The Dale-Lands, 15 years ago…
It was a particularly chilling morning that day in The Blakedown. The locals slowly began to emerge from the nearby inn, well-fed from a hearty breakfast. A specialty of bacon, eggs and a so-called ‘rare’ kind of sausage; a recipe kept secret by the notorious butcher and with good reason. Eventually, two important looking gentlemen stepped from the inn, both of whom were in deep conversation as they made their way across the market square towards gully way.
“Not that it’s any of your business” spoke the smallest of the two, a slightly plump man wearing a handmade overcoat of a vile shade of green “But the furniture trade is up and coming! More people seem to be buying property in this little spot of ours and believe me, when they arrive the first thing they’ll think of is how to make their home just that!”
The man beside him laughed, he almost dwarfed his companion standing at least two feet taller, wearing what seemed to be a bear skin jacket. “Do you honestly believe that people will have enough coin to spend on your overpriced rubbish once they’ve purchased one of my properties? All you’ll end up with is a workshop packed with rotting woodwork and no customers to buy it from you. I’m sorry Hopkins, you know I have your best interest at heart.”
Hopkins glared at the frosty cobble stones, his face turning redder than it was beforehand. “All you care about is outdoing me at everything, Lambert. You’ve always tried to ruin my business due to your damn foolish selfishness!” Hopkins stumbled slightly, almost falling onto the cobbles which seemed to entertain Lambert greatly.
“Steady now, you don’t want to go blooding your nose before I introduce you to Mister Caswell. Why do you think I’ve arranged this meeting in the first place? Not to spite you, nothing like that; but to help you. This young Caswell fellow is a genius in terms of business, he’ll set your income straight, don't you worry.”
The pair rounded a corner leading towards a group of large houses. On the left side of the street at the far end beside a leafless oak was the largest house, grand and tall, at least three floors high. “So your Caswell fellow’s waiting for us inside is he?” asked Hopkins, staring up at the house rather bitterly.
Lambert turned slightly as he approached the stairs, rummaging inside his fur coat in search of his keys. “Oh yes, my youngest daughter Jane is serving him tea as we speak. Honestly, I don’t know what I would have done without-” At that moment a pair of trousers fell from the top window landing directly upon Lambert’s head. The man paused for a moment before wrenching them away, staring up at the window in utter bewilderment.
“Those were my best trousers!” exclaimed Remis Locke, formally and falsely known as Rufus Caswell “The best fabric in all of Dale! If they’ve been damaged I might never be able to forgive you, Jane.”
The red haired girl jumped to her feet giggling, tightening her dressing gown as she moved away from the window. “Well, looks like you’re just going to have to go and fetch aren’t you?” she taunted, as the youth crossed the room to stick his head out of the window. The girl continued to giggle as Remis fell silent for a moment, eventually finding his voice.
“Ah, Jane, a quick question. What time did you say your father was returning?” he asked, his long blonde hair blowing in the breeze as he stared down into the street.
The girl frowned, pushing her long curly hair over her ears, “A few hours, maybe more. What’s the matter? Come away from the window!”
Remis obliged but not due to her request. A large black cane which no doubt belonged to Lambert cracked against the frame. “Change of plan, Jane. Perhaps another time?” He froze on the spot, listening intently with a look of panic upon his face as thundering footsteps could be heard from below. “Now, if you’d be a dear and pass me my boots I think I’ll just go and take a breath of fresh air.”
The girl’s eyes widened as her father began to hammer upon the door, Remis already sliding one leg through the very small gap of the window. “Caswell! Caswell you bastard! Open this door at once, do you hear me?!” The hammering continued as Jane began to plead to her father, the door now shifting dangerously against the hinges.
“Why do they make these windows so bloody small?” Remis complained as he squeezed his way through the gap, taking a deep breath as he stepped out onto the narrow ledge. Below he saw the plump Hopkins laughing, he grinned slightly as he shimmied along the ledge as the door behind him eventually gave in.
“Caswell! Where is he? Cas-” Lambert ran to the window, his thin black hair soaked with sweat as his pale face appeared from the inside of the house. “Don’t just stand there Hopkins, call the guard! Stop him!” The plump man ceased laughing, nodding to his partner, setting off down the street shouting for aid. “Jane, pass me that broom, I’ll knock the little rotter onto the pavement!”
Remis began to shimmy faster along the ledge as Jane’s broom brushed dangerously close to his shoulder. “Do you mind?! That almost hit me right in the eye!” he shouted, staring longingly down at his trousers damp from the frost on the road. His eyes moved up the street where several guards were marching swiftly along the cobbles with Hopkins who paused to dab his brow with a handkerchief. “This isn’t going well…” he thought aloud, shifting past the house next door’s window hearing a scream from within.
“Come down here you stupid little man!” called one of the guards, pointing his sword up in Remis’ direction. “Come down or we’ll bring you down with one of our arrows!”
At that Remis paused, his hand running along a washing line which led up between the two houses. “I don’t suppose we could talk about this?!” he shouted, the wind causing him to sway slightly, almost losing his balance. “I would be more than willing to apologise for my actions towards Mister Lambert’s daughter! We are both civilised gentleman, surely we could-”
“Fire!” bellowed one of the guards. A single arrow flew towards him leaving only one option which took him by surprise. He jumped, wrapping the rope thrice around his wrist as he clung on for dear life. Eventually, it snapped due to the weight, sending him swinging across the street above with a gathering of onlookers screaming below. For a split second he thought he would make it through this unscathed, up until the moment the line sent him straight into the wall of the opposite house; upon which he slid down crashing onto a balcony box. “Fire!” the guard shouted again as he climbed to his feet and dived through the house window, narrowly missing the second arrow which buried itself into the woodwork.
“Ah!” Remis said, sprawled upon the floor covered in damp washing. Brushing a stray sock from his face, he looked up to see two elderly women sitting beside a fire, their knitting needles ceased tapping. “Don’t mind me, I’ll just be...” He stood, quickly realising that he wasn’t wearing any trousers and grabbed the pair which fell with him from the washing line. Awkwardly, he slid them on as he crossed the room. “This window leads to the market square I presume?” The two women nodded simultaneously. “Excellent!” Opening the window he stepped out onto yet another ledge staring down at a tent which seemed to be selling vegetables. Taking a deep breath staring up at the sky he leapt, falling onto the roof of the tent causing it to cave inwards.
“What in the-?!” shouted one of the farmers, setting out a row of cucumbers on the stall. “Guard!” he shouted “Guard get over 'ere! Some idiot just ruined my stall!”
One of the roaming guards approached, his hand upon his sword ready to draw as the pair stood along with passing townsfolk staring at the collapsed tent. Eventually something inside groaned, shifting slightly before a leg appeared causing an uproar of laughter.
“What do you think you’re playing at?!” The guard asked, approaching cautiously. “You could have broken your damn neck!”
Soon, Remis emerged, his foot buried inside a large pumpkin which squelched as he stepped upon it. The laughter however came to a halt as the previous guardsmen charged into the square shouting in their direction. It didn’t take long before the guard beside Remis realised something was amiss and quickly made for his sword. He was, however, incapacitated instantly by the large pumpkin which the Remis kicked from his foot striking him hard in the face.
“I’m sorry!” he called back to the crowd, sprinting from the scene bare footed upon the cold cobbles of the marked place; the farmer cursing as he pushed his way through the onlookers.
Leaving the square, Remis was made increasingly aware that his commandeered trousers were far too big for him. They slowly began to fall past his knees, then to his ankles, to which he then fell to the ground. Hearing shouting from behind him he rolled to one side beneath a nearby cart. He winced as he reached down to pull his trousers up, his body aching from the fall matched with cuts and bruises all along his hands and face.
“He went down this way, Sir!” shouted a female guard, her sword drawn as she paused at the side of the cart beneath which the youth was hiding. Remis held his breath as the footsteps of more armoured boots came running towards his position. “I could have sworn he did, the women at the end of the street said so!”
Mister Lambert had also joined the group. Remis could tell from his well polished shoes whilst trying to push away a large ginger cat which began to rub up against his chest.
“Find him! Find him and arrest him! He’s assaulted my daughter and dishonoured me!” said Lambert.
“Hardly assaulted” Remis muttered to himself as the cat began to lick his face “Go on, get!” he hissed at the cat who merely stared at him. “Go on!” The cat obliged but only because it knew when its master was about to move the cart. A door to his side opened and a man with large strides stepped out into the street followed by two others who moved around to the back of the cart.
“Do you mind moving? We’ve got to get this cart down to market before it opens!” said the cart owner, loading what was left of his wears onto the back.
Remis cursed upon hearing the man's words, his eyes darting around searching desperately for an escape route.
“How do you expect us to manoeuvre this old thing with all you guards standing in a circle? Come on, shift it!” the stranger continued to argue as the guards soon began to move slowly down the street. “Alright lads, get ready! Now… push!” The cart groaned as the three moved it over Remis who lay flat on his stomach with his hands behind his head. He could feel the cold air blow against him as he was exposed to the street.
“Are you alright dear?” An elderly woman asked when he opened his eyes half expecting a guard. “You seem to look a little worse for wear, on the floor all bruised and-” She gasped as Remis jumped to his feet, arching his back while keeping an eye on the guards searching behind crates and hedges ahead of him.
“I’m absolutely fine honestly, I- Erm…” He scratched the back of his head, wincing as he pulled a splinter from it whilst trying to think of an excuse. “Do excuse me!” He moved swiftly on, sticking to the shadows as best he could while the elderly woman watched on looking completely dumbfounded. “Why does this always happen every time I come to this accursed village?” he whispered to himself, shifting towards the inn, his eyes fixed upon the stables where his horse was kept. “All I wanted was a nice, warm, relaxed morning; earning a few coins while I'm at it…” He began to move along the inn wall, slowly approaching the stables bare foot and shivering from head to toe from the cold chill of the morning.
After much crawling and sneaking, Remis pushed open the large wooden doors promptly closing them behind him. Instantly, he recognised his steed. He moved toward her, stoking the creature’s mane before laughing to himself. “Alas, history repeats itself” he said, acquiring a tattered blanket from the stable wall and wrapping it about himself. “Never again!” He knew in his heart of hearts that this was a falsehood. If there is one thing Remis knew would haunt his footsteps at every turn, it was trouble.
