The Defender of Rebel Falls: A Medieval Science Fiction Adventure

By Erik Christensen

No one told him there would be dragons—especially alien dragons.

William’s dreams of adventure are crushed when he’s assigned to a boring library job. Instead of protecting the innocent and seeking glory as a member of the heroic Guard, he spends his days writing reports by candle light. At just seventeen, his life may as well be over.

A powerful nobleman takes an interest in William’s reports and announces an important mission that will decide the fate of the town. To his surprise, William is chosen to lead that mission.

He is tested in every way imaginable, from surviving in the wilderness to defending himself and his team against bandits. Nothing, however, could prepare him for the shock of being captured by a colony of elusive but powerful dragons—creatures that had only existed in legend. After brokering an uneasy truce, William is released with news that could benefit not just the town, but all humanity.

But the danger that awaits him on the trip home is greater than any he has faced before. Now William must make an impossible choice: save himself, or save the kingdom.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Erik Christensen
• Release date: Sep 3, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370080915

Book preview

The history of Selection Day goes back 250 years, with some historians suggesting it began in larger cities more than a hundred years earlier. In late autumn, boys of seventeen, having no land to inherit or master to apprentice them, sign contracts of employment with the Earl of their township. Although they may state their preferred posting, they are legally bound to work for whichever administrator selects them. Stories of wide-eyed young men seeking glory only to be chosen for some menial task are so common as to have become cliché.

Planet of Hope: A History of Esperanza

William Whitehall sat alone on a bench behind the crowd and waited for the announcement that would change his life. The old meeting hall was silent except for the occasional scrape of a chair or rustle of papers. He stared at the solemn dignitaries seated at the table upon the dais, grim-faced officers who decided lesser people’s fates. One of them called a name—he didn’t notice whose it was—and the hall echoed with footsteps as the chosen man walked up and accepted his billet. Another name, more footsteps. Sweat dripped from William’s newly-trimmed hair and landed unnoticed on the dusty floor.

Excuse me.

William jumped; a man pointed to the seat beside him. Sorry I startled you, lad. Mind if I sit here? William shook his head and shuffled over. The man plopped down with a thump and offered his grimy hand. Eloy Haggard.

He shook Haggard’s hand. William Whitehall.

Haggard’s eyebrows rose. Orrin’s boy? he asked.

William nodded and turned his gaze back to the proceedings.

A clerk handed a stack of papers to one of the dignitaries. Your Lordship, that concludes the temporary positions.

Haggard grunted. Good. I’m on time. He pulled an apple from his dirty coat and took a noisy bite. Juice dribbled into his sparse beard as he rested his mud-caked boots on the bench in front of them. Are you in the Draft? he asked through a mouthful.

William nodded.

What job? asked Haggard.

William hesitated. Guard.

Haggard eyed him up and down. Really? That’s mighty brave, a lad your size. My boy put in for Guard as well. Worth his weight in iron, my boy is, but he’d rather sit with his friends instead of me. Say…why aren’t you up front with them?

William followed Haggard’s gaze; he knew those boys too well. They aren’t my friends, he said.

Haggard gave him a funny look, and began to speak, but a loud voice from the front interrupted him. Are we ready for the permanent selections? Bradford Masterman, Earl of Marshland Crossing, filled the large high-backed seat at the center of the table. His thick silver chain of office rattled as he glanced at the men on either side of him. When they nodded their assent, he waved at the old man furthest to his left. Go ahead, Cairns.

William groaned.

Haggard chuckled. They always do the boring ones first.

I know, said William.

It’s so the boys who don’t get chosen for the good jobs won’t run away.

He glared at Haggard. I know why they do it. And I wouldn’t run away.

Well, I didn’t say you would, lad. No need to get snarly.

William shook his head. Sorry. I’m just nervous. I’ve…worked hard for this.

Haggard dropped his apple core on the floor. Old man Cairns sure is taking his time. Do any of the Draftees even know their letters?

Just me, said William. None of the others were in my classes. Haggard’s jaw dropped; William raised an eyebrow in response. What? Wait, never mind…he’s about to make his selection.

Cairns, the old Librarian, stood and smoothed his charcoal gray robe and cleared his throat. The Library selects William Whitehall for permanent employment.

William stared, his face frozen as his mind reeled in denial. His hands shook as he reached for the seat in front of him. He glanced around the hall for any hint that it was just a mistake, or that someone was playing a nasty joke on him. The faces peering back gave him no comfort; most were grinning openly at him. When his gaze returned to the Librarian he knew for certain that his destiny had been stolen.

You stupid old man, he said under his breath. He slumped into his seat and hung his head as he tried to forget years of sword fighting lessons and countless hours of practice, all made pointless as a paper blade.

Haggard shook his head. That’s tough luck, lad. But maybe—

The Earl glanced at the uniformed man to his right. Any objections, Captain?

William gasped and looked at Haggard. You’re right! Sir Hendrick can appeal. I know he will. He has to! William’s knuckles turned white as he clung to the bench in front of him and held his breath.

Sir Hendrick Mattice barely turned from his papers as he shook his head.

The Earl scribbled a note and spoke loudly without looking up. Very well. William Whitehall, you are ordered to report to Lester Cairns, Administrator of the Library, the morning after tomorrow. William leapt to his feet, the bench behind him rattling as it recoiled. The Earl peered across the hall at William with a puzzled look, as though he hadn’t even noticed him before. Unless you have something to say about it? he asked.

William froze. The Earl’s decision would be final. If he didn’t speak now he would be trapped forever in a job he hadn’t asked for, forever barred from joining his father’s order. He groped for the words that would convey how wrong—how unjust—this selection was. But what could he say without offending the officers before him? The floorboards creaked as he shifted from foot to foot. Every pair of eyes in the hall watched him, every ear listened for his feeble protest. He resisted the urge to run, but could not force the words past his constricted throat. His vision blurred, and he became dizzy; he reached for something to hold on to, and dropped to his seat when his hands found nothing.

Well, you’re certainly quiet enough to work in the Library, said the Earl. William’s face burned as laughter erupted around him. On the dais, only Lester Cairns remained silent.

Even Haggard sported a gap-toothed grin. No one believes his heart will be broken on Selection Day, do they? But somehow it always happens. Don’t worry, lad…you can always run away to the Port and try your luck with the boats. Now, if you’ll pardon me, I must go see my boy. It looks like there’s a spot on the Guard for him after all. He cackled as he kicked his apple core into the aisle and sauntered away.

William slouched deep into the bench, trying to avoid notice while the other seventeen-year-olds were selected for jobs according to their skills, or lack of them. He heard names called again, followed by their designations: laborers, pages, servants. He glared with jealousy at those whom Sir Hendrick named to the Guard, and seethed when the lucky ones—Haggard’s son included—aimed their gleeful smirks his way.

Pick up your apple, boy.

William jumped. A gray-haired official glared at him from the aisle. That’s not mine, said William with a gulp.

Do I look stupid to you? You’re the only one on this bench, aren’t you? King’s boots, the lack of respect among young folk today—it’s a disgrace.

Sorry. William’s ears turned red as he picked up the core.

The clerk crossed his arms. Have you been selected yet?

Yes, sir.

The clerk pointed to the door. Then you need not be here any longer.

William held the spit-covered apple by the stem and slunk into the early evening drizzle. If there was any relief in leaving the Meeting Hall, it was short-lived. Before him stood the massive Library, the only stone building on Administration Hill, its walls rising far above his head. It mocked him, its pure white stone a reminder of the symbol he would never rightfully wear.

In a surge of anger his arm shot forward and hurled the apple against the edifice with a satisfying splat. What remained of the core fell to the ground, and a thin trail of green juice trickled down the wall to join it. The stain pleased him; it was a mark of defiance, his rebellion against the Librarian’s injustice. A gust of rain washed it clean, removing any trace of his action. He turned away in disgust.

He kicked at the gravel as he strolled past the other buildings. A startled cat hissed and scurried behind the Earl’s office in search of more secluded hunting grounds. William envied the cat’s clear purpose, its simple answer to a calling it had known from birth. He himself had no place to go, and nothing to do.

Drizzle gave way to downpour, and a stiff wind penetrated his ragged coat. He was close enough to home that he could stay dry if he hurried. He shook his head. He wasn’t ready for that yet. He could go to Jack’s house—no, that wasn’t an option either. Two places in town where he was welcome, and he wanted neither of them. There wasn’t a person alive whose company he wanted right now.

By long habit, his feet turned onto a side path about halfway down the hill. The cemetery was isolated and peaceful, away from buildings and prying eyes. He spotted it easily: the headstone emblazoned with the white fist, standing in its place of honor beneath a giant willow tree. William sat on the cold, hard ground and stared at the fist. That emblem should have adorned his own shield after today. He picked at the moss-covered grave marker and read the words as he revealed them: Lt. Orrin Whitehall. 499 - 535. Slain while defending the innocent. Grief washed over him as it hadn’t in ages. Nine years had not filled the hole left by his father’s death, but until now one truth had always comforted him: that one day he would take up his father’s sword, and his place in the Guard. A voice inside him asked, What now?

William heard footsteps in the gravel behind him and felt his stomach tighten. He cringed in memory of countless beatings, closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable nickname.

Hey, Whitehands! I heard you’re gonna be a bookworm!

William pushed himself from the ground and faced his challengers. He glared at the largest and addressed him in measured tones. A Librarian, Oz. Not a bookworm.

Same difference, said the second boy, who glanced up at Oz like a dog begging for a treat.

William snorted. That doesn’t even make sense, Brady. It’s either the same, or different. It can’t be both.

Oz strode forward and shoved William in the chest. Teaching us to talk right already, Willie? What do you think, Kirby? Does he sound like a bookworm to you?

The skinniest bully circled behind William. Librarian. Bookworm. Who cares? With pretty white hands like his, it’s not like he’s gonna be someone important…like a Guard. Oz and Brady laughed while Kirby sneered, his black eyes fixed on William. Kirby’s greasy hair brushed against William’s cheek as he leaned in from behind. Look at the bookworm shiver. Are you scared Willie? You should be.

I’m just cold! William gritted his teeth and spun toward Kirby. His back was exposed to the others now, but he knew who the greatest threat was.

He’s scared. I can tell, said Brady.

Kirby snickered. You see? Even Brady knows you’re scared. Your little white hands are all bunched up, just like your Daddy’s white fist there. But you won’t do anything; you never do. In fact, I don’t even think you’ll try to stop this. Kirby stared at William as he backed up to Orrin Whitehall’s grave.

William heard the urine splatter, even smelled the stench, before he could believe what he saw. His voice shook with rage. King’s teeth, Kirby…do you have even the slightest idea—

Kirby’s eyes sparkled. Oh yes. The look on your face tells me everything I need to know.

Oz’s belly shook as he howled in laughter. Who on Esper thinks someone like you could be a Guard, Willie Whitehands? Not even Sir Kevin, I bet. Where is your precious body guard anyway?

William whirled around. I’ve told you before, Oz, he’s not my bodyguard. He was my father’s Captain.

Kirby spat on the headstone. His Captain didn’t do him much good, did he? So now he’s your bodyguard.

No…he retired, and then he taught me sword fighting.

He was fired, you mean, said Oz.

That’s a lie, said a voice from within the willow. All four boys jumped in surprise and stared up at the tree.

William peered through the branches as the other boys backed away. Sir Kevin? he asked.

You three! Leave this place immediately or we will open fire, said the voice in the tree.

Oz frowned. What do you mean, ‘we’?

Ready, boys? asked Sir Kevin.

Ready, responded several other voices.

Oz and his gang retreated further, but not enough to satisfy the commanding voice. Fire! William heard several rocks rain down as the bullies turned and crashed through the brush to escape. He grinned when one of them yelped in pain—Brady, it sounded like. He could still hear them fleeing when a thump at the base of the tree caught his attention. A dark figure picked himself off the ground and grinned at him.

William scratched his head. Jack? What are you doing here? And where’s Sir Kevin?

Jack’s walnut-brown eyes twinkled. How should I know? I’ve been in this tree for hours.

Then who was up there with you?

No one, said Jack.

What about the voices, the rocks…

Will, you’re as gullible as they are. Which was useful, since it convinced them there were Guards in the tree following a retired Captain who was ready to attack them with rocks. Since when do Guards hang out in trees and attack people with rocks?

William laughed, embarrassed he had believed it. How did you manage it?

Jack started down the trail to town. Ancient Gypsy secret.

Fine, don’t tell me. How long were you up there, though?

Jack hesitated. Since the draft started.

William jumped in front of Jack to stop him. Why?

Why what? Jack stepped around William.

William grabbed Jack’s arm. Jack! Why did you spend all day in this tree?

It’s nicer than all the other trees in town.

You know what I mean.

Jack looked skyward and exhaled slowly. Because you’re predictable, Will.

What—

You are so predictable! Why do you think those idiots found you right here, right now? If they could figure it out, then I could for sure. The real question is why can’t you?

What in the King’s name are you talking about, Jack?

Jack buried his face in his hands. Do I have to spell it out for you?

Yes!

Fine, then. I knew Sir Hendrick wouldn’t draft you—no, don’t say anything, you want it explained, so just stand there and listen. I knew he wouldn’t draft you, just like everyone else did but you. I knew you’d be shocked and disappointed, and whenever that happens you come here. I knew those clowns would hear about it, that they knew you’d come here, and that they’d follow you. So I set up some slings in the tree and waited. I’m just glad it wasn’t raining harder.

William waited through Jack’s tirade, but when Jack finished he had nothing to say. He stared at the ground instead.

Remember, Will, you asked me to spell it out.

William nodded, unable to look his friend in the eye.

Jack pressed on. So…you’re not mad at me then?

William sighed. Actually, I’m mad at everyone and everything right now.

I know. But me least of all, right?

Jack, sometimes I don’t know why we’re friends.

It’s because I’m so charming and witty. He bared his teeth in a ridiculous fake smile.

William laughed despite his mood. Yeah, that must be it.

They walked in silence until they reached William’s house. Before they parted, Jack put his hand on William’s shoulder. Listen, Will. Do me a favor?

Hmph. Let me guess…

Make the best of it, said Jack.

Got it. Any other words of wisdom?

Yes. Go easy on her.

As Jack walked away, William opened the creaky gate to his small yard. He ignored the front door; he wasn’t ready for what waited behind it yet. He stepped into the garden and looked for anything to distract him. He raked a few leaves and fed his rabbits. But the garden lay dormant, and there were no heavy chores to do until spring. Even the firewood was chopped and stacked neatly behind his wooden target dummy. He ran his fingers along the dummy’s notched edges; it was almost time to replace it. A few good swings of his sword and it would be firewood too…but his sword was inside. He sighed and grabbed some logs for the kitchen fire and steeled himself to confront the inevitable.

Emma Whitehall looked up from her stitching as he entered, but her greeting died on her lips as she saw her son’s face. William dropped the logs beside the stove. I know about the deal you made with Master Cairns.

But…that’s… she said. He promised he wouldn’t say anything!

He didn’t. I was only guessing, but now I know for sure.

Emma rolled her eyes and dropped her work on the small wooden table. You could have asked me. Why is everything so noble and dramatic with you all the time?

Her soft, low voice and trace of old world accent took the edge off her retort, but it still stung. He crossed his arms and glared at her. Would you have told me the truth? he asked.

For the love of…why wouldn’t I?

That’s true; it’s not like you’ve hidden your manipulations before, said William.

Manipulations? What—

Come on, Mom. It’s bad enough you kept me in school longer than I wanted. But you also asked Sir Kevin not to teach me everything I needed to get into the Guard. And you knew that’s what I wanted.

Emma grew flustered at the force of William’s accusation. Sir Kevin is a good man, and he—

And he did what you asked him to.

She pushed the dress away from her. Fine. I admit it. Yes.

William turned his back on her and removed his boots. You had no right to ask him to do that.

Ask who? Kevin, or Lester? she asked.

Either. Both.

I only did what I thought was best for you.

He whirled and glared at her. Really? You told me something a long time ago. You said your parents wouldn’t let you marry Dad. Was that true, or was that just a story?

It was true, but this is different. Emma walked toward William.

Huh? Tell me one way this is different.

Her voice trembled as she answered. I’ve already lost my husband; I don’t want to lose my only son too. Is that so wrong?

Guilt weakened his resolve. He stared at the floor and shook his head in defeat. No, I guess not. He rose and drew her close as she had done to him so often in the past. She relaxed and put her head on his shoulder. Some of her long blond tresses had whitened; had worry done that to her? He thought of a way to quell her anxiety. I suppose a Librarian would be paid better than a rookie Guard.

She pulled back and looked up at him with the first traces of a smile. I had that in mind when I planned my manipulations.

He winced and thought of the years she raised him by herself. She had supplemented her miserable pension with long hours of sewing almost every day. He owed her gratitude, not resentment. He took her slender hands in his and brought them to his lips. Truce?

Emma nodded and wiped the tears from her face as she returned to her work. William turned toward his bedroom, but his mother’s voice stopped him.

There was a time when we didn’t fight. Do you remember? In the old house?

William laughed and nodded. Was it really so much bigger than this one?

It was nine years ago, William. That’s a child’s memory. It was no mansion, but oh, what a garden we had…

William’s eyes lit up. I played Guards and Bandits with Dad, that’s what I remember most. His shield was so big I’d hide behind it. He even let me hold his sword once. I could hardly lift it, but he could swing it one-handed… His voice trailed off; his comments had upset her. She focused on her work, but telltale signs of sorrow showed on her face. You know what I don’t remember, though? asked William. I don’t think I ever saw you sewing at the old house.

She smiled and peered up from her work. I started when we lost your father so you could stay in school. My mother taught me…she said it was proper for a girl of my breeding. So we have that in common, William…both of us profiting from an education we never wanted.

It’s not that I didn’t want it—

I know. You always prattled on about the things you learned. Even now I buy extra candles because you read long after dark. So what bothered you so much about school?

William hesitated. You know what it was.

Oh, come on. You had friends there.

One friend. Jack. The rest treated me like the butcher’s leavings.

What about that girl? Melissa, I think her name was. You said she was nice to you. Whatever happened to her?

She left school a year early. I never found out why. William stared at the wall as he suppressed the memory. I can’t break my contract. What if the people at the Library are the same as the ones in school?

She shook her head. They won’t be.

How can you be sure?

Sons and daughters of lords don’t work in Libraries, William. Neither do bullies.

After bidding her good night and lighting a candle, he drew the curtain to his bedroom. The candlelight glinted on the sword hanging on the wall over his bed. He took it down and turned it over in his hands. It was short, heavy, and as badly notched as his wooden dummy target. Sir Kevin had given him the sword for practice; it would never have served for real Guard duty. But now it was no more use to him than it was to his rabbits in their hutches. He was as trapped as they were—more, because he was aware of the difference—but his cage was built from honor, not wood. He wrapped the sword in an old shirt and tossed it into a corner out of sight. He set the candle on a shelf and thumbed through his small pile of books. He selected an old favorite, one with a faded dragon on the cover. He wished he could fly away on the back of a dragon, leaving behind the difficult choice he had to make, but that was just fantasy. If his father’s memory was truly to be honored, he would have to face reality and make a difficult decision. Maybe his mother was right—his education was a resource he could draw on, even if it wasn’t his first choice. As he settled down to read, an idea took shape.

As the Kingdom grew and the distance between major production centers increased, a Merchant class emerged, which was largely responsible for trade between regions. Their frequent travel often subsidized the cost of ship building, and in some cases kept certain travel routes open where otherwise it might have been deemed too expensive for the royal court to finance on its own. Successful merchants could retire on the proceeds of a single trade, but it normally took years to attain the necessary status and capital to do so.

Planet of Hope: A History of Esperanza

William woke from a dream in which he had saved a town from foes now forgotten in the morning light. The cold sun slipped through the shutters, chased away the invincibility that permeated his dreams, and left behind a dull resignation. Just one more day of freedom; one more day to pretend the dream was still alive.

He wondered what Jack had planned today. There had been no need to confirm it the night before; every Sunday that Jack wasn’t traveling with his father, they would meet by his gate and go forth to find what entertainment they could. Some days they fished, other times they hiked behind Administration Hill. In high summer they might swim or find a shady place in nearby woods to play games or just talk. Anything, so long as they didn’t run into Oz.

William threw on some clothes and slipped out the door before his mother awoke. Despite their reconciliation he still harbored some ill feelings, and he wasn’t certain what he might say to her. It was best to avoid it. He fed and watered his rabbits, jumped the fence and began the trek across town.

Not the main road…not today. He held his breath as he passed the tanner’s shop and turned onto the path that followed the river. He had no love for the mudflats, or the shanty town that occupied them, but here he would be left alone. Channels of water gurgled between flimsy shacks and fractured ruins, a reminder of homes and lives taken by past floods. William reflected that if not for his father’s pension, he might have lived here too.

The path ended; he climbed the stone steps and sighed in relief when he saw the Market Square was empty. With no crops to sell during winter, farmers had no money to buy anything. Come springtime, though, there would be early grain to sell, and ready customers for all sorts of wares. By summer the Square would be packed, and the air would be filled with the sounds of salesmen shouting, children screaming and banners flapping in the steady breeze. Today he heard only the sound of his boots on the soggy ground and the rain tapping on his shoulders. A dull gray statue of King Stephen stood on the center pedestal, its head covered in moss and bird droppings. William gave it a nod of respect as he passed by, and shivered as he pulled his coat closed.

The shrouded sun had risen by more than a hand when he reached the tree-lined avenue among the affluent homes; it climbed another finger or two before he arrived at the Dorans’ gated estate.

You’re early, said Jack, as he jumped off a branch, rolling gracefully to the ground to break his fall.

William grinned and gave him a hand up. And yet here you are waiting for me.

I figured you’d be early.

William gazed through the gate at the large house. How’s your mom?

Jack shrugged. Dad’s home. She has her maids. As well as can be expected, I guess.

And your dad?

Bored, of course.

William rubbed his hands together. So what’s the plan for my last day of freedom?

We’re going to the Inn, he said.

William raised an eyebrow. The Inn? What for?

Well, for starters, they have beer there.

William laughed. I don’t drink beer. Neither do you.

I know. But they also have food. Jack patted his stomach.

William pretended to look at the trees. I’m not hungry.

Don’t be silly; you haven’t had breakfast yet.

There was no point in asking how Jack knew, less in denying it. What’s your real reason?

Lucy, the barmaid. She’s quite pretty, and—

Jack…

Fine, I’m looking for news.

Huh? What kind of news? asked William.

Any news. We haven’t traveled since my father retired. So it’s hard to find out what’s happening in other places, like Faywater Port, or New Athens, or anywhere else.

Well, what does it matter? We’ll hear about anything important eventually.

But old news isn’t news, said Jack. Otherwise they’d call it olds. News is valuable when it’s fresh off the boat, and the boats come to the docks, and the Inn is beside the docks. Also, Lucy, the barmaid, she’s really—

Fine, we’ll go to the Inn, said William. Not what I was expecting, but I won’t complain.

The docks stood at a quiet spot on the massive Faywater river. A breakwater of rock and old lumber jutted out a little ways upstream, creating a harbor of still water where the river boats could dock without fear of being torn from their moorings. Standing here on the docks, it struck William just how wide the river was. Even from the end of the breakwater, neither he nor Jack had ever succeeded in throwing stones even as much as halfway to the far bank, despite frequent attempts.

They walked between the warehouses and repair shops that lined the boardwalk until they reached the Inn. The sign above the door was a river ship, just like the ones that sailed up from the coast to trade. The docks could accommodate six of the real ones; today the only ship in sight swung on the sign above them in the morning breeze.

Lucy was as friendly as Jack had suggested and greeted him with warm familiarity. Good to see you, Jack. Who’s your friend? Someone new in town?

No, this is my friend, William Whitehall. Will, meet Lucy.

Lucy’s auburn ringlets bounced as she looked at William. Whitehall…you’re Orrin’s boy?

William suppressed an urge to grit his teeth. I am.

Well, sit by the fire, boys, and take the chill off. Forget about the corner table; it hasn’t been cleaned yet from last night. I suppose it’s too early for beer?

Jack hung his cloak on the post beside the table. Do you have any of your mother’s chicken pies?

If my father hasn’t eaten them all. What about you, William?

William shook his head as he took his seat. Oh, I’m not hungry. Maybe just some tea?

Don’t be stupid, Will, said Jack. You haven’t eaten yet. Lucy’s mother makes a pea soup with bits of smoked ham that you have to try at least once in your life.

I’ll bring you a big bowl of that, said Lucy. And the tea.

But—

And I hope you don’t mind my saying…your father wasn’t here often, but he’s well remembered in our family. Always a gentleman.

Jack elbowed William’s ribs as Lucy scurried away. What’s your problem, Will?

I don’t want charity, Jack, and I’ve got no money to buy soup or anything else.

Would you get over it? How many times have I eaten at your house? Besides, it’s good for business.

Yours, or Lucy’s?

Both.

William snorted. I still don’t know what your business is.

Neither do I, until I find it. That’s why I came here, to find out what’s new.

How do you expect to do that when the Inn is empty?

Jack raised an eyebrow at William as Lucy arrived with their food. So, what’s new, Lucy?

Well, let me see…you don’t care about town gossip much, if I recall. You’ll want news from downriver, I suspect.

Jack dug into his pie. Has there been any?

Well, the wharf master says the season’s first ship is coming in three weeks.

Jack’s eyes widened. Really? That early?

Lucy nodded. And the mail packet came with a letter asking us to reserve a room for a special guest.

That got Jack’s attention. What sort of guest?

She laughed. The paying kind. That’s all Dad cares about. But for what it’s worth, the letter came from the Duke and said it was for a friend of his. She beamed as Jack’s jaw dropped and his spoon fell from his hand.

No kidding, he said. So, not the royal family then?

Lucy burst out laughing, and even William couldn’t help smiling. Enjoy your food, boys, she said as she hurried away.

William scoffed at Jack’s smug grin. You’re quite pleased with yourself. How does that help you? You don’t even know who’s coming.

No, but I know when to be here next.

The soup tasted as good as Jack claimed, and William was trying to figure out a polite way to ask for a second bowl when a noise distracted him.

Beer! A deep voice bellowed from the corner Lucy had told them to avoid. A red, pock-marked face topped with a mass of dark, disheveled hair appeared from behind the bench. Lucy! Bring me a beer! He winced in pain at the sound of his own voice, then leered at William. What are you staring at, boy?

Jack leaned over and whispered to William. Well, I see where Oz gets his charm.

William nodded. His looks, too.

Lucy strode from the kitchen wielding a broom. Roger Domnall, I’ve told you before you can’t sleep here. If you pass out here again, you’ll have to spend your evenings elsewhere.

King’s ears, woman, stop yelling. Just bring me a beer to ease this headache and I’ll be on my way.

It’s my father’s bar and I’ll yell if I want. You haven’t paid for last night’s beers, and you’ve drunk enough to make a nuisance of yourself anyways. Hey! Get back!

Don’t you call me a nuisance—and stop swinging that broom at me, or you’ll be sorry!

William turned to Jack. Should we call for the Guard? Hey—Jack! Where’d you go? A quick glance confirmed Jack wasn’t under the table. He was torn between helping Lucy and looking for Jack; how could he abandon someone in danger like that? He decided to intervene. The elder Domnall was bigger and meaner than Oz, but it wasn’t just himself in trouble this time. He had no choice.

Domnall snatched the broom from Lucy’s hands, leaving her without even that meager defense. William jumped up, the stool clattering behind him. Startled, the drunken man turned away from Lucy and lurched toward William. Before William could even raise his fists to defend himself, Jack appeared from behind a wooden post and clouted Domnall on the skull. Rage melted into confusion, and Domnall’s eyes crossed as he thumped unconscious to the floor.

Jack ran to Lucy and put his arm around her shoulders. Are you okay, Lucy?

I’m fine. You boys shouldn’t have had to see that, but I’m grateful you stepped in. I doubt he would have done much harm, especially if I gave him that beer, but I wasn’t happy about giving it for free.

A door opened, and a heavy-set middle-aged man appeared on the base of the stairs he had just descended. What’s this ruckus? Are you boys causing trouble?

No, Daddy, said Lucy. Jack and William protected me. It was him again. She pointed at Domnall who lay senseless at her feet.

The man shook his head and scratched his beard as he stared at the drooling Domnall. King’s blisters, that man is a pest. He turned to Jack and William. You boys defended my girl?

William raised his hands in denial. I didn’t really do anything. Jack knocked him out.

Don’t be modest, Will, said Jack. You distracted him for me.

Not on purpose.

Jack smirked at William. I’ve always said you do your best thinking when you aren’t thinking.

Lucy’s father clapped the boys on their shoulders. Well, my girl is safe and my tavern undamaged, so you have my thanks. Dan Deacon is my name, and your meal is on the house today.

Jack and William protested, but Deacon would have none of it. Lucy, could you please call the Guard to come haul our unwanted guest away, then bring another round of whatever Jack and William were having.

Right away, Daddy. She turned on her heel.

And something for me too, if you don’t mind. I’d like to have a chat with these boys.

Of course. Lucy took a step toward the kitchen.

"Something for yourself too. It’s a slow morning, so you