Chapter 1 #2
The streets here were quieter, and the occasional cart waited at the side of the road.
Farmers sat in small groups, enjoying a chat or a shared muffin before their busy day ahead, and the feeling of anticipation that suffused the city was felt here on the quieter paths as well.
As he passed carts and wagons, he called out his own morning greetings to the drivers of these vehicles and inquired of one or two about their contents and the location of the farms from which they originated.
Some carried apples to be sold and eaten, or to be made into jams and preserves, or baked into pies.
Others held the last of the summer wheat or bags of flour from the nearby mills.
Still others carried bales of wool or vats of tallow, or even some small metal trinkets and wooden toys for children.
The conversations he carried on with the men who drove the carts were interesting and stimulating, and Edward found his energy increasing as he walked.
Gradually the sun began to grow stronger, burning off the lingering haze, its cold light reflecting off the still-damp leaves and puddles on the streets.
Following the road out of town, Edward noticed the sun glinting off water through the trees.
Eventually a small path appeared, leading off the lane and towards the water, and he resolved to follow it to see where it led.
The way was muddy and slippery, but the heavy canopy of trees had prevented the path from becoming impassable, and Edward was prepared to suffer dirt-soiled boots in his adventure.
Before long, he achieved his goal. Past the low brush, amongst swollen and muddy banks, a stream flowed through the brush, wending its way toward the River Derwent.
After his long walk and many conversations, the sight of the fresh water made Edward thirsty.
He slowly picked his way through the thickets and growth, careful of the mud and unsteady footing on lichen-covered stones, and at last he stepped forward to cup some of the cold liquid in his hand.
As he did, he thought he heard a sound. Must be an animal, he thought.
A rabbit, or a fox. But something about that notion struck him as false, and he found himself following the sound, picking through undergrowth and past foliage, to where the stream opened up into a small pond.
There he found the source of the sound. A figure lay curled up by the opposite bank, damp and shivering violently, moaning softly.
At first, the creature didn’t hear him, until he cleared his throat.
“Are you well?” he called. “May I be of assistance?” His accent matched his appearance: well-modulated and cultured, as befit his education but without the clipped cadences of the upper classes.
The tones of London seemed to bring the shivering creature to an awareness of the world, and with what seemed a great effort, it sat up slowly and stared.
Edward saw a youth looking back at him from scared pale eyes.
He seemed to be 13 or 14 years of age, still smooth skinned, with gentle features and the prettiness of youth.
Almost like a girl, thought Edward. For certain, he’ll grow more manly as he nears twenty years and his beard comes in.
The soft face was filthy, and blood streaked down one cheek, matting the straw-coloured hair that stuck out in strange angles from under a heavy farmer’s cap.
“Are you injured?” Edward asked again. “May I help?”
The youth stared back in horror, eyes wide and seeking desperately into the woods past Edward’s back. “Don’t be afraid, boy. I mean you no harm, and only wish to help you.”
At the sound of Edward’s soothing voice, the boy stilled a bit, and then slowly, as if seeking his voice, carefully answered back, “I.
.. I turned me ankle ‘n I canna walk.” Like his face, his voice was the high and unbroken voice of childhood, and the boy spoke in the accent of the region, his brogue heavy but not impenetrable, despite the shivering lips.
“Let me help you to the town, then,” Edward offered. “You are shivering fiercely and need to get warm and dry before you take ill. Where are you headed? I will see you there. Come, let me help you stand and you can lean on my arm for support as we leave these woods.”
Terror suffused the boy’s face. He shrank back into the bushes. “No... I canna...” he started, once more looking wildly around him as if seeking an escape.
“Boy, if you cannot walk, you will perish here, either by cold or by fever. I will not hurt you, and can help you to safety. I assure you I mean no harm.” Edward’s voice was gentle and low, and his gaze direct.
The boy grew calmer under his serene gaze and after a long while nodded, almost imperceptibly, accepting Edward’s offer.
Edward inched forward, careful not to further alarm the terrified lad, and waded across the shallow pond.
Cold water flooded into his boots as he strove to maintain his balance on the slippery stones beneath the water’s quickly moving surface.
He reached the boy and helped him to his feet.
The offending ankle was unfit to support weight and Edward was loath to remove the boy’s boot to examine the ankle beneath it in this wild location.
It could wait until they were in a dryer, warmer place.
“Here, lean upon me,” he instructed, “and use my arm to support yourself. We must go carefully across this small river. I can well support your weight. Steady now.” Inch by inch, shuffling and hobbling, the two eventually returned to the far bank, and thence, equally slowly up the narrow path to the road.
Both the boy and Edward were now shivering from exposure to that cold stream and Edward knew from his experiences in the icy winters of Nova Scotia that he needed to get both of them warm soon.
Spying a farmer’s wagon not far up the street, he hailed the driver.
“Heigh there, man. We require transport into the town. I will make it worth your effort to get us there as quickly as possible,” gesturing to his purse, “before this youth succumbs to the cold. He cannot walk and I cannot support his weight all that distance.”
The driver seemed a good sort of man and quickly took measure of the situation.
Within minutes, both Edward and the boy were sitting in piles of hay at the back of the wagon, wrapped in rough but warm blankets, as the horses began drawing the vehicle towards the centre of town and the noisy festival therein.
Crowds and heavy traffic in town delayed their eventual arrival in front of the inn, the boy shaking all the while.
Edward tried to pull the lad close to his own body to help warm up the cold and wet flesh, but the boy refused absolutely, leaving Edward worried and confused.
When, at last, they arrived, Edward ran inside the inn to find the proprietor, water still dripping from his boots.
“Quick, a fire in my room, a hot one, and a strong arm or two. I need assistance with a sick boy I found. His ankle is injured and he is frozen to the quick.” The proprietor nodded at once and shouted to all who would hear him, commanding a maid to stoke the fire, then summoning two sturdy lads from the stables at the back to help the shivering boy from the cart and up the stairs to Edward’s suite.
Edward payed the wagon driver well for his efforts, and then hurried up the stairs to see to his unexpected charge.