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Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781462044634 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | iUniverse, Incorporated |
| Publication date: | 09/27/2011 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 108 |
| File size: | 1 MB |
| Age Range: | 9 - 12 Years |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
The Princess And The Weaver
By David Vater
iUniverse, Inc.
Copyright © 2011 David VaterAll right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4620-4462-7
Chapter One
Christopher sat at his loom, flexing his fingers. It was late morning. It would not be time to stop and eat something for a while yet. He was fifteen years old, and already he was tired. It was not a simple tiredness of hard work, but a deep tiredness of the soul. He longed to run out in the sunshine, to explore, as he did when he was a child, but he was a man, now, and men worked. He was tempted to ask his father how he did it; how he could stay at his loom, hour after hour, day after day; never sad, but never happy.He would not ask; Christopher knew better. He and his father had never had conversations that ran more deeply than the fact that Christopher had duties and must attend to them. The young man sighed and stretched, then went back to his loom. Strand after strand went into the loom; minute after minute slipped by.
From time to time he would hear the sounds of faint conversation outside, or of children running and playing. Occasionally, he would drift off into some daydream of heroic adventure, but never for too long; his father was strict on the quality of the weaving. More often than not, after slaying some foul beast or rescuing a princess, he was forced to undo a few strands that had suffered during the quest.
Noon-time came, and his family sat wordlessly down at a crude, wooden table to eat dry bread and gruel. As he ate, Christopher surveyed his parents. They bore no expression, good or bad, on their worn faces. This was just another meal, on yet another day, like so many thousands before. They asked no questions and made no comments.
After the meal, it was back to the loom. The afternoon also dragged on, dull and dreary. At one point, the stillness was broken by a loud commotion near his window. "A witch! A witch!" some children were shouting. Christopher leaped up from his loom and strode quickly out the door. A small mob of children, of various ages, was surrounding a hooded and cloaked figure in the middle of the street. They were playing some sort of game where one would step in, tug on the cloak, and then dart away. The person in the cloak would turn to catch the culprit, and then another behind her would do the same thing again.
"Here now!" said Christopher, angrily, "Off with you!" The children scattered, and under the hood, two sparkling eyes turned to examine him. The face was slightly hidden but, even so, he could tell that this was a young lady of striking appearance. He felt his pulse quicken, and he stammered out an apology.
"What for?" inquired a soft voice.
"The children. They shouldn't bother you like that." Her soft smile made a tingle run up his spine and, as she murmured thanks and then continued down the street, he sighed.
His father was still at his own loom when he returned to the room. One disapproving glance flickered across his face, and then the dry hands returned to the threads in perfect rhythm. Christopher went back to his weaving, but another daydream soon followed. This time, the princess had a face, and eyes that sparkled.
As the sunlight started to fade, Christopher finally got up from his seat, clenching his fists several times to ease the strain on his fingers. He quickly downed another bowl of gruel before heading out the door. "Tomorrow we begin early," his father reminded him.
"Truly?" thought Christopher. As if it was ever any different. He didn't go out every night, or even every other night. This night, however, he was headed into the city to meet with some of his childhood friends. At least that's what he usually went for, and it was what he told himself it was for tonight. Deep down, though, he hoped to see the strange, young lady again.
The tavern that he and his friends normally met at was called "The Gray Dog", and it belonged to the father of his friend, Michael. Michael's father would not give any free drinks or food to the young men, but at least he didn't drive them out to make room for paying customers; not that there were many paying customers vying for room there.
Michael was there, and Debra, his sister. Joseph and Anthony were there as well. Joseph was a blacksmith's son, and Anthony was son to a wheelwright. Anthony had a funny story to tell of a runaway cart and scattered vegetables, and Joseph had gotten into a fist-fight, again, but in general, each had the same story to tell of a usual day of work. Finally, Christopher leaned forward, and began to tell about the young lady he had seen.
"A girl," Michael started to say, wearily, "That's the most exciting part of your day?"
"Well, yes," Christopher shrugged, flushing a little. Then he stopped, and looked at the door in amazement. A hooded and cloaked figure had just stepped inside and waited a little to the side of the doorway. He couldn't see her face, but he knew without a doubt that it was the girl. She sat down alone at a table, and Debra went to wait on her.
The other young men looked at Christopher. "Well?" they demanded.
"It's her," he hissed softly. The other three turned to look. As they did, the girl withdrew a water-skin from under her cloak and tilted it up to drink. Her hood slipped back off her head as she drank. Her eyes were closed and her soft features stood out in stark contrast to the rough, leather water-skin.
"Whew!" said Michael as the four stared in otherwise rapt silence. The girl opened her eyes and noticed their interest. She jumped a little, startled, and splashed some water on the table and herself, then looked down, apparently embarrassed. The four young men exchanged glances, then looked down at their own table, each a bit ashamed at having been caught staring at her.
"Go talk to her, Chris," said Anthony. They watched Debra come back, and leave a bit of bread and cheese on the table in exchange for some coin.
"Wait until she's done eating," said Christopher, "I don't want to bother her."
Instead of eating, though, the young lady was talking to Debra. They couldn't hear what she was saying, but she seemed to be asking her some questions. She looked concerned, or possibly confused. Debra finally left, and the girl began to eat slowly.
The young men sat quietly, waiting. All other topics of conversation had apparently become pointless. "Who is she?" asked Joseph. Christopher shrugged in reply.
Before she had finished eating, another young man sauntered in. He was a local no-gooder, known to the four youths. His name was Jim, and he was a dock tough; one of those men who would only work from time to time loading and unloading cargo from ships or guarding some warehouse from theft. More than likely, these guards were more of a threat than whatever they were supposed to be guarding against.
When Jim noticed the girl, he went up to the bar and loudly asked for ale. Then, he leaned back against the bar, brazenly watching her. When Michael's father brought him his drink, he remained standing there until he finished it, then went and boldly pulled a chair to sit across from the girl.
Christopher stood up. The young lady was obviously frightened and uncomfortable. "Here now," Jim was saying, "Don't look so. I'm a friend, see?"
Chris walked over. "Is he bothering you?" he asked the young lady. She nodded ever so slightly.
Jim looked up with a dangerous glint in his eye. "Take a walk, boy. You're no hero." He gestured with his thumb back to where Christopher had come from.
Christopher glanced back at the girl, who was looking down at the table. "No," said Christopher softly, "I think it is time for you to go."
Jim stood up and faced Christopher. The dock-worker was a bit taller than the young weaver, and definitely meaner-looking. Scars on his cheek and knuckles testified of his fighting experience. Jim put up his hands and shoved Christopher's chest, but the young weaver's hands shot up and grabbed with a grip toughened and fingers calloused from months of hard work. Jim winced as the young man squeezed his hands.
Christopher felt something surge through him as he noticed fear rise in Jim's eyes. He stepped back, turning his opponent, and then pushing him towards the door as he released his hands. Jim left, his face turning an angry red. It felt good to stand up to Jim; it made Christopher feel powerful. He turned to look at the girl with new-born assurance.
The girl looked up at the weaver. "Thank you," she said, and after a pause, "again." She looked up at him, curiously. "Are you a knight?" she asked.
Christopher checked himself just in time to keep from laughing. Instead, he shook his head and sighed inwardly. "As far as I am aware," he said, regretfully, "there are no knights in Peridan. It's a peaceful place." He frowned and thought to himself, "Too peaceful."
The other young men had gathered around them. "Do none of you remember a battle?" the young lady asked. The four shook their heads in reply. "Not even when you were very little?" They all looked at her with dubious expressions on their faces.
Anthony was the first to speak. "I do remember some things ... when I was very little. Fighting in the streets, screaming, fire ..." He looked around at the others. "But I don't know if it is real. My parents say I must be imagining childish games."
The young lady looked confused. "Your king, Henry VII, was supposedly killed when I was an infant. However, nobody seems to believe that."
"And, who are you?" asked Joseph. Christopher gave him a quick elbow in the ribs. "What?" Joseph demanded. The weaver gave the blacksmith a quick shake of the head, no.
"Can I trust you?" asked the girl. They all nodded. She looked at Christopher. "You've helped me twice today, and I have to trust somebody." They all waited as she looked at each carefully, in turn. "I'm King Henry's daughter, Silvia."
"A princess?" asked Michael, "Go on with you!" Christopher started to protest, but Michael continued, "King Henry has two sons and a daughter and I've never heard of a Princess Silvia."
There came a sound of rough laughter from the door, and a strong, bearded man entered the tavern. Silvia gasped, frightened. "How long have you been listening?" Christopher demanded.
"Long enough," said the older man. Two large, brawny men followed him in, and behind them, Jim skulked in as well. "I came since I was nearby, taking care of some business, and I received a report that someone was making one of my boys look bad." He turned to look at Jim, "Is this the one?" Jim nodded.
The bearded man turned to look at Christopher. "What should I do with you?"
"I've done nothing wrong," answered Christopher. "Jim was bothering the lady."
"Was he now?" mused the man, "I can't really say that I blame him." He gave a little smirk, as did Jim.
"I was always led to believe that you were more honorable than that," said Christopher, and the bearded man reacted with a piercing glance at him.
"More honorable?" the older man echoed, "Just who do you think I am?"
"I know better than to say your name," said Christopher. The two burly men frowned as the bearded man glanced back at them.
"You should know better than to cross me," said the older man. "However, your little friend has intrigued me, so I will not press the matter at this time." Jim started to say something, then thought better of it and was silent. "I think we all need to have a talk," he continued, and then looked around. "But not here. Not now."
He looked at the young lady sitting at the table. "Are you staying here?" he asked. Silvia nodded, then caught herself and shook her head, no. "You are a terrible liar," he said with a short laugh. "I promise to do you no harm. In fact, I believe I can help you."
Silvia looked at him doubtfully, and then glanced over at Christopher, who shrugged. "I know everybody in this city," the man continued. "If anyone can verify your claims, or can shed some light on your situation, I can find that person. I will give you an answer tomorrow night."
He abruptly turned, the two large men stepping aside for him, then they all went out into the night, Jim trailing along behind. Christopher moved to the doorway and watched them walk away. "Whew," said Michael, "I thought you were dead, for sure, Chris!"
Joseph nodded, and Anthony added, "You still might be."
"Who was that?" asked Silvia.
"The thief-lord, or some other such title," answered Christopher. The others made shushing noises and glanced around furtively, even though they were alone, except for Debra.
"Can he really do what he says?" asked Silvia. "Why would he want to help me?"
"Well," said Christopher, slowly, "I know he wields a lot of power in this city. There is also a price on his head. Perhaps he is hoping to be pardoned or something."
"I won't work with an evil man," Silvia protested.
"I don't think you have much choice at the moment," Michael pointed out.
"He's right," Christopher continued. "This place is probably being watched."
Anthony looked uncomfortable. "It's getting late," he said, "and I have to get up to work early tomorrow."
"We all do," said Christopher. He might have been imagining it, but he thought Silvia looked a bit sad at this. "I will come back tomorrow after work." The others nodded in agreement. They started to file out the door, all except Michael. Christopher looked back for one quick glance and caught Silvia's eye and a faint blush and a smile. Warmth flowed over him, and he straightened his shoulders and strode out the door, meeting the cool night air with a smile of his own.
His mother gave him an unhappy look when he got home. "It's late," she whispered. His father was already in bed. The young man threw himself into his own bed where he dreamt of large ogres and weaselly, little goblins that looked a lot like Jim, and a princess who drank from a water-skin.
Chapter Two
The next day dragged on more than any other before. Daydreams were rampant and Christopher spent a large amount of his time undoing and repairing, so that his progress was not very appreciable. His father frowned and muttered whenever he saw him redoing his work.It seemed an eternity before he was done. As soon as he could, he was hurrying down the street, not running, but walking faster than he ever had in his life. There were a handful of customers in The Gray Dog, but Silvia was nowhere to be seen.
"She's in her room," said Debra, with a knowing look and a smirk, "getting dressed."
Christopher blushed and looked down. His clothes were fairly clean, but plain. He'd been in a hurry to see Silvia again, and hadn't even thought about changing his clothes. Besides, there wasn't much difference between his best and worst clothes.
A short while later, Michael came out from a back room dressed far more formally than usual. His wardrobe included a troubled look.
"What is it?" asked Christopher.
"We've been invited," said Michael, with a grim face, "to Duke Ferdinand's manse here in the city, to dinner."
"What?" Christopher started to say something, but stopped as at that moment Silvia appeared at the top of the stairs. She was dressed in a modest bluish-gray gown, such as many of the local women owned. It was not gaudy or expensive, but it was far finer than anything Christopher or his family had ever worn.
"Actually, only she was invited, but she insisted that we be invited as well."
Christopher nodded. All the eyes in the room followed Silvia as she approached them. She looked nervous, as well she should, thought the weaver. He felt highly anxious himself. They sat down at a corner table and waited for the others.
"I hadn't planned on this," Silvia began nervously. "I shouldn't have said anything."
"That can't be helped now," Chris said. He desperately wanted to comfort her, but was unsure of how to do this in an appropriate manner.
Any more conversation was prevented as Joseph came in, followed closely by Anthony. Neither of them was formally dressed, but Christopher could tell they had taken greater pains than usual on their appearance.
Shortly after these two had arrived, and the same information regarding the invitation was given, received and remarked on, the sound of carriage wheels sounded outside. Presently, another young lady appeared at the door. She was dressed much finer than any of them, and had Silvia not been there, she would have certainly outshone them all. In a musical voice, she asked for "the Lady Silvia" and informed them that their carriages were waiting. She eyed them all a bit haughtily and pranced back outside.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from The Princess And The Weaver by David Vater Copyright © 2011 by David Vater. Excerpted by permission of iUniverse, Inc.. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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