Chapter 8

            After saddling up, Abby rode off.  She had two more days and nights of riding before she saw Cavan’s strong stone walls.  Slowly she worked out a routine of riding, resting for the noon meal, and then traveling before setting up that night’s camp.  The closer she got to the city, the more people she passed on the ever-widening road.  Families and farmers brought their produce on old wooden wagons pulled by tired horses.  Merchants traveled in brightly painted wagons, often with many wagons traveling together for safety and a few horsemen around to guard the wares.  Abby even saw a horsemen dressed in the colorful costume of a crier.  She urged Apple to hurry.  Apple did not like being hurried but Abby was in too much of a hurry herself to care.  Soon she would be in Cavan.     

            A man driving a wagon full of children and chickens noticed her prodding Apple into a quicker walk.  “Are you in a hurry, youngin’?  There ain’t much afore you but stone buildings, loud animals, and even louder people.  No use rushin’ around.”

            Abby reddened at being caught rushing.  Everyone else seemed in no hurry: that city would still be there no matter how slow they went.  She pulled up to the wagon, glad to have the company of a family.  Traveling alone could be very lonely.  “I just can’t wait to get to Cavan.  I’ll bet some of your passengers are eager too.”

            The woman besides the wagon’s driver smiled.  “They can’t wait to visit our folks and be rid of these noisy chicks.  They’re dying to be rid of this wagon so they can stretch their legs.”

            Abby nodded.  “Apple, my horse, would love to be rid of me, too.  And to tell the truth, I would love to be able to travel on my legs again without an extra four feet beneath me.”

            The children giggled and ducked behind the wooden crates holding the chickens.  The chickens squawked.  Abby smiled.  This family knew where they were going.  Perhaps they could tell her where she would find the town’s fountain and where she could find lodging for that night, before she went home again.  That was the scary part of the trip: not knowing where or what she was going to do. 

            “I’m Abby, by the way.  From Plum, in the Clay Mountains,” she said.

            “It’s good to meet you, Abby.  You’ve come a far distance.  I be head of the Lawson family.  My name is Lack, and this is my wife, Lora.  The children be Liam, Lizbeth, and Lorrie.  Our baby is Lack, though we call him Junior.  Do you travel to visit your folks or do you have wares to sell in your saddlebags?”

            “Actually, I came to get a copy of the King’s proclamation.  Have you heard of it?”

            Lack gave his wife a sad look.  “Aye, I’ve heard of that proclamation.  It’s the one about the Clay Mountain dragon emerging from his caverns and flying to burn and steal that you’ll be looking for.  Why would you come all the way for a piece of paper?”

            Abby noticed that the children grew silent at the mention of a dragon.  Perhaps the rest of the kingdom did not tell the legends of the dragon she had grown up with in Plum, told to the young children around the fire after supper.  “My village is close to the caverns and we thought it might be important to know what the king had to say about a dragon.  No one believed it was actually about the dragon but we wanted to make sure.”

            Lack seemed about to say something more but the road had gradually become crowded until it took all of Lack’s strength to control his horses and Abby noticed Apple become nervous at the closeness of the other animals.  Urging Apple to stay with the Lawson family’s cart, Abby narrowly missed being run over by a much larger wagon.  She looked ahead and saw the massive gate framed by stone walls.  Each driver suddenly forgot about being unhurried and started to push and yell to get in first.  The smaller carts, like the Lawson’s, generally gave the big caravans plenty of room.  Guards motioned carts through with lazy waves.  Abby rode up to the gates, gazing up at the massive masonry.  Suddenly she saw the familiar cart pass in front of a larger wagon and urged Apple to catch up.  Inside the walls, the crowd thinned as each person found the road to their destination, most heading to the market.  Apple decided that if everyone else was slowing down, she would too, much to Abby’s dismay.

            The Lawson’s cart was headed towards the large market.  Abby decided that the merchant were right; Cavan’s markets were the biggest in the kingdom.  Each section was dedicated to a different product: fruit, vegetables, cows, and sheep, not to mention the products like cloth and pottery that were not food.  Even the poultry keepers had their own section.  The Lawson’s cart was just pulling up into this section as Abby rode up on Apple.  Lora turned at Apple’s disgusted whinny and smiled.  “I’d wondered where you’d gotten too, Abby.  A city like this is no place for a girl from Plum.  You should stay with us.”

            “Could I?” Abby asked gratefully, and then stopped when she realized she shouldn’t impose herself onto the family.  Her mother had warned her against doing this sort of thing.  “But, maybe I shouldn’t.  I don’t want to bother you.”

            Lack nodded to Lora and Lora continued.  “We can’t let you lose in Cavan.  It’s a big city and you are a small girl.  Besides, once we set up our stall I can send one of the kids to show you where to find the town’s fountain is.  That’s the likeliest place for the proclamation, useless as it may be, to be found.  Then, you can stay with us till you go home.”

            Abby was undecided.  She needed help.  Looking around at the throngs of people, at the numerous streets and side streets, she knew it would be harder to ask for directions and aid from a stranger than from this friendly family.  “Thank you so much.  To tell the truth, I was not sure what I was going to do after I found the proclamation.  I can help with the stand, if you show me what to do.”

            “That’d be good, Abby.  Tie your horse to the wagon and then we’ll get everything settled.”

            The family climbed down from their cart.  Lack began stacking the chicken’s crates on the ground while Lora gathered her children and spread out a blanket for them to sit on.  Abby went to the back of the cart and saw a few bales of hay.  “Toss a bale for the horses, Abby, for they’ll be hungry after their walk,” Lack told her.

            Soon the horses were contentedly chewing and the younger children were napping.  Abby marveled that they could sit so peacefully in the little square formed by the cart and crates.  If there had been no market, the stone wall-enclosed space would have seemed enormous.  As it was, filled with carts, animals, stalls, and people, the market was loud, dusty, and smelly.  In front of the stalls, people streamed past with bags and baskets.  Chickens squawked, cows mooed, and wagon wheels creaked.  Above the ruckus came the cry of people hawking their wares.  Every once in a while a person would separate themselves from the stream of people to look at Lack’s chickens.

            Abby watched as a woman carrying many baskets sidled up and began glaring at the chickens.  “How much do the stew-chickens cost?”

            “Well, my good woman.  These are the plumpest stew chickens in the market.   You can see for yourself the excellent quality.  Five coins apiece.”

            She scowled.  “You must be crazy!  I pay only one coin a chicken, unless it’s skinny.  Then I don’t buy it.”

            “I see we have a smart buyer.  I need the money from those chickens, but I’ll give you a deal.  Three coins apiece,” Lack countered.

            “Bah.  Those chickens are probably all feathers and no meat.  I won’t buy them for three coins apiece.  Besides, haven’t you heard the king’s new edict?  More taxes, the third rise this year.  Soon I won’t even be able to buy chickens.  It’ll just be potatoes for me and the boarders.  I hear they’re even thinking of adding a tax on the market.  You pay before they let you set up a stall.”

            “There’s been another raise?  And a new market-tax?” Lack asked, momentarily distracted.  “Soon I won’t be able to sell chickens then.  I’ll have to give them all to the king.  I wonder what’s up with the king.  We never heard from him before and now its taxes and edicts and evictions.  He ought to come live with us for a while, to learn what it feels like to live under his own rule.  I’ll give you the chickens for two coins apiece, and a bargain at that.”

            “I’ll take three chickens,” the lady said, counting coins into Lack’s hand.  “What a joke it’d be to see the high-and-mighty king sit in a wooden stool by a smoky fire with a bowl of cold potatoes.  I’d give that king a taste of his own medicine.  Hah!” 

            With that, she stuffed the protesting chickens into one of her baskets and shuffled off.  Abby noticed that over every chicken and egg both Lack and the customer haggled as if Lack asked a fortune and the other offered a penny.  All anyone talked of was the price of the product, the weather and coming harvest, the new taxes, and the king’s unfairness.  Suddenly, Abby wondered if this affected her father.  How would he know how many sheep to bring to the castle if the taxes kept changing?  Abby’s mother had always told her that taxes were the king’s way of taking care of the kingdom, to keep an army for protection and provide messengers to spread important news.  But how could a king, who lived in a castle, decide how many taxes were too much?  Abby decided that she was very happy that she didn’t have to decide the answers to the grown up’s questions.  Her job was to find the proclamation.

            Lora jerked Abby away from her thoughts.  “Abby, can you watch the children?  Market day is nearly over and we need to buy some things before the stalls close.  If anyone comes by, they can have chickens at two coins apiece and a dozen eggs for one coin, but I don’t expect anyone.  We’ll be back with dinner in a little bit.  Don’t let any of the children out of this square.”

            With that, she put Junior into Abby’s arms and hung a basket on her own now vacant arm.  She and Lack walked down the lane looking at the other stalls.  Abby looked at the little baby sitting in her arms and at Liam, Lizbeth, and Lorrie, who looked back at her.

            “I think I heard my mom calling me,” Liam said, inching towards the opening between the crates.

            “Me too,” piped up Lorrie.

            Abby looked up from Junior.  “Oh no you don’t!  If you go anywhere, you won’t be here when your mother returns with dinner.”

Liam sulkily returned to his seat on the blanket.  He thought that selling chickens was a dull business.  Being out and about the stalls was much more exciting.

            “I bet you guys are cooped up from sitting here all day.  Let’s climb in the wagon where we can see everything,” Abby said, taking Lorrie’s hand in her own.  Liam clambered into the wagon and Lizbeth dutifully began to shake the cloth to spread out on the wagon’s bed. 

            “I want my mommy,” Lorrie whimpered as Abby hoisted her up.  Liam took her in his lap and looked at Abby for further instructions. 

            Finding she could not climb into the cart and hold Junior at the same time, Abby stood by a wheel.  If she had learned anything from having younger siblings, it was that they got bored very easy, and a bored child is much more likely to make a mess, or get lost, or get her in trouble.  “How ‘bout we prop some sticks against the cart’s sides and make a tent with the blanket?  We can spy on all the other stall keepers and watch so that no one takes our chickens.  We have to keep our fort safe!”

            Liam jumped out of the cart.  This was much more to his liking.  He handed Lizbeth some of the loose boards his father kept for mending broken crates.  Leaning against the cart’s walls in each corner, they held up the blanket with just enough room for the children to sit up underneath.  They crawled back in and began to look at the suddenly suspicious-looking people streaming past them.

            “Look at that man over there,” Liam whispered. “He’s all hunched over.  He’s definitely suspicious.  I’ll bet he stole that goose and doesn’t want it to run back to its owner.”

            The girls turned to look at the large man carrying a goose. 

            “It’s just a goose,” Lizbeth replied, whispering.

            “It’s no ordinary goose.  I’ll bet it’s the golden goose.  He stole it from a kingdom beyond the mountains and is bringing it to the king.  He has to watch out so that spies from the other kingdom can’t take the goose back.”

            They watched the goose honk at passerby and the man shushed it and then stopped to talk to another person.  Then the two walked away.

            The children settled back against the cart’s walls.  “I’m hungry and I miss Mommy,” Lorrie whimpered.

            “She’ll be back soon, Lorrie.  I can tell you a story while you wait.  I know one that my father told me when I was little.  It starts in the Dragon Caverns,” Abby started.

            “Is there a dragon in the story?” Lorrie asked.

            “Of course,” Abby replied.  “Long ago this dragon flew…”

            “No!” shouted Lorrie.  “Dragons are scary!  They burned down Daddy’s barn and made him mad.”  Then she sat in Liam’s lap, her trust in Abby diminishing with the mention of the dragon.

            Abby looked up in surprise.  “Your barn got burned down by the dragon?”

            Liam hugged Lorrie and then looked at Abby and said stubbornly, “The barn must’ve burned down by accident, a broken lantern or something.  There are no dragons, my father said so.”

            “That’s ok.  I live right next to the Dragon Caverns and I’ve never seen the dragon, I just like the stories.  But I know lots of other stories without dragons.”

            A chicken squawked and Abby smiled.  “I know a story about a rooster.  Want to hear that one?”

            Lorrie smiled a little smile.  “How can a story be about a rooster?”

            “This one is.  It’s called the Rooster’s Diamond.”