The sun shifted far higher in the sky before a mule pulling an old wagon creaked into view from the double doors of the barn. A newer wagon sat outside under what looked like a red apple tree. Behind the wagon trotted a brown and white goat tied to the rear corner by a rope, not seeming to appreciate the tugging rope at all. Tom sat in the wagon seat waving goodbye to the farmer as he slapped the reins to get the attention of the mule. It looked tired even though the day had barely begun. The dogs barked and ran beside the wagon until the farmer called them back several times.
Ears of corn filled the bed of the wagon almost to the top of the sideboards. The wagon didn’t look like it could manage a heavier load without breaking down. The mule looked old, stubborn, and traveled at half the pace a young man walks. Together, Tom, wagon, and mule looked to be a sorry team. Only the goat balking at being pulled along had any vitality.
Tom now wore a different shirt. Pale green and loose fitting with long sleeves, it was much like most farmers chose. A darker green patch on one shoulder stood out displaying a crude repair, even at in the distance. At the road, the wagon turned away from the cabin and in the direction where Gareth and the dragon waited on the hillside. As it moved nearer he saw the small motion Tom made with his hand, and he slipped through the trees to the edge of the road, taking care to keep underbrush between himself and the cabin, carrying the dragon in his arms.
Tom shook his head when Gareth started to climb onto the seat of the wagon. He handed Gareth a straw farmer’s hat, old and worn, and he said, “I’ve been thinking, some. Putting together, a few ideas of things past. It had to be that damned woman at Priest’s Point who made your clothes who talked too much. Word reached the Brotherhood. That’s what sent that white boat chasing after us. That’s one puzzle solved.”
“I had the same thought.”
“Should have shared it with me,” Tom barked.
“But it does not say why the white ship chased us.”
“Damn. You’re right. I thought I’d figured it all out, and now I have to do more thinking.”
“Sorry. How’d you get the wagon?”
“A few silver coins changed hands. He gave me a fair deal.”
Gareth snorted as he examined the sorry state of the wagon and mule. “A few silver coins for this?”
“He threw in the load of corn for almost nothing. I paid extra for the goat. Now, you untie that goat and walk on the road ahead with her, like we’re not together and don’t know each other. Get a good lead on me. You should be able to hear the wagon behind, so don’t get too far ahead.”
Gareth said, “I see. We’re splitting up because they’re looking for a bearded old man and larger young one, both with long hair, traveling together. Not farmers.”
“So we cut our hair and travel apart and act like locals. If asked, you’re taking that goat to an uncle’s farm near a village called Prosper. Make up a name for yourself and a story to go along with it. Throw a couple of ears of corn in your bag with the ends sticking out like they’re your lunch. Maybe nobody will look in there and find your new pet if they see corn ears sticking out.”
“What about your name and history?” Gareth asked.
“My name’s not your concern because you don’t know me, remember? I’m just a hired hand driving this old wagon load of corn down to Drakesport town to sell at the farmers’ market. I do this with all our extra crops at my brother’s farm where I live. I’m a little slow when I talk. . .” He took a deep breath and let it escape between pursed lips. “And slower to answer.” Another breath. “Even the Brotherhood won’t want to talk to a dullard like me for long.”
“Drakesport. I’ve been wondering about that. I mentioned this once, but does the Army buy baby dragons?”
Tom avoided his eyes. After a hesitation longer than Gareth anticipated, he answered, “Son, to tell you the honest truth, I don’t know. About all I do know for sure is those damn teachers, or Brotherhood, or whatever they are, want us really bad. When I say ‘us’ I mean you more’n me. And I don’t think they’re your friends. I know they’re not mine. If you disagree, then you should meet up with the first pair of them you see and surrender.”
Tom gave the mule a slap on the rump, and it trudged ahead.
Gareth slapped the wide-brimmed hat on his head, untied the goat and quick-walked ahead of the wagon, tugging and urging the goat to walk faster. As he passed the wagon, he said in a conspiratorial voice, “My name’s Tim, son of Faring. We live on a goat farm half a day behind us. This is the third goat I’m delivering to my uncle in Prosper this year because we’re having a good year.”
“Talk educated like that and they’ll nab you right off. Drop yer eyes and talk through your nose, like this” Tom pinched his nose. “Better yet, only talk when you have to. Farmer boys your size haven’t had time for school so it’s expected. Just do a lot of nodding and smile at anything they say. Add some shrugs, too, like you have no idea of what they are saying but you’re agreeable. And look away when they talk, like you’re thinking about something far away.”
Gareth nodded, disappointed at Tom’s corrections, and he yanked the goat by the halter to walk faster, instantly feeling sorry for the action when the goat bawled in protest. He realized he didn’t know the way to Drakesport, but he kept walking. Tom seemed to know everything and would correct him if he turned the wrong way. The comforting sounds of a squeaky wheel and the soft rumble of the loaded wagon followed him.
Before mid-morning two teachers appeared on the road and walked in his direction. They moved in their usual stiff manner without swaying from side to side. They wore their hoods pulled low over their shaved head to protect their eyes and pale skin from the sun. Their hands were concealed in their sleeves. Always before Gareth had admired their mechanical method of walking. Now he found himself thinking of it as ‘slinking’ and somehow evil. Their quiet ways had somehow transformed into spying.
Gareth realized he didn’t know how other people greeted teachers when meeting them on the road. He’d always been their student, with them coming to him, but acting different from others on the dirt road would draw attention. He considered mumbling hello but didn’t trust his new persona or accent. One mistake and they would spot it.
The distance between them closed fast. Gareth gradually moved to the side of the road and held his goat on a short leash, watching the two men closely from under the brim of the straw hat. He kept his face impassive. Their eyes seemed to drift past him, and both looked directly ahead as if seeing little in front of them. Neither nodded or said anything. Indeed, they acted as if he was merely the shadow of a bush growing at the edge of the road.
Well, now I know what to do when I see them. Just stare and move on.
The goat lowered its head and reached for a tuft of grass. Gareth pulled a handful of grass and used it to keep the goat following eagerly at his heels, feeding it from his hand now and then. They paused at the first stream for a drink and made sure the wagon still rumbled behind. When he heard it getting near, they continued.
Tom must have told the farmer a tall tale to get a full load of corn, as well as the mule, goat, wagon and the old clothes. Some tale it must have been, and more than a few coins had probably changed hands. He felt certain Tom had done the deal in such a way that the farmer didn’t have much information to share with the Brotherhood if he chose to tell. Gareth would bet that Tom had convinced him to hold his tongue, anyhow.