The years passed slowly by for Petrosinella and the old midwife. They kept to the wood, the midwife traveling sometimes through the forest to the village that lay on the eastern side where she was unknown. It was a port city, and so many people came and went that no one bothered to notice the old woman who quietly did her shopping.
Petrosinella grew older, and more beautiful, with shining golden hair that flowed round her face in gentle waves that made her look oh so much like her mother. She gained an intelligent gaze, and read constantly. The midwife grew older too, and became weak and feeble. During the day she would sit in the kitchen with Petrosinella, in a wheeled chair that Petrosinella had cleverly fashioned from an old cart. In the afternoon, the Midwife would supervise as the young girl tended her garden, and after an early supper, would return to her bed and snore loudly. Petrosinella liked this, as she could have the evenings as her own, to sit and pour over books, or to watch the sun set from her glorious tower, and the twinkling stars emerge.
One consequence of the midwife's convalescence was seen in her herb trade. She could no longer go to market, so she was forced to send Petrosinella to the village by the sea to barter for the goods they needed. When she went, the old woman instructed her to dress as a boy, and to keep to her business and come straight back. Petrosinella became shrewd bargainer, and sometimes had enough money left to indulge in a small bottle of olives, which she kept hidden in her room, and munched secretly during her stolen evenings alone.
One morning, the midwife sat in the kitchen, watching Petrosinella label jars of herbs and thinking. Petrosinella was in a good mood this day, it was lovely and fair, and she hoped to finish her chores early and steal outside with a book. She hummed a little as she worked, then began singing.
"Petrosinella." the midwife said commandingly.
"Yes Aunt Eddy?" Petrosinella said, sensing more chores. Aunt Eddy had become so tiresome lately!
"I need you to go into the village today." Petrosinella's heart sunk. There went her afternoon outside.
"Yes, Aunt." she sighed, and leaned closer over her work. It wasn't that she didn't like going to the village, in truth there were so many things to see. She liked to sit on the edge of the square and watch all the people making their deals in the marketplace. That was, if she could spare the time. Aunt Eddy was very strict about the time. She was to be back always by sundown, and that left very little time to do anything else. The midwife proffered a small piece of parchment, a grocery list.
"Here, take this. And be sure you deal with the fishmonger, and not his lackwit clodpole of an apprentice. He cheated you last time." Petrosinella rolled her eyes. In her old age, the midwife was always believing someone had cheated her in some way.
"Yes, Aunt."
That afternoon, with the old woman's snores echoing through the castle, Petrosinella pulled on her boy's boots, and prepared for her journey to the village. Her cascades of hair were tightly bound and tucked under a ridiculously large hat. She doubted that she fooled anyone anymore, but Aunt Eddy insisted, and she liked the freedom that the trousers gave her. She set out with her bundles of herbs for sale, including her own prized parsley. She broke off one sprig and chewed contemplatively as she picked her way through the deep woods she knew by heart.
Petrosinella reached the village and went to the market broker. "Ah, young peter," the man smiled, noticing Petrosinella, "and what do you have for me today?" Petrosinella left his stand with a purse of silver coins and threaded her way through the busy crowds to find the fishmonger. "Well 'ello petey, pete, pete." the fishmonger's apprentice spat at her. He was noticeably drunk.
"Good day, Gillard." She replied stiffly. "Where is your master?"
"Mas'ter?" Gillard caterwalled. "I ain't got no mas'ter. Not-today."
"What do you mean?" Petrosinella snapped, annoyed with this drunken fool.
"He's gone. Lef' me in charge." Gillard said self-importantly. Then he looked furtive. He leaned closer, and she could smell the putrid stench of too much sour ale. "I know where he is though." He lowered his voice. "He's in the par'sonzuns's-stable." He giggled, drunkenly. Petrosinella frowned, disgustedly. "Don' you wan' to know with who?" the boy insisted. She didn't answer, but she could guess. "The parson's young wifffe, from over th' hill." He hiccupped. "My what a fin' philly she is. Th' parson's such a simp'leton he don' see past th' en' of hisss pulpit." At this he was taken by a violent fit of laughter. Suddenly, he lost his balance, and fell towards her, knocking her over. He lay on top of her, still laughing. It was a wonder they weren't attracting attention. "Get off of me you drunken ox!" Petrosinella yelled at him. Gillard stopped laughing and tried to find purchase with his hands to push himself up. His hand scrabbled around her head as she tried to push him off, too. She could feel the pins that held her hat on begin to give.
"Get off you oaf!" she said again, hoping this would speed up the process. He finally managed to regain a shaky stance, and resumed his cackling. Petrosinella rose too, and suddenly felt the weight of her yellow hair falling, and spied her hat below her in the dust. Gillard stopped his laughter and his mouth hung open. "You're a--girl!" He bellowed, shocked. This time people began to look, and Petrosinella thought agitatedly that they hadn't been a moment before. She snatched up her hat and ran between two houses, Gillard flinging insults at her back, calling her a poxed whore and a "con-hic-niving bitch."
Petrosinella stopped in a dark alleyway and caught her breath. She looked down at the hat in her hand and furiously re-bundled her loose hair and tucked it away. She looked at the sky and knew the afternoon would go quickly, and the midwife would be cross if she returned without the fish. But she could not go back to Gillard. She did not trust the boy, and feared what he might attempt know he knew she was a woman. She knew she must find the fishmonger himself, so she started towards the parson's house.
Petrosinella listened to the singing coming from the nearby inn. One man's voice was particularly good, and reminded her of her father. She looked down at the ground, suddenly struck by a sharp sadness as her throat choked up. She pushed away thoughts of her parents and listened to the words of the song. There was a lady would not have a fair knight until he had obtained the most beautiful rose in the world from a frozen mountaintop. The rose garden was guarded by a fierce some dragon which the knight killed and went back to win his lady love. When it was over Petrosinella looked up at the sky. The sun swam dangerously on the horizon. Petrosinella sighed. She had been sitting outside the parson's stable, waiting for the fishmonger or the parson's wife to emerge. But as yet no one had appeared, and she was beginning to get hungry. She decided to go to the inn and get some food to bring back and watch. With this in mind, she started towards the inn.
As she walked, Petrosinella thought about Aunt Eddy, snoring away in her bedroom. She would be cross when she heard what had happened. But it had not been her fault! She hadn't done anything but what the midwife wanted her to, and she would tell her so. She would not allow the midwife to guilt her this time. At the door of the inn, Petrosinella stopped and judged the weight of her coin purse, figuring what she could afford. Then her hand fell from the pouch, there was a sharp pain in her head, and then, blackness.
Tilman had been an innkeeper for years, and he and his wife took pride in their establishment. Set in a port city, there were all sorts of guests, of every rank and station, who came to eat and sleep at his inn. It was a good inn, he knew. It was clean, and he boasted some twelve rooms, four of which had down pillows, and all of which contained clean linen and a chamber pot. Fen, his rosy wife, cooked the food for the inn, and a heartier meal you couldn't find anywhere else in Harborton. Business was very good.
Now, that business was threatened. Tilman had a body lying in front of his inn. A young boy, thin and awkward, lay face down in the dirt under the inn's swinging sign. The innkeeper wasn't sure what to do with the boy. If he just left him there, people might think that his inn was one of scoundrels and drunkards, and that was no good. On the other hand, it wasn't his business if this young lad gotten so drunk that he had passed out in the street. Probably a cabin boy, Tilman thought, looking at him, so excited to be on land again that he went and spent all his wages on drink. He heard his wife call from inside. "Tilman? Tilly darling? Where are you?"
"Out here." He said distractedly.
"Why what ever can you be doing out here in the dar--oh dear!" This last was in response to the body as she came out of the door. "Oh Tilly, whatever happened? Poor soul." And she bent down to get a better look at him. "It's not anyone we know." she said, matter-of-factly. "What ever are you going to do with him"
"I'm not sure." He nudged the unconscious body with his foot.
"Well," she said decisively, "we can't very well leave him here." And with that, she hooked an arm under the slender body and looked up at her husband. He bent down and helped her carry this strange young boy into the inn. Inside the inn was warm and bright, and a blazing fire pushed its warmth against the cool evening as the sun disappeared behind the horizon.