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him, promising that it was absolutely necessary and would be as
short-lived as possible.
And still the weather stayed hot, and the tinker and his boy did not
come.
Chapter 7
Eventually, of course, the matter was taken out of our hands, for that
is the way of things, more often than not. Returning from the orchard
late one day, where I had been battling wasps for apples that the heat
had brought down before their time, I saw a great cloud of dust. From
the hill on which the orchard stood, I could trace the cloud's path with
my eyes: from the main road, off onto the several branching ones
that, eventually, led to our front door.
No! I thought. It would be bad enough for the mob to catch us at all,
but for them to find Melisande alone...
Without another thought in my head, I sprinted for home.
Halfway there, my brain kicked in, reminding me that if I simply burst
in upon whatever I might find, not only would I be unable to aid the
sorceress, I'd hand myself over to our enemies as well. So I stopped,
set the basket of apples down, and took a breath. Then, leaving the
basket where it was, I con-tinued more slowly.
There was no one in the garden. The back door was shut, and I could
hear no sound from inside the house. In the who!? yard, there seemed
to be not a single breath of air. The back of my neck prickled with
tension. I crept around to the front and found a horse standing in our
yard. Its flanks were covered with sweat. White foam flecked its
mouth. I stood for a moment, while my own sweat dampened the back
of my dress, trying to decide what should be done. Unless cared for, a
horse ridden as hard as this one could sicken.
I suppose there's nothing for it, I thought, as I took a single step
forward. If its master had evil intentions, the horse would suffer quite
enough without my adding to its misery.
"Don't you touch him. Stay away," a shrill voice called.
Instantly I took the same step back, cursing myself. I'd let my love for
animals get in the way of my good sense. Again.
"I only want to wipe him down," I said. "He shouldn't be left to stand.
He's been ridden too hard."
"I said stay away," the voice said again, and now I could see to whom
it belonged. In the lane right out-side our gate sat a serving boy on a
horse of his own. The lad was big and strapping, for all that his voice
had been shrill. He had ears like pitchers. Great, doughy hands
clutched hard at the reins so that the horse's feet were never still. It
tossed its head and showed the whites of its eyes.
He is infected by his rider's fear, I thought.
"I only want to wipe him down," I said again. "And I can bring you a
drink of water, if you like."
"You'll do no such thing," the boy replied. "How do I know what you
might put in it? You serve the evil sorceress."
"I do not," I answered smartly, probably more smartly than I should
have done. But that word, evil, was pounding in my head, driving out
caution. "I'm nobody's servant, and if you think that Melisande would
harm anyone, you're just plain wrong. Maybe you should consider
keeping your mouth shut. Your ignorance is showing, and it's not a
pretty sight."
"What would you know about pretty?" the boy shot back. "I've heard
about you. They say that you are cursed and have no hair at all."
"That's ridiculous," I said, though I was respond-ing to the first part of
his words, of course. My voice was loud and brave, but by now my
heart had begun to knock against my ribs. What was I doing,
stand-ing here arguing in the yard?
"Show me your head and prove it, then," the boy challenged, for of
course I had a kerchief on, as always, and my favorite one besides.
"I don't have to prove anything to you," I said. At which he laughed,
and it was not a joyful sound.
"You're afraid of me," he said. "You ought to be."
All of a sudden, I understood the urge to strike the first blow, to harm
those you think mean to injure you before they get the chance. For his
words made me angry, and my fingers itched to find a rock and throw
it. But before I could do anything so rash before, in fact, I could do
anything else at all the front door of the house slammed back and a
man stalked out into the yard. I spun toward him. He stopped short.
We stared at one another.
He was a few years older than I was, or so I judged, dressed in the
fine clothes of a wealthy man from the town. A merchant, perhaps.
They always dressed well.
"So," he said at last. "You have grown up tall. I wondered if you might,
your legs were so strong."
I did my best to hide my confusion, but I must not have been very
successful.
"You don't remember me, do you?" he inquired.
I opened my mouth to say that of course I didn't, when I looked into
his eyes. They were a color I had seen just once before, a blue more
blue than any sky. In that moment, a memory I had forgotten I
pos-sessed returned to me, and I discovered that I knew him after all.
"You are the boy," I said. "The tall boy who kicked the ball so well."
He smiled then, and it was like the sun appearing on a cloudy day, just
when you have given up any hope that such a moment might come.
"And you are the girl who was faster than any of us," he said. He
made a gesture, as if both calling attention to and dismissing the rich
garments that he wore. "As you can see, we have both grown up."
"You have done well," I said.
He shrugged. "My father died young and I am his only son. But I ..."
He paused and took a breath. I have never forgotten the day we
met."
The things you saw in your own heart, I thought. But I did not say so
aloud. For this I did remember clearly: Not even he had been able to
hold Melisande's eyes.
"And so I came to offer you and the sorceress this warning: Leave this
place with all possible speed, or you will answer with your lives."
I exhaled a breath I hadn't realized I'd been hold-ing in.
"You came to warn us," I said. "Not to drive us off."
"The first will accomplish the second, so I'm not sure it makes much
difference," he said. "But no, I did not come to drive you off. I failed to
defend you once. I would prefer not to make the same mistake a
sec-ond time. Consider this the payment of a debt."
He moved then, striding across the yard to mount his horse. Then, for
one moment only, he looked down.
"I do not think that we will meet again. Go quickly, and fare you well."
Then he spurred his horse back into the lane and vanished down it in
the same cloud of dust with which he had arrived. But the serving boy,
freed from his master's presence and his fear alike, was not quite
done. With a great cry, he aimed his horse through the gate, straight
at me, acting so quickly I had no time to step aside. With one fierce
gesture, he yanked the kerchief from my head.
"Iknew it! I knew it! You are cursed!" he cried.
With a final flourish, he tossed the fabric high into the air, then sped
after his master, the horse's legs eating up the road. And it was only
then that I turned and saw Harry, standing at the corner of the house.
In one white-knuckled fist, he clutched the tallest of our pitchforks.
Slowly I crossed the yard, retrieved my kerchief, shook it out, and put
it back on. I did my best to keep my spine straight, like the stems of
the black-eyed Susans that I so loved. Only then did I realize what
strength it took to stand up so tall and straight and unafraid, no
matter what comes.
"I'm sorry, Rapunzel," Harry said.
"You didn't do anything," I said. "You don't have anything to be sorry
for."
"Don't I?" Harry asked. "Thank you for remind-ing me." And he came
forward then, taking several steps and driving the pitchfork, hard, into
the parched ground.
"What are you talking about?" I asked. Every bone in my body seemed
to ache, all of a sudden. Even my brain ached, for it felt worn out and
tired.
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