Chapter 12: Enlightening Visits
****
Months passed.
The taste of one adventure had left Gawain hungering for more, but Clarkent kept digging in his heels. They were kids, he had argued, and kids weren’t supposed to be out having adventures. Gawain disagreed . . . but appeared not to have any desire to go adventuring *alone*, so Clarkent felt they were probably safe.
When Gawain got his hands on a treasure map covered in cryptic clues, Clarkent had very reluctantly agreed to pursue finding the treasure. But it had turned out to be a wild goose chase, much to Clarkent’s relief, and there was no danger in it.
One byproduct of what Clarkent referred to sarcastically as the Great Treasure Map Hunt was that Gawain discovered Clarkent didn’t really know how to read. Since Clarkent hadn’t really had the opportunity to practice what little his parents had taught him, he wasn’t very good at it.
Gawain, however, had volunteered to give reading lessons to Clarkent, who had gratefully accepted the offer.
During one of those reading lessons, Clarkent threw down in frustration the letter he had been attempting to read. “It doesn’t make sense!” he exclaimed. “Why is the word spelled like that? One, two, honest, who--none of them make any sense!”
“I don’t make the rules,” Gawain said matter-of-factly. He picked the letter up and pointed at the offending word. “But I’m telling you . . . that is how you spell it.”
Clarkent grabbed Gawain’s wrist and looked at his palm. It was smooth and had no calluses at all. It was like the words “I do not do manual labor” were written all over it. “Errand boys,” Clarkent murmured in annoyance as he shook his head.
Gawain snatched his hand away. “Do you want help or not?”
Clarkent sighed. “I guess,” he muttered. He squinted down at the letter, decided he didn’t want to read any more that day, and then looked up at Gawain, hoping to distract him. “Are you going to see your family on Visiting Day?” The holiday was next week, and Clarkent was looking forward to it with some trepidation. What would his parents look like this year? Would they appear even more haggard than they had the last time he saw them?
“No,” Gawain said uncomfortably. “My . . . my parents aren’t alive.”
Clarkent looked at Gawain with an expression of sincere sorrow. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” Gawain had mentioned a father before, and Clarkent had just assumed . . . well, that he was alive.
Gawain just shrugged and looked down at the letter, one of his fingers twitching against it.
“Hey,” Clarkent said brightly, “I have an idea. Why don’t you come with me and meet my parents?”
Gawain frowned. “I don’t know,” he said with some hesitance. “I don’t think--”
“Come on,” Clarkent pressed. “I bet you’ll enjoy meeting them. I’m sure they’d like to meet you.” He tried to give Gawain an encouraging smile.
“Oh, all right,” Gawain agreed reluctantly. “If you insist.”
Clarkent smiled. “Well, I do.”
“I’m sure you do,” Gawain muttered.
****
When Visiting Day came, Loisette was immensely nervous, though she wasn’t sure why. It was harder than normal to slip away from Catherine, who the previous year had come to realize the princess’s dislike of the holiday, and Loisette knew she couldn’t stay away from her lady-in-waiting for too long without completely arousing her suspicions. But she had promised to come visit the stableboy’s parents, and she was going to keep that promise.
Still, when she met Clarkent, she told him, “I can’t stay for long--I have some things I need to do.”
He nodded. “All right. We normally start by walking around the stable, but maybe it would be better if we went to the market first.” He made a jerking gesture with his head for her to follow him, and he quickly took her to where his parents were waiting.
They were a kind-looking older couple with graying hair. Their clothes were worn and their faces weather-beaten, but they looked happy. Staring at them, Loisette thought she realized why Clarkent was (usually) so nice. Their smiles were warm and genuine--and she knew immediately that these were good people.
“Mom, Dad,” Clarkent said, “this is Gawain. Gawain, these are my parents, Jon and Marta.”
Loisette almost curtseyed before she caught herself and gave an awkward sort of half-bow. “It’s good to meet you,” she said.
“It’s good to meet you, too,” Marta returned warmly. “Clarkent has told us you two are great friends, and we’re glad you could spend some time with us.”
Loisette smiled and nodded, but she felt a pang of sorrow shoot through her chest. Clarkent’s mother seemed so nice, and it made her wonder--was this what her mother would have been like? Everyone had always told her how wonderful Queen Ellena was, but all Loisette had of her mother was a wisp of a memory. If Loisette’s mother and baby sister had lived, would they have made a happy family like this? Would the dark nights Loisette had spent have been wiped away by a mother’s love or a sister’s laugh?
Once, she had felt so friendless. Now, however, she wasn’t feeling that. As Gawain, she had Clarkent, and as Loisette, she had Catherine. She was no longer that lonely little girl throwing tantrums on the floor.
But in spite of all that, there was a hole in her heart she suspected would always be there--a hole for a mother who had passed away and was gone forever. She tried to fill that hole with snippets of others’ memories of her mother, as if one day she would have a complete picture that would soothe her sorrow and bring her mother back to life. But nothing could do that. Some holes could not be filled . . . and some wounds would always remain open. The pain could dim to a dull throb, but it would never completely disappear.
Clarkent didn’t realize how lucky he was to have both his parents alive, she reflected. He had their love and support and caring--and he could talk to them about anything. They just seemed like that kind of people. She at least had friends now, but they were ones she couldn’t tell everything to. She was slowly beginning to see how the magic clothes were in some ways as much a curse as a blessing. If she could just tell her two friends everything about her--tell them how she wanted to be respected as a person and go on great adventures and not be treated as if she were a fragile vase in danger of toppling to the floor--but she couldn’t. She was a princess, and she had her duties. No one could know that she had done something as dangerous as going to the border or as scandalous as riding a horse astride. She could share her full self with no one.
She finally turned her attention back to her company. Clarkent was saying, “He can’t stay the whole time, so I think we should go to the market first. I can show you the stable later.” He flashed a smile at Loisette which she feebly returned. “Gawain’s already really familiar with the stable.”
“Then the market it is,” Jon said with a smile.
As Loisette followed them toward town, she couldn’t help but wonder if her father would travel a great distance just to spend a few hours with her. But he couldn’t find time to be with her even though they lived in the same castle.
****
Clarkent was glad to be able to bring his good friend to meet his parents. He saw Gawain nearly every day, and he looked forward to their visits, even though Gawain almost always had some ridiculous idea up his sleeve. He had noticed the princess coming to the stable with her lady-in-waiting to ride less often, and he had been saddened by it, but he knew it was the way of things. She was growing up, and she had better things to do with her time than spend it riding horses. But though it was seldom and never for long, he still relished every second he was able to see her--and whenever she flashed a smile at him, it was enough to make him float on air for days. Why exactly that was . . . well, it wasn’t something he wanted to examine too closely. He told himself she was simply a friend he did not want to lose--though he knew that one day he would indeed lose her.
He threw a glance over at his parents as they walked toward town to go to the market. Though his parents looked no worse than last year, they still seemed . . . worn.
They smiled more than they had when he last saw them, and they lacked that nervous energy they had had when they prepared to tell him the secret they had harbored, but their hard work was obviously still taking its toll. Their appearance wasn’t enough to make him completely abandon his Assigned job at the stable, but it was enough to worry him.
His mother had taken a real shine to Gawain and was telling him some silly story about a chicken that used to follow Clarkent around when he was little. He had named the chicken “Hawthorn” after a flowering tree and even sometimes ate at the table with the bird at his feet. At night, he even sang to the chicken.
“Mom,” Clarkent said, his cheeks red, “that’s not that great of a story--”
“I think it is!” Gawain said mirthfully, obviously relishing in Clarkent’s embarrassment.
“I bet you do,” Clarkent muttered, but Gawain just laughed at him.
****
They went to the market to look around, and Loisette found the experience quite enjoyable. She never needed to go to the market herself, as she had plenty of servants to send out to buy what she wanted or needed, but the sights and smells and sounds of the market were really something! It was such a busy world there, filled with countless diversions.
She dodged a rooster, smiling as she thought of the chicken Marta had been talking about and a very young Clarkent singing lullabies to it, and paused to look at some pretty fabrics. Marta was looking at some jewelry with Jon standing behind her, and Clarkent came up to Gawain.
“These are nice,” she said, reaching out to touch a red and gold one.
“Yeah,” Clarkent agreed distractedly. Loisette looked up and saw him staring at his parents with a sad expression on his face.
“Your mother should buy one of those necklaces,” she said, noticing Marta touching a particularly pretty one. “They would look really good on her.”
Clarkent’s face clouded over. “We never buy anything here,” he mumbled. “We . . . we can’t afford it.” He shook his head in sudden fury. “All my parents can buy is . . . is *food* and *clothes* and things they have to have around the house.” His face tightened. “And some people can’t even afford that.”
Loisette frowned. “You must be exaggerating a little--”
“I’m not,” Clarkent stated flatly, frowning back. “You aren’t a Noble--how did *your* family come up with money for things? It’s not like you’re paid for what you do. The rich are breaking the back of the poor, and they don’t even care!”
Loisette bit back a response, knowing it would just worsen Clarkent’s mood. But as she followed him and his parents around the marketplace, looking at the stalls filled with pretty trinkets and delicious-smelling desserts, she began to feel very troubled. Certainly, Assigned servants didn’t get a monetary compensation for their services to send to their families. But they were fed and clothed and housed. That was all that mattered, wasn’t it?
But she just couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something off about the whole process.
****
Gawain left after they were done with the market, and Clarkent walked with his parents to the Riding Stable.
“Your friend seems very nice,” his mother commented. “I’m glad you have someone to play with.”
Clarkent gave a weak smile, his thoughts in darker places. “Yeah. I am, too.”
He pulled his mind away from the Assigning briefly to concentrate on his mother and father. They hadn’t mentioned their not being his real parents this time, and he hadn’t either. But he felt the air should be cleared a little before another year went by, and he coughed nervously, drawing his parents’ attention toward him. “I want you both to know,” he said, a lump clinging to the inside of his throat, “that even if you aren’t my real parents, it doesn’t matter. I love you both just as much as I would if we were related by blood.”
His mother suddenly engulfed him in a hug that was full of love. “Oh, we feel the same way, honey.”
His father clapped him on the shoulder as he pulled away from his mother feeling just the slightest bit misty-eyed. “We’re very proud of you,” Clarkent’s father said. “And you’ve always been our son where it counted.” He patted his heart twice with his hand and held it there, and Clarkent smiled at him, his own heart full to bursting.
He was so fortunate to have been raised by them--and he was also fortunate that they came to see him every year so that he could spend time with them. Not every family did--or could--visit their Assigned children. Those who did visit were giving their children a priceless gift. When Clarkent had first left his family, one of the only reasons he made it through the day was the thought that his situation wasn’t for forever--he would see his parents again . . . and eventually leave his work at the castle.
They walked in silence after that, but it was a companionable silence, and at last they reached their destination. They found Dwayne in the stable working with the horses, and Clarkent’s parents, who had met him before, struck up a conversation with him.
Clarkent stood apart from them, petting Esroh Repus’s nose. His thoughts were back on what he had talked about with Gawain at the market. Clarkent hated the Assigning so much--and he wanted to hate Metropolita’s king for not abolishing it.
Was it so hard to pay servants? Was it so hard to give people a choice about whether or not they wanted to leave their families and start up in utterly new surroundings?
King Samuel was just a figurehead who sat around all day and did nothing! Why didn’t he listen to the people’s cries for help?
Clarkent stared at his parents, who were smiling and laughing as they talked with Dwayne. His mother and father deserved a better life. It wasn’t fair that they were working themselves to the bone while he was unable to do a single thing to help them! Every year, they gave him a few precious coins, and every year he hid those coins, too ashamed to spend them like his parents wanted him to, not wanting to pay for some frivolity when they were working so hard just to get their bread and butter. They were such good people--why had life been so cruel to them?
He stepped away from the horse and went to his parents’ sides, where he hugged his mother fiercely against him. She gave him a startled look but then smiled and hugged him back.
“I love you, Mom,” he whispered. “I love you so much.”
****
When his parents left, Clarkent felt a shadow of fear settle over his heart. Would they still be alive the next year? Would they have worked themselves to death? If they did, he would never forgive himself.
In less than three years, he could leave to help them. Could they wait that long?
Clarkent grimly turned to Esroh Repus, touching his forehead to the horse’s nose.
“Something wrong?” Dwayne asked from behind him.
Clarkent turned to look at the older man. Dwayne was standing there and leaning on a shovel, an expression of concern on his face.
“I hate the Assigning,” Clarkent muttered, unable to help himself. “King Samuel just sits there in his castle, doing *nothing*. He doesn’t deserve to be king.” The words were borderline treasonous, but Clarkent didn’t care. He was too upset.
“It may seem that way sometimes,” Dwayne said calmly, “but there’s more to being a king than just sitting on a throne. Tomorrow, you should take some time off work and go see a little of what King Samuel actually does. Every day, His Majesty has a time set aside for settling disputes. He has his court magician, Peregrine the White, with him to offer counsel, but ultimately the decisions of what to do to help the people rest in his hands. Maybe you’ll see it’s not so easy to be a king after all.”
Clarkent looked away, a little ashamed at his petulance. “All right. I’ll do that.”
****
The next day, Clarkent went to the castle--admittedly, with some reluctance--to see King Samuel address conflict among his people. Metropolita’s king was seated on his magnificent throne and robed in red and gold majesty. Beside him was the great Peregrine the White, who was wearing his own impressive deep blue robes and holding his magician’s staff. But Clarkent froze in utter shock when he saw and recognized the bird perched on the magician’s shoulder. It was the falcon, James, and that meant . . . Peregrine the White was actually *Peri*.
He nearly stumbled backward at the realization. Peri was a *magician*? Why hadn’t he told Clarkent that?
Suddenly, he felt very dumb. He’d known that Peregrine the White had a bird as an animal familiar--both the presence of James and his weird connection with Peri should have tipped Clarkent off. But he had thought Peri was just a kind old man who simply worked somewhere near the castle. He hadn’t realized the man was one of the kingdom’s most important political advisors. It felt like a betrayal--like a good friend had just revealed something crucial he had been holding back.
The stunning realization was almost enough to cause Clarkent to leave right then, but he forced himself to calm down and stay. A magician had been mentoring him and helping look out for him. So what?
But his heart was still thumping as he cast his eyes on the monarch sitting at the back of the large room.
King Samuel seemed very sad. Clarkent saw that very quickly. But there was a certain nobility in the king’s mien. King Samuel may not have wanted to be in that great room, but he took the petitions of his supplicants seriously at least.
Clarkent watched as complainants came forward one at a time. This man was accusing another of stealing an important piece of equipment; that man was claiming someone had cheated him by selling him a lame mule. The number of complaints seemed immeasurable, but King Samuel listened patiently to each and then submitted judgment after having a quiet conversation with his court magician. Clarkent didn’t agree with all of the monarch’s decisions, but it was obvious King Samuel was doing what he believed best, and none of the supplicants argued with what he told them. Once a decision was made, the next complainant came forward.
When Clarkent had seen enough to realize that King Samuel did *not* simply sit around all day, he prepared to leave. Across the room, Peri--no, *Peregrine the White*--caught his eyes, and Clarkent’s mouth became a grim line, and he gave a curt nod of farewell.
****
Later that day, Peregrine the White came to the Riding Stable with his falcon. Clarkent was saddling a horse for someone, but when he was done, the magician stepped forward and asked if he could talk to Clarkent outside.
Clarkent wasn’t exactly thrilled at the prospect of talking to the older man, as he was still reeling from the news that he had been associating with such an important figure, but he agreed and followed him out of the stable.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were Peregrine the White?” Clarkent blurted out. “Why did you lead me to believe you were just some--some strange old man?” It was deception by omission. After they had seen each other so often, shouldn’t Peri have told him what exactly it was that he did for a career?
The left corner of the magician’s mouth lifted at the “strange old man” comment, and he said calmly, “You never asked.”
“What does that have to do with anything?” Clarkent asked with a frown.
Peregrine the White gave him a “look,” and Clarkent realized he was in for another of the older man’s stories. “Now, son,” began Peregrine the White, “that has everything to do with it. You know, one day, the King heard of a rare flower that grew in the middle of the forest, and he wanted to get it for his true love for her birthday. So, determined to get that flower no matter what, he went to the forest alone . . . and was attacked by a bear whose cub was playing nearby. He *did* end up getting the flower without dying, but when he returned with his prize in hand, he learned that his true love didn’t actually like flowers.
“Now, had he *asked* her what she wanted for her birthday, she would have told him she wanted a fluffy white cat. But he didn’t ask her, and so he had to find it out the hard way. You’re going to have to learn, son, that sometimes it’s important to seek information. If it was handed to you on a silver platter, well, you wouldn’t be getting much out of the experience, would you?”
Clarkent squinted, trying to follow the logic of Peregrine the White’s story. He wasn’t sure he understood what the lesson was--or even if there *was* one--but it was enough to make him realize that he didn’t want to stay upset with the magician. Just talking with him was always enough to make him feel better.
“I guess it is,” Clarkent acknowledged with a sigh. “But I do have one question . . . . What do I call you now?”
“The same thing you always have,” the magic user said with a smile. “Peri.”
“All right . . . Peri.” Now that Clarkent knew the older man was King Samuel’s court magician, it was hard to think of addressing him so informally, but Clarkent had been doing so for a while now, so he might as well stick with it.
Peri slapped a hand on Clarkent’s shoulder. “That’s a good boy!”
Clarkent rolled his eyes. The man certainly didn’t *act* like an all-powerful magician.
