Chapter 7: Katrine
It took Gascon less than three weeks to learn his way around the port town of Lari almost as well as those born here. He suspected it was all thanks to his prior experience navigating the city of his birth that made finding the hidden passages and shortcuts of the cliff side village as easy as putting on shoes in comparison. The former prince knew which shopkeepers could be more easily persuaded to lower their prices and which walkways had fewer potholes for him to trip over. He was also privy to the fact that there was a house on the third terrace that stored a ladder in the neighboring alley, which served as the perfect shortcut to the street above. It was only a shame there was no place for such talents in the world of common laborers, or else he'd be the best of his trade.
Nevertheless, it took him the better part of a week to find her again, and when he did finally spot the girl with the hazel curls from across the town square one muggy afternoon, it was only the thought of losing track of her again that forced him to approach her.
She had, upon closer inspection, been shopping for goods in the marketplace, for her arms were weighed down with baskets she managed to carry with grace and poise despite their bulk. He caught her attention with a raised hand, and his heart almost crawled up into his throat at the initial incomprehension her face bore at his arrival. Whatever Gascon had meant to say fled from him at that moment, but he was saved the trouble of trying to recall it when she smiled.
"I can't afford t' pay ya for anythin' else," were her first words upon their reunion, and he knew he spotted a sparkle in her eye that suggested the cunning of a fox. "Of course," she swayed this way and that so that her simple blue skirt, the only detail a line of tiny pink ribbons just above the hem, swung about her ankles, "a proper gentleman really doesn't make a lady pay for favors."
He scratched his head. "I'm not sure I ever said I was a gentleman."
"Well, I'm at least a lady, am I not?"
"You tell me."
She nudged her head in the direction she had previously been heading, and he walked with her down the nearest cobblestoned street. He could blame its narrow width, a feature of all streets and paths of this town, for any close proximity to her, had she decided to mention it. She didn't.
"You're…new in town," she began and glanced his way. "I mean, I assume. 'Cause Lari's a small place, and I don't recall seein' you before the other day.
"Yes, I…moved here…with my father, just over a month ago." He caught her gaze dart downwards, and when he followed its path, he remembered the load in her arms. "Do you…" he pointed to the basket closest to him, "want me to carry anything?" He flashed her a crooked grin. "Free of charge, of course."
"I'd been waitin' for ya t' ask the entire time."
"What kind of a gentleman would I be if I hadn't? And it took me less than five minutes."
"That's probably a record in certain parts o' the world."
Gascon's eyebrows rose on his forehead at this statement, but he was spared the chance to ponder over her meaning for much longer when she handed him the entirety of her goods. He could claim it was flattering she didn't suspect he might steal the lot of it, but it was more likely she was only confident due to the fact that moving at any increased speed was impossible with such a load.
"Is he a fisherman?" she asked, straightening her dress with a few downward tugs now that her arms were free. "'Tis pretty much the way of everyone here, so that's why I ask, y'see."
He hefted a basket packed with turnips in an effort to get a better grip on the handle. "Yeah."
"Times are tough right now, with…y'know…" her voice fell to a whisper, "the Dark Djinn an' all." She clasped her hands together, her strides coming in the slow, meandering fashion of one in no hurry to get where they were going. Her pace, he had noticed, had changed as soon as the one doing the carrying had switched. "My mother worries so, even when I remind her time and time again that we're probably safer than most. Why would he bother with us when there are entire cities t' pester? At least, that's how I look at it."
"Mmm." He gave an absent nod in reply.
"'Tisn't good for her t' fret as she does, but…" She laughed and ran a hand through her hair. "I'm sorry. I'm probably borin' ya. No one wants t' hear about someone else's problems when they have plenty of their own."
Gascon shook his head. "It's fine, I really don't mind." A gust of wind swept in from over the ocean, and he had to plant his feet in place to prevent himself from getting blown over. She, on the other hand, appeared completely unmoved. Her steadiness could only be due to practice. They had no wind in Hamelin. He turned to better study the ocean below them. "You're village…it has a nice view, doesn't it?" He looked over when she failed to answer. "Or do you disagree?"
"Well, personally…" she drew closer to stand beside him, "I hate the ocean. I hate seein' it each day I look out my window."
"Really? A lot of people wished they lived near the ocean."
"A lotta people don't understand how cruel it can be. I can't count how many men the sea has taken since this village was built, my own father among them."
"Oh, well, I…I didn't mean…"
"I know. And you? Do you like the ocean, that is?"
Gascon drew in a long breath through his nose as the breeze ruffled his hair. "I used to want to be a pirate. Does that answer your question?"
"Yes, I suppose it does. It tells me a few other things, as well," she added, but when his gaze left the sea to turn to her, she looked away. Even from this angle, however, he thought he still detected the evidence of a smile.
They continued down the street, stray flurries of wind continuing to pull at their clothes, though he seemed to be the only one having a difficult time remaining upright. Even the gulls overhead merely allowed the wind to guide their flight rather than hinder it. He nearly walked into a building before realizing she had stopped, and whether or not she had noticed, he was at least grateful she failed to address it.
"Well, here I am. I need t' make my mother lunch, but…" she tapped a finger to her cheek, "I just realized…I've forgotten t' ask your name."
Gascon's heart stopped. In all his short time here, he hadn't yet had any need to provide anyone with his name. He had always planned on coming up with a new one, for if he was going to shed his title of prince and give up the nicer things in life that went along with it, it only made sense to change the name of his birth, as well.
Under the warmth of her smile, he was finding it impossible to think straight at the moment.
He delayed answering in favor of licking his lips, well aware of how it might look if he failed to answer such a simple question. "M-Mar…" he began and cursed himself at once for being so foolish as to consider taking on his little brother's name as his own, She blinked at him and tilted her head, a clear indication that he was running out of time.
"G-Gaston," he said, the butchering of his own name thanks to his sudden inability to speak. He was an idiot, and he would have slapped a hand to his forehead if he hadn't already made himself look like a proper loon. Or if even one of his hands had been free.
"Gaston?" she repeated, though the slow manner in which she said it suggested she was about as unsure as he was.
"Gascon. I…I said Gascon. That's…what my name is." It was a blessing he was still holding her groceries. Otherwise he might have cut his losses and ran for it.
"Gascon," she said, even more carefully this time in her pronunciation. "Did I get that right?"
He nodded once he realized his jaw was glued shut.
"Well, I'm Katrine. It's been very nice talkin' t' you. We'll…see each other again some time. Right?"
He nodded again. "Yeah."
"Wonderful. Uh, can I have my things back now?"
"Sure." Uncertain as to what she was asking due to the recent whistling he had developed in his ears, he made no move to return her possessions. It was only after she reached for them herself that he relinquished his grip. Now he was free to run. Straight into the ocean.
"I-it was nice meeting you, too" he said over her "thank you" and turned to march away in a far stiffer manner than he intended.
"Gascon," she said, and he jerked to a stop before he had gone more than ten feet.
"Yeah?" he asked and turned back to face her.
"If you're still havin' trouble findin' work, I know just the man t' talk to. Jameson. He employs my brother, as well, and he can use more workers from time to time. You can find 'im…"
A shrill female voice broke in over her from inside the house. "Kat? Kat, is that you?"
"Yeah, Mama, 'tis me!" she called through the open front door. Returning her attention to him, she went on, "I gotta go. Just ask around. I'm sure someone can point ya in the right direction."
By the time Gascon could develop the courage to thank her, she had already gone inside.
Random note, Katrine's name was somewhat inspired by the word kittiwake, a species of seabird in the seagull family, Laridae. Now isn't that neat? Please read and review, my dears.
