Bernard felt refreshed.

He hadn’t slept in a bed for almost a week. One night had done wonders for all the assorted aches and pains he’d been collecting. Even better; he had a saddle. No more riding bareback. The pains that had caused would be able to recede gently into his memory, never to be thought of again. With the very real money he got from his magically refilling fairy purse, he’d bought better travelling clothes, an oilcloth tent, and some provisions. He only needed a few more things and he’d be set for the trip home.

Everyone had been friendly.

Bernard was a little worried that the universal friendliness was a mask for fear. He didn’t mean to frighten the townsfolk. He’d been reluctantly wearing the Vexed Crown since he left the tavern, but it confused him. He had no way to understand the colourful capes he saw when he wore it. Without learning more, he couldn’t use it to do anything useful.

While wearing it, he observed that children seemed to have shorter, brighter strands of ‘pain.’ They looked like little fluffy epaulettes. There wasn’t really a pattern for adults. Some had huge capes, some had little shawls. Some were bright, some were dull. Some were unnaturally still, some writhed about constantly.

Bernard approached the dairy on foot. He was greeted by a dairy worker almost completely wrapped in a thick, ash-blue cloak;

‘Good day, young master Bernard! You look like a man of fine tastes, so I thought you’d drop by. I heard you’re headed for the capital. I’ve brought out a selection of fine hard cheeses, perfect for travel.’

Bernard was both glad that he didn’t have to explain his lack of a title to every person he met, and unsettled at how fast news spread among the townsfolk. He thought news in the castle was quick. This was something else. He replied;

‘Ah, thank you. Which one is the mildest? Cut me a piece about this big from that one.’

Bernard watched the man as he carved the wheel of cheese. He seemed like a completely normal salesman. His tone and expression were unremarkable. Bernard lifted the crown and pretended to scratch an itch so he could see the man without the fairy’s vision interfering. He looked like any other similarly aged commoner. He didn’t walk with a limp, he wasn’t noticeably scarred, he wasn’t especially skinny. He was just old. Without asking what the worker thought the cloak might represent, Bernard didn’t think he’d be able to make a guess. There weren’t any clues. Broaching the subject seemed impossible. What could he say?

Hello, sir! Did you know you're all wrapped up in an invisible and intangible bolt of fabric? Why do you think that is? How would you describe your relationship with the colour blue?

It wasn't a good approach. Too confusing, too weird. He knew he’d have to ask someone eventually or he’d be stuck speculating forever. Not this man, though. It didn’t feel right.

Bernard paid for the cheese, packing it carefully into his satchel, and returned to Agatha in the tavern. She was busy inspecting Bernard’s second-hand saddlebags. He said;

‘There’s no farrier in this town, but the blacksmith says he’ll be able to get the stone out of your shoe.’

‘I’m not letting a blacksmith anywhere near my hoof.’

‘He’s very friendly.’

‘Friendliness isn’t equal to skill. I’d rather you do it. At least I’ve seen you pick things out of shoes before.’

‘I’ve only ever gone it with Gus hanging over my shoulder, telling me what to do.’

‘Even better. Gus knew what he was doing.’

Bernard sighed, checking the coins he had left. He could afford a hoof pick, but if he needed much else, he wouldn’t have enough. Renting tools was likely a better option anyway. Clinchers, rasps, nippers and hammers were bulky and heavy.

‘Alright, alright. I’ll do it. You’ll still need to come with me to the blacksmith’s shop. I doubt he’ll let me leave with the tools if I can’t afford to buy them.’

Once Agatha returned to full size on the street, Bernard carried the hefty saddlebags over to put them across her back. She sidestepped to avoid them.

‘I don't want to carry all that.’

Bernard couldn’t deny it was heavy, but he was a boy. It didn't seem like a lot for a horse to carry. He said;

‘It's mostly food. The bags will get lighter as we travel.’

‘What's that one then? It smells awful.’ Agatha tapped the tent’s bag with her hoof.

‘A tent. It smells weird because it's made from oilcloth. It'll make it easier for us to stop wherever we want for the night.’

‘We already did that.’

‘But now we'll be protected from rain.’

‘We? Me too? How big is it?’

Not wanting to go to the trouble of unfolding it just to refold it a moment later, Bernard drew a line in the dirt with his foot, approximating its length. Agatha had seen tents before. They were silly fabric houses held up with poles. Pepin had tents carted around in baggage trains so he could have nice dinner parties with his friends while they were out on hunting trips. There was no way the bag in front of her contained an entire tent. She said;

‘I think you've been swindled.’

‘How?’

‘Where are the bags of ropes? All the sticks to hold it up? The giant box of stakes to hold the ropes down?’

Bernard had never been brought along on Pepin’s hunting trips, but he knew what Agatha was talking about.

‘It’s not that kind of tent. It’s a flat sheet with some ropes attached. It doesn’t need tent poles because it’s supposed to be tied to trees.’

He could see she was still uneasy. Something had to be wrong. She was often grumpy and argumentative, but this felt unreasonable. He put the bags down, just inside the door of the tavern. He said;

‘Show me your foot.’

Her shoe was lifting on one side. Whether it was due to the magical shrinking and enlarging, or just the fact that the stone had been stuck for days, Bernard couldn’t know.

‘You’ve partially thrown this shoe. Does it hurt?’

‘No. It just doesn’t feel right.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘I didn’t know why it felt weird.’

‘Come on then. We’ll walk to the smith.’

 

The smith rarely dealt with horses.

The townsfolk used donkeys as their beasts of burden. Visitors from outside the town were infrequent enough. Visitors with horses were virtually unheard of. The young Prince only mentioned a stone stuck in his horse’s shoe. The smith was confident he could fix that. He could probably re-fit a thrown shoe too - donkey shoes were smaller, but the principal was the same. Anything more involved would be a challenge. He didn’t want to disappoint someone chosen by the mountain’s guardian, but he didn’t dare risk hurting the Prince’s horse. He’d caught a glimpse of her yesterday in the street. She was probably worth more than the town. If the rumours about her being able to talk and change size at will were true, then she might even be worth more than the entire country.

Bernard called out when he reached the front of the forge.

‘Hello? I’m back.’

‘Hello again, young Master.’

The aged smith hurried over with a large bundle of tools in a leather wrap. The Prince rode without a bridle, so he couldn’t use that to tie the horse to the hitching post to keep her still. He picked up a handy coil of rope. The horse backed up quickly as soon as he touched it. The Prince said;

‘No, wait. She doesn’t like to be tied up. She’ll stay still on her own, so long as I’m the one handling her foot.’

The smith put the rope back down. He didn’t much like the idea of being stepped on by such a large animal. He said;

‘Then you just want me to lend you the tools?’

‘Ah, no. I’d appreciate your input as well. It’s become a little worse than a stuck stone since I last checked.’

The Prince touched the horse’s leg and she lifted her foot obediently. He brushed off the dirt with his fingers, then held the foot steady with one hand and pointed with the other. Several nails were loose and two were missing. The smith experimentally tugged the left branch of the shoe. It wouldn’t be long before she threw it. He said;

‘I don’t see any cracks caused by the stone, just this little divot… it doesn’t look bruised either. I can nail the shoe back on for now, but she’ll need new shoes and a proper trim soon. You’ll want a proper farrier for that. I’ll get some nails.’

While the smith went looking for nails, Bernard said;

‘Good thing we’re headed back. We can try sneak you in to see Gus.’

‘It’d be easier to sneak Gus out.’

 

Agatha stood at the very edge of the town.

Bernard sat on a fence beside her, awkwardly holding his new map open. She asked;

‘Do you want to go back the same way we came, or a different way?’

He weighed the options in his mind. Agatha was the thing that made him stand out before. If she stayed out of sight, he wasn’t much to comment on. The fairy’s extravagant gifts made it impossible for him to go unnoticed any longer. He’d tucked the amulet into his shirt, but the other things were much harder to hide. He could take them off, but then he was worried that he might miss whatever the fairy wanted him to see with the crown, or that he’d make himself vulnerable without the belt.

People who had seen him before would be more likely to make note of the difference in his attire… but he wasn’t sure that delaying news of the change would do any substantial good.

There was also the possibility they would bump into people Lothar sent after them. The chance of that happening on a different route might be reduced, but not to zero. There would be more danger the closer to the capital they got, irrespective of which way they went. Then there was the problem of speed. He said;

‘I don’t know. We came here by an indirect route, so if we follow this straighter path and ride hard we might be able to shave a day off the journey back… but I don’t think we’re in such a rush that we need to. It could be risky either way. I don’t know how many soldiers Lothar has assigned to catch us, or where he sent them. Or, if he’s given up on us already. Once he hears I’m on my way back, both the old and most direct routes will be equally easy for him to set up an ambush on. You’re the one with her feet on the ground. What would you prefer?’

Agatha flicked her ears thoughtfully. She said;

‘All new roads, avoiding lowlands as much as we can. We want to be unpredictable, and see any soldiers loitering around from a distance.’

Bernard grimaced. The map lacked any indicators for altitude. It wasn’t like the fairy’s stone map. If they wanted to avoid lowlands, they wouldn’t be able to plan very far ahead.

‘In that case, I think we take the right path when this road forks.’

He rolled the map back up and stowed it in a saddlebag. Once Bernard was seated on the saddle, Agatha said;

‘Besides, you didn’t find your purpose while visiting the places we’ve already been. We should see new things.’

She began to trot. Bernard considered correcting her. He didn’t have the crown before - he might not have been able to see the thing that would give him purpose without the fairy sight. He decided against it. Gertie told him the first step to understanding was trusting that the fairy had set him up correctly. The fairy asked Agatha to help him. Trusting Agatha’s judgement here was much the same as trusting the fairy.

Agatha felt the presence of the fairy lift shortly after noon.

They had left her lands. They were on their own now. Sort of. She had been extremely generous with her gifts. They might be enough to make up for the lack of a fairy’s personal interference.

Agatha kept her eyes open, looking for promising patches of weeds and grasses to stop by for lunch. She wasn’t too hungry yet; she’d had a large and lavish breakfast of carrots, fresh greens and mixed grain. It was the best meal she’d had since she left the royal stables. Agatha didn’t mind foraging, but they hadn’t had time to dawdle around looking for the best patches of grass while they were on the run. Foraging wasn’t as simple as being served biscuits of lucerne and buckets of oats in a fancy trough. When plentiful food appeared at the same time every day, she could be lazy. In the wilderness, she had to be attentive and discerning.

Bernard whispered;

‘I think we’re being watched. I can see something long and orange dangling out of that crooked tree over there. It keeps shifting, but not with the breeze.’

Agatha slowed to look but saw nothing. She whispered;

‘Do you want to turn back?’

To their right, a gruff voice announced;

‘Hands up, kid! You’re surrounded!’

Bernard put his hands up immediately. A man with a short bow crossed out onto the road ahead of them. The red and ice blue capelet around his shoulders flapped wildly despite the lack of wind. Others seemed to materialise among the trees. Agatha snorted in irritation. Projecting his voice so they could all hear him, Bernard said;

‘I don’t want to fight you. I’ll give you the money I’m carrying if you let me leave peacefully.’

‘That won’t be enough to pay for your life. Give us your jewels and your horse as well.’

Bernard groaned. The fairy gave him everything but weapons he could use to intimidate bandits with. Agatha muttered;

‘We can make a run for it. They’re all on foot. They won’t catch us.’

‘They’ll shoot at us though. I might have magical invulnerability. Do you?’

‘I don’t think I need it. It sounds like they want to steal me. I wouldn’t be worth much to them dead.’

‘If their aim is bad, they’ll hit you anyway.’

One of the bandits approached from behind with a sack, intending to collect the rich boy’s valuables. He could hear the boy talking to himself. The bandit thought he heard a reply. That was worrying.

He stepped slowly closer and strained to hear. There was definitely someone else talking. Someone he couldn’t see. Invisible people meant magic - witches, demons, ghosts, fairies, or something else. None of them were worth angering. He liked being alive and human. He dropped the sack, turning quickly to run for cover. Agatha said;

‘Shut up and hold on.’

She bolted, galloping straight at the bandit ahead of them. He loosed his arrow as he leaped to the side, desperately trying to avoid being trampled. The arrow went wide, but he wasn’t the only one who fired. Bernard felt two impacts - one in the centre of his back, one near his right hip. Agatha galloped until she was exhausted, then stopped, sweaty and panting.

Bernard climbed down, quickly checking Agatha for wounds. She was uninjured. Satisfied, he checked himself. The arrow by his hip dangled uselessly, its head stuck in the fibres of his new jacket. He wasn’t hurt, but the jacket needed mending. He took it off with some difficulty and found the arrow that hit his back stuck in it as well. He pulled up his shirt to check for bruises. He found none. Just tears where the arrows had punctured the shirt as well. He frowned. He didn’t have a needle or know how to patch holes. He just got these clothes. He felt like he was doomed to be shabby. He said;

‘I guess that proves the invulnerability theory.’

He tucked the arrows into the top of his satchel. He’d need to buy a bow. Maybe a polearm of some sort. Something that made him look less inviting as a target. He cursed. He’d been so busy thinking about creature comforts like tents and soft trousers that it hadn’t occurred to him how tantalising he’d look to a thief. Agatha was the flashiest horse he’d ever seen. Add all the gaudy fairy jewellery on top… they must’ve looked like a pair of fat pigs waddling willingly into the slaughterhouse.

Agatha paced slowly in a circle, knowing that if she lay down she’d struggle to get back to her feet if a bandit jumped out. Bernard seemed to be fine. She said;

‘We shouldn’t stay here too long. They’ll catch up eventually.’

‘You’re not too tired?’

‘I’ll be fine if we go slow for a bit.’

‘Alright.’

Bernard obediently remounted. Looking back up the road, he thought he could see some of the colourful capes in the distance, moving among the trees. The bandits probably thought he’d die from his wounds and fall off his horse. They wanted to collect the valuables from his body. They would follow a short distance, at least until they were sure he wasn’t bleeding out. He shuddered, thinking about how close he’d been to death, purely because of his own stupidity. He said;

‘In the next town, I’ll see if I can find you a caparison to hide your coat, and I’ll get a hat I can wear over the crown.’

Agatha shook her head.

‘It’s far too warm to wear a caparison.’

She wasn’t wrong. He’d dismissed the idea of buying a hooded cloak that morning because of the heat. He said;

‘I don’t know how else to disguise you.’

‘I don’t think we’re supposed to be in disguise. She didn’t give you a disguise kit.’

‘We’ll be attacked again…’

‘You’re invulnerable.’

Bernard stopped himself from protesting further. She wasn’t worried at all. He was being cowardly. Instead, he said;

‘Then I’ll buy some weapons to discourage future attacks.’

Agatha didn’t reply. They rode on in silence.