Casimir's Journey (4 page)

One week later, Casimir found himself looking through the window of his room. Until today, he hadn’t felt up to more than sleeping. The one time he’d looked at the window before, he was more interested in escaping through it than looking out it.

It didn’t look to be anything grand, this little cottage. It was small and rather crude looking from what he could see. He wondered why she needed a maidservant for such a small dwelling. It was another mystery—he shook his head. He had enough on his plate in regards to mysteries and solving of problems. There was no need to add Catrin to the list.

He would need to work hard to disguise himself. This meant he would need to cut his hair and do it poorly. Running a hand through his hair, he sighed. His hair was full and well-shaped. Cutting it would mean he had months before it got to a proper state again.

Casimir chided himself. Fussing over hair like a woman! More important matters were at hand, like how to proceed in order to get free of whatever Catrin had planned for him.

The little maid came in, pushing the door with her backside and causing it to hit the wall behind it with a boom. Casimir jumped up and hurried to her, arms out to take the tray she carried.

“May I have shears, or something to cut with as well as the clothes I asked for? I don’t think going about in my night dress would be appropriate,” he said with a smile.

She returned the smile hesitantly, and giving over the tray, hurried from the room again.

She seemed almost afraid. He could feel his mind beginning to ponder her and stopped. No more mysteries than he already had. Looking around the room, he found a small mirror so he could see himself as he applied the herbs.

He found the black walnut paste easily. Too dark, though. Weld would add the touch of yellow and ease the black tinge. He added water to the paste first, hoping to dilute it. He pulled up the sleeve of the nightdress and dabbed some of the watered down mixture on his arm. Rubbing it in, he saw the color was lightened, but still too dark. He needed some madder to add a bit of red as well.

Adding first the madder and then the weld, he slowly brought out a color that seemed realistic. He rubbed it on the upper part of his arm and waited to see what it would look like dry. After a time, he used water to try to remove the color, but it didn’t come off. That was good. He wouldn’t be bathing much, if at all, but he couldn’t have his skin tone washing away should he get wet.

Slowly, slowly, he began to color his face. He took the time to cover his ears and his neck using the glass to see them as best he could, rubbing the color in deeply. His neck would be more visible once he cut his hair.

While his face dried, he worked on his hands. He made them a bit darker, as there would be more wear on the dye on his hands. They got wet more often and were rubbed more often. He’d need to take the dye with him. He made a note to ask the girl for a small container for any mixed dye he had left over.

Taking the raw supplies would be a good idea as well. That way he could mix more should he find that he needed to touch up his disguise. Another thing to ask the girl for.

As if called, she came back in and handed him a pair of scissors. “That will have to do,” he said. They were a little dainty for hair. “Thank you. May I also ask for a container to carry my mixed herbs in, as well as pouches for the various ingredients?”

She was gone in an instant, and he felt bad for running her back and forth. His father had always taught that there was no reason to be anything but kind to those who served you. They often worked far harder than anyone realized. Casimir excused himself with the fact that he had not provisioned himself in this fashion before, and that the first time was bound to be a bit more labor intensive.

“Hope to never have to do so again!” He said jokingly to himself. He was sure madness approached, as talking to oneself was a sign of such.

Taking a deep breath, he held the glass up and put the scissors to his hair. It was foolish to be so silly about hair, but he could not seem to help himself. Missish or no.

The first snip brought a large hank to the floor. He stared at himself in the mirror. Quickly, he cut through the rest of his hair. Once he’d made it all the way around his head the mirror came up for inspection again.

In spite of all fears, it was not bad. Not at all. He didn’t say that out of vanity. It looked less raggedy than he’d suspected. Using the glass, he snipped and trimmed around the edges of his hair.

He couldn’t disguise his looks. His face was what it was. He could make himself look a bit plainer, a bit more careworn. That would allow people to overlook his resemblance to the Crown Prince.

The shortened hair showed him where he needed to apply more dye, and he worked carefully to cover up the pale skin. It looked even paler in comparison to the darkened hue of the walnut paste. It threw him off a bit to see this man looking back at him in the glass.

His musing was interrupted by the return of the girl. What he hadn’t expected was Catrin to come in behind her.

“Your clothes.” She dropped a bundle onto the bed. She gave the girl a jerk of her chin, and the girl scurried out again.

“Your serving girl seems most cowed.” He kept his voice neutral.

“She understands how I wish to run my home,” Catrin replied. He glanced at her. She didn’t seemed offended at his comment in any way.

“It’s clear she understands,” he muttered. Catrin said nothing, only smiled.

“What else will you need to begin your journey, Casimir?”

“You’re being surprisingly helpful. I thought you didn’t approve.” He squinted at her. Something had to be amiss.

“I don’t. I have, however, realized that your stubborn insistence has the possibility to provide me with a great deal of entertainment. You are certain that you are smarter than I, that you will outwit me and get what you want on your terms. Initially, the thought angered me, I must admit. It amuses me that you don’t see the irony. You are angry with me because you feel I stopped you from honoring your agreement with Aland, but you have no compunction in planning to break your agreement with me. I shall enjoy watching you fail.”

His mind raced. Did she know of his plan to turn himself in to his father? She could not! He’d not breathed a word for fear of discovery.

“You doubt my word? Fie on you, madam.” He was pleased that he kept his voice calm with a hint of derision.

She laughed. “I saved you because I thought you were like your father. Fair and kind. I see now you are more like those you fostered with. I shall enjoy this immensely.” She patted his clothing pile and left the room. Casimir heard her chuckling even after she’d left.

There was something very wrong with Catrin. He felt he should have a better idea of what that was, but he could make no sense of her, her actions, her words, nothing.

Yet he agreed to go along with her. Well, to a point. He got the clothes and put them on. The sooner he left, the sooner he could be heading towards his father’s palace.

He gathered up the bag with his supplies for his disguise. It was not perfect, but he felt that combined with looking like a common laborer, no one was going to look twice at him for his resemblance to Prince Casimir. With a last look around the room, making sure nothing was forgotten, he walked out.

He found himself in a small hallway. Following it to the other end led to a kitchen. The girl was on a stool leaning over the stove, and Catrin at a table by a window.

“Come back when you’ve gotten what I asked for,” Catrin said without looking up from her task.

“I will. You will honor our agreement?”

Her head flew up and bright eyes bored into his. “I do not renege on my word.”

“Neither then shall I. Is the horse outside?”

She nodded, and he left the kitchen. The horse was as promised, tied to a small post outside the door. He checked him over. There seemed to be everything he needed. There was even a good sized satchel where he could stow the bag he now carried. Reaching in, he pulled out a bundle of cloth. It was a long, heavy cloak. That surprised him. She didn’t seem overly generous. He stuffed the bundle back in the satchel, covering the bag with his mix and herbs. He didn’t want to lose that. Who knew how long the disguise would last?

With mixed feelings, he mounted the horse, and began the journey away from the house. He looked back, and saw that it looked as rude and small as it had when he looked out of the window in his chamber. A plume of smoke rose, completing the little hut picture. He blinked. It looked even smaller, if possible. Shaking his head, he gave the horse a nudge and headed for the main road.

Once reaching the main track, he realized he didn’t know where he was.

“That’s clever, Casimir,” he muttered. Fine way to start off on his quest. Not knowing where he was. It boded so well for the future.

He stopped himself. It was so very easy to fall into failure, all the reasons why he could not succeed. That did him no good. It did not keep his eyes on the goal. And the goal was to return to his life and to Thea.

Thinking about Thea, his heart ached. She thought he was dead. Worse, she had watched him die, or so she thought. He wasn’t sure he would be able to recover from such a sight. Would she be angry that he was not dead and had not told her? Would it be better to just go to her, and tell her some madwoman had somehow saved him?

After several hours, his incessant thoughts were broken by the sight of a village in the distance. Even though he didn’t know where he was, finding somewhere that had a tavern was a good thing. He could venture in and discover his location. If he was still in Gallivas, even though it was not his land, he knew it well. If this was Ethion, he knew it even better. It would be a good test of his disguise, even as he planned to shed the disguise in short order.

He pulled up the horse. Marching into a small village tavern asking where he was would not go over well. He needed a reason to be lost and unaware. What story could he tell without creating a mountain of questions? The horse, feeling his unease, shifted about, muttering a bit. Casimir yanked the reins sharply to settle him, but the horse didn’t find the stern hand calming, and he bucked in response.

That was it. He would tell anyone who asked that he had been thrown from his horse. The horse was jumpy and unseasoned. A spill from the saddle would impugn him as a rider, but he didn’t care. He would end up with the information he needed without garnering too many queries into who he was.

Who was he? He couldn’t go out proclaiming his name. He didn’t need that sort of scrutiny. Yates. Fairly nondescript and forgettable. He’d claim to have forgotten where he was.

He found himself in the dusty area in front of the few huts and buildings that made up the village. A tavern, of course. A black smith, a small chapel a bit away from the tavern. A few more buildings, probably a carpenter, and a mill. Further away, he could see the daub and wattle homes of the villagers. There was no castle or manor house visible, but he knew there would be one close by.

He yanked on the reins again, and the horse actually stopped. He wondered if Catrin had given him a difficult horse in the hopes that he would fall and crack his head and the whole thing would be at an end. It didn’t seem out of character for her.

Dismounting, he made his way into the tavern. There were a few local people within, and he sat at a table. An older woman came to him.

“What can I do for you?”

“A tankard of ale and some information.”

She made a noise that could be anything as she went back to fetch the ale. Casimir couldn’t tell if that meant he’d get any information. He sighed. Something needed to go right for him. Even one small thing.

The woman plunked the ale in front of him, sloshing a bit from the top. “What do you want to know?”

“Thank you, good madam. The road is dusty. I’m hoping you can tell me where I am.”

Her mouth fell open. “What do you mean?”

“I took a fall from my horse. I cannot remember where I am. I know I am to go to Ethion, as I have to help my mother’s ailing sister, but I don’t know exactly where I am. My head feels most tender.” He rubbed the side of his head in illustration.

“I see no injury.” Her gaze turned suspicious.

“I thought the same. I got back onto the horse and then realized that, in spite of there being no blood, I had suffered some injury. So I rode on hoping to recognize a landmark. I have not, so I have to ask for help.”

He looked at her as he pulled the ale to him and took a gulp. She squinted at him, debating the truth in his story. “You’re in Temes, on the land of Lord Alston. We are close to the border of Ethion, so you’re probably on the right road.” She glared at him once more, and then turned away.

First test passed. He took another drink, looking around. As Casimir, he didn’t have much call to be in the small villages that dotted the estates of the various lords. This looked to be prosperous. The walls were stone, and the tavern keeper actually had a counter from which to serve that had long wooden planks atop it, all of which were polished and neat looking.

Disgruntled keeper aside, the tavern was well kept and the ale not bitter. He made a note to congratulate the absent Lord Alston on the overall health of his tenants. As the lord of the land, even if they were not, their prosperity reflected well on him.