Another chapter is here! I particularly liked the interactions between Gascon and Katrine. I hope you guys do, too.

Chapter 10: Womanly Wiles

It sometimes seemed to Gascon that the lengths some guys were willing to go for a girl were rather ridiculous. He had no problem helping a lady out every now and then or complimenting her on her dress, but slaying a dragon or enduring trials of wit and strength at the risk of one's own life was asking just a bit too much for his liking. Of course, based on such extreme examples, it was clear he had not had much experience in that department during his years as a prince.

What he knew about chivalry and the male-female relationships came from books he had read on long afternoons when he hadn't the will to attend to his studies or from conversations he overheard whilst eavesdropping on unsuspecting servants or soldiers. One man had shaved off his mustache for a girl. Whatever facial hair Gascon ended up with one day, he didn't plan on doing anything to it that wasn't his own idea. It was his face, after all, and the way he saw it, it was his last remaining asset now that he no longer had wealth and a lofty title to stand him out from the crowd. He wasn't the worst looking guy around, he could say that much.

Nevertheless, despite these beliefs and the fruitless, but fervent, verbal battles he would often have with himself over the absurdities of fiction in a book incapable of arguing back with him, it looked as if he might very well have fallen into the same trap as all those lords and knights before him. Lately, it had begun to feel as if every time he visited Katrine, they would end up doing chores together. Her chores. Hold this, sweep that, pull out my splinter, and do it right, will you? Today, she needed medicine for her ailing mother, but instead of buying it like any sane person, she intended to make it. It was cheaper that way, and in monetary value, he supposed he'd take her word for it. Based on the risk it posed to one's own personal safety, however, he had to say it was not the better option.

The final ingredient was a type of red lichen that made its home on the moist surface of rocks battered by the sea. And he had begun to suspect with deflating spirits that he would be the one assigned to the task of gathering it. She didn't say it in so many words, but her smile told him everything, until she inevitably pointed out the best rock to begin his search. It was, to his increased dismay, not attached to land in any way, but was rather like a tiny black island jutting out of the sea twenty feet from shore.

He had to wonder if she had simply planned this to get him shirtless. Just in case, he kept it on. That would teach her to trick him.

Gascon arrived on the rock weighing roughly twice what he had originally from the sheer amount of water his clothing had soaked up. His own plan to stay fully clothed for a dip in the sea had backfired on him, it would appear, but at least he could count on the sun's warmth to dry him as he worked. Heck, he might very well remain out here all afternoon to sunbathe while he was at it. He could use a tan. All that time spent beneath Hamelin's bronze canopy had made him the palest person in Lari.

What he had apparently failed to take into account was the constant crashing of the waves upon this lonely spire, not to mention the sheer distance spray could travel when it was so inclined. Most of the lichen could be found on the rock's sides, forcing him to spend the majority of his time where the water struck most, but even a short retreat to the island's center did not offer the reprieve from the cold sea he had hoped for.

The teen spent nearly a half hour scraping lichen off the sides of the rock with his fingernails before returning to shore, shivering and thoroughly soaked to his bones and deeper. Spluttering water from his face, he produced the jar containing the mass of lichen he had accumulated, only to freeze when he caught sight of something undeniably suspicious. Blinking salty water from his eyes one last time, his vision focused just enough to confirm that the small basket Katrine was sitting beside was already full to the brim with the red, flaky fungus.

His eyes narrowed. "What's this?"

Her head ducked in the motion of one swallowing their own amusement. "Oh, well," her attention darted for a moment to the basket beside her, as if it was but an afterthought, "the stuff way out on that rock is better quality, an'-"

"I don't see why that would be."

Katrine smiled and held out a hand. "I'll take that, please." As ill-inclined as he may have been to give in after her trickery, he handed over the results of his labor when careful consideration could uncover no good reasons for the unpleasant substance to remain in his possession. Once the jar had been safely tucked away in her basket, along with the rest of her supposedly "inferior" supply, she patted the grass on the side of her that was currently unoccupied. "Sit with me, won'cha? You look positively tuckered."

This acknowledgement of his own state only served to sour his expression further, but he obeyed, nonetheless, by plopping down next to her with an unavoidable squish. He nearly allowed another shiver to wrack his frame, but managed to subdue it.

"I can't work with this stuff 'til it dries, so I guess that means…we have some time to talk."

"That's the very reason I came to see you. And then you made me do this."

She laughed. "Get used to bein' wet. We're always wet in Lari. As proof, it looks like we're gonna get a storm soon."

As if to confirm her words, he turned to eye the thick grey clouds rolling in over the water with increasing dismay. That was the way of seaside weather. It had been a clear day just a half hour ago. "Shouldn't we head inside?"

"Nah." She folded her hands in her lap. "'Tis always the coolest just before the rain starts. We have to enjoy it while it lasts."

He brushed his hair from his eyes when a sudden breeze blew against his face. "Do we?"

"Yes! If you're gonna live in our town, then ya hafta learn how things work."

"Well, in that case…" he fell backwards into the cool grass and tucked his hands beneath his head, "I guess I better get started conforming. Might as well dry off before the rain comes."

Katrine turned to look back at him. "You really are soaked, Gascon."

"And I have you to thank. But I suppose it's worth it for the sake of better quality…whatever that stuff is." His eyes locked onto hers, and she looked away.

Brushing a few of her curls behind one ear, she asked, "Where are ya from, Gascon? I don't think I ever asked."

He was silent for a moment as he thought this over. "Castaway Cove." It was the first thing that came to mind."

"Your father wasn't able to catch enough fish there?"

He pushed himself up onto his elbows. "Huh? Oh, no."

"I guess fishin' never really suited ya, then? I mean, otherwise I'd assume ya'd take on the family business. My brother tried to, but…well, with what happened to Father, Mother forbid him."

"Oh." Family business, huh? He had tried to carry on the family business, but had been told in nearly so many words that he wasn't good enough.

"Can we see your father's fishin' boat from here?" Katrine asked, her attention directed out across the choppy, grey water and the dozen or so small boats bobbing in the distance. They looked hardly bigger than the miniature sailing boat Gascon used to have for bath time when he was little.

"No, uh…he's probably too far out now," Gascon said. "I…I don't think I'd make a very good fisherman. I'm better with…mechanical things, I suppose. At least, I've fixed up a few things for Jameson anyway." He sighed at the encroaching clouds above, which had already begun to advance beyond the shoreline. "That's all I can really do."

"That's good. That's very important, actually. It's better than becomin' a pirate anyway." She turned to him and winked. "Now, me, on the other hand…"

"Oh, sure, you'd make an excellent pirate. One smile would be enough to get men the world round to hand over their loot. Look what you can get me to do."

She gave him a smack on the arm. "You love it, an' you know it."

He sat up straighter to better defend himself in case of further assault. "I'm sure I'll also love staying in bed tomorrow with the flu. Then at least I won't be expected to lift a finger. I only hope that'll inspire you to make me some medicine."

She swatted at him again. "A little water never hurt anyone."

"You ever heard of drowning?" He released a long breath of anticipation. "Yes, I think some hot chicken noodle soup will be the best way to ease your regret. Should I leave you to fetch the ingredients?"

She attempted to trick him by switching hands, but he blocked neatly. "Since I'm such a harsh an' cruel master, surely ya must know I'd make you gather the supplies."

"I'd hardly recognize you if you didn't."

Katrine ceased her attack, a grin still present on her face that counteracted any other attempt to appear stern. "You can really be a jerk sometimes, Gascon."

"I know."

"Didja really hate collectin' lichen for me that much?"

"Yes. But you're the only one I'd do it for. Does that make you feel any better?"

"It does."

The deep growl of thunder was the first sign the promised rain had arrived, a rumble so low, it was enough to rattle their very bones. The second was the curtain of rain that followed. When he had originally noticed the impending storm, Gascon had figured he couldn't get any wetter. He could, however, get a lot colder.

"Now we're even," he said, staring back at her and the previously long curls now flattened against her head like a wet towel.

"Do ya wanna keep bein' sassy or do ya wanna find shelter?" she said.

"I can do this as long as you can."

Rolling her eyes, Katrine grabbed her basket in one hand and began tugging on his arm with the other. They headed back to town in a careful jog through the muddying grass, though the potholed streets of town weren't faring much better with the downpour. Many of the puddles were already deep enough to go over the tops of his shoes. He now understood why she wore boots.

It was the awning in front of Lari's local bakery that offered the shelter they sought. While they could not prevent the rain from splashing onto their legs, at least here their heads were protected, and the warm, sweet smell of freshly-baked bread almost made him forget how cold he was. His stomach growled at the delicious aroma, but he could do no more than crave what the shop offered. He was becoming quite familiar with what it was like not to be able to afford what you wanted.

Gascon began to wring moisture from his clothes with quivering hands. All the while, Katrine remained frozen at his side, staring at the rain as if in a trance. She seemed wholly unaware of the puddle forming at her feet from the rainwater dripping from her dress.

"Reese never helps me with anythin'," she said at last. "He always says," she lowered her voice in a failed attempt to mimic the older boy's far deeper one, "'I have my own work' or 'I wanna relax when I'm off' or…or 'no one helps me do my job'. He won't do anythin' I ask of him, even little things."

Gascon stared at her. "Wh-what's all this about?"

She shook her head, sending flecks of water in various directions. "Oh, it's…it's nothin', really. Just silly stuff."

He tore his gaze away once he realized just how much he was gaping at her. When she failed to elaborate further, he asked, "So, this Reese fellow…is he your…cousin or something?"

"Reese…?" she repeated, her eyes glazed with far off thoughts before they focused again. "Oh, no, he's…" she paused, "he's just a friend o' the family. That's all."

"Oh."

She kicked one foot against the cobblestoned street, her fingers lacing together at her waist. "It's just that…we've known him for a long time, ya see, an'…he's mainly friends with my brother, so he's around a lot. Probably…probably to get away from his own home. Oldest o' six. I suspect it must be hard to get noticed in a house like that, the big, silent oaf." She attempted to laugh, but it came out hollow. "When…when there's another boy around, I just ask him sometimes to help with a few chores I have trouble doin' on my own. He just…never helps me. That's all I was sayin'."

"I don't really mind helping you with stuff," Gascon said. "I was only joking."

She nodded, though her eyes remained on the ground at her feet. "Yeah."

When she said no more, he leaned against the large shop window behind him, finding no other means of waiting out the storm than to resume his earlier vigil over the downpour. Thunder continued to rumble overhead, though scarcely could it be heard over the strength of the rain hammering against the rooftops and the awning above them. He didn't quite like weather nearly as much as he thought he would. He just hoped it didn't snow here.

He went stiff when something warm touched his cheek. Even once it had left him, he didn't immediately look over, but remained frozen to the spot as if under a spell. He would have been too slow anyway, for by now, Katrine was already darting off into the rain. She looked back just once, but it was enough to tell she had been blushing.

One advantage of being a prince, Gascon had learned, was that one was never made to endure aches and stiffness beyond any reasonable means. If anything needed lifting or any other sort of shift in its position, there were servants for that. Stairs need not be climbed when the object of one's desire could be fetched for them. Even dressing oneself was often done with assistance, or it would be, if Gascon didn't so often leave his chambers at times he wasn't meant to.

Pain in life was natural and to be expected, but royalty got to avoid most of it. But he wasn't royalty anymore, and that was enough to signify that all physical labor now fall to him. His complaints stemmed largely from his new job, where his position of authority, minor though it was, did not always exempt him from hard work as Jameson had originally stated. Ever since he had found steady employment, he had begun to retire to bed each night stiff and sore, with morning feeling like it came earlier and earlier. And then it would all begin again, like a recurring dream where the effects did not wear off with consciousness.

A mere month was enough to make him feel like an old man as he hobbled down the stairs of the Cat's Cradle one morning, more akin to a walking corpse than anything else. He had read stories about the shambling members of the undead who were said to roam the Tombstone Trail several miles northwest of Hamelin, and he had even witnessed such horrors firsthand shortly before his voyage to Lari. Real as they seemed, he had a theory that they were merely tired people worn out from too much work. Soon enough, he'd become one, too. He was sure of it.

When the teen clomped outside and squinted in the bright morning light, he caught sight of an arm sticking out from behind one of the tall, potted bushes flanking the inn entrance. Gascon glared at it for a moment, his mind still working its way towards full alertness, as not all of him had woken up at the same time. Advancing another couple paces proved sufficient to bring into full view the form of Reese, as stocky and unpleasant as ever. It was too early for this. He really should have another fifteen minutes. At least.

The older boy drew back further between the bush and the wall, as if he honestly believed it was not already too late for him. When they continued to maintain eye contact, he stepped out into the open and attempted to straighten his shirt with a single downward tug. He failed to knock the leaf free.

"Gascon, you're up." Reese cleared his throat. "Now that we're comrades, I thought I'd better…walk ya t' work."

The younger boy grunted, scratching his head. "Right…"

When Gascon proceeded to yawn, but budged not an inch from that spot, Reese went on, "Let's go then."

"I can make it there just fine by myself. You've never decided to…escort me before." Gascon's drooping eyelids half covered a gaze that had since sharpened into keen alertness. "Why are you really here?"

Reese appeared to stiffen, like prey realizing it had just been spotted by the hunter. Placing his hands into the pockets of his old, worn coat, he took to scanning the rooftops. "Ya've been spendin' time with Katrine," he began, addressing an arbitrary second story window of the inn where his attention had landed. "An'…an' I ain't gonna put up with you lyin' to 'er anymore."

Gascon's eyes widened at this sudden accusation. "And what have I lied to her about?"

The older boy glanced his way, only to return his attention skyward a second later. "She told me what ya've said. About movin' 'ere with your father. Where is your father? He doesn't live at the inn with ya, does 'e? I don't want 'er spendin' time with a runaway. 'Tisn't decent. She's a decent girl, Kat, an'…"

Gascon held up a hand before Reese could say any more. "You have a lot of nerve accusing me of things you know nothing about. What makes you assume I was lying to her?"

At last, their eyes locked, as if his accuser had just begun to rethink the wisdom of disregarding the one he had angered. "You came outta the inn. Explain that."

"I'm a human with legs. I'll do it again if you want me to."

"But…but you leave there every mornin' and return there every night." By now, Reese's voice had begun to grow weaker with every word.

"I run errands for the innkeeper in my spare time. It helps my father and I pay the bills. Do you want me to write my entire schedule down for you? It'll make stalking me a bit easier."

At this, Reese said nothing, but rather, resumed the usual silence he was far better known for. Gascon was just about to dismiss the conversation as over and retreat in the opposite direction when the older boy bowed his head in a stiff bob. "I'm sorry to've wasted you're time." Without another word, he turned and lumbered away.

Reese's personality has been greatly changed since my earlier drafts of this story. Before, he was more rude and brutish, but it made his character feel kind of cliche. The only downside to changing him is the fact that I had to remove a few funny lines on Gascon's part, but alas. It had to be done.

Please review, my dear readers!