us. It should only take a day. We should be back before anyone realizes we're gone."
* It took four days for Lock to whip out a painting that satisfied him; four days of me pacing on the roof, watching for any sign that Ben might have changed his mind and come back; four days of people panicking because not only was Ben gone, but it was more and more unlikely that Ryler would return.
There was talk of electing a new leader, but no one could decide whom. Ben had become the most looked to in Ryler's absence, and now aside from Lock, everyone else was too young. There was a fear that with our clan so vulnerable, other leaders would come in and take over. The only thing standing between us and a complete takeover was that no one knew of Ryler’s absence, but it was only a matter of time.
The day before we set out there were rumors of Spark circling the area. It was unusual for him and his crew to step out of their territory, simply because everyone considered it the best in town. However, ours was second on that list, and if he could get his hands on it...None of us liked to think what would happen.
Everyone was on edge again, and this time, no words from Lock could settle them down. A takeover would be hard on all the inhabitants. Many would be forced to leave, the ones who were like Pud, valuable, but replaceable. They would be shoved back onto the cold streets, and with winter fast approaching, that meant death.
During this time, SkyAnn surprised everyone. She took it upon herself to be a stand-in for Ryler. She set up a group of scouts to be on the lookout for any possible threats. She set the square on lock down: only a select few could leave. Her list didn't include Lock, or me.
Lock came to me the night before we were supposed to leave. We met on the roof, knowing no one would brave the cold to listen in on us. "Rory, SkyAnn isn't going to let us leave tomorrow, no matter how early we tried to do it. She has a secure watch on the alley entrance. They have strict orders to let no one pass without her permission. I never would have thought they’d listen to her, but it seems times have gotten hard enough they'll do anything if makes them feel safer."
I sighed and rubbed my eyes. How to escape without her noticing? I tried to think. Then it hit me: the beams. I looked over the side of the building, at the six-inch wide section sticking out along the side. Genius. The only problem would be trying to balance and carry Lock's giant artwork with us. He insisted that a bigger piece would look more legitimate.
I remembered Spark jumping down from the roof, completely reliant on a rope. Lock and I could lower his painting down and come back for it. I told Lock my idea. "We'll have to put it somewhere safe, my artwork is actually worth a small bundle. Any person walking the streets would probably try and cart it away." He told me, somewhat smugly. I rolled my eyes.
"Alright, so let’s go scout out a place!"
He paled, "Right now?" I nodded, throwing one leg over the edge and feeling for the beam with my boot. "Rory, it’s almost dark! We could fall and... Die.” I looked at him, noticing the fear in his eyes.
"Fine, Lock, you stay here in case anyone comes looking for us. I'll find the perfect place to leave your precious painting." I said the last part somewhat sarcastically.
Lock looked insulted, but his relief over my not making him come won out. "Alright, Rory, just make sure it's a good spot. Otherwise your plan won't work. They'll shut the door in our faces if we don't have the goods." I nodded and disappeared over the edge.
I had underestimated the force of the wind. What had been a light breeze on top of the roof was actually forceful enough to make me wobble slightly. Without Ben's hand to hold me steady, I was nervous. The ground taunted me from below. I can do this. I can do this. I thought the words repeatedly as I kept moving. By the time I reached my first open space, I was shaking uncontrollably from the cold and fear invading my body.
I pushed it back, trying to focus solely on the skinny board below my feet. I kept moving, trying to watch for a safe haven for Lock's artwork, and simultaneously avoiding looking at the ground, a sickening feat.
Finally, I spotted an alcove I thought could work, it was narrow and hidden from the street. I looked at my surroundings, mapping out the spot in my mind. I carefully turned and headed back to the safety of our roof, trying to avoid thoughts about having to do the whole thing over again. I also needed to remember to bring plenty of rope.
* Lock woke me up just before dawn. His bright face positioned directly above mine. "Are you ready?" He whispered intently. I sat upright and pointed to the door.
"Just let me get dressed first." He nodded and left, waiting just outside. I hurriedly changed into a fresh set of clothes and ran my new comb through my hair. I threw on a cloak I had borrowed from one of the kitchen boys. I was ready.
I opened the door and nodded to Lock, noticing he had already gathered the rope and his painting was secure on his back. A thin piece of fabric protected it from the rope rubbing against it. The piece was a lot bigger than I had realized, and when we got it to the rooftop, it tried to blow away. Lock tied it an extra rope around his waist before handing me my own section.
Together we crossed the roof and hopped to the ledge, our cloaks billowing around us. I took the lead. We followed the beams to the alcove. There we lowered the painting, taking extra time to make sure we positioned it out of view. We backtracked until we were closer to the main road, the one that led past the carrier shop and stables. We selected an alley and began our descent.
We found a cross beam and tied our ropes to it. With a deep breath, we lowered ourselves into a horizontal position. Slowly, we walked our way down the wall. Once we reached the bottom, we ran to where we hid the painting, relieved when it was still there. Lock grinned over at me, re-tying the canvas to his back.
When he was satisfied it was secure again, we set off. The plan was to borrow a horse from Alvi before heading out. When we reached his shop, we found it closed. No surprise there. While Lock stood guard, I slipped back to the stables.
I prayed the lock would be like the ones at the castle, one I could pick. I made my way over to the far door, checking the lock. I was relieved when I saw that it was the same one Winston had made me use in practice. I took out a small set of picks, another thing I had collected from the kitchen boys.
When the lock sprang, I quickly opened the door, reveling in the familiar scent. I went to the front of the stable, figuring it would be where Alvi kept the freshest horses. I selected one at random, stroking its long forehead before putting its bridle on. When it was fully prepared, with the saddle securely fastened and the reins attached I brought it out into the first tendrils of dawn. I carefully relocked the door behind us.
Lock was leaning against the wall, when he saw me approaching he signaled for me to wait. He kept looking around the corner at the entrance to the shop. Finally, he signaled the all clear and I was able to bring the horse forward and help him mount. I hopped up before him and took the reins, leading us out into the empty streets.
I pushed the horse hard. I wanted this done. I wanted answers. I needed them. I forced us into such a speed that we reached the Manor before the midday meal. Lock dismounted and ran his fingers through his hair. "Wow, I can tell you didn't grow up around here. I didn't know it was possible to go that fast."
"It was stupid, actually. I don't know what came over me. So many things could have gone wrong." I replied, jumping off the horse and rubbing down it’s flanks. Lock walked over to me and put an arm around my shoulders.
"And that, Rory my dear, is one of the things I love most about you." He tweaked my nose before releasing me. "Now, let's go see this house, and see if I can make a little money while you," he turned to me, "do what you need to." He smiled reassuringly.
I sucked in a deep breath. This would be easy. I already had the house mapped in my head. I just needed a distraction, and I had that with Lock. If I were caught, I would simply say I was looking for Addalaide. Simple. Everything was laid out perfectly. So why did I think things were going to go badly? I shrugged my shoulders, refusing to think such thoughts.
I helped Lock untie his painting. He left it wrapped; informing me it would be more dramatic when he revealed it. I nodded, as if I understood what he meant. I followed him to the door, watching nervously as he knocked, checking to make sure I remained hooded. The man who answered the door wasn't a servant like I was expecting.
Instead, it was a man who looked about my father's age, with deep lines around his face. When he saw Lock and I standing there, he looked aggravated. "Can I help you," he sneered at us. I immediately didn't like him.
Lock, however, seemed unfazed by the man's attitude. "Why hello, Sir," he said, bowing low before him, still holding the painting, "my name is Gerald Blacco, and I am an infamous painter. Perhaps you have heard of me? If not I have brought with me a sample of my work."
During Lock's speech, the man's entire attitude changed. "Oh, come in, come in! I had no idea it was you," he said as he gestured us in. His whole face lit with a huge smile. A smile I found, I recognized: Lord Hethrington. I thought a mere moment before he introduced himself. He ushered us toward the parlor, but Lock held up a hand.
"Please, Sir, my assistant can wait here for me. There is no reason for her to sully your fine furniture with her presence." Lord Hethrington looked at me again, nodded his approval of Lock’s request, and led the way to the parlor. While his back was turned, I quickly discarded my boots and bolted up the stairs.
The study was just how I remembered it, only bathed in sunlight. I quickly knelt down and found the book before tenderly cradling it to my breast. So much work for one small item. I was tempted to start searching through the pages immediately but refrained myself, and instead headed back to the hall.
In the parlor, Lock was holding his painting above the fireplace while Lord Hethrington admired it. When he saw my nod, he winked at me before turning back to the Lord, all smiles. Their voices were loud and cheerful and I relaxed as I took a seat by the door.
I waited for him to finish conducting his business. My fingers itched to leaf through the book. I refrained myself, barely. Finally, Lock came out. Flashing his empty hands at me, his mouth set in a victorious 'O'. "Was it a successful indenture?” He asked merrily, donning his cloak.
I nodded, gesturing to my belt. "It was."
"Good, it should be to face the wrath of SkyAnn." He grinned evilly. "I'd hate to be on her bad side." I scowled but refrained from hitting him. I wouldn't want Lord Hethrington to see. We left the house and made it back to the horse before Lock did a jig.
"I haven't sold a painting for that much in months!" He exclaimed. "And, it only took me four days! Wait till the lads over in Everdeen hear about this!" I laughed, relieved that the trip had gone so well.
"Home again?" I suggested. He grinned.
"Actually, Rory, would you mind if we took a little detour? Everdeen isn't too far from here and I would love a drink…my treat."
"I don't drink, but I wouldn't mind meeting some of your painting friends." I said, returning his smile.
He kissed my cheek. "Thanks, love. You won't regret it."
* Lock's friends were a jolly bunch. They all joyously congratulated him on his major sale, offering to buy him drink after drink. "It's a good thing you can steer a horse, Rory," he told me after his second glass; "I don't think I'll be able to tell the front end from the back after this." They all teased me for my denial of even a single sip. I didn't exactly detest the drink but I didn't enjoy it.
They all crowded around the table telling stories about how they met Lock. I laughed with them, sharing a little of my own tales. Lock's eyes gleamed, and not just from the beer, I could tell that this was where he belonged, with his fellow painters, laughing and enjoying each other's skill. I wondered why he chose to stay with us, in our little family of renegades. I realized how little I knew of Lock. He was always so quick to listen. I never really wondered about his story.
We spent most of the afternoon there, laughing and chatting until I could see that Lock could no longer stay standing up. I got one of his friends to help me get him on the horse. They all waved merrily at us before heading back into the bar, arms linked, shouting the words to a raunchy song. Lock smiled down at me. "Thank you, Rory, I needed that." He said before he slumped forward against the horse's neck in a drunken stupor.
"You’re welcome, Lock. Thank you for coming with me." I whispered climbing up behind him and steering us towards home. It was early evening, and without Lock's happy chatting, I knew it would be a long one. Of course, I had plenty to think about.
* It was well past dark when I could finally make out the walls surrounding our town. I'd had to stop several times along the way to let Lock heave into the dead grass. At first, the horse had shied from the sound, but after the fifth or sixth time, he had gotten used to it. Finally it seemed as if Lock were sobering a little.
"Home," he shouted, throwing his arms up above his head, blocking my view. "Ah, I miss it."
"Lock," I said shoving his arms out of my way, "we haven't even been gone a full day yet."
"We haven't?" He asked, slurring the last word. "Oh. Feels like forever." He giggled before he started to heave again. I stopped the horse quickly and helped him down. When he was finished, I dismounted too, deciding it would be easier to walk.
"Lock," I asked, "why do you stay here? You loved it back there." He looked at me and let out a loud belch.
"Because, Rory, what if my sister comes back? She wouldn't know where to find me!" I didn't know he had a sister. Were we all lost souls, waiting for the love of our relatives to save us? I patted Lock's back, unsure of what to say.
Just as we were about to head through the entrance to the town, I heard a shuffling noise. I stopped and the hair on the back of my neck stood up. "Well, well, lookie here, boys. Look who just showed up." I froze, my eyes widening, trying to see into the dark shadows cast by the walls around us.
"Who's there," I squeaked, my lungs restricting.
"Who's there," the voice mocked. A dark figure separated itself from the shadows, moving slowly toward me. I clutched Lock to me, unsure of what to do.
"Look, she's scared,” said another voice from beside me. I fought the urge to scream.
"I didn't think they were telling the truth. Why would such a little thing wander so far from home? I thought she’d lied, but here she is." This came from directly behind me. I could see several shapes moving now, and I desperately wished I had decided to remain mounted. Oh why, oh why had I chosen to get off? Beside me, Lock stirred.
"Leeavvvee herrrr alloooone," he slurred, leaning against me, "shheee's with meee." The men all laughed at his drunken attempt to protect me. The biggest shape, the one I thought belonged to the first man, stepped forward.
"Grab her."
I screamed. I felt the vice like grip of two men grab my arms, threatening to rip them from their sockets. Lock began swinging. I heard one grunt in pain as one of Lock’s legs connected with his groin. I tried to scream again, call out for help, but one of the men holding me punched my face. I could feel blood pour from my nostrils. I had to open my mouth to breathe. Lock continued to whirl, throwing punches and kicks at random, missing more than hitting.
I watched in horror as one of them hit him from behind, sending him sprawling into the road. Blood leaked from his scalp. Lock grunted and tried to rise, but one man kicked his head, forcing him down. I watched, helpless, as they repeated the action. They continued to beat his body, hitting him all over, not even stopping when I could hear the sound of his ribs break.
I must have started screaming again, despite my broken nose, because one of the men punched me in the stomach, knocking the wind from me. I sagged against the hands holding me. My hair was falling forward and sticking to my bloody face.
Lock lay gasping in the road before me. Blood spurted with every breath. His teeth were crooked now, with blood streaming between them. His eyes, his beautiful blue-green eyes were already swelling shut. His ear was torn where one of their boots had caught. His clothes were filthy and splattered with the gore from his many wounds. He lay battered and broken, beat down like a dog. I watched him as they carried me away, away into the night, away from the scene of my friend's bloody death.