First Draft Foundry

Please review Part One, here.
Please review Part Two, here.
Please review Part Three, here.

—

Christopher and Rosa traveled unnoticed through the dinnertime bustle of the town, and into the countryside. They reached the foothills, passing through a deserted cemetery that held the unlucky bones of souls claimed by the catastrophic Antonine Plague. The people of Renaissance feared this place, and actively avoided it. A narrow hole in the hillside, just beyond the last overgrown headstone, marked the entrance to the caverns.

“There’s an alchemist lives in there, I’ll bet the priest brought the note to him,” Rosa said.

They entered silently and looked around. The caverns had been dug by ancient miners, whose search for bronze had created “rooms” off the main passage. Christopher and Rosa saw a light flickering in one of them. They slipped down the dark passageway, and pressed their bodies into a deep indentation where they could hear the conversation in the next room. They allowed themselves a quick peek inside.

At the edge of the room, an oil lamp flickered on a wooden table. Christopher’s note lay beneath. The priest stood with an alchemist nearby. The alchemist held a package in his hand, a large rag with something inside.

“This powder will explode on contact with flame,” the man said, “but I figure if you wrap the powder in a rag and twist a short piece of wick into it, like this, it would give you enough time to throw the lighted thing and get out of there before it explodes.”

“Amazing,” the priest breathed. “The king will pay handsomely for this. How much do you have?”

“A whole barrel.”

“And you say you stole it from an Oriental on the Villein?”

“I stole it from an outlaw who stole it from an Oriental. The outlaw had a small rag of it, too, but he didn’t know how to use it. He lit the rag with a flaming stick and, well, it’s a good thing he wasn’t near the barrel or we’d have both gone up in smoke.”

The priest laughed. “So you’ve seen it work, then. How powerful is it?”

“Depends on how much you use. A spoonful could kill a man. The amount I’m holding might take out a small company.”

Rosa nudged Christopher, then tossed a stone far down the passageway. The two men paused, then hurried to investigate. When they were far enough away, Christopher dashed in and grabbed the note.

The priest turned and saw the intruders.

“You!” he exclaimed. Christopher and Rosa bolted for the entrance. They were too fast to catch. The priest snatched the rag from his companion, rushed to the oil lamp and held the wick to its flame.

“No! No!” screamed the alchemist. Just as the couple reached daylight, the priest turned and heaved the lighted rag at them. It landed just short of the entrance, and as the two young people scrambled across the grass, the rag exploded.

Christopher and Rosa turned just in time to see the hillside cave in across the hole. Terrified, they continued running.

—–

It was only when they’d reached a path deep in the forest of Assart and their hearts had settled that Christopher spoke. “Do ye think they can get out?”

Rosa thought awhile. “Doubt it. I never found another entryway.”

“Still, I suppose I should be gettin’ outta this town,” Christopher replied.

They walked in silence while Rosa pondered an idea. “Why don’t ye come join me family? We’re headin’ north. Ye can write yer book along the way. And we’ll shelter ye.”

Christopher looked at the girl gratefully. Her eyes were kind. And pretty.

“Thank ye. I think I will.”

—

prompt #1: the misfortune is resolved/accepted
prompt #2: the final event becomes another secret for generations to come
word count: 600

Please review Part One, here.
Please review Part Two, here.

—

Rosa waited until the priest was out of earshot, then turned on the boy.

“Why were ye goin’ to give him my coins?” she demanded.

The boy looked bewildered. “To git me note!” he replied.

“Ye don’t need to waste good coin to git what ye can for free.”

The boy just looked at her. “It don’t matter no more. It’s gone. Ye can have yer coins back.” She felt his hand press the discs into her palm.

“Ye gadže — ‘outsiders’ — are so stupid sometimes,” Rosa said, quickly depositing the coins into her purse. “That man lied. He’s still got it.”

“How do ye know? He said he burnt it.”

“Ye told me ye saw him put the treasury in the fire pit, right?”

“yeah … “

“So why would he burn his own money?”

“Well, maybe the box was—”

“He didn’t make a fire. I saw that box, it was bad metal. Could never stand heat. He was hidin’ it from me, but he’s a stupid gadžo. He knew I’d be back, but figured I’d be too simple to look in cold ashes. Prob’ly also figured the lock on the church door was enough to keep me out.”

“Then where is the note? How do ye know he has it?”

“Did ye see his arm twitchin’ when he spoke of the thing? He was feelin’ it in his pocket. When he pushed past me I got me fingers in there and felt it meself, but his hand was on it so I couldn’t pull it out.”

She saw his face brighten, then fall, and she knew why. He’d just returned the only control he’d had over her, the money he’d scooped off the road after he’d thrown her to the ground. She could run now, but she was intrigued.

“What’s yer precious parchment about, anyway? Why’s the priest want it so bad? Ye a rebel?” she asked.

“I don’t know why he wants it. It don’t concern him,” the boy replied.

“Well what is it?” the girl asked.

The boy shifted uncomfortably. “It’s personal.”

“What IS it?” the girl pressed.

“It’s … it’s a love letter.”

Rosa was incredulous. All this trouble for a silly love note!

“Yer stupid! Lovin’ ink scribbles like that! Where’s yer love now, then?”

“In England. Long gone. Married.”

“Then WHY the fuss of the note, by gob!?”

“She … we … played as children. We found a book of medicine, once. T’was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I wanted to make one meself, of plants and cures, but no one ever taught me to read or write. No one taught her either, but together, we figured it out. I’m not sure we figured it out right, but in any case, we made our own writin.’ The words belonged only to us. But she was of a Baron, and I was of a peasant. When her father learnt she loved me, he kicked my family off his land and married his girl to his neighbor’s son.”

“Why keep the note, then?”

“I’ve heard she’s been long sick, and I’ve learnt a cure! I’m goin’ to write me own book of medicine, and send it to her. She’ll know me by our words. The note’s her last to me. It keeps me rememberin’ the words. And her.”

Rosa watched him sympathetically. He was a cute gadžo, and she liked his sweet and romantic nature. She could help him. She imagined the priest with what he thought was a spy note, and laughed.

“C’mon,” she said. “Let’s go find the priest. I’ll bet I know where he went.”

—

prompt #1: relationships unravel or strengthen
prompt #2: a long kept secret is revealed
characters: Thomas de Schiavona (the priest); Christopher (the boy); Rosa (the girl)
word count: 599

Part FOUR is here.

Please review Part One, here.

___

Father Thomas de Schiavona questioned the girl with the pretty brown eyes in front of him. “Are you certain you don’t know what this says?”

The girl shook her head vigorously. “T’was me dead father’s. He didn’t say.”

The priest examined the items again, then marked a few words on a sheet of vellum. The quill and ink were not worth much. What he really wanted was the note.

“Very well,” the priest said. “I’ll give you two denar.”

The girl nodded. Father Thomas completed the transaction, and the girl turned away. “Wait,” said the priest. “Take the bill of sale with you.”

He watched the girl leave, wrote the transaction in his ledger, then hid the treasury box in the ash pit under the fireplace. The girl seemed honest enough for a Gypsy, but he would not put it past her to return and steal the rest of the church money. Everyone knew Gypsies were thieves. He suspected the box she’d brought him was stolen as well. Of course she’d be illiterate, as most girls—and all Gypsies—are, but her father would certainly be illiterate too, and would have no reason to possess a quill and ink. No, the priest figured the girl had stolen the box and come to him for profit, knowing a priest would be one of few people in Renaissance interested in the implements of writing.

And he felt fortunate for the stroke of luck that had brought her to him. He examined the note again. It fascinated him. The characters were strange, written in symbols that looked both terribly familiar yet utterly incomprehensible. Though he knew many languages, he didn’t know this one. But it was so carefully penned, he assumed it must be important. Perhaps it was in code, stolen from a rebel. Trouble was brewing outside Renaissance, and the priest was in a key position to take full advantage of both sides. If he was right about the note, he could use it for profit, either against the enemy, or the King. Maybe both. If not, he’d only lost two denar.

He was not the code-cracking type, but he knew who was: his comrade in the Minor Gauche foothills. He would visit his friend’s cave in the Kastanes at dinnertime, right after the ringing of the Angelus bell.

—

Father Thomas had barely reached the road that evening when he saw the girl. A ragtag boy accompanied her. “I was right!” he thought. “Back for the treasury.” But instead of running away, she timidly approached.

“Sir,” she pleaded, “I’ve made a mistake. I need me parchment back.”

Thomas felt pleased. Her request confirmed his suspicions. He fingered the note in his pocket. Perhaps the girl knew more than he’d assumed.

“Why do you need it?” he asked.

“T’was rightfully passed on to me brother. T’wasn’t mine to sell.”

“Well, you’ve sold it, I’m sorry. I’ve got legal proof. Good day.” Thomas attempted to pass, but the boy stepped in front of him.

“She’ll return ye the coins for it,” the boy bargained. The girl heard this and glared.

“Who’s the boy?” the priest asked.

“Me brother,” she lied.

Thomas didn’t believe her, but no matter. The note was his.

“It was worthless. I’ve already burned it,” he lied back.

The girl seemed unfazed, but the boy looked devastated. The priest pushed past, arrogantly brushing the girl with his shoulder. He’d remember that boy’s face. But now, to the caverns! He pressed on into town and, once he was satisfied he’d left the young people far behind, turned toward Heriot’s Pass.

—

prompt #1: a character lies to another on an important matter
prompt #2: one of the characters is revealed to be not who he or she is
characters: Thomas de Schiavona (the priest); Christopher (the boy); the girl
word count: 599

Part THREE is here.

When he was sure no one was looking, Christopher slipped into the church.

The girl had come in here with his box; he had seen her. He’d followed her, from the river Espadon where she’d found his camp and stolen the box, through the forest of Assart, keeping twenty silent paces behind her, along the dark winding roads at the edge of Renaissance and finally to this structure, the church.

He found her in a back room, with a priest. He watched from the shadows.

The girl stood by the priest’s desk. He saw her pull his box out of her cloak and give it to the priest. He opened the box and pulled the items out one by one. An angry fear rose in Christopher’s throat. That was HIS quill. HIS ink. The note.

Christopher watched as the priest examined the note. He saw him unfold the parchment, peer at it, turn the paper upside down, study it some more, turn it back over. The priest spoke. The girl shrugged. The priest pressed her further, and the girl shook her head emphatically. The priest took one last puzzled look at the note, then set it down and picked up the quill and ink. He examined the quill, sniffed the ink, dipped the quill in the ink and scratched a few marks on the parchment, then spoke again. The girl nodded, and the priest pulled out a small treasury box and gave the girl a few coins. As the girl turned away, the priest stopped her, reached for the parchment on his desk, folded it and handed it to her. The girl hesitated, then took the parchment and tucked it into the folds of her skirt, and left. Christopher shrunk into the transept as the girl passed, then, after a glance in the priest’s direction, slipped back through the nave and out the door.

He saw the girl returning along the same winding road they’d traveled earlier, but Christopher knew a better way. He slipped into the woods and quickly picked his way along a deer path, until he was ahead of her. Christopher took up position behind a tree and waited.

And when the girl passed, he jumped.

The girl put up a good fight, but Christopher was quicker. He knew she’d have a knife, so he went first for her wrists, then swept his foot under her ankles and took her down. He sat on top of her as she struggled, but he wasn’t about to let go.

“Where be it? Give it to me!” he demanded.

“NO, I have nothing!” the girl cried.

“I saw it! The priest gave it to you! ‘Tis mine, give it to me!”

The girl stopped struggling, and looked into his face. She was overpowered. Christopher pressed his weight into her, trying to look as menacing as he could against her large brown eyes. He found it difficult.

“Aye, ‘tis in the pouch in me waistcoat,” the girl spit.

Christopher shifted, being careful to secure one wrist under his knee and keeping secure hold of the other, and with his free hand dug into the pouch. He found the coins. But nothing else.

“Augh, not this!” He threw the coins. “Where is me parchment?”

“Parchment??” the girl asked, incredulously. “Ah! ‘Tis in me skirts! Unhand me and ‘tis yours!”

Christopher eyed her warily, then still holding one wrist, jumped off, his knife close. The girl dug in her skirt and threw the parchment at his feet. With one move, Christopher had it unfolded.

It wasn’t his.

———
prompt #1: there is fear of impending misfortune
prompt #2: someone might fall in love
characters: Christopher, The Girl, The Priest
word count: 599

Part TWO is here.