Len sat on a barrel, eating his lunch, and watched, resigned, as a white hair ribbon bobbed brightly among the sober, dusty caps of the villagers. Rin was wrapped in an old, brown cloak that looked like its past life had been a other townspeople were staring, annoyed, at her as she chattered happily to a flustered baker. She seemed oblivious to how strange she looked. Her clean white skin and professionally cut hair would have made her unusual anyway, but that dirty old rag she was wearing...did she think ordinary people actually dressed like that? It didn't make a good disguise, either. Len could see the glowing white fabric of an expensive dress through the cloak's ragged tears and holes.
Rin really shouldn't have been there. Everyone, including Len, knew who she was. When the blond girl was orphaned at the age of three, the lord of the town had taken her in as part of a project. A childless man, he was raising several orphans, all girls, as nobles, in the hope that they would find a place in Society and reward the town.
Rin was supposed to be in the lord's mansion, learning etiquette and embroidery and whatever else rich girls were supposed to learn. She was definitely not supposed to be running down to the market and fraternizing with commoners.
Len stood, picking up the package next to him. Lunch was over. His attention was drawn back to Rin, who had just sighted a pair of guards. She waved to the baker and bounced away, trying to jam her tattered hood over her ribbon. Somehow, she managed not to catch the attention of the guards, who were now asking the baker something. The big, flour-covered man let out an irritated sigh and pointed in the direction Rin had gone.
Len adjusted the box under his arm and approached the baker's stall
"Here's your delivery from the miller."
The baker thanked Len and took the package.
"That girl came down here again," he grumbled.
"I saw," Len answered sympathetically. Complaining about "that girl" was a favorite pastime of the baker. Rin liked to visit the village every week or so, and with every visit, the town lord had to send guards to come fetch her. The townspeople were worried that the man might eventually run out of patience and take out his irritation on the town.
Len was especially worried about that possibility. He himself was an orphan, living in his grandmother's old cottage on the outskirts of town. As such, he was an outsider. He made money by running errands, growing a few vegetables, and doing odd jobs. If the townspeople were punished, it would be even harder on himself.
"I just remembered something you might find interesting," the baker said suddenly, interrupting Len's thoughts. "You know how my friend works at the castle? He broke his leg last week."
Len nodded, not sure where the baker was trying to say.
"Well, since I know you're always looking for a little money, I told him that you could fill in for him tomorrow," the baker continued with a magnanimous air. "It's only for a day. One of the lord's little princesses is getting married, so they need someone to arrange the flowers and whatnot. My friend says he'll pay you if you go in his place."
"Really? Wow, thanks!" Len knew a smile was growing on his face. The baker was one of the few who didn't treat Len as an oddity, and often looked out for opportunities for him to make a little silver. He was infinitely grateful. "I'll do it."
The baker looked uneasy, for some reason. "I thought you'd say that."
"Why shouldn't I?" Len was puzzled. A job at the castle, even if only for a day, was sure to be a great opportunity. Once, when another boy had gone there for some work, he had returned with a big basket full of food, which he said were only the scraps left behind by the noble's household.
"They say the castle's cursed," the baker answered ominously, waving his hands in what he clearly thought was a properly dramatic way. Len was surprised, and amused. Of all the things he had expected the baker to say, this was not one of them.
Seeing Len's skeptical expression, the baker indignantly tried to assert his story's truthfulness. "It's not a lie!" he insisted. "My friend says that no matter how many pet rabbits he gets the girls, they always vanish within a week!"
Len couldn't prevent himself from chuckling. Honestly? Rabbits? He at least expected some dark tale about a ghost or a monster. "Don't worry," he patted the baker's shoulder. "I'm not a rabbit. Anyway, I'll only be there for a day, not a week." He tried to stop laughing. "Tell your friend I'll be there tomorrow."
