“You can. When your brother’s leg is healed and your father’s duties allow him to leave, you can go with them.”
Gabe swallowed his pride and the angry retort that was on the tip of his tongue and instead hung his head. He could pretend compliance. After all, he didn’t want her to guess what he was planning. “Yes, Mother.” Whatever you say.
Chapter 4
Gabe headed south for seven days, the last few without encountering a single village or inn. He was counting on his father not sending soldiers after him. After all, Gabe often went on adventures without telling others where he was going.
On the seventh day, when he realized he was nearing Duchess Ermengard’s castle, he backtracked into the forest and discovered an abandoned cottage, its roof caving in. One corner of the dilapidated house still seemed well sheltered from rain, and that is where he stowed his weapon — his crossbow and arrows — and also his regular clothes. He exchanged his comfortable, fine linen shirt for a rough woolen tunic he’d brought along to disguise himself and filled a leather bag with items needed to convince the duchess he was a poor traveler. His horse and saddle could still give him away, but that couldn’t be helped. He couldn’t leave Gingerbread in the woods to fend for himself. Especially since Gabe didn’t know when he’d be able to come back.
And now that he thought about it, he should change his horse’s name to something more warlike than Gingerbread.
Gabe already envisioned his success; he would rescue Duke Baldewin’s daughter from being mistreated as the duchess’s servant — a fate worse than death — and restore her to her rightful position. Then he’d take Duchess Ermengard to the king to stand trial for her misdeeds. Poets would immortalize him, the whole countryside would sing of his valiant deeds, and beautiful maidens would throw their scarves at him whenever he rode down the street.
Even Valten would be impressed. He would take back all the abuse about Gabe being a weakling and show him respect for the first time since they were young children.
Gabe held his head high as he led the horse through the village of Hohendorf on his way to the castle, until he reminded himself to try and look more humble, to keep his head down and stop thinking about his future triumphs. But as he looked around at the townspeople going about their day’s work, he realized he could not have come close to looking as humble as they did in their tattered and stained clothing. Most of them were gaunt, appearing half starved, their clothing hanging off their sharp, angular shoulders and hips.
No one smiled. People stared at him as if his face had turned purple and horns had sprouted from his head. One carter was bent over, picking up the handles of his cart, when his gaze landed on Gabe and his horse. The man jerked back, his eyes round. Gabe stared back at him until the man seemed to collect himself and nodded a simple greeting.
Gabe nodded back and said, “Guten Morgen.”
The man mumbled, “Good morning.”
Why were the people so startled to see him? Was the presence of a stranger such an odd occurrence in this town? Did he look so out of place? Or was something else amiss?
He looked around for a shop of some kind where he might find someone loitering, or a group of people talking and passing the time. But there were no clusters of people anywhere on the street. He kept walking until he came to a baker’s shop. He flung Gingerbread’s reins over a post and stepped inside.
His eyes slowly adjusted to the dimmer light. The shop seemed deserted. There were no cakes or fruit pasties for sale, only a few round loaves of coarse bread.
A man entered the room from behind a curtain in the back, rubbing his hands on his apron. His step stuttered a bit when he saw Gabe, and his eyes narrowed.
“Guten Morgen,” Gabe greeted.
The baker nodded his acknowledgment. “Some bread for you?”
Gabe nodded toward a loaf and handed the man a coin. The baker took it and handed the bread to Gabe.
“I am new to this village and was wondering if you think Her Grace, Duchess Ermengard, would be interested in hearing my music. I play the lute and write song —”
“Your music won’t be welcome here.” The man’s eyes had grown quite large while Gabe was speaking, and his voice was gruff. “You’d best leave here and go elsewhere.”
“The duchess doesn’t like music?”
“She don’t like strangers. Nor music.”
“How long have you lived here?” Gabe decided to try a different tact. Perhaps the man would open up and give him some information.
The man narrowed his eyes.
“Were you here when Duke Baldewin was alive?”
The man brought his fist down hard on the heavy wooden counter and leaned toward Gabe. “Hist, stranger. You are barking down the wrong trail. This is no place for you. If you want to see the morrow, I suggest you depart forthwith.”