Chapter 14: The Runaway
****
As the weeks went by, Clarkent became more skilled at handling his sword. Though they were usually careful to try to practice where they would be unseen, as fighting was something generally believed to belong to the Nobility, Peri would encourage Gawain to practice with Clarkent from time to time. Peri would guide the two boys through self-defense moves or make them sword-fight with wooden facsimiles of swords (which could really hurt when they were shoved into a stomach or sent a splinter into an uncovered arm). Clarkent, who suffered occasionally from masculine pride, had assumed at first--erroneously--that he would do ten times better than the short and scrawny Gawain, but Gawain’s small stature gave him one advantage: speed. That advantage had quickly taken Clarkent down a few notches.
They were practicing sword-fighting this time without Peri’s guidance. Gawain was fiercely competitive, and Clarkent, though not as competitive, felt it was crucial he become the best he could at sword-fighting, especially considering that he was the one who actually *owned* a sword.
Clarkent narrowed his eyes as Gawain practically danced around their “battlefield.” The smaller boy’s wooden sword was raised, but his feet were carrying him all over the grass in front of Clarkent as he waited for a strike. Gawain definitely lacked strength, but strength was next to useless to Clarkent if he couldn’t land a blow on his opponent.
“Are you scared?” Gawain called out teasingly.
“Yeah,” Clarkent said in a half-growl, frustrated by the way Gawain was acting like a prancing pony, “I’m scared that I’ll get close enough to embarrass you and show that you hit like a *girl*!”
There was a flicker of something across Gawain’s face, and then the boy shot forward like lightning, shoving his wooden sword into Clarkent’s stomach and knocking him backward to the ground with the wind knocked out of him.
“Ow,” Clarkent said weakly, staring upward at the clouds, his back hurting from where he’d fallen on a rock, his sword resting on the grass beside him.
Gawain’s face appeared above him. He placed his wooden sword on one of Clarkent’s shoulders and then the other and said, “I dub thee ‘Sir Failsalot.’”
One of Clarkent’s hands flashed forward and hit Gawain behind his knees, sending him crumpling to the ground, his head and one of his arms landing on Clarkent’s stomach.
This time, it was both of them that said “ow.”
But Clarkent quickly recovered, not wanting his friend to have the last word. He reached a hand out to grab the wooden sword beside him and awkwardly touch Gawain’s shoulders with it. “And I dub you,” Clarkent said with a smirk, “‘Sir Fallsalot.’”
****
Loisette stared at Clarkent from her position on his stomach, her annoyance fighting with her amusement.
They’d been practicing intensely for a while, and Clarkent’s hair was coated in a thin layer of sweat. It was plastered against his forehead, and he moved his left hand up to wipe away some of the perspiration.
There was a strange part of Loisette that wanted to reach out and run her fingers through his hair, making it less clumpy. He often had bits of hay or dirt in the dark strands, and though it was charming in a way, she often found herself wanting to touch it--to fix the mess, she told herself.
“You gonna get off me yet?” he asked her, his voice slightly amused.
Her breath caught in her throat--she wasn’t sure why--and she pressed her hand against his chest to help push herself up, trying not to think about the musculature there. Catherine was especially attracted to sweaty males, and Loisette suspected that she would have been ogling the stableboy if she’d been there. But there was nothing to ogle, Loisette told herself. It was just Clarkent.
They both got to their feet and picked up their wooden weapons.
“I think I’m done for today,” Clarkent told her, stretching. “Are you going to the Children’s Day Festival tomorrow?”
She wiped her perspiring palms on her breeches. “I haven’t really thought about it.”
“You should go with me,” he said. “It’s one of the best festivals.” His smile was warm and hopeful, and she suddenly didn’t want to disappoint him.
“All right,” she said. “I’ll go.”
“Great!” he said. “You’ll enjoy the festival. I’m sure of it.”
****
The next day, Loisette sat in her room with Catherine for a little while, waiting for the right time to slip away. The lady-in-waiting was talking about--and this came as no surprise--the opposite sex.
“Didn’t Patrik look nice the other day?” Catherine asked, the expression on her face obviously indicating that she was daydreaming about the archer.
Loisette raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know what it is with you and sweaty men.”
Catherine grinned. “Come on, Your Highness. You can’t tell me the thought of a man working hard and sweating up a storm doesn’t make you the least bit excited?”
Loisette turned away as her cheeks became a slight shade of pink. The image of a sweaty Clarkent had come to her mind--the sheen on his face, the clumping of his dark hair, the bulging of his glistening arm muscles as he made a thrust with his sword . . . .
She cleared her throat, pulling her thoughts away from that unbidden picture and the sudden racing of her heart, and declared, “No.”
“Fine,” Catherine said, the tone of her voice causing Loisette to look at her in suspicion. “I guess you’re more attracted to Nobles, then. They don’t sweat--that would be too undignified for them.” She leaned closer to Loisette. “Maybe the Duke of Lutheria is more your style. He’s pretty cute with those curls of his.”
“Alexander?” Loisette said with a frown. “He’s my cousin.”
“Plenty of Nobles marry their cousins,” returned Catherine. “And with a cousin like that, who could blame you? Now, *that* would be a family line I wouldn’t mind carrying on.”
Loisette shook her head. “He’s not really my type.”
“Ha! Then your type *is* the sweaty male!” Catherine crowed in triumph.
“I didn’t say that!”
Her lady-in-waiting grinned. “You didn’t have to. Honestly, Your Highness, you need to learn to lie a little better.”
Loisette just sighed and decided to ignore her for a little bit.
****
Loisette finally slipped away from Catherine and spun into her Gawain clothes. It had gotten easier to sneak out. Catherine no longer attempted to find her when she disappeared (probably chalking it up to Loisette wanting to meet with *boys*), so Loisette only had to worry about changing without being noticed.
As she walked through the halls of the castle to go outside, she thought about her improvements in communicating with animals. She was getting really good at it--it didn’t cost her much effort at all now. She practiced a lot with Robert Bigmouth, but he usually just thought images of food at her, so she tried to talk with other animals when she could. She also practiced some with High Flyer, but she only did that while in her princess clothes . . . and while Catherine wasn’t paying very much attention. But her most interesting conversations happened with James.
For a bird, James was a great conversationalist. He would ask her questions and listen intently to her answers. Sometimes, he seemed a little bit like an eager puppy, but that was fine--it was even kind of cute. But though James talked with her when he could, he was always needing to leave to do something or other for Peri. Loisette wasn’t sure if James was spying or sending messages to people, but whatever it was, neither he nor Peri seemed inclined to tell her. Still, it didn’t really matter.
Loisette was happy.
It was strange to realize it, but it was true. Things seemed to be going right. Catherine was a friend she could be . . . well, a *girl* with, and Clarkent was someone she could trust to treat her as a playmate and equal (at least, when she was in her Gawain outfit). Her life wasn’t perfect by any means--especially not when she thought about her father or began considering the scary prospect of one day being queen--but she was happier than she had thought she could be.
And Clarkent had been right when he had said she would enjoy the festival. She walked around the town with him, dodging merry passersby and giggling children. There were streamers and games and free snacks everywhere, and she was glad that this was something the crown did for the people. The day seemed glorious.
Clarkent grabbed a small cake and handed it to her before getting one for himself. “There,” he said with a smile. “Considering how many times you brought me sweets, we may not be even, but it’s a small step toward paying you back.” He grinned at her, happy as a lark.
The mood of Children’s Day seemed to be infectious, and she smiled right back at him before taking a big bite out of her cake. It was delicious . . . and flaky.
He laughed as she got bits of the sweet all over her chin. “Where’d you learn how to eat? A barn?”
She tried to hold back her laughter and simply give him a glare, but she failed on both accounts. If he only knew where exactly she had learned to eat! Then he would really have been surprised!
He stopped at a game area and asked her, “Want to play?”
She looked and saw that the game involved throwing horseshoes and trying to get them to land around a stake. “You play,” she told him. “I’ll watch.” She had never played the game before, and she didn’t want to lose, so she preferred to sit it out. She wouldn’t admit that reason to him, however.
Clarkent soon began the game, playing against a few other children--all of them younger than him but still determined to win. Loisette joined the other children in heckling Clarkent whenever it was his turn to throw, and he must have rolled his eyes and stuck out his tongue a dozen times by the time the game was halfway through.
“You call that a throw?” Loisette teased. “You’d think you were trying to toss a horse rather than one of its shoes!”
“I’d like to see you do any better, Gawain,” he muttered, his aim thrown off as one of the children made a rude noise. But he laughed good-naturedly as his horseshoe missed the stake yet again. He was barely getting any points from having a horseshoe touch the stake, much less getting a ringer from encircling it.
When at last Clarkent had lost miserably, Loisette grinned at him and said, “Awww. Did Clarkent get beaten by a bunch of little kids?”
“Oh, shut up,” he muttered.
One of the children grinned up at him. “Better luck next time!” Then she ran off shrieking.
****
Clarkent hadn’t expected to be beaten so horribly, but he wasn’t too upset about it. Still, he couldn’t help but tell Gawain in a mock-annoyed tone, “It would have been a lot easier to concentrate without you badgering me.”
“Easier, yes,” Gawain admitted. “But not as much fun!”
“Bah,” grumbled Clarkent. As they passed by a tavern, he was pleased to see that he could read the words on its sign--*The Golden Chimera*. Gawain had been continuing the reading lessons, and while they tended to make Clarkent feel like an idiot, he was able to read better than he once had. And he was glad for it.
When they were finally finished with the Children’s Day activities, they decided to return to the stable, but something drew their attention before they had completely left the town proper.
In front of them was a large bush . . . . There was nothing unusual in that . . . but this one was shaking slightly.
Clarkent made a motion for Gawain to stay where he was, and then he crept forward. “Is someone there?” he asked cautiously.
There was a gasp inside the bush, but no one said anything. Taking in a deep breath and praying this wasn’t the lair of some hideous beast, Clarkent stepped forward and parted some of the branches.
A girl about nine or ten years of age was hiding inside the bush. Her face was streaked with tears, and her wide eyes spoke volumes for her terror. “Please, don’t make me go,” she begged.
“What are you talking about?” he asked in confusion.
Gawain came up beside him and peered in. “Who are you?”
“My n-name’s Ayma,” she said with a sniffle. “I work as--as a clothes washer.”
“For a Noble?” Clarkent asked gently.
“Y-yes,” she said.
“You should go back,” Gawain told her, obviously not understanding the situation well. “Why are you hiding in this bush?”
“No!” the runaway exclaimed, her eyes filling with tears. “You can’t make me go back. *Please*.”
“Why don’t you want to go back?” Gawain queried.
“The wife of the--the Noble I was Assigned to, she . . . she whips me whenever I mess up.”
Clarkent’s expression became grim. This girl--who had apparently already been in a precarious situation--had put herself in more trouble by running away. Assigned children who ran away were punished, with the intensity of the punishment according to the number of times it had happened. Some Nobles were understanding the first few times children ran away and encouraged leniency, but if the Nobles this girl was supposed to serve were already beating her, then the chance was slim that everything would be okay when she returned.
“Hold on just a second,” he told the runaway, letting the branches fall back into their natural position. He turned to Gawain. “She can’t go back,” he said firmly.
The other boy seemed surprised. “What do you mean? She has to. She was Assigned to--”
“It doesn’t matter that she was Assigned to them--”
“Clarkent, it’s the *Law*--”
“I don’t care!” Clarkent said, almost shouting. He wanted to calm down, but he couldn’t. “The Assigning is wrong. Don’t you realize that? Don’t you see how awful it is? How is it fair to allow a child to see family only once a year? How is it fair to leave a girl with someone who treats her like an animal? She will have no say in her own life if she goes back to those Nobles--she will be taught the skills that she was *Assigned*. And when she’s an adult, that’s all she’ll know. She’ll be trapped in something that brings back bad memories, and she will be covered in emotional scars--and probably physical ones, too--that--”
Gawain cut in, “That Assigning helps the people--”
“Oh, yes, it *helps* the people,” Clarkent said sarcastically. “It helps to keep them poor--it traps them in lives they didn’t choose.”
Gawain bit his lip. “It keeps older children from starving--”
“Would you rather starve with family or be beaten without them?” Clarkent was practically looming over his friend in his anger. “It’s not right to let a child feel so alone. *Nobles* get to see their families as often as they like--”
“Just because Nobles *can* see their families doesn’t mean they *do*,” Gawain returned. “They have responsibilities--”
“Oh, yes, they’re *so* busy drinking their wine and eating their expensive food,” Clarkent growled. “How do they ever find time to--”
“They have to run estates,” Gawain jumped in furiously, “and they have to help keep the peace--”
“Isn’t it royalty that helps start wars in the first place? Do you think the *people* care about *war*?”
“War means putting people to work--”
“Making swords and armor and taking care of horses, yes, I know. But what about all the death?”
Gawain looked away. “I’m not saying war is right--”
“If you cared about people, then you would agree that the *Assigning* is *wrong*,” Clarkent stated vehemently.
Gawain seemed hurt. “I *do* care about people--”
“Then prove it!” Clarkent spat. “Question the lies you’ve been fed! Think about how maybe *tradition* and the *Law* aren’t always right!”
Gawain shook his head with a glare. “You’re impossible.”
“No,” he said, seething. “I’m right.”
His breathing heavy due to anger, Clarkent watched as Gawain walked away. Then he turned his attention back to the bush. Gently, he peeled back the branches once more, knowing the girl must have been terrified by what she had heard. “We’re going to find Peregrine the White,” he told her softly. “He’ll help us.”
****
What Loisette hated most about her argument with Clarkent was the nagging feeling that he *was* right, just as he had said. She had felt the need to defend the Assigning because it was a part of their society and was supported by her father, and she had gotten caught up in the heat of the argument without truly thinking about what Clarkent was telling her.
When she reached the castle, she spun out of her Gawain clothes. But she didn’t go to her room. She kept thinking of that terrified girl who had been so desperate she had hidden herself away in a bush on what was supposed to be a merry holiday.
In the hallway, she came across Herbie, who smiled at her. “Why, hello, Your Highness.”
“Hi,” she murmured back. He had always been nice to her, and she liked him--even if his tutoring lessons *were* sometimes boring--but his presence couldn’t make her feel better today.
“We’ve got a new book about the Barbarian Kingdom in the library,” he told her eagerly. “I think you might like it.”
She gave the librarian a small smile, though she wasn’t feeling it. “That’s good.” She hesitated for a second and then asked, “What do you think of the Assigning?”
“I think it’s a bit barbaric myself,” he said. Then his eyes widened. “Which is not to say that there are not some benefits to it,” he said hurriedly. “I just believe there might be better ways to handle staffing the castle, Your Highness.”
Loisette nodded. “Thanks, Herbie,” she told him. And then she began walking away, her thoughts still on that girl.
The structure of their society had been built around the Assigning . . . but that didn’t mean it couldn’t be changed. Her father was the *king* of Metropolita, for crying out loud! He could do something, couldn’t he?
She knew in her heart it was pointless to go, but she found her feet carrying her to her father’s chamber. Taking in a deep breath to calm herself, she stood up straight and knocked.
He opened the door, looking weary and sorrowful, and she knew he had been staring at her mother’s picture again, and it made her really pity him.
“What is it, Princess?” he asked her, speaking without much energy.
She didn’t waste any time cutting to the chase. “I want to talk about the Assigning, Daddy.”
His eyebrows curved inward slightly. “What about it, Princess?”
She faltered a little but then pushed ahead. “It’s wrong, Daddy. It hurts a lot of people, and it puts a lot of people in bad situations. It isn’t fair for them to be away from their families or have their lives completely decided for them.” Her heart ached as she thought of Clarkent passionately making these points, and she felt guilt flare up for the way she had argued with him. But her automatic response had been to make a heated defense--she rarely looked before she leapt--and she simply hadn’t been able to stop herself.
“I know it’s wrong,” her father said in a soft voice, and she sharply lifted her eyes up to meet his. “It isn’t fair to the people at all. But I can’t do anything about it, Princess. The Nobles support it, and I can’t go against them. I’m sorry.”
Loisette shook her head, a sudden wave of disgust coming over her for the man in front of her. “You know it’s wrong but won’t do anything?” Her lips became thin. “You’re a coward.” Years ago, she wouldn’t have dreamed of telling him something like that, and it surprised her a little.
But what surprised her even more was his sad reply: “Maybe I am.”
****
When Gawain entered the stable, Clarkent was grooming Penelope Grace. He was so upset that it was taking all his effort not to brush so hard that it hurt the horse. Clarkent’s eyes lifted briefly and then fell back to his task. He heard the younger boy move closer.
Gruffly, Clarkent said, “Peri found a new home for her.” Clarkent had wondered where a place was that she could go which wouldn’t raise suspicions, but Peri had said it was best not to ask where, so Clarkent hadn’t pried for more details.
Clarkent thought maybe Gawain was turning to leave when he heard a soft voice say, “I’m sorry, Clarkent. I was wrong.”
He looked up in surprise and saw the saddest and most repentant expression on his friend’s face. His frustrations suddenly melted away.
“That’s all right,” Clarkent mumbled thickly.
Gawain’s voice was almost mouselike in its volume when he asked, “Friends still?”
Clarkent gave him a gentle smile and then stepped forward and hugged him tightly. “Friends,” he said.
