Shadows
Chapter Five: The Summer Festival

The next two weeks passed without much occurrence. Verne’s deadline for setting sail from Velayne came and went, as all the supplies he was after were already being swept up by stallholders and merchants who were arriving for the summer festival. More than once Verne considered setting sail without the supplies but even in his unusual mood he still knew setting sail for the capital without sufficient provisions would be foolish. Every day he got more and more anxious and irritable and Angie, who normally enjoyed Verne’s visits, found herself socialising with him less and less. Despite their interactions being few and far between during the two weeks, Verne’s words constantly hung over Angie like a rain cloud.

There must be a logical explanation for it all, she thought. Verne had always been one for embellishing a story, so there’d never been any way of telling precisely what was true and what was made up anyway. Besides, he was getting older. It was a horrible reality to face, but Angie had tended to quite a few old people in her time working for Mrs Gable, and towards the end of life, they became detached from the present and their minds wandered through worlds unknown to all but themselves. Verne didn’t seem that far gone though, thought Angie as she paced down Shell Street, though she wondered if it was wishful thinking that gave her that consolation. Verne had been there for her since she could remember, and the thought of losing him in the way she’d seen others drift away was unbearable. She turned the corner onto Trotter Lane, sticking to the shade to avoid the harsh sun. Perhaps he had heatstroke, she mused, wiping sweat off her brow. It’s a warm summer and it’s warmer out to the east, she thought, but however she rationalised it, however much she tried to explain what Verne had told her in a way that didn’t involve magical orbs and deadly shadow assassins, there was no denying the mesmerising voice she’d heard when she’d looked upon the Orb.

She checked over her shoulder and looked deep into the shadows of the buildings opposite, which she knew was foolish and delusional. Even so, she did it all the way back home and fell asleep that night with a candle burning by her bed.

In comparison, life for Robert had taken a turn for the better. For one thing, he had a date for the summer festival. He was still grounded and so technically not allowed to go to the summer festival, but that was less important right now – for the first time in his life he had a date. This was the final factor that had weighted his mental argument into going to the festival – he didn’t like the idea of upsetting Mr Colywick but with any luck he wouldn’t get caught, and what Mr Colywick didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. Robert knew Mr Colywick was a fan of the festival too, so it wouldn’t be as if he’d around the shop to keep an eye on him. All he had to do was avoid the bookstalls and the table that did those toffee apples and he should avoid Mr Colywick as well.

His plan reaffirmed, Robert turned back to thoughts of his date. It had all occurred in the past few days and caught him quite off guard, for one reason because it was with Rosemary Bletherwick, who was very beautiful and popular and not at all the sort of girl who Robert would have assumed even knew he existed, let alone wanted to court him. This opportunity was not to be passed up lightly, he thought. He didn’t quite understand how he’d got a date with her in the first place, but what he had said when she’d popped into the bookshop now and then seemed to amuse her and that felt rather key. Grasping at this straw he had spent the nights before the festival reading the entirety of the ‘humour’ section in Colywick’s Book Emporium, and whilst he didn’t understand all the jokes he’d read,[14] he felt well equipped for jocularity.

The morning of the start of the festival Robert was awake with the dawn chorus and dashing out to the backyard of the bookstore to use the rainwater shower located off to the side of the little square. The water was crisp and cool and was a welcome relief from the already cloying heat of the day. Robert dreaded to think how warm it would be by midday when the sun was high and beating down upon the festival stalls, and made a mental note to fish out his best hat so as to keep his fair skin safe from the sun’s glare. He wondered if Rosemary Bletherwick had a hat. Perhaps he should have asked? Should he buy her one?

Robert’s musings where interrupted by a shout from above.

“You’re up early there lad!” called Mr Colywick from an upstairs window. “That’s forward thinking that, you can open the shop up earlier and try to catch some of the crowds heading to the festival!” Mr Colywick ducked back inside, leaving the window open to try and catch a trace of a breeze. Robert hung his head sheepishly at Mr Colywick’s trust in him, which he knew he was about to betray. Still, as long as all went to plan Mr Colywick would never know, and if the guilt got too bad Robert could always come clean later if Mr Colywick came back from the festival in a good mood, as he often did. Hopefully the old man wouldn’t be too angry. Still, he thought, at least for now he had best keep up the pretence that he was staying in today and start to open up the shop.

Robert was already breaking a sweat by the time Mr Colywick tottered down the winding stairs into the shop, a similar glaze of sweat forming on his wrinkled forehead as well.

“Well, it’s warm one and no mistake, eh? I dare say the parasol sellers will be in business today and no mistake!” Robert nodded in agreement. He planned on paying them a visit too to buy Rosemary one before the day was done. Mr Colywick mistook Robert’s quiet contemplation for melancholy, and patted him on the shoulder comfortingly. “I know you want to go to the festival lad, but it’s still too dangerous to be out and about with Oxbrow’s nose still out of joint. I don’t know, maybe we might get lucky and not run into him, but it’s not a risk I want to take. There’s always the festival next year, eh? Given how warm it already is I bet you’ll be glad of being inside and out the sun!”

Robert smiled as the old man chuckled, took his broad-brimmed hat off a peg near the door and placed it atop his balding head. The shop door swung open as Mr Colywick stepped out into the morning haze, bringing a brief breath of fresh air that was snuffed out as the door closed behind him. Robert waved through the window at Mr Colywick as he made his departure down towards the festival, and pressed his nose to the glass to watch him down the street and out of sight. He left a greasy print on the window as he peeled himself away and grimaced. Any good the shower had done him was already gone, and he felt sweatier than ever and very uncomfortable. Robert debated having another shower but he had already wasted enough time as it was and needed to set off soon so he wasn’t late for Rosemary.

He made it ten steps down the street before rushing back into and through the shop and diving under the shower again. It was gloriously refreshing. If only he could have stayed there all day, he thought.

Half an hour later Robert had reached the top of Slope Street and waited patiently, pressed up against a shadowed wall to try and stay as cool as possible. He whiled away the time waiting for Rosemary to arrive by adjusting his bow tie nervously and twiddling his fingers impatiently. They’d said meet at around ten and by the position of the sun Robert guessed it must be around half ten. He cursed under his breath at his desire to have another shower before heading out - what if she’d already been here and he’d missed her? The poor girl, what if she’d thought he wasn’t coming and headed off alone? Or what if she’d never intended to meet up with him in the first place and this was all some elaborate joke at his expense? Maybe he’d mistaken her words after all, Robert worried, knowing he wasn’t the best at picking up conversational cues. This was a big mistake, he panicked, breaking into a cold sweat; his skin feeling hot and prickly despite being hidden in shade. What was I thinking?! Robert screamed to himself, cursing his stupidity under his breath and turning to head back to the bookshop with haste.

“Robert? Is that you?” A voice as soft as morning dew called across the cobbled street, and a wave of calm swept over Robert momentarily, before more panic rose within him at the impending social interaction. He turned towards the voice and gave a nervous smile as Rosemary Bletherwick swept across towards him.

“Hello, R-Rosemary.” She smiled at him pleasantly and Robert felt himself blushing. “N-nice to see you.” His eyes flitted back and forth as if not sure where to look. A book he’d read on etiquette during courting had been thoroughly unhelpful on this matter – he knew it was important to maintain eye contact but also not to stare, but the book had been useless at providing ratios on how long to look and how long not to. As it was he was trying to juggle doing both simultaneously, and it was already hurting his eyes.

“So sorry to keep you waiting Robert, my little sister was being a plague this morning and got dirt all over my best dress! I had to change into this old thing which isn’t half as nice, but I hope I look decent at least?” With this she twirled on the spot and her summer green dress floated delicately around her.

“Oh, um – yes.” Replied Robert and smiled, not really knowing what she was asking and taking a stab at a reply. Rosemary looked mildly confused, and Robert realised this was perhaps not the answer she had been searching for. He hastily backpedalled and searched through his mind for an appropriate book that might help him, before mumbling: “I, I mean – you l-look as lovely as Maristra of Yvaine!”

This did not help Rosemary’s look of confusion. In fact, she seemed rather disgruntled. Robert gulped.

“Who’s Marissa of Yvaine?” Rosemary pouted. Ah! Thought Robert, now this is a question I can answer.

“Maristra of Yvaine was a lady from ancient times whose beauty was legendary. Accounts said that to look at her would ruin a man for other women, and that many were hopelessly captivated by her and would fight for her hand. The War of Maristra is said to be named for her, and is believed to have started when she was invited to stay at King Rufford’s castle to celebrate Evensmass. His rival, his brother the crown prince, mistook this invitation for a kidnapping and lay siege to the castle to get her back. Both King Rufford and his brother died in the ensuing combat, leaving the kingdom without a ruler and leading to centuries of in-fighting as everyone tried to take the throne for themselves. Eventually it was claimed by Pitt IV after defeating his major rival Gregor of Caspar at the battle of Carrath River, so…” Robert trailed off. Rosemary’s face had glazed over in a look of bemused concern.

“So…?” she peeped.

“So… she was a v-very b-beautiful woman. As are you.” Robert stuttered.

“Oh!” Rosemary’s face lit up at this, and whilst she still didn’t quite lose the look of confusion, she relaxed a bit. “You are a funny one, aren’t you Robert?”

“I guess.” Shrugged Robert. He hadn’t been trying to be funny, only historically accurate. He wasn’t sure he got Rosemary’s sense of humour at all.

If Robert had thought it was hot inside the shop that morning, the heat that radiated from the bustle of stalls and people darting to and fro, all trying to shelter under canopies or in the shadows of tall buildings from the burning glare of the midday sun, was volcanic. Bunting tied between buildings withered in the heat, and even the seagulls were quiet today, choosing instead to lurk in the cool shaded waters down by the docks. Robert was immensely grateful for his hat to shield him from the sun, and had managed to procure a frilly white parasol for Rosemary from one of the traders’ stalls. It had been a straight-forward, if pricey, transaction and Rosemary had been immensely grateful. She twirled the handle playfully in her hands as they walked, the tips of the lace canopy occasionally knocking gently against the brim of Robert’s hat.

Spacing was another thing the courting etiquette book had been frustratingly vague about. Robert knew about holding hands, but whenever he tried to move close enough his hat and her parasol would collide and Rosemary would step slightly away. When he finally managed to get close enough by tipping his head away to avoid the parasol he realised he still had no idea how to instigate the hand holding. Did he ask? Did he just take her hand? And more’s the point, how did one actually ‘hold’ hands? Whilst Robert was mentally debating this, his hands getting twitchy and sweaty as he wondered, Rosemary gently reached down and slipped her hand into his, giving him a gentle smile.

The shock nearly made Robert recoil but he forced himself to stay calm and return the smile. Rosemary giggled and they set off further down Slope Street to inspect another jewellery stall. Robert groaned inwardly. He’d never spent so long looking at jewellery before and he had little patience for it. The only solace he took from their choice of browsing was that Mr Colywick was unlikely to be looking at jewellery stalls, and neither was Mr Oxbrow or his son. Or so he thought.

Robert’s hat was knocked off from behind, making him jump and fumble to grab it as it fell. He accidentally wrenched his hand away from Rosemary’s as he reached for his hat and twisted her wrist awkwardly.

“Ow!” she yelped, as Robert’s hat clattered onto the stall in front of them, knocking a rack of necklaces onto the floor.

“Careful with those!” bellowed the stallholder, batting Robert’s hat onto the floor and scooping up his merchandise. Hat held meekly before him in his hands, Robert stood up and turned to look at who had knocked his hat off.

“Well well, I thought it was you, freak.” Smarmed Jacob Oxbrow, crossing his arms across his broad chest. He looked towards Rosemary. “I’m surprised to see you out and about with this weirdo Rosemary, did he kidnap you or something?” He smiled to himself as his friends chuckled behind him. “Mind you, I reckon even you could overpower this weakling!”

“Don’t be so foul Jacob, Robert’s lovely!”

“Oh Rosemary, don’t tell me you’ve fallen for this nutter? He’s not one of those little birds you nurse back to health, you know?” Rosemary blushed fiercely but did not break her scowl.

“You keep birds?” Asked Robert, turning to Rosemary with interest in his eyes. “What type?”

“Shut up, freak!” Groaned Jacob, swinging out an arm forcefully and knocking Robert to the ground. Rosemary gasped in alarm and swung her parasol at Jacob’s head, which caught him off balance and made him stumble forwards too. Robert yelped and rolled under the jewellery stall as Jacob hit the cobbles face first and roared in anger.

“Get out from under there!” shouted the stallholder at Robert. “Guards! Guards!”

“T-t-there’s no need for t-that!” stuttered Robert as he got to his feet, his gangly limbs knocking over another display. “Oh, w-whoops…”

Meanwhile Jacob had pushed himself upright and was nursing a bloody nose that he’d scraped nastily on the pavement.

“You little bitch!” he fumed, rising to his feet and raising his fist to strike Rosemary. Robert saw this and leapt forward over the stall, knocking bracelets and earrings flying to the continued dismay of the stallholder, a portly man who was going an unsightly shade of maroon. Robert’s body connected with Jacob’s arm as it rocketed forward and the two of them tumbled to the ground again, Robert jarring his shoulder on the ground and splitting his shirt. Jacob’s friends circled Robert and began to launch kicks at him, knocking the air out of his lungs and making him cry out breathlessly. A crowd was gathering now, some even venturing out from the relative cool of the shade to witness the fight unfolding.

Rosemary strode forwards and brought her parasol down again upon the head of the nearest of Robert’s three assailants. It shattered over his thick head and he growled as he dropped to his knees. He turned to swipe at Rosemary but Jacob got there first, grabbing her from behind and lifting her into the air. She kicked out furiously, her sandaled foot connecting sharply with the other boys chin, causing both to scream in pain.

“What on earth is going on here?!” Yelled a horrified voice Robert only half-heard through the repeated blows hammering his battered body. He recognised it though. Mr Colywick was striding towards the brawl, a bag of rare bookbinding material in one hand and the other hand gesturing frantically at the group. “What do you ruffians think you’re doing? Don’t think I don’t recognise you there young Oxbrow, unhand that girl this minute! Is that becoming behaviour for a young gentleman such as yourself?!” Jacob loosened his grip on Rosemary but didn’t let her go immediately. Rosemary used this moment to wriggle free and stomped down heavily on Jacob’s right foot, though it caused more pain to her than him.

“Stay out of this old man!” Jacob warned, striding towards Mr Colywick menacingly.

“Old man?!” choked Mr Colywick, drawing himself up to his full height indignantly. “How dare you? Have you no respect for anyone in this town? And you boys, leave that poor lad alone down there! I don’t know your names but I sure won’t forget your faces.” The two of Jacob’s entourage still kicking Robert hesitated slightly and backed away, looking to Jacob for guidance. He took another step closer to Mr Colywick and wiped his bloody nose on his sleeve.

“Look, don’t think I don’t know what foul lies you and that freak apprentice of yours have been spreading about my father. You want to talk about respect? Why should I respect either of you?”

“I don’t know what you’ve heard my lad but I have nothing but the greatest respect for your father and his work.” Mr Colywick lied. Robert spluttered from the ground, trying to stifle a cough and keep himself hidden from Mr Colywick. If he was found to have snuck out Mr Colywick would not be pleased, and with what had happened he was unlikely to be in a forgiving mood. Rosemary crouched down by his side and rested a hand gingerly on his shoulder, making him wince.

“Sorry,” she whispered, keeping an eye fixed on the arguing Jacob and Mr Colywick, “Are you okay?” Robert nodded discreetly, though even this slight movement caused him to groan in pain.

“Alright, alright, break it up here!” Shouted a voice used to being obeyed. The watching crowd parted to let through Sergeant Finney of the town guard, flanked by four more guards looking uncomfortably warm in their chainmail and leather armour. “Would someone mind explaining to me why I’ve had to march up Slope Street through festival crowds in the midday sun? Don’t tell me this is another argument about prices again…”

“Ah, Sergeant Finney!” sighed Mr Colywick, turning to offer the sergeant a respectful salute, who returned it tiredly.

“Mr Colywick? Forgive me sir, you’re one of the last I would imagine to get embroiled in a street brawl. But judging from young Mr Oxbrow’s nose there you seem more than capable of handling yourself.” Several of the crowd snickered and Jacob grumbled under his breath.

“I’m afraid I must be honest sergeant,” interrupted Rosemary, rising to her feet, “but it was not Mr Colywick who hurt Jacob’s nose, it was me.” Even more of the crowd began to chatter and chuckle under their breath, and Jacob started to go red, equal parts fury and embarrassment. Sergeant Finney raised an eyebrow, bemused.

“Oh yes? You’re Mr and Mrs Bletherwick’s daughter, aren’t you?”

“Yes ma’am, Rosemary Bletherwick at your service.” She replied, curtsying.

“Well Rosemary, would you mind telling me why you felt it fitting to break Mr Oxbrow’s nose?”

“He was attacking Robert you see, so when he was distracted I struck him with my parasol, my lovely parasol Robert bought me earlier, it’s broken now, but it caught him off balance and he struck his nose on the pavement as he fell.”

“You struck him with a parasol?” Smiled Sergeant Finney wryly. The gathered crowd broke out in audible laughter at this, and Jacob looked like he wanted to melt into the pavement. Mr Colywick, who had been listening with some amusement as well, was now looking worriedly at the boy on the floor, dreading that he may recognise him. Robert curled himself tighter into a ball to escape Mr Colywick’s stare, and also wished he could melt into the pavement and escape.

“Yes, ma’am.” Said Rosemary, curtsying again.

“You can stop the curtsying,” smiled the sergeant, and turned to Jacob. “Is this true?” Jacob nodded. “In which case, would you mind telling me why you were attacking this Robert character? Is he still about?”

“He’s there,” grumbled Jacob, pointing to the bruised heap of limbs curled into a ball. Mr Colywick groaned as Robert unfolded himself and looked up meekly. He avoided Mr Colywick’s exasperated stare, choosing instead to focus intently on the cobbles in front of him, which were spattered with his blood. “And I didn’t attack him, I only gave him a bit of a push and the weakling fell over.”

“Be that as it may,” said Sergeant Finney as she cast a cursory glance over Robert, “but you didn’t answer me. Why did you push him?”

“He was saying foul lies about my father, saying he was a terrible bookbinder, incompetent and worse. Things I daren’t repeat.”

“Well, if they’re things that even you daren’t repeat they must be foul indeed.” Replied the sergeant sardonically. “Look, I was lenient with you the other week when that smoke bomb exploded-”

“I told you that wasn’t me who set that off, that was-” Sergeant Finney raised a hand to silence him.

“I know what you said Mr Oxbrow, but the fact of the matter remains that whenever there is trouble going on I always seem to replace you at the centre of it. You and your cronies here. Quite frankly I’m sick to my back teeth with your shenanigans and I really don’t want to have to be out longer than necessary on a scorching day like today. So you and your friends are going to come with me up to the Guardhouse and see if a few days in jail might help calm those tempers of yours.”

“But Sergeant!” began Jacob indignantly, but Sergeant Finney drew her sword in one fluid motion and thrust it under Jacob’s chin.

“Look boy, you’re coming with me whether you like it or not, and you’d do well not to test me.” Jacob gulped shallowly, the cold steel of the sergeant’s blade pressing close to his throat.

“Um, Sergeant?” a meek voice piped up. Sergeant Finney turned to look at Rosemary, who had raised a questioning hand. “Do Robert and I have to come with you too?” Sergeant Finney smiled.

“No Miss Bletherwick, as you were provoked I shall leave the two of you to enjoy the festival as best you can. Though some of those bruises look nasty, Mr…?”

“Hickson.” Replied Robert from the floor, not properly raising his eyes to meet the sergeant’s gaze.

“Mr Hickson. I recommend replaceing someone willing to patch you up a bit first, shouldn’t be too hard with all these stalls around. I also recommend watching your tongue too from the sounds of it. Keep out of trouble, you two. Mr Colywick, sir,” the sergeant nodded as she passed the old man, before turning to the rest of the crowd. “Alright people, nothing more to see here today!” she bellowed. “Carry on with the festival!” The crowd began to reluctantly disperse, as Sergeant Finney and her accompanying troop escorted Jacob and his friends away up to the Guardhouse. Jacob was seething.

“Don’t think this is over freak!” he called back, which earnt him a thump round the back of the head from the sergeant. Once the tramping of the guards had faded into the distance and the hubbub of the festival had risen again, Robert risked a glance up towards Mr Colywick. He had never seen the man looking so disappointed.

[14] In particular one about two nuns in a bath that involved a missing bar of soap.