the wall – miles from either gate – and knocked against it three times. There was a scraping sound, as of a tightly fitted door opening, then the wall swung open into the clearing. Standing in the doorway thus revealed was an older man with a fish hook nose.
“Coming in?” he asked.
“Of course, Templeton,” Blaine answered as he stepped in, followed closely by Willard. The door was shut behind them.
“Who is this?” asked Templeton, poking Willard in the stomach with his index finger.
“He is your king, you disrespectful fool. Where is your loyalty?”
Templeton looked up at Willard and fell to his knees in submission, for no longer was Willard a wild man from the forest. His beard was shaved and his handsome face allowed to show. His hair was trimmed, set back in a dignified manner. But his monk’s frock still shrouded his grandeur.
“Arise, friend. I desire service, not servitude. We have much to do.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Where is it you need to go, Willard?” asked Blaine.
“To the Fardy brothers’ shop.”
“Very well, off we go.”
They left the building and set off through the streets of Eden to the Fardys’ shop. Eden was a very dense city: its buildings were made from the trees of the forest and equally tall. The city was divided into circles of buildings, each self-contained with a private garden in the center. Between the circles were open triangles of space, housing a statue or memorial to the heroes of the past. The streets were made from a white, chalky marble that came from the northern mountains, and built like a mosaic out of foot-long bricks. The lanes wound between the circles, narrow and compressed into the space as if an afterthought.
In all, Eden was a large semi-circle, with the back opening into the ocean. There were four distinct sections of the city: the harbor area, called the Floatings; the castle area; the wealthy and commercial area; and the western area. The first of these, the Floatings, was a collection of floating buildings and structures that covered most of the harbor, each floating freely. Its layout changed everyday, and even every moment. The castle area was directly in the center of the city, surrounding the castle, which was nestled within a dense collection of other buildings. The Western section was the closest to the forest, in both geography and feel. It was almost a wilderness itself, for the buildings were rougher and more natural, with thicker vines and less marble. The Eastern section, on the other hand, was the most civilized. The buildings there were sometimes of brick foundations, and occasionally walled with brick or stone instead of vines. It was in the Eastern section where most of the wealthy citizens lived, among them the Fardy brothers. Their shop served as the base of their commercial operations, which were largely carried on in the Floatings. They were the principal merchants of the city.
“Here we are,” announced Blaine, as he and Willard came to a particularly large and impressive building, “The Fardys’ Shop, as they call it.”
Inside the building was an entry room with doorless walls on every side except the back, on which was a counter. Behind this sat a young man, the clerk, who controlled access into the back rooms of the store.
“Hello there, Blaine Griffith,” he said as they entered, “How can I fix you today?” He looked at the two warily, as if afraid they would take too much merchandise for too little a price.
“It is not I, but my companion here, who has business.”
“Yes,” said Willard walking forward, “The Fardy brothers and I have already made the deal, I have just come to pick up the goods.”
“I will have to see a receipt, sir.”
“Of course, here it is.” Willard pulled a rolled up piece of paper from his frock and handed it to the clerk, who read it aloud:
The Three Fardy Brothers, Merchants of the city of Eden, do here give to Willard a receipt for a suit of armor, it being the one once owned by the King of Atilta, before he was deposed. To be given over upon the presentation of this receipt at the brother’s store in the aforesaid city.
Signed, the Fardy Brothers.
The clerk’s eyes opened wide when he was finished reading, surprised the Fardy brothers would sell their prized armor. Blaine’s face was occupied only by a wide grin.
“How did you pull that from them?” Blaine laughed.
“Let’s just say I had to twist their arms a little,” was the reply.
The clerk went into the back of the store. A few minutes later he returned with a fancy leather satchel in his hands.
“Here you go, sir.”
Willard opened it and pulled out a helmet of pure gold, with silver as decoration upon it. Detailed figures were carved onto its surface, a mural that told the history of Atilta and the Plantagenets. A quick look through the bag assured Willard the whole suit was there, and he replaced the helmet and closed the satchel.
“Thank you. I am glad there was no need to smack you, as the brown Fardy prophesied.”
“I have learned,” the clerk laughed, “That one should not trust to their patience. Will you not try it on?”
“Not here. It is not safe within the city.”
“Ah, of course,” the clerk answered, showing his understanding.
Willard and Blaine left the store, setting off once more through the narrow city streets.
“Now we must set up the netting,” Blaine said.
“Yes, and I think I have guessed your game. Onward, then, to hope and to freedom!”
Chapter 28
The Innkeeper led his two companions down the road, through the forest from which they had long been absent. The first man was William Stuart: six feet tall, with oxen shoulders and tree branch arms. A long white beard clung to his face, but the hair above his head was closely cropped. He wore leather armor, which – though not as tough as his face – could keep away the blade of a weak man. Beside him walked Barnes Griffith, his first lieutenant. He was not yet twenty-five, with low tide lips and sand castle hair. When they were away from Willard and Ivona, the Admiral spoke:
“Fifteen years has wrought a change in Ivona, from babe to beauty. Time is a universal phenomena – it passes in all places though it seems to pass only where you are, yourself. I return to Atilta, thinking to find it where I left it. But Gylain and the tide have blown it far off course.”
“If you cannot see what you left behind, what of me?” Barnes asked. “Your daughter and Alfonzo were already what they are today, though to a lesser degree; and your wife,” he hesitated, then by-passed the subject. “But when I parted from my brother, we were too young to be ourselves. I fear I will not know him.”
“Though far apart, of kindred heart,” rhymed the Innkeeper.
“We will see when time reveals itself to us, not before,” the Admiral said.
“Your years bring patience, whereas mine bring zeal.”
“No, though my years bring the appearance of patience. Within I am more zealous than even you, for there are those whom I have not seen for many years.”
“Celestine awaits, do not fear.”
“I do not speak of her. I am zealous for Gylain. It is he who my eyes cannot depart from, nor my mind set aside. He is my goal, and I will have his life, yet.”
“Look, there is a man approaching,” and Barnes pointed down the road.
There was an older man coming toward them at a quick pace, as if he recognized them. He was dressed in a monk’s frock and seemed to truly be one: the top of his head was not covered by his hair, his middle was rotund, and his nose hooked. It was a moment before they came together. When they did, the Innkeeper was the first to speak.
“Good heavens! What is this? Erwin Meredith back from the abyss,” he cried. “Many days it has been, since news of you traversed the wind.”
“Hail, Innkeeper,” Meredith answered. “I am glad it is you, for it has been too long since I have seen a friendly face.” The monk furled his eyebrows and glanced over the Innkeeper’s crooked nose, ruffled hair, and seagull eyes. “That is to say,” he muttered to himself, “I am glad to see a friend.”
“I am not your only friend here,” replied the Innkeeper, “William himself is near.”
“Silence, there, I will have none of your fanatical ejaculations! How could the Admiral have returned? You
