Stars and Stories
XX
On the very same night the festival was going on in the castle, the villagers of Hill's Wood were enjoying themselves in the center of their little hamlet. The clod harvest would be completed in mere days, and with one of their fellow villagers enjoying the good life in Lady Rhonda and Lord Thaddeus's castle, there was a festive feeling in the air. People sat on halved logs and the occasional stool around a large bonfire in the middle of the village square; some dancing, a few playing crude instruments, but most talking about what kind of things Arnold might be doing at the castle.
"I still bet he's a pincushion at their archery range," said Tailor Kokoshka.
"Quit being a party pooper," shouted one of the other villagers.
"Hey, I am just saying!"
"I heard they even had a game over there called Pin the Tail on the Peasant!" Stinky exclaimed.
Lila rolled her eyes. "And where did you hear that from?"
"Er – I reckon Kokoshka said so."
Lila shook her head. "Stinky, even if such a game existed, I doubt it involves actual peasants."
"That Arnold, he's a lucky guy," said Tailor Kokoshka. "I bet he's talking to some pretty lady right now, ehehe. And I bet they have all kinds of good food over there." He looked at the pigeon he was roasting on a stick, which he had been lucky enough to catch earlier that day in a rare burst of energy. "I mean, I eat good food all the time when I am visiting my uncle's castle, don't get me wrong, but I could go for something fancy right now."
"Ah, stuff it Kokoshka!" said Ernie the Tree Cutter. "You keep talking about this uncle of yours, but you've been in this village for years - I've never seen you leave for even a day!"
"Hey, just because you don't care enough about me to pay attention to my life-"
"You pay enough attention to yourself for everybody in the village, Kokoshka!"
Gerald sat close to the bonfire, enjoying its warmth as he listened to the pop and crackle of the flames that punctuated the argument between his fellow villagers. He wondered what Arnold was doing at that very moment. He looked into the distance and could see the castle, a dark shape set on top of its hill and framed by a deep blue night sky. The castle's blackness was offset by a few faintly burning spots of light emanating from its narrow windows. Maybe Arnold had taken Gerald's advice and moved on from Lila already.
He wished he could have joined his friend and experienced a castle festival for himself, although he imagined Helga might dampen the fun a little. Arnold was able to tolerate Helga more than he could, however. Not to mention that Gerald would have preferred having a dance or two with another merchant's daughter, but even if he and Phoebe had been invited, she would probably be dancing with some nobleman.
Either way, Gerald was happy enough at the bonfire, although he was getting a little tired of Ernie and Kokoshka's bickering. He stared at Kokoshka, who was tearing a hunk of pigeon off his roasting stick and making a mess of himself in mid-argument, and decided to change the subject.
"Hey Kokoshka."
"Who's that?" Kokoshka looked around in confusion. "Ah yes - what is it Gerald?"
"You might wanna be careful about who sees you eating that pigeon."
"What?"
Tailor Kokoshka looked down at his half-eaten pigeon in confusion.
"Well, you ever heard about the Pigeon Man?"
Kokoshka shook his head, which gave Gerald all the opening he needed. He had heard the tale of the Pigeon Man before, and while he wasn't sure if he believed it or not, it was a good story to tell at night when everyone was sitting around a bonfire. Sid took his cue from Gerald and leaped up from his log seat, holding out his arms theatrically as he gave the introduction.
"Gather round, all ye villagers, and harken!"
"Quit bein' all flowery, ya lout!" shouted a villager.
Sid glared in the direction of the offending voice and cleared his throat before he continued. "Fine, fine. Anyway, the story of the Pigeon Man is a tale long passed down in Hill's Wood from peasant generation to peasant generation. So listen up while my boy Gerald tells the tale!"
Sid motioned to Gerald with a flourish and stood aside as Gerald stood up on a log.
"Long ago," began Gerald, "or so it has been said, there was an old man who lived in the forest just outside our village. He didn't like spending time with the other villagers, and after a long day of hard work in the fields, he preferred being alone in a little shack built under a tree. He spent his days in the shack, and if there was no one nearby, he'd hang around outside his shack and feed a flock of pigeons that lived in the forest. Pretty soon he had pigeons comin' from all over the place, and the villagers started calling the old man 'Pigeon Man.' On account of the pigeons, see?
"Anyway, sometimes a few of the villagers would sneak into the forest and hide behind the trees, watching this old man feed his pet pigeons. And if he was inside the shack, sometimes they'd even come right up the walls and see if they could spy on him. And when they pressed their ear to the walls, do you know what they heard?"
The villagers listened to Gerald and shook their heads nervously.
"If they listened carefully, they could just barely hear a coo, coo, coming from inside."
There was a long silence as the villagers waited for Gerald to continue, although it was broken by a loud belch from Tailor Kokoshka as he threw his pigeon bones away.
"One day," Gerald continued, "the villagers were struck by a strange sickness. And, as ignorant and superstitious rural folk often do, they found a scapegoat for their problems, and blamed-"
"Hey, who are you calling ignorant?" Ernie shouted. "You're rural folk too!"
"Yeah, what's the big idea!"
"Okay, okay! It's just part of the story, alright?" Gerald rolled his eyes. "Sheesh!"
The villagers reluctantly fell silent as he continued.
"Now, as I was saying – they blamed the strange old man who lived at the edge of the forest for their sickness. They sad he had dark magic, that he was spiting them with those cooing sounds inside his shack. One day, when the sickness became unbearable, the village folk got together and decided to go into the forest with torches and pitchforks, ready to sacrifice the old man in an attempt to make their troubles go away.
"The old man was minding his own business, cooing in his little shack, when he heard the villagers approaching. He could hear the shouts, the anger. He could see the burning orange light of the torches through the slats in his wooden walls. He ran out the door and begged for mercy, trying to tell them that he wasn't at fault, but did they listen? Nooo! They were out for blood. The old man thought his number was up, but just before the villagers got to him, a sound came through the trees."
By now, the villagers had fallen silent. Even Tailor Kokoshka was sitting straight and listening to the tale with rapt attention. Friar Simmons cleared his throat nervously.
"Um, Gerald, this is such a special story, but it's a little scary. Perhaps everyone would like to listen as I share some moral anecdotes or uplifting spiritual tales instead?"
Some the villagers groaned, and Gerald shook his head, a little annoyed at being interrupted.
"Anyway, a sound came through the trees. The villagers thought it was just the wind rustling through the leaves, but it got louder and louder. The old man stopped begging. He just stood there and stared at them, and then – out from the treetops – they came! Black shapes in the night, fluttering wings and sparkling eyes in the torchlight, swooping down on those villagers! Pigeons! Most of the villagers turned and ran for their lives, but a few of the brave ones found shelter and kept watching, and do you know what they saw?
"That flock of pigeons that attacked them turned back and gathered around that old man. He held his arms up into the air, and the pigeons gathered around him like they were all one creature. The villagers who were hiding watched as the old man's feathered friends lifted him up into the air. He went up, up into the sky, leaving his world behind, and after that night... well, after that night, nobody ever saw the Pigeon Man again."
"But sometimes," said Gerald –
He stopped and looked out over his audience. Lila held a hand to her mouth, obviously a bit spooked, and Stinky was holding onto Lila's other arm. Friar Simmons let out a faint "oh my!" while Tailor Kokoshka's mouth hung open, a bit of pigeon still hanging from it. Gerald made sure to give him a close look before he continued.
"Sometimes," he said, "late at night, if you happen to be stupid enough to be walking around at the edge of the forest and you listen really carefully, you might hear a coo, coo! And you might think it's just a pigeon. But if you go into that forest, and you look hard enough, you'll see a shack beneath a tree. Now, I've never seen this personally, but if you're unlucky enough, you might just run into the Pigeon Man himself, visiting his old home. Out for revenge against the villagers that drove him away."
Gerald crossed his arms ominously as he looked over his audience.
"Or so I've been told."
The only sound in the village square was the playful crackling of the bonfire, along with the occasional hoot of a distant owl. The edge of the forest was in plain view past the outskirts of the village. Some of the villagers strained their ears, listening for the sound of cooing, but they could hear nothing. Eventually, the villagers added a few scattered claps to the sound of the fire in recognition of another good tale.
"I think that is just a big joke," said Tailor Kokoshka.
Gerald pointed into the darkness. "Don't believe me? Go into the forest and check it out for yourself."
Tailor Kokoshka thought about the proposition. Ernie – who, as a tree cutter, was often in the forest himself when it was daytime and had even seen the shack – nudged him on the shoulder in encouragement.
Kokoshka had also seen the shack Gerald was talking about, and he had always thought it was old and abandoned. But then again...
"Eh, I'll pass."
XX
As the dancing went on in the Great Hall, Lady Rhonda sat in her chair at the far end of the room and idly nibbled at some pieces of candied fruit. The table in front of her was separated from the other tables, and along with her husband's chair, was raised on a platform to emphasize the importance of the Lady and Lord of the castle.
Rhonda was a little displeased as she watched her guests dancing in front of her. She had not actually started the dancing herself, and hadn't said anything officially to begin the festival yet. People just sort of started when they came in, regardless of what she wanted – it was downright inconsiderate. She got up and brushed some candied fruit chunks off her signature red evening gown.
"Attention, all ye people dancing around in here!"
Rhonda grabbed an iron goblet and slammed it down on the oak table several times until the chatter in the Great Hall died down and everyone turned to face the Lord and Lady of the castle. Rhonda looked at the crowd and noticed that Cecile and Arnold were gone. Not that she was complaining – Arnold's outfit had been horrifically garish, and Cecile's choice of dress, while passable, did not measure up to those worn by the other noblewomen. Still, she wondered why they were absent.
"I wanted to say a few words about the purpose of this festival," she said. "The dirt clod harvest is near completion, and it looks like it was a good year for clods. We are all here to celebrate the end of the harvest season and to hope for an even better yield next year – as long as those peasants put their backs into it, that is!"
A few chuckles and guffaws rang out from the crowd.
"I am happy to grace you all with the privilege of entering my castle and marveling at my taste in interior decoration – no, really, no thanks are necessary. Well, just a little, but not right now. I hope you've been enjoying the festivities, and of course you're welcome to be our guests in the castle for as long as you'd like, as long as it's not more than a few days. Most of you are my vassals, and those of you aren't are still of course being paid a great honor by being invited to this festival, so I assume you all brought gifts to pay homage to us. Please leave them in the gift chamber, my page has the details."
Rhonda waved absently to the eager page standing by her side. The Great Hall was silent, save for a lone cough coming from the corner of the room, as they waited for Lady Rhonda to keep droning on.
"Alright, fine, get back to dancing now."
The festival guests went back to their entertainment as Rhonda sunk into her seat. Curly began to sniff her hair. She normally found it thrilling when he sniffed her hair, but it was highly inappropriate to be doing it in public, and Rhonda felt like she was stuck in a bit of a funk anyway.
"Ew, Curly - lay off the hair."
"Sorry, I'm just bored," Curly said. "These things aren't very fun, sweetcakes. I was hoping that Pataki girl would have some amusing anecdotes to share."
"Well, she's a no show. I'm going to have to give her a piece of my mind for declining such a rare opportunity." Rhonda was somehow both relieved that Helga had not showed up in the one bright pink outfit that she seemed to own, and on the other hand, mildly insulted that she had not showed up at all. "You know, I don't know why you invited Arnold either," she said in a huff.
"This is a clod harvest festival. He's a clod farmer."
"Exactly! He doesn't fit in here. Next thing you know, he's going to go back to his village and tell all his peasant friends about it, and they'll all come over here begging for alms."
Curly listened to his wife's rants, and he knew the real reason why she did not want Arnold invited to the festival. It was true that she never would have invited a peasant in the first place, but Arnold in particular was not a guest she had wanted to see. She had been looking guilty the whole night. Curly had noticed her stealing glances at Arnold during the beginning of the festival and looking relieved when the peasant had disappeared with that Cecile character.
Rhonda hadn't even wanted to check on Hill's Wood near the culmination of the clod harvest, but Curly had wanted to get a little fresh air, and he found it interesting to see how the peasants lived, so he had suggested it until she gave in. Once he had seen Arnold in his village, he had been unable to resist inviting him. Maybe it was because he wanted to right past wrongs. He knew that Rhonda would never do it herself.
"Court Jester!"
Lady Rhonda yelled in no particular direction for the jester, Eugene. After a moment, Eugene popped out from amongst the crowd, the bells attached to his jester's hat ringing as he stooped with a bow.
"Do something funny," Lady Rhonda commanded.
"Maybe I should put on one of my funny costumes?" asked Eugene.
"Yes, that sounds good."
"Immediately, milady! I'll be back soon!"
Rhonda sighed as Eugene raced off to find his court jester's supplies and proceed to smack right into a nobleman, who ended up soaking himself with his own glass of wine. It was alright – Rhonda did not like that particular nobleman. While she waited for Eugene to return, two other nobles approached the table of the Lord and Lady.
"Hello Lady Rhonda," said Duchess Patty, dragging her husband behind her as he feebly tried to reach for a roasted turkey leg on a nearby table. "We were honored to be invited to your festival. You always hold he best parties."
Rhonda thought there was a note of indifference in Patty's voice, maybe even condescension, but it was hard to tell with her flat tone. Duke Harold, however, was more excited by the festivities.
"This is some great food!" he said.
"I have to agree," said another nobleman standing nearby. "This is almost better than what we ate in the Old Country. Ehehehe!"
Curly looked the nobleman over. Someone his wife had invited, probably. "What's your name again?" he asked.
"Count Kokoshka, at your service."
"Do you have some relative over in the hamlet of Hill's Wood?" Curly asked. "You look a bit familiar."
"Um, no way. I do not know what you are talking about. See you later!"
Count Kokoshka slunk nervously away, back to browse the piles of food on the nearby tables. Curly gave an indifferent grunt as he left.
"By the way," said Harold through a mouthful of food, "I heard you talking about dirt clods earlier and I was wondering, what's up with that anyway? What do the peasants do with the dirt clods when they harvest them?"
"They bail them and let them dry out a little, and we send out servants to collect them and store them in the castle store rooms. Like, duh," Lady Rhonda said haughtily.
"Yeah, alright, but then what do you guys do with the clods?"
"We give them to distributors, who take them to various lands."
"What do they do? Sell them? And to who?"
Lady Rhonda sighed in exasperation. "Look, Harold, I don't know. Knowing such things is below my dignity. It's just the way things are done, alright? The peasants harvest the clods, and Lord Thaddeus and I stay in the castle and send out people to take their clods."
Harold scratched his head. He wasn't sure he understood the system any more clearly, but Lady Rhonda sure seemed to be confident about how it worked.
The group turned at the sound of a scream and noticed that the court jester, Eugene, had returned to the Great Hall. He was in a gorilla costume and appeared to have knocked a torch from its wall sconce and lit himself on fire, seeing as he was running around in flames. The other guests drew back in terror.
"Stop drop and roll!" Curly shouted.
Eugene got down and rolled on the ground to put out his smoking fur.
"I'm okay!"
Harold laughed at the scene, but Patty admonished him with a slap on the arm.
Rhonda covered her face with her hand, regretting that she had called on Eugene for entertainment. Court jesters were supposed to act foolish, but only in highly orchestrated ways. Eugene's clumsiness tended to cause a lot of damage. The guests were now coughing and choking as smoke and the acrid stench of singed fur blanketed the room.
Rhonda looked over at her husband in the adjacent chair, who was grinning from ear to ear. She managed a weak smile back, but she was still suspicious of why he had invited Arnold to the festival. Hopefully her husband would not be making things awkward for her.
XX
Arnold felt himself pulled into a dark room before he knew what was happening.
"In here!"
They fell with a crash against something metallic in the darkness, sprawling across the floor and bringing whatever it was down with them. Cecile had fallen on top of Arnold. And while she wasn't heavy, that really hurt. She rolled off with breathless laughter as Arnold looked out at the torch-lit hallway through the door frame. After a moment, the guards that Cecile had been trying to avoid passed in front of the door and looked in at them.
"Uh, hello," Arnold said apologetically.
The guards rolled their eyes in exasperation, one of them motioning with his thumb for the two of them to get out of the store room, and kept walking down the hall. Cecile pulled Arnold up with a laugh as they left the room, continuing on their way through the castle. Arnold was sure they would have been in deep trouble, but apparently Lady Rhonda's guards either weren't on duty or didn't particularly care.
A whirlwind of stone and guttering torch-flame passed Arnold by as he was led throughout the castle by the strange noblewoman he had just met. They had left the Great Hall and explored every nook, every cranny, every winding stairway. Arnold had never imagined a building could have so many rooms – he thought more than one was a luxury. Storerooms, guest bedrooms, a chapel, a kitchen with a nearby buttery and pantry, and a few locked doors here and there. They had found a couple of rooms being watched by armed guards – one looked like it led into the castle dungeons, and the other, as the slightly inebriated guard had informed them, was the entrance to the castle's treasury.
They had exhausted the interior of the castle, and now Arnold was struggling to keep up as Cecile led him up a dark, winding staircase. They tripped a few times. Cecile laughed uproariously, and Arnold felt a draft of fresh air coming from above them as they turned up, up, up. Finally they reached the top. The stairway led to an open tower rooftop, surrounded by parapets and illuminated by the light of a full moon. Cecile walked to the edge of the roof and stared out over the landscape beneath them as Arnold joined her.
"What a splendid view," she said.
Arnold had to agree.
The dark fields around the castle were sprinkled with the occasional flashing lights of fireflies. It wasn't possible to see his own hamlet, since the dark tree line of the distant forest would have obscured any of the small dwellings there. There was a faint glow in its general direction, though. Arnold wondered if they had a bonfire going in the village center.
Helga's town, however, was close enough to the castle that he could make out the dim outlines of its rooftops, particularly the top of the monastery. Arnold looked at the rooftops of Helga's town and wondered where she was right now. She had not showed up to the castle at all. Now that he thought about it, he was beginning to realize why Cecile seemed so familiar.
"Do you know anyone by the name of Helga Pataki?" he asked Cecile.
Helga coughed loudly, choking for a moment and beating herself on the chest.
"Whoa, sorry. Little dormouse came up there."
Helga remembered that she was trying to be a bit more sophisticated than usual, and altered the tone of her voice a little. "Helga? Why yes, she's a distant cousin of mine. I believe she lives down in that town, as a matter of fact. Why do you ask?"
"Ah, that explains it. I thought you looked kind of similar to her, even though you act totally different."
The view from the tower rooftop was beautiful, but Arnold had been running through the castle with Cecile for a long time, and he decided he needed a brief rest. He sat down with his back to the parapet. Cecile pulled up her gown a little to crouch down and sit by his side.
"So why were you in such a hurry to get away from my cousin?" Arnold asked her.
"Wasn't it obvious? I hope I don't sound rude, but he was a little dull."
Arnold had expected the answer, but he still had to laugh.
"You know, just this morning I was harvesting some dirt clods, and here I am on a castle rooftop," he said as he marveled at the strange turn his life had taken. He wanted to add that he was on a castle rooftop with the most interesting woman he had ever met, but he was worried about running before he could walk – that was how Gerald had put it, at least. He didn't want to freak Cecile out by getting too romantic too quickly. He'd have to thank Gerald later for that pickup line, too.
"Harvesting dirt clods?" Helga asked him. She realized that, while she had been around Arnold many times in the past on her visits to Hill's Wood, she had never really asked him very much about his life. Maybe now was her opportunity.
"Yeah, that's right. Soon they'll be picked up and transported here to the castle store rooms."
"What happens to them then? What are they for?"
"I don't know," Arnold admitted. "I'm just a lowly peasant. But what about you, Cecile? What do you do? Tell me more about yourself, your family. I want to know everything about you."
Helga blushed at Arnold's interest, even though a nagging voice in the back of her mind told her that he wasn't interested in the life story of Helga, only of Cecile. Still, she was enjoying the attention. She refused to get bogged down in the details of where it was coming from or why she was getting it.
"Well, I have a father who's a real pain in the -" She noticed Arnold's curious expression and changed her tone again. "I mean, my father is ever so difficult sometimes. He's very busy with his nobleman's duties."
Helga frowned as she realized that getting into too much detail might blow her cover. She didn't really know what nobleman's duties were in the first place. She was about to complain about her sister as well, but she had complained about her life to Arnold on numerous occasions in the past. If she wasn't careful, he might notice how Cecile and Helga seemed to have identical lives. This was turning out to be more difficult than she had expected.
"But enough about me," she said, hoping to change the subject, "what about you? Tell me about your family. I'd like to know more about you as well."
"Me? I'm not much to talk about," said Arnold.
"You sell yourself short."
Helga had not meant the comment as a pun on Arnold's height, but fortunately he didn't seem to notice.
"Well," said Arnold, "I was raised by my grandparents in Hill's Wood, and they died recently."
"I'm sorry."
"Thanks. It's still hard to think about sometimes, but I guess it's part of life."
Arnold was reminded of his parents and felt a little disappointed that he didn't have much to share with Cecile about them.
"I don't know much about my parents – they left when I was a child, before I can remember. My grandparents told me they had the wanderlust and wanted to travel south, to see what there was to see and help people along the way. Grandpa Phil always told me that Miles and Stella had a passion for going on adventures.
"And they liked to give people a helping hand – he always told stories about them rescuing helpless villagers from dragons and ogres and that kind of thing. Real wild stories," said Arnold as he fondly recollected some of the tales. "Even if any of it's true, it kind of surprises me. I barely have time to get a good night's sleep after I've been working in the fields all day. I can't imagine how they could manage to go on adventures like that."
"What about you?" asked Helga, already knowing the answer to the question she was about to ask. "Do you think you have anything in common with them?"
"From what my grandparents have said, yeah. I guess I do like to help people. I try to work things out whenever there's an argument in the village. And I've always felt like maybe I have an adventurer's spirit, even if I've never gotten the chance to explore it. I don't feel like I was meant to be a clod farmer. But then, I doubt anyone in the village would say anything differently if you asked them," laughed Arnold. "I mean, clod farming wasn't exactly anyone's childhood dream, except maybe Stinky's. But I guess you're born into a certain life, and that's what you have to live with."
By this time, Arnold and Cecile had both sunk down until they were laying against the cool stone roof, looking up at the night sky. Arnold looked up at the stars embroidered across the black tapestry overhead. They wove patterns that reminded him of the jewels he had seen shimmering on the clothing of noblewomen down below in the Great Hall as they twirled and danced.
Arnold turned his head and looked at the young woman beside him. He hadn't had the chance to talk to anyone else at the festival, although he wanted to talk to his cousin a little more, but he got the feeling that Cecile was not like the rest of them. There was something thrilling in the way she treated him with such familiarity. She was completely unrestrained around him, as if she had already known him for a long time.
Cecile had taken her hat off before laying on the ground, and there was enough moonlight that Arnold could make out her features. She did look a lot like Helga. Arnold's eyes moved from her face to her finger as she lifted an arm and pointed it up in the air.
"Maybe you'd like to have some adventures up there," she said.
Arnold looked up at the moon's pale orb.
"I don't even know what that is, really. My friend Gerald says it's made out of cheese."
Helga snorted. "He would say – uh – I mean, you don't say?"
"Yeah. He's a big fan of cheese though."
Arnold watched as Cecile shifted her finger languidly back and forth in the air, tracing lines over the white dots that pinpricked the night sky. She sighed as she let her hand drop back down.
"Do you ever wonder what those are?" she asked.
Arnold had wondered on occasion, but he spent most of his time looking at the earth. He did not answer, and instead looked at Cecile, waiting for her thoughts on the matter. He got the feeling she had her own opinions on the subject, since she had brought it up.
"I like to think that maybe they're other worlds," she said. "Maybe there are other people living up there. Not peasants or nobles or merchants or knights... just people, all of them equal. Maybe everybody has a castle, or they all share a few between them."
Arnold had to admit that Cecile's imagination was more vivid than his own.
"What's this?" he asked as he picked up Cecile's hat.
A small yellow flower was tucked into a ribbon attached to the hat. He knew it was a dandelion, but he was wondering why it was there. Maybe it was just decoration, but none of the other noblewomen he had seen downstairs had flowers for decorations, and a dandelion seemed like a strange choice.
"It's a dandelion," she said. "My favorite flower."
Arnold picked the flower out of the hat.
"Well, I guess tonight it will be my favorite flower too."
"What, you're stealing it?"
The question was asked teasingly, and Arnold stuck his tongue out and pocketed the flower in his surcoat as Cecile watched with a mock indignant stare. Maybe he would keep it as a memento. Although, like tonight, he knew that it would not last long.
Arnold was surprised at how quickly he had gotten past Lila's rejection now that he had met someone new. He was liking Cecile more by the minute, but his feelings were tempered by the knowledge that it would all soon be gone. Cecile was a noblewoman from far away, and soon she would leave again. But at least he could enjoy the moment.
