The Sweetest Spell (21 page)

Peddler’s jaw relaxed. He stopped struggling, surrendering the moment. “You can’t blame me for taking her. I needed the coin to help my daughter. You understand, don’t you? You’d do anything for your family, wouldn’t you, young Mister Oak?”

He was trying to trick me. “I don’t believe a word you’ve said. You’ve hidden her somewhere nearby. Otherwise, why would you be here?”

“I’m here because I’ve been spreading the word about the Milkmaid who can make chocolate. That’s what I’ve been doing. And it worked because the news traveled all the way to the king.” He lifted his head, staring desperately into my eyes. “You got a horse, young Mister Oak? If you’ll give me your horse, we can work together.”

“Work together?”

“We’d be helping each other.” He smiled sheepishly. “After we take her to the king, we can split the reward. Think of all the nice things you could buy for your parents.”

I wanted to pound his head into the ground. “Where is she?”

“It’s a robbery!” someone shouted. “A merchant’s being robbed!” Footsteps sounded. A pair of boots appeared at the corner of my eye, then another pair.

“Call the soldiers!” a woman cried.

Ignoring the gathering crowd, I wrapped a hand around Peddler’s neck. “Don’t forget that you’re still a wanted man. I can turn you over to Wander’s tax-collector, and he’ll
hang
you for attempted murder.” I realized I no longer cared about Peddler’s fate. He was scum—pure scum. I wanted only one thing. “Listen to me. I can get you out of here. But only if you tell me
where … she … is
.”

Something sharp pressed into my back. “Drop the knife,” a man ordered.

“This isn’t a robbery,” I said, looking up just before a rake hit the side of my head. Someone yanked the knife from my grip. Two hands grabbed me and pulled me to my feet. For a moment my vision blurred. When it cleared I found myself surrounded by villagers—a rake, a knife, and an ax pointed at my chest. “Wait,” I said. “You’ve got it all wrong.”

“We saw it,” the ax-holder said. “You were trying to rob this merchant.”

Someone helped Peddler to his feet. “Thank you,” he said as he brushed dirt from his jacket, his eyes darting wildly.

“I wasn’t trying to rob him,” I said. “He’s not a merchant. That’s a disguise. He’s a wanted man.”

“Shut up, you,” the knife-holder said.

My mind raced. The man wielding the knife was small. I could easily fell him with one swift punch to the throat. Then I could whip around and take the ax-holder down with a kick to the groin. But the man holding the rake, two heads taller and built like a bull, was going to be a tough match. My head throbbed where he’d hit it
with the rake’s flat edge. “Listen to me. He’s a wanted man. He’s the man who kidnapped the Milkmaid.”

The knife-holder’s eyebrows raised and everyone turned to look at Peddler.

But Peddler was gone.

I stood in the tax-collector’s office, my wrists shackled. I’d tried to plead my case, but each word was met with a punch to the jaw by one of the guards.

Lime’s tax-collector was like an exact replica of Wander’s tax-collector—a well-fed, soft sort of fellow who grunted when he moved across the room, his feet sliding lazily, his enormous belly sagging to his knees. The kind of fellow who gave no thought to anything but coin. Maybe all tax-collectors were born from the same parents. When not stealing coin from citizen’s hands, they sat on their cushioned stools counting coin, stacking coin, plunging their hands into chests filled with coin. They probably slept beneath coin blankets.

King Elmer was of the same cloth. Nothing was more important than the collection of coin. He decreed long ago that tax-collectors, having the most important jobs in the kingdom, would wield the utmost authority. So he got rid of sheriffs and magistrates. No need for judges or juries either. Even town councils were beginning to disappear.

“You are hereby sentenced to hard labor in the mineral fields,” the tax-collector said.

“You’re wasting time,” I insisted. “If you send your men after Peddler, you’ll find the Milkmaid.” At this point I didn’t care who found Emmeline, as long as she was rescued from Peddler’s clutches. She was close by. I could feel it.

“Shut up!” the soldier ordered with a slap to the side of my head.

I glared at him. “Unshackle me and then try to hit me, you—”
Whack!
Again to the side of my head. I stumbled sideways, crashing into the wall.

The tax-collector rested his swollen hands on his table. His floppy black hat drooped over one eye. “I have read the WANTED posters. The man accused of stealing the Milkmaid has long white hair. Today’s witnesses claim that the merchant you accosted has short black hair. Your defense has no merit.”

“If you’ll just listen to me—”

“You want me to listen to you? So that you can claim innocence?” He curled his lip. “Innocence comes with a price.” He tapped his fingers, waiting for me to offer a bribe. I could have, if the soldiers hadn’t taken all my coin. Of course that’s what it came down to. Facts were of no concern. Truth was a mere trifle.

“Peddler dyed his hair, you stupid—” I ducked and the soldier’s hand slammed into the wall.

“Enough!” the tax-collector shouted as the soldier growled. “We’ll get paid less if he’s injured. And we certainly won’t get paid if he’s dead.” He smiled at me, then heaved himself onto his
feet. “Lucky for you, the king is offering fifty coin for each criminal we send to the mineral fields. Otherwise, you’d be hanging by a rope.”

He took his black tax-collector’s coat off a hook and put it on. White swans of the realm swam along the wide collar. He buttoned it over his substantial gut, then pushed his floppy hat from his greedy eyes. “Those dirt-scratchers are proving to be good workers, from what I hear. Too bad there aren’t more of them. Slavery is a very lucrative business.”

“Slavery?” I grimaced. “Is that why they were taken from the Flatlands?”

“You’re very lucky I’m such a gracious person,” the tax-collector said. The soldier loomed next to me, his fists balled and ready. I held back my curse. “Take him away.”

A wagon waited outside, its bed converted into a cage. Two men sat inside. My friendly soldier opened the cage door, then shoved me. I landed on the chain that wound around the other men’s ankles. Pain shot through my hip. “If my hands were untied, I’d kill you, you louse!”

The soldier reached inside. The next blow was the one that knocked me out.

I don’t know how much time passed before I came to but the wagon was rumbling down a road. I sat up. My hands were free but a chain wound around my ankles. The chain snaked across the cage floor, linking me to the other two unfortunate passengers, one of whom was staring at me with his eye.

His only eye.

“Oh crud,” I said, recognizing him from the barefist fight. “It’s you.”

“That’s right.” He growled like a wolverine. “You don’t have to worry about the mineral fields. I’m going to kill you before we get there.”

The baroness’s carriage was like a hollowed-out gourd, hard on the outside but soft on the inside. The seats were lined with white rabbit pelts. The black walls and ceiling curved around me like night. Sunshine trickled in through two windows. Such a beautiful carriage might have belonged to a goddess or a queen. I imagined that one day I might own such a beautiful thing. I wouldn’t have to hobble down the street ever again.

Once we’d covered some distance, we turned onto a path made by grazing animals. As soon as the main road disappeared from sight, Griffin stopped the carriage and leaped off the driver’s bench. “I want to know what’s going on,” he said, yanking open the carriage door. “Why is there a reward for you? And why is everyone calling you a milkmaid? You don’t milk cows. You talk to them, but you don’t milk them.”

I took a deep breath, gathered the hem of my skirt, then climbed out. I left the bonnet inside. It felt good to free my hair. “They call
me the Milkmaid because the girl who saw me in the barn and told everyone about me thought I was a milkmaid.”

“Why would she think that?”

“Because I was dressed in a milkmaid’s dress and bonnet.” He folded his arms. “And so …?”

“Chocolate. I can make chocolate.” His expression didn’t change. Of course not. Like me, he’d never heard of the stuff. “It’s this delicious treat that is prized above all else. It’s part of the legend about our people. It’s in a book.”

“A book? Since when do you read books?”

“I don’t. Owen read it to me.” His name escaped. Let loose from where I’d held it, deep inside, it floated among the grasses like a whisper.
Owen
.

Before Griffin could ask about Owen, I launched into the story. I told him the legend as well as I could remember it. About Queen Margaret. About how the people loved her because she had a magical gift for making chocolate, this amazing food that tastes unlike anything else. I told him how merchants traveled from all over the world to get this chocolate and how it had made Anglund and its queen very rich. But then the invaders came, our people, the Kell. Griffin nodded, for he recognized this part of the story. Our people tried to conquer the land but were defeated. I told him how the chieftain had cursed Queen Margaret, taking away her magic. And chocolate disappeared, never to be seen or tasted again.

He tightened his arms. “I still don’t understand.”

“While I was at the Oak Dairy, I tried to churn cream into butter. But instead it turned into chocolate.”

He snorted. “This all sounds crazy.”

The narrow path that we’d taken from the road led across a field. Cows grazed in the distance. A cottage and barn sat on a gentle hill. Weeks had passed since I’d sat in the butter room with Owen. During all that time I’d wondered—what if it had been some sort of mistake? A once-in-a-lifetime happening? What if the cream had come from a special cow and had nothing to do with me? Doubt hung over me like a waterlogged roof. We couldn’t go to the king unless I knew for sure. That would be suicide.

“I’ll show you,” I said. Reaching into the carriage, I grabbed one of the salt bags. “Go get some cream and a churning bucket. Give this to the farmer in exchange.”

Clearly Griffin needed proof as much as I for he bolted across that field, his long legs crossing the distance quickly. The cows had noticed our arrival for they began to mosey toward the carriage. Griffin passed them on his return. “Here you go,” he said, setting a churning bucket at my feet. The cream was already inside.

Finding a clean spot on the ground, I sat, the bucket between my knees. A warm breeze tickled my face and arms. Griffin chewed on a strip of dried meat. He’d also managed to get a wedge of cheese, a loaf of bread, and some apples. Whether the salt bag had covered the cost or whether Griffin, still wearing the soldier’s uniform, had bullied the food from the farmer, I didn’t know. Nor did I care. At that moment my father’s future lay in my hands. Could I make the magic happen again?

“Get away,” Griffin said when the first cow arrived and nudged him with a wet nose. A few cows wandered around the carriage, a
few gathered around me. “Move it!” Griffin hollered as a cow nibbled his boot.

“Leave them alone,” I said. “They’re just curious.” I wrapped my fingers around the churning handle.

“They’re stupid, that’s what they are. Now hurry up.”

“Stop pestering me,” I told him. I was trying to focus my thoughts—trying to remember exactly what I’d done in the butter room.

“Pestering
you
?” he snapped. “I’d be halfway to Root by now if I hadn’t run into you.”

“You should be grateful you ran into me,” I snapped right back.

“Grateful?” He grabbed another strip of meat and pointed it at my face. “Why should I be grateful? You almost got me killed at that inn. My family needs my help and I’m stuck here with you.”

“Your family’s fine. I told you, they had the cows and they got out of the valley before the flood. Anyway, you should be grateful you ran into me because I saved your life.” I glared up at him. “Or have you already forgotten that little fact?”

“Saved my life?” His face turned red. “You’re crazy. You never saved my life.”

“That soldier was going to stab you. But I yelled
watch out
just before …” I closed my mouth, swallowing the words. The flash in Griffin’s eyes told me that he did indeed remember. He looked away, as did I. We would always share the memory of the two men in their shallow grave.

Without another word from either of us, I began to churn. As the blade pushed through, the white cream swirled, twisting into
graceful waves. I could hear Owen’s voice as if he sat next to me. As if we were back in the butter room. “You’re beautiful,” he’d said.

I turned the handle faster. Griffin knelt, watching over my shoulder. The cows watched too. They even stopped flicking their tails. If this didn’t work, all would be lost. I wouldn’t be able to negotiate with King Elmer for my people’s freedom. Griffin would have no reward coin to take back to Root. I closed my eyes, churning, churning, churning. Griffin grunted impatiently. One of the cows mooed. I squeezed my eyelids tighter, churning, churning, churning.
Please
, I thought.
Please let the magic work
. Then a warm feeling took hold, deep inside, spreading all over my body like sunshine. The warmth traveled down my arms and into my fingertips.

“It’s changing color,” Griffin said.

With a huge relieved sigh, I opened my eyes and watched as chocolate formed where cream had once been. Griffin didn’t hesitate. Crouching beside the bucket, he dipped his finger and tasted. “How?” He tasted again. “But …” And again. “Nothing can taste this good.” His eyes sparkled. “I feel different. I feel … happy. I want more.” Then his eyes widened. “Is this some kind of spell? Is this black magic? Everyone in Root says you have black magic.”

For the first time in my life, that didn’t make me angry.

“I guess I do.” I scooped out a bit and ate it. “But it’s not black. It’s brown.”