Music Makers: Epilogue thing-a-ma-jig

Chad paced back and forth nervously in the empty room. His agitated gaze flickered between one white wall and another, his stomach flipping nervously inside him. The room was small and had two doors; one on each end, and Chad glanced apprehensively toward the door that led to the stage. He wrung his hands together, bounced up and down in his tight shoes, and ran a nervous hand over his gelled hair. He was in the process of shaking himself in an effort to release his nervousness when the door opened and his friend Gary walked in.

Gary, about Chad’s height but more sturdily built, gave Chad a quizzical look. “Chad, it’s a musical concert, not basketball playoffs.”

The sixteen-year-old musician smiled at his friend, but the tension inside him didn’t ease up any. Gary approached him and clapped Chad’s shoulder. “You’ll do fine,” he tried to reassure his anxious friend. “You’re the youngest artist I know who has sold as many albums as you have.”

Chad winced. “Sure, but I’ve never done anything this big before.” He dared to peek out the tiny window of the door behind which a stage and an auditorium waited for him. “Is he there? Did he come?”

Gary’s expression took on a hint of regret. “Your mom said he got caught up in some work and couldn’t make it.”

Chad sighed, closing his tired eyes and rubbing them with his hands. “Figures.” Opening his eyes and peeking out the window again, he asked, “What if I mess up on stage? What if they hate me?”

“Don’t worry; if things get too crazy, I’ll pop out and do the macarana,” Gary said, grinning. He began to demonstrate, adding in his own moves and throwing in a few dangerous-looking poses. Chad laughed and pushed his friend good-naturedly toward the door.

“You’re funny, you’re funny, now get out. I need to focus for a moment. See you after the show, ok?” he said.

“You know it,” Gary agreed with a smile as he disappeared outside the doorframe. As soon as his friend was gone, Chad covered his face in his hands for a brief moment, his mind spinning. For the last few years, music had been his focus. It was all he ever thought about, all he ever dreamt about. And now, his dreams were becoming real, and he was drawing a blank. He pressed his fingers together as if he were praying and placed his thumbs under his clean-shaven chin. He had prepared for this. He could do this. This was his music. His life. It was time to share it with the world.
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A young woman, about twenty-three or so, slipped in to the crowded auditorium. She had just begun walking toward the front of the auditorium when she saw a plump figure stride across the stage {which was barren save for a piano and two thick, red curtains that had been pulled aside moments ago}. The figure apparently was wearing a microphone, for his voice carried over the room marvelously. “May I present to the public for the first time in live concert, the wonderful, the young… Chad William Brent!”

The young woman began to move rapidly to the front row as the lights dimmed dramatically. The applause began to die down and another figure came on stage in a sharp tuxedo and what looked like leather, European shoes. She was close enough now to see his face, and his features astounded her. Who was this young man and what had he done to her little, eight-year old friend?

His hair was slicked back, contrary to the bed head hair she remembered from years ago. A firm chin had replaced the chubby one she could see so clearly in her mind. The pudgy cheeks of the child had been replaced by this man’s well-defined bones, and he had now grown in to his ears that had previously been too big for his head. Wordlessly, she stepped closer to the stage, as she hoped to glimpse his eyes. He turned and smiled to the crowd, but his gaze passed over her blindly in the dark audience.

The woman smiled slightly to herself. He had his father’s eyes. But his father’s eyes had been shifty and uncertain, whereas this man’s hazel eyes seemed honest, and hopeful, but somehow wise. He had the face of a man, and he had the clothes of a man, but his eyes were a mixture both of childlike sincerity and mature wisdom. The woman allowed a small smile to touch her lips again. He was nervous. She could tell by the way he walked and awkwardly shuffled the papers on the piano bench after sitting down hesitantly. But he was willing. And that was enough to make the woman smile.
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Chad’s experienced eyes wandered over his music for a moment, his stomach still retching inside him. He let out a long breath of air, mentally steadying himself and focusing on the papers in front of his face. He placed his hands lightly on the piano keys and sucked in a breath. And then he played.

His fingers knew where they were supposed to go. They knew the beat, the rhythm, the tune, the tone. They knew how to wrench the heart out of their listeners, and how to make their eyes shine. They began to weave the tune depicted in front of them by the sheets of music, and they were pleased and began to weave faster and faster. Chad tried to contain his excitement because he knew rushed music was hardly enjoyable. The notes he played were sure and strong, and he began to feel quite at ease performing in front of the large group of people. Soon, his fingers were playing unconsciously, and his eyes began to scan the audience he could see from his peripheral vision.

He counted face after face…and then his eyes fell on a person he had not expected to be there. His fingers nearly froze at the sight of his father, and he struggled to keep a steady rhythm. At the thought of his father there, he suddenly grew more nervous. What if he messed up? What if he failed in front of his father? His father, who expected so much of him?

The young woman in the audience was studying the young musician carefully. “Slow down, Chad,” she thought to herself. He was going to blow it. He had lost his focus. She began to move again, trying to get to the first row.

Chad stared at his dancing fingers in disbelief, wondering how they had become so out-of-line. His nightmare was coming real. As the sweat began to form on his forehead, he desperately glanced up at the audience again.

He saw her. He would know her face anywhere, but how much older and sadder it seemed! She caught his desperate look, and met it with a calm one. Her dark eyebrows were raised as if beseeching him to relax. A trace of a smile lingered around the corners of her lips.

Suddenly, a voice from the past echoed in his mind. “Just keep playing. Stop thinking. Let your fingers play without your eyes. Let your heart play without your mind.”

Before Chad could think, his fingers were playing a different tune. This wasn’t just a tune. It was a song. A plea. A feeling. An emotion. It was a living thing, and it began to circle about the room, touching people’s hearts inside them and stirring thoughts in their minds. His song spoke of hope, of life, of joy, and yet it sang without words, as it spiraled around the room gently and reached inside his audience.

Chad felt calm all of a sudden, and a sense of peace began to settle over him. He wasn’t playing from the sheets of paper in front of him. He was playing from his memory – he was playing from his heart. He gazed at his hands for a moment, a grin twisting the corners of his lips, and then he closed his eyes. His song began to soar.

The young woman’s smile softened. This was the tune he had played for her eight years ago – the tune they had made up together on the bench of an old, school piano. Its simple melody was more complicated now, and its emotion seemed more intricate, as if each note sang of a different feeling than it once had. She wrapped her arms around herself and closed her eyes, twisting back and forth as if suppressing the urge to dance.

Chad’s fingers harmonized the melody they had created, like two voices singing in unison. With a satisfied feeling, he ended the song, choosing to let the last chords ring in the air before finishing them off softly with a few notes that flowed from the instrument like water would overflow from a glass.

The moment he had finished his song, the audience awoke as if from a spell and clapped so loudly that Chad could have sworn it was thunder. People began standing up, smiles erupting on their faces – young and old, and in between. His eyes were drawn first to his father, who was clapping enthusiastically with a grin on his face. Next, Chad’s eyes wandered over to the woman he had seen.

She was standing next to the seats on the first row, her white teeth showing in a brilliant smile as she joined in the echoing applause. He smiled back at her, before waving and bowing at the audience. Quickly, the announcer came back on and showed him off the stage, introducing the following act as Chad darted off the platform and into the prep room he had started in.

The woman watched him go, and as soon as he had disappeared, the smile gradually faded from her face. She glanced around her at the smiling people, cheering and clapping and whistling. Slowly, she stepped backwards and began moving to the back of the auditorium, blending in with the people standing around her. She had seen him play. She had heard his music. She was done here. It was time to start running again. Without having spoken a word, she left the auditorium almost as quickly as she had entered it.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Chad burst through the door and into a brick wall. The brick wall turned out to be Gary, embracing him. Chad laughed into his friend’s shoulder. Gary pulled back and looked at the musician, grinning.

“Dude, where in the universe did that come from?” asked Gary, wonder evident on his face.

Chad couldn’t wipe the smile off his face. “I don’t know… it… it kind of just happened. It was like something I knew I could do. Like something I’d done before.” Chad ran his hands through his gelled hair, unconsciously wrinkling and spiking it in the process. “And I had. It was a memory.”

Gary laughed. “When did you remember that, man, cuz I’ve known you since we were two, and I do not remember hearing that ever in my life!”

“There was a woman here tonight. She was with me the first time I played that song. Except she was younger. And I was younger,” Chad began to say quickly, trying to explain to his friend.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me about this?” Gary asked. “You’d think that would be something important one should tell one’s best friend.”

“Because I was like eight or something. All kinds of things happened when I was eight that I didn’t think were worth mentioning.” Chad shrugged. He dashed over to the other door. “I have to see if she’s still there.”

“Wait, you can’t go out there now,” Gary insisted. “There’s another guy playing. If you go out now, the crowd might swarm you and you’ll end up crowd surfing before you can say ‘Beethoven’.”

Chad sighed. “You’re right,” he admitted.

An hour later, the two young men emerged from the waiting room and mingled with the crowd. Chad’s joyful face was replaced with a confused one. People surrounded him, asking him questions, and requesting his autograph, but the one person he wanted to see couldn’t be found. Among the many faces pressing in on him from all sides, hers was not there. With a sinking feeling, he remembered the last time he had seen her. She had disappeared in exactly the same way.

Gary, who had never left his side, leaned toward Chad’s ear and asked in a whisper, “So where’s the chick who inspired your music?”

Chad’s eyes were still scanning the crowd, but he wasn’t hopeful. “I don’t know.”

“Are you sure she’s even real?” Gary attempted to tease.

Chad didn’t catch his friend’s cheerful tone. It felt like his heart was plummeting downwards into his stomach. In a bewildered voice, his muttered half to Gary and half to himself, “I don’t know.”

Music Makers

*no, I didn't give up on the other story, i just wanted to share this short story wit ya. Enjoy and leave comments, no matter how critical!! Gracias, amigos!!*

Chad ran down the hallway, tears streaming down his face. The old school walls peered down at him degradingly, dismissing his childish sorrow as petty, eight-year-old nonsense. The principal’s office was the last door on the right, but Chad ran to a wall near a wooden door and leaned against it, crying. His tiny fingers felt along the splintering wood door, his mind not really focusing on what it was feeling.

Suddenly, his flow of tears subsided into a mere trickle, and he lifted his head and listened. What was that? He pressed his ear against the door. A slow tune wound its way through the door to his ears, diluted and muffled. Sniffing and wiping the tears from his eyes, Chad cautiously opened the door and stepped inside.

The room he was now in was plain, and had four ordinary white-washed walls. However, these walls were covered with lots of papers and posters, depicting how to properly hold instruments, and what certain musical symbols meant. In the small room, rows of trombones, tubas, flutes, clarinets, and drums could be seen leaning against racks or perched upon shelves on the walls. What grabbed Chad’s attention the most was the large, grand piano in the middle of the cramped room directly in front of a small window near the ground.

A teenage girl sat on the piano bench, her fingers dancing over the white and black keys, stroking them, urging them to sing. Her plain hair was tied back out of her face, revealing relatively ordinary features beneath two distracted eyes. As soon as she heard the door open, the distant look on her face evaporated and her hands froze, the music dying in the air. She stared at him for a moment, not sure what to say.

Chad wiped his hand over his nose, sniffing, and fearlessly approached her. “You’re not dressed for school,” he told her.

Her eyebrows lifted, but she smiled. “I don’t go to school here. I’m just passing through.”

Chad was now right beside her, peeking over the piano bench up at her. His bright, brown eyes shifted to the pale sheets of music resting against the piano. “That’s pretty music,” he commented.

The girl followed his gaze to the papers. “Oh, I wasn’t playing from those.” As if to prove it, she shuffled the papers together and flipped them over so only their white backsides were showing. “I’m not very good at reading music.”

Chad clambered onto the bench beside the girl, as she scooted over to allow him to sit on her right. “Music can be read?” he asked in a disbelieving tone.

“Mhm,” the girl replied. She reached into her hoodie pocket and pulled out a wad of paper. She unfurled it and straightened it to the best of her ability, then held it in front of the little boy. “See these marks?” she asked, gesturing. “Each one is like a word of a story.”

Chad’s eyes widened. “Can you read them?”

The girl nodded. “These I can read. I wrote them.”

The boy traced one little finger down the wrinkles in the page, his mouth slowly opening at how many confusing lines and dots he counted. Curious, he asked, “What do they say?”

The girl smiled again, and rubbed the wrinkles smooth. Then she placed them upon the piano and positioned her fingers lightly upon the keys. A gentle sound emitted from the piano, and slowly a song began to grow inside the tiny music room. It started softly first, with a simple melody drifting its way through the air carelessly. Then, a series of deep, echoing notes combined with the light ones , like a skilled tango – each part weaving its way around the other, and yet each complimenting its opposite and adding to its sweetness. The tune rose high, and then dropped low, and then twisted and turned. It was sad, and then happy, and then soft and still before growing to an almost deafening volume.

As the girl played, her eyes regained their far-away look, like she was remembering something that had happened a long time ago. Slowly, the notes grew spread apart, and then they wound down to a gentle stop. Chad stared at the girl with confusion. She grabbed her music and stuffed it back into her pocket before facing her new friend again.

“The music said you were happy. And then you were sad. And then you were happy again.” The little boy tilted his head, almost like a bird – innocent and curious. “Why were you sad?”

The girl’s mind struggled to find a simple answer to his simple question. “I used to be sad because my daddy left me. That was a long time ago. I don’t remember much about it anymore. I’m happy now because I have a daddy and a mommy who love me very much.” The teenager studied the little boy’s tear-stained cheeks.

“Why were you crying?” she asked, in the same manner the child had asked her.

His forehead grew creased and his lips twisted into a frown. It was almost funny how serious he looked, but the girl didn’t laugh. “Because Tommy Blankley called my daddy a hobo.”

The girl raised her eyebrows. “Did he now?”

The boy nodded seriously, so seriously in fact that he almost fell off the piano bench. “Yes. But my daddy’s not a hobo. He’s a street musician,” Chad said in a proud tone. “And so I hit Tommy. And then Mrs. Summers told me to go to the principal’s office. She didn’t believe me that Tommy called daddy a name.”

The girl’s wise eyes examined the little boy’s, and she asked slowly, “Do you know what makes me feel better sometimes when I’m sad?”

“What?”

“Playing the piano. Making Music.”

Chad crossed his arms. “I can’t make music. I can’t read music.”

“You don’t need to be able to read music to play it,” the girl informed him. She glanced around the room for a moment, thinking. “Sit really still,” she said suddenly. “Listen.”
Chad uncrossed his arms and stuck out his neck, as if that would help his straining ears to hear. He didn’t hear anything at first, and was about to tell the girl so, when suddenly he heard the birds chirping outside. He struggled to turn around backwards on the bench to peek out the open window. There, he saw wind chimes, and as soon as he laid eyes on them, a lost gust of wind found its way to their metal pipes.

The girl watched him carefully, her small smile creeping back onto her lips. “What do you hear?” she whispered. He looked up at her, and then at the piano. One small finger reached out to the D key. He was afraid she would be mad, or tell him he was too little to touch the piano, but she smiled encouragingly and he cautiously pressed a note two keys to the right of the one he was pressing now.

“What else?” the girl asked, urging him on. Slowly, he began pressing more keys, and a halting, stuttering tune began to begin in that small, dusty, band room. “Good, good,” the girl murmured. “Keep playing that,” she said, and she reached out with experienced hands to the keys in front of her.

Deep, solemn notes began mixing with his high, cheery ones. The mixture was rich, and knowing that he helped create it gave Chad a content feeling, like letting the sun dry you after you swim, or biting into a chocolate bar. The simple melody he created was contrasted by her harmony, and the song began to swirl around in the air around them.

“Don’t worry about hitting a wrong note,” the girl said, after one of his fingers slipped. “Just keep playing. Stop thinking. Let your fingers play without your eyes. Let your heart play without your mind.” And soon, Chad stopped wondering how the tune would sound when he pressed certain keys; he found he already knew. His fingers wandered over the slick, smooth keys with purpose, and he liked the sound they made.

The minutes soared by, but eventually their heart-felt song shrank and slowly stopped. The girl and the boy stared at each other. Breaking the silence, the girl told Chad, “You got it in you, kid.”
“What?” Chad asked, alarmed that something was inside him.

She laughed. “Music.”

Chad stared at his hands, as if looking for some sign that she had seen. “My mommy says I’m too little to make music. My daddy teaches me in secret, though.”

“My dad used to teach me, too. Hey, will you promise me something?”

“What?” he asked, curious.

“Will you promise me that no matter what anyone tells you, you’ll still make music?” she requested, her kind eyes staring into his young face. He nodded solemnly. She smiled. “Good. I think you’ll be pretty good some day.”

“As good as you?” he asked in a hopeful tone.

She leaned closer to him and whispered as if confiding a secret to him. “Better than me.” He gasped. She laughed. The sound was nice to his little ears. “I think you should go to the principal’s office before you get into more trouble.”

Chad sighed and slid off the old piano bench. He walked over to the door slowly, criss-crossing his feet in a child-like waddle. “Hey, kid,” the teenager called after him. “What’s your name?”

He turned around and stated proudly, “Chad William Bent. What’s yours?”

“Denise Beasley,” she lied. “It was nice to meet you.”

“Will you come play here again soon?” he asked, hopefully.

Regret twisted the girl’s stomach. “Maybe,” she lied again. He smiled at her, revealing a hole where a tooth had recently fallen out. With a skip, he was out the door. The girl’s eyes focused on the door he had disappeared behind. “William Bent,” she whispered. Her father’s name. She stood up and walked over to the low, open window, brushing past the wind chimes and sliding into the bushes outside.

A few minutes later, Chad pulled his teacher by the hand into the old, abandoned music room. It was silent and empty now, save for the dusty instruments that had witnessed everything in the room only moments before.

“She was in here, I promise,” Chad insisted, running to the bench and peering under it as if to find his friend hiding underneath.

“Chad, there’s no one here. Now if you don’t come with me right now, you’ll be in even more trouble,” his teacher chided him. Chad wasn’t listening. At least, not to her. His eyes and ears were trained on the metal wind chimes swaying softly by the open window. They were creating a quiet, light tune, but there was no wind…

Ch. 4 - The Flight

Hoof beats erupted in the night, distant and far-off, but they were enough to alarm Jessica. The two young fighters had been trudging through the woods for a good half hour, pulling Benji the prince behind them. The fact that he was blindfolded and tied didn’t make the going any faster. Jessica, leading since Andrew was dragging their hostage, glanced back at her friend.

“We have to hurry!” she hissed, as the hoof beats drew slowly but steadily closer. “We’re just outside the city limits!”

Benji, who was close enough to hear her strained voice, suggested, “You should untie me. I would be a lot faster.”

Andrew rolled his eyes and increased his pace. “Yeah, and while we’re at it, we’ll throw in a basket laden with food for you to take with you while you escape.” He snorted. “I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

“At least take off my blindfold,” Benji tried again. He stumbled over a tree root. Andrew yanked upon the rope, jerking his captive up and on his feet again.

“So that you can lead the guards back to our hide out? Think again,” he retorted in a low tone, fearing detection even though the riders were still too far away to hear them. “Stop talking,” he ordered.

The hoof beats echoed off the tall trees surrounding the trio, growing ever closer. “If they catch us, we’re dead,” Jessica stated, glancing around in despair for some place to hide. The horses were coming from all directions, sweeping the forest like a net attempting to scoop up an elusive fish. “We can’t outrun them,” she said, despairingly turning to Andrew. They stopped their brisk pace, staring at each other hopelessly.

“Take off his blindfold and use it to gag him,” Jessica commanded, suddenly struck with an idea. Andrew met her eyes, his confused expression examining her persuasive one. Wordlessly, he did so. Jessica’s knife rested lightly on Benji’s back, and she pushed him toward a cluster of tall, sturdy trees with low branches. Andrew’s eyebrows shot up in understanding, and he grabbed a branch that had fallen from a tree covered in bristles and began following them, brushing the branch over the earth. Leaning toward the prince’s ear, Jessica whispered, “Climb.”

Five minutes later, the guard’s horses came thundering through. Their black manes billowed into their masters’ faces almost comically. The leading horse and his rider pulled up short, turned around, and trotted in a broad circle. The large stallion snorted and thrust back its head and all the other horses followed its example. The soldiers peered into the dense forest, their horses shifting beneath them. Silence fell over the party, interrupted only by the labored sound of winded horses struggling to get enough breath into their lungs.

Benji twitched next to Andrew. They were twenty feet above the men, concealed in the branches of the thick, old trees. Jessica’s left hand held the knife, which was still pressing into his back relentlessly. Jessica and Andrew were so close to Benji, they could smell his citrusy, imported cologne. Jessica wrinkled her nose, resisting the urge to cough and gag.

“The tracks stop here,” shouted a guard. Jessica’s quick eyes counted five men, but there were bound to be more that she couldn’t see flanking this regiment. Hopefully they wouldn’t find them since Andrew had erased their tracks with the branch. Hopefully.

“We can’t allow them to escape. If we don’t have him before sunrise…” the leader started to say before trailing off in an uncertain tone. “We continue this way. Hurry!” he shouted. In a few moments, the rumbling of horses began again and soon they were out of eyesight.

Jessica and Andrew didn’t dare breathe out until the hoof beats had faded into the distance. Andrew motioned for Jessica to jump down, which she did. Landing lightly on her feet, she turned and looked up at the boys in the tree. Benji jumped down next and Jessica was waiting with a drawn dagger at the bottom. Quickly, Andrew joined them, and in a few moments, Benji was re-blindfolded and re-tied. They once again set out at a brisk pace for the resistance’s meeting place. This time, Andrew was in front, then Benji, and then Jessica, trailing behind.

After a few moments of movement, Benji asked in a casual tone, “So how long have you two been assassinating royalty?” Neither of them replied, but Andrew yanked the lead rope suddenly, causing Benji to stumble forward. “In my opinion, you two aren’t very good,” Benji said once he was back on his feet.

“Do you want to live or not?” spat Jessica, resisting the urge to kick him behind his kneecap.

“I’m just curious if you’re bred to be murderers, or if it’s an acquired trait.”

“It’s a talent, really,” Andrew corrected in a matter-of-fact tone. Jessica began to feel uneasy about where this conversation might lead.

“How old are you two anyway?” Benji persisted in pestering them. “You don’t look old enough to kill people.”

Andrew’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t look old enough to lead a kingdom,” he countered.

“Eighteen summers is old enough,” he replied. “But don’t let age be the only trait you judge me for.”

Jessica frowned. “If you’re as kind and good as you claim to be, why do these terrible laws keep appearing? Why to people starve, and cry, and mourn? If you’re such a good leader, why is this kingdom slowly dying?” The trees were thinning; they were almost to the city, Tosh. It was still night, and the path ahead was blanketed in dark shadows.

“He was the king. I’m the prince. There’s a bit of influence diversity there. Chain of command, you know. Not to mention my father’s foolish advisor. What could I do? I’m powerless until I become king, and since you two have now abducted me and are taking me who-knows-where, that’s unlikely to happen.”

Jessica suddenly thought of something. Voicing her thoughts out loud, she asked, “If what you say is true, why do you fight for a people you never knew? None of the nobles have ever cared about their subjects; no one notices the slave that labors for his luxuries. You can’t be that selfless.”

“Is it really that hard to believe that a person could care for other people besides himself?” Benji questioned in a quiet tone.

Jessica’s head hurt. “Stop talking,” she weakly commanded. The trees suddenly opened up and the tall, stone walls of a city stared across at them. Jessica let out a breath and tried not to feel too relieved until they were inside. Quickly and as quietly as possible, they slipped through the gates.

“We can’t be seen,” Andrew informed them. Jessica nodded. She took up a position in front of Andrew, in order to scout ahead and make sure the way was clear and there were no curious eyes about.

As they were traveling along the first street, Jessica noticed a man slouching against a doorway. His back was toward them, and his head was angled down so she couldn’t see his face. She quickly raised her hand, and Andrew ducked around a corner with Benji still in tow.

“Maybe it’s best that we split up. Less conspicuous. Take him to the safe house; I’ll meet you there,” Jessica whispered. Andrew nodded. Jessica resumed walking around the corner, eyeing the man. She paced quietly toward him, wondering what to ask him to make sure he hadn’t seen them lugging their captive around. However, as she approached, she realized something was wrong. He hadn’t moved the whole time since she had set eyes on him. With an uneasy feeling growing in her stomach, she drew a dagger out from her belt and hurried toward him. As she approached him from the back, she noticed a thick, dark liquid trailing down the doorpost and into the street.

Slowing, she remained only a few feet away from the man. Sucking in a breath, she tapped his shoulder. He didn’t move. With hesitant feet, Jessica circled around him to face him from the front. She gasped and the blood froze within her veins. A crudely-fashioned sword stuck out of his chest, pinning him to the doorway. Panic rose inside her, which she struggled to control. He was dead! Murdered! She stepped backwards, slowly, her legs refusing to move like she needed them to.

With a growing fear, Jessica began to run to the safe house. As she ran, she cast anxious glances down the streets and alleys she passed. Bodies, still and unmoving, lay crumpled at their entrances. Not a soul stirred in the whole city. She was trapped in a waking nightmare. Who would be left to greet her at the tavern? Was there anyone left? Had anyone escaped this madness? What had happened here? Her breathing became ragged and unbalanced. “Pull it together, Jessica,” her mind told her.

As she darted through an alley, the tavern came into view. Its plain appearance seemed shaken, disturbed, and somehow unnatural. Jessica burst through the alley and ran up the uneven steps to the porch. Andrew emerged from a street on the right, dragging Benji behind him.

“Jessica-” Andrew started.

“I know!” she replied, breathless. Her fear made her shudder as she grasped the handle of the old door and threw it open. The feelings that swelled up inside her at that moment were too complex to understand. It was like sleepwalking around the street and waking up to find you had wandered into a butcher’s shop.

Ch. 3 - The Escape

Jessica clenched the knife and raised it above the prince’s head. Steadying herself, she took a deep breath and then brought it down with all her might. Halfway through her movement, she could tell something was wrong. Her suspicion was confirmed when her weapon sliced through nothing but air. The prince had rolled over at the last minute, and was now jumping up off the floor. She jerked her knife out of the mattress and spun around. Her eyes detected a flash of light glinting in his hand, and she ducked to avoid a swipe from his knife. The glowing fireplace emitted a ghostly light that illuminated his face. He had a straight nose that rested above his thin lips. Two high cheekbones guarded either side of his square face, and his fair, blonde hair fell over his forehead in the worst case of bed head hair she had ever seen. But his eyes were challenging, vivid, alive, and their startling blue hue stared portrayed a sense of calm.

Jessica frowned. This wasn’t supposed to happen. She tossed her knife up in the air, caught it by its tip, and threw it at the center of his chest. With almost uncanny speed, he twisted away and let the blade pierce a porcelain jar behind him which shattered instantly. He raised one of his blonde eyebrows.

“You just wasted your only weapon. For an assassin, you’re not that bright,” he commented, in a voice deeper than she would have expected. Irritated, she slipped another knife out from inside her boot with one hand and a dagger from her belt with the other.

“And you haven’t called your guard yet. You’re not that bright, either,” she thought. “I have enough weapons to finish my job,” she retorted out loud. He took a step backward, and she launched another knife his way. He ducked under this one, once again more quickly than she would have imagined possible. Changing her target, she shot her other dagger at his feet. He nimbly leapt over it like a deer. She stared at him for a moment, confused and frustrated, before quickly lunging for the poker by the fireplace. She swung it around and caught the blade he had in the process of thrusting at her. Taking two steps forward, she struck at his sides. He blocked each of her blows, all the while keeping a calm countenance. Their fight caused them to dance around the room, parrying and blocking and spinning and ducking all the while. Now quite angry, she lashed out at his head with the poker. He quickly stepped to the side. She stumbled forward and he grabbed both her wrists from behind so tightly she released her weapon with a small cry. He twisted her right arm and pinned it against her back, roughly shoving her forward until she was pressed against the wall.

They were both breathing heavily now, and sweat had formed along Jessica’s brow. Gasping, she tried to move, but his hands held her wrists firmly. Her face was pressed against the cold, stone wall, and she suddenly felt a chill run down her spine.

“Who are you?” he hissed in her ear. She shivered but said nothing, only uselessly trying to wrench her arms away. “Answer me!” he commanded, pushing her harder into the wall. She refused to answer. He sighed softly. “I haven’t called my guards yet; I know they’ll be harsher than I. I had hoped you would explain yourself without their influence.”

He paused, as if waiting for her to reply. The room seemed to hold its breath. Everything was still except for their echoing breaths. “So be it,” he said, exasperated. “Guard!” he called out, his deep voice ringing out in the quiet room.

Jessica regained her breath, and she closed her eyes. She counted the seconds. After five had passed by, she permitted a small smile to creep across her lips. “He won’t come,” said the girl.
His grip on her wrists tightened. “What do you mean?”

She could hear the suspicion in his voice. With enough confidence as she could muster, she replied coolly, “He’s dead.”

At that moment, the door burst open. The prince’s grip loosened, and Jessica took the opportunity to kick her leg out backward. Her foot connected with flesh, and she quickly whipped around to see the prince doubled over, with Andrew in the doorway. Andrew sprung forward, dagger in hand, and positioned himself behind the prince.

“Wait,” Jessica said quickly, raising a shaking hand. “We still need him. We can get out through the main gate with him as a hostage. Tunnels are too cramped for three people.” Andrew froze, and then gradually realized she was right. The prince’s eyes rose hopefully to meet hers. “We can kill him once we’re outside the gate,” she said in a level voice, relishing revenge.

“Wait until my father finds out about this, you scheming little—” the rest of his highness’ words were cut off as Jessica gagged him.

“Your father,” Jessica began, smirking in front of him as she bound his hands with some cloth she had torn from her sleeve, “Is dead.” The youth’s bright, blue eyes widened. Andrew reached his arm around the prince and placed his dagger firmly on the hostage’s neck. In a few moments, all three of them were preceding down the hall, the prince in between the two assassins, both of which had weapons pressing into his skin. He struggled and thrashed, of course, but they dragged him along anyway.

They hadn’t run into anyone and were beginning to feel hopeful until they got to the first level and were starting across the grounds. A few tall, muscular men in armor spotted them and rushed forward.

“Stop!” Andrew called out when he saw them. By now the sun had long since set, and the moon only gave out enough light in the darkness to reveal faint outlines and shadows. “We have the prince, and we’ll kill ‘im!” The shapes continued running toward them. “Stop moving or I’ll slit his throat!” Andrew shouted. At last, the shadows slowed.

Jessica, Andrew, and the prince continued across the moonlit grass, their eyes flickering between the gate ahead that led to freedom, and the slinking, sliding guards. Jessica pressed the knife upward under the prince’s chin. He sucked in a sharp breath, and the guards finally stopped. How strange it must have been to see their prince, in his white nightshirt and cotton trousers, being held at knife point by two people almost his age.

“Let us pass. Open the gates,” commanded Jessica. A well-built, sturdy man took a step toward the gates, but then hesitated. They were so close… “Now!” hollered Jessica. Reluctantly, he continued to the huge wooden wheel in front of the stone wall next to the huge, portcullis gate. As the heavy gate slowly rose with a grating sound, Jessica shifted from foot to foot uneasily. They were so close…so close to victory. It was almost too easy.

The prince knew he was almost out of protection, and he thrashed violently in their constricting grips. It was hopeless, for the youths were trained, and they didn’t budge or loosen their hold at all. At last, the gate was fully opened. The trio walked quickly towards it, suspiciously glancing around them always, dragging their stubborn captive with them. “Walk backwards,” Andrew commanded. They faced the guards, making sure none of them moved, and walked under the grey, stone archway. “Close the gates!” shouted Andrew, still backing up. Jessica’s nerves still hadn’t settled, and she anxiously bit her lip. The gates slowly inched their way down, making the same grating noise as before. They took a few more steps back, and then Andrew gave the command to turn around and run into the surrounding woods. Once the castle was out of view, the two assassins relaxed and paused to regain their breath.

Trees as old as time watched the trio gasping and panting and leaning against the trees. “We’ll be pursued,” Jessica warned. Andrew’s narrowed, brown eyes peered into the dark, foreboding trees behind them. He turned to their captive and ungagged him. Jess shot him a puzzled look.

“Let’s kill him now,” Andrew suggested, his voice now lethally low.

“Let’s not and say we did,” the prince interjected, not at all as frightened or as alarmed as Jessica had hoped he would be.

“Andy…” Jessica started, her brow furrowed in confusion. “If he stays alive, he could help us plan our attacks…he knows the castle best, and he could tell us the guards’ next move.”

“I like that staying alive part,” the prince said, nodding as if they had been looking for his approval.

“No, we have a man on the inside who could tell us just as much, and the prince has caused us enough trouble already,” Andrew told her, gripping his knife tighter.

“What trouble is that? I don’t know you,” the prince stated. “I don’t even know your name. Mine’s Benji, by the way.”

“Shut up,” Andrew growled. “You and your father make the laws that have allowed our city to turn to ruin. You are the reason people are allowed to be sold as slaves. You are the reason people who can’t pay taxes are thrown in jail instead of given an allowance of time in which to pay off. You are the reason children are orphaned at age five because their parents disagreed with your government,” Andy fiercely declared. Benji shook his head.

“That’s not what I am. My father issued those laws, and he would have issued laws worse than that, had I not been there to stop him. I am the reason those slaves weren’t killed. I am the reason civilians are thrown in jail instead of being butchered. I am the reason the orphans live, so that they can prosper and grow, and become citizens just as strong and perseverant as their parents.” Benji’s eyes flashed. “Don’t blame me for the sins of my father. Believe me, this country would be worse off without me.”

“And better off without your father,” Jessica added, glancing at Andrew. He was standing in front of Benji with his knife extended. Rage and passion were etched into his tense face. “Andy…maybe we made a mistake,” she ventured to say. He turned to glare at her.

“What? Jess, it’s starting to sound like you’re on his side! Are you going to go through with this or are you a traitor? Do not betray your country; they’re counting on you. On me. On us.”

“But what if we were wrong?” she questioned, doubts beginning to circulate within her at the prince’s words.

“Human error should be taken into account in every equation,” Benji chimed in.

“Shut up,” Jessica commanded the captive, harshly. Shifting her gaze back to Andrew, she wondered out loud, “What if leaving Benji there was a good idea? I mean, if he does agree with what we stand for…if he’s really on our side…”

“Question is,” Benji interrupted, “Whose side are you on?”

“The people’s,” Jessica said plainly, allowing a bit of irritation to seep into her voice.

“I don’ think we should let him live,” Andrew cautioned.

“I disagree. Let’s take a vote,” Benji countered.

“Shut UP!” Jessica and Andy shouted, together. “By the stars…” mumbled Jessica.

“Are you drunk?” Andrew questioned the prince.

“No, no, I never drink. I like to keep my wits about me. You should try it some time,” Benji evenly replied. Andrew whipped out his dagger, letting out a shout of rage and reaching for the prince’s neck. Benji shrank back a bit, but the emotion portrayed in his dark blue eyes was one Jessica couldn’t quite place or name.

“Wait! Maybe we should take him back to the Great Dane!” Jessica exclaimed loudly. Andrew froze, breathing quickly. Seizing the opportunity, Jessica added, “There might be a bigger use for the prince than either of us can see right now…I think we should take him back and hand him over to the Dane: He’ll know what to do. Better to be safe and let him be killed there, than sorry later that he’s dead now.”

Andrew gave Benji another hateful look before sighing and stowing his dagger. “Fine. But if he so much as breathes too loudly, I’ll kill him.”

“Ah, I see you despise competition,” Benji commented. A few minutes later, they were all trudging through the woods in the waning moonlight. Benji was blindfolded with his hands tied in front of him and a lead rope connecting him to Andrew. The three carefully and as quickly as possible made their way back towards the city where their leader would be waiting for them. Jessica just hoped he wouldn’t be disappointed. And so the fox and the hound led their palace peacock to the lions’ den.

Ch. 2 - The Castle

The sun had set and the moon was silently creeping upward in the sky when at last Andrew and Jessica reached the tunnel’s entrance. It was a small, oak door that lay flat on the earthen ground, well-concealed under a leafy, thorny bush. It was so well-concealed, in fact, that the two youths searched for the trapdoor for at least five minutes before they realized where it was.

Andrew knelt down upon discovering it and slid one calloused hand under the thorny defenses of the foliage. He wrapped his fingers around the handle of the door and then jerked it upwards. The door opened with a creak of un-oiled hinges, and the bush lifted with it. Jessica peered into the dark hole that resembled a crude mouth in the earth, ready to devour her.

She sucked in a deep breath and then gripped the sides of the opening, slowly lowering herself in. Once the tip of her toe connected with something solid, she reluctantly let go and took a few steps forward. The dark tunnel continued in one direction, but it was so dark she couldn’t tell if it stopped in a few feet, or a few miles. A light thud sounded behind her, and Jessica turned around to see Andrew in the act of closing the door behind them. They were both crouching, for the tunnel was low-ceilinged. A few seconds later, the narrow sides of dirt packed around them were illuminated as Andrew lit a match and lighted a torch that had been dormant and dusty in the side of a wall.

“Cramped,” he remarked, waving the flame around the short, constricting walls covered in mold and mildew. A smell of earth and rot filled their nostrils and caused them to hold their hands over their noses. They couldn’t stand side by side; the walls were so close together it was hard fitting without turning a shoulder to slide by diagonally.

“Let’s get going,” Jessica suggested. They shifted and squeezed, maneuvering around until Andrew was leading since he had the light. As they passed through the narrow walls, slumped over, Jessica asked in a timid voice, “Why are these tunnels even here?”

“I’ve heard many theories suggested by the band,” Andrew told her, sweeping the torch back and forth to light up the ground in front of his confident feet. “Barren said traders used it to sell wine to the guards and cooks without the king knowing. Melody said children built it to play in when it was raining and they were tired of the inside. Steven claims it was a military escape in case the castle was under siege, so some people could sneak out to the woods or further to get help, or food. Brooke is persuaded that a lonely princess had is secretly constructed ages ago, in order to provide her a secretive route in which to meet with her lover in the woods.” Andrew shrugged one shoulder. “But you know how she is.”

Jessica stared at the earthen walls laden with roots and covered in green foliage. They were supported with wooden columns that seemed half-rotten in some places. The floor, which was some kind of stone that might have been smooth in its day, was cracked and broken. “Well, whoever built it, they haven’t been down here in some number of years,” she remarked. The gloom in this place settled over her and bound her in its silent spell. Not even a faint dripping could be heard, or the wind whistling through loose stones. All was still and quiet.

They didn’t speak for the rest of the way, until at last they arrived at another door in the roof. Both of the youths shed their cloaks, revealing the garments of simple castle servants. Andrew slowly reached up and knocked twice on the old wood. Jessica was afraid it would splinter and rain down on them; it looked so ancient and fragile. After a few silent seconds, the door creaked open. Andrew was grabbed by two fragile-looking hands that helped him up and out of the dirty, cramped tunnel. Jessica approached the spot where he had been moments ago and reached up. Andrew’s tan hands grabbed her right arm, and the two pale ones her left. Once she was out of the tunnel, she blinked and saw herself looking into two big, blue eyes.

A young woman with pale blonde hair was staring back at her, dressed in the traditional garb of palace cooks. To her right, Andrew was stretching, his limbs glad to be out of the hunched-over position. The three occupants of the kitchen stood appraising one another with wary eyes, and the two newcomers unconsciously noted the dim light of a single candle and the glow it cast upon the cluttered kitchen.

“The fox an’ the ‘ound?” the woman questioned in a light, accented voice. Jessica recognized the code words, but Andrew was quicker to reply than she was.

“The door mouse?” Andrew’s eyes were scrutinizing her. She looked to be a bit older than them, and her build was thin but tough. Jessica wondered how she had heaved Andrew out of the hole, for she seemed so petite and small. Then again, she was a cook, and her arms seemed to bulge out of their long sleeves with muscle. She had a hidden strength, apparently. So this was their inside man… the door mouse; unseen, unheard, but always seeing, always hearing.

As if suddenly remembering something, the slight figure fished around in her apron pocket for an object. She pulled out two keys and hid each one under a plate on top of two trays laden with dishes full of fruit. Her eyes darted around the silent, darkened kitchen as if afraid of someone barging in at any moment. “Go quickly to the East tower,” she urged in her timid voice, ushering them forward. “’Is ‘ighnesses will want their evening snack soon,” she remarked as coolly as she would to two servants.

“Thank you,” Jessica said, saluting her by bringing a closed fist across her chest. The young woman did the same, and then Andrew and Jessica grabbed the trays with the concealed keys and hustled rapidly out of the large, kitchen door.

The passageways into which they hustled were made of large stones, smooth and polished like marble. There was a slight coolness to the air, and a vague scent of stuffy, musty smoke wafted to them from various rooms where their occupants were doubtlessly smoking pipes. Luckily, as they drew closer to the East tower, they ran into no one, and any guards that they chanced to cross were hopelessly drunk. It was beginning to seem as if no one would notice them at all as they wound up the final staircase toward the sleeping chambers of the king and his son.

Then Jessica rounded a corner and her breath caught in her throat. Two guards paced across the entrance to the narrow hall lined with doors that she needed to enter. Andrew glanced at her and then motioned for her to proceed forward. Her breath still frozen inside her, she stiffly approached the men. The guards stopped and stood erect upon seeing the two servants approaching.

“Halt. What businesses have you here?” questioned one of them. He had a big, red beard that obscured his mouth. Andrew didn’t move.

Jessica swallowed hard and replied evenly in the accent of most of the maids and servants, “The evenin’ snack for the king an’ ‘is son.” She smiled slightly, trying to appear as innocent and naive as she possibly could.

“I don’t recall him ordering anything,” the other guard, with thick, brown hair remarked. Panic welled up inside Jessica as she struggled to keep a calm countenance. “Now is when it matters,” she thought to herself.

Jessica leaned in toward the one with brown hair and whispered with a grin, “It’s unofficial. Cook’s request. She noticed ‘is majesties lookin’ sullen and stressed as of late, and thought some food might do ‘em some good.” The brown-haired guarded looked to the red-bearded one, who shrugged. The small girl seemed sincere enough, with her enchanting smile and her pleading eyes.

“You’re right – they’ve both seen happier days. Tread carefully,” advised the brown-haired guard.

“Thank you, sir,” Jessica said softly, dipping into a small curtsey and waiting until Andrew had bowed his head respectfully before walking past them and into the hallway ahead. Once they had turned a corner, she released a shaky breath and closed her eyes.

“You did fine,” Andrew reassured her. They continued down the hall until they got to the two doors opposite each other with jewels in their hinges and adorning the stone wall around them. There was a guard stationed between the two, but he had long since fallen asleep with his back against the wall, an empty mug nearby. Jessica and Andrew moved the plates from their position on the trays and grabbed the keys. They turned their backs to each other, each stuck his own key into its appropriate lock, and on the whispered count of three, they turned their handles and stepped inside their rooms.

Jessica hastily closed the door behind her and placed the tray of food on a side table. There were many elements to be noted in the magnificent room, such as the extravagant silk curtains, the mahogany side tables and bookcases, the elaborate portraits of past rulers staring down at her with cruel, condemning eyes, the fireplace’s ruddy glow, and the large stained-glass window in the eastern wall where light could stream in and illuminate the room with the rising sun.

All this was irrelevant compared to the large, canopy bed in the center of the room and the figure gently pulsating with breath sleeping inside it. The prince was covered except for his head in thick, puffy fabric that rose and fell slightly with each breath he took. Silently, she slipped over to the head of the bed and pulled out one of her knives. His body wasn’t as long as his bed and she pondered if the rumors were true that the prince was, indeed, a young one – perhaps even her own age.

Jessica sighed softly to herself. Well…it was now or never. Time to take the leap of faith. Or, rather, the stab…