The Pamphlet
Alison
“Let’s hear it,” said Willow, her pointed ears twitching forward to listen.
Alison read out the lines that had been troubling her to the cat:
O’er heathered hills, with trees so high,
They reach like smokestacks to the sky.
“I like the alliteration, but that simile is tortured. Try again.”
Harsh, but fair. The cat was an excellent critic; Alison had to give her that.
She was less helpful when it came to organizing Alison’s papers. Willow’s relentless need to see the inkwells pushed from Alison’s desk onto the cottage floor resulted in disaster on more than one occasion during Alison’s time drafting and editing her poetry for the pamphlet.
It did afford Alison the first success she had managed in working her magic on her own: apparently the prospect of a gigantic black ink stain on her sitting room rug was enough motivation to finally wrangle the power within her for some good purpose.
Alison had been at work on finalizing her poems and editing the essays for nearly three weeks, and she was ready to do just about anything else. It was difficult watching her friends come and go, heading into town and down to the manor to enjoy the summer festivities without her.
They had been kind enough to help her take care of herself as she worked: Gwenla bringing tea and helping her tend to her garden, Keir bringing dinners of spicy vegetable curries and a smoky salmon dish that he’d cooked with help from Charlotte, and even Rinka bringing the latest gossip from Fossholm on a visit to pick up some things from her trunk and satchel.
She had taken an afternoon off for Rinka’s visit, enjoying a replacement strawberry welcome cake and showing her around Herot’s Hollow at last.
“Oh, the houses are so charming!” Rinka had said when she’d seen them. “So much personality, so much history compared to Fossholm. I can see why you want to save it.”
Alison brought Rinka to the inn where she met most of the townsfolk, becoming fast friends with Strelka and Charlotte especially, Charlotte apparently having become something of a legend there already on account of her ability to drink like a fish.
Mr. Smalls, the bard, had led them all in a rowdy song, with Keir leading them in a dance that ended up with more than one person on top of the tables, much to the consternation of the innkeep, Mr. Rainey.
Alison smiled at the memory.
“You’re getting distracted,” said Willow the taskmaster. “Get back to work.”
Alison gave the cat a fake salute and lifted her pen to paper once more.
Keir helped Alison with the box of freshly printed pamphlets, carrying them for her up to the manor house where the preparations for the regatta were underway.
Gwenla had come along, of course, and Lady Sibba had as well. They were bickering as usual over the best way to get the pamphlets into the right hands.
“If you just hand them out, people will think they’re rubbish and drop them to the ground,” said Lady Sibba. “If we charge just a copper or two for them, they’ll think they’re worth something.”
“Who could drop something so pretty on the ground?” asked Gwenla.
The pamphlets had turned out beautifully, that much was true. They unfolded into more than a dozen panels like a map, some dedicated to the essays Keir and Laddy Sibba had written, the rest covered in Alison’s poems and Weyland’s illustrations. “Preserve Herot’s Hollow: A Place of Outstanding Natural Beauty,” the pamphlet implored.
Alison hoped it would be enough.
The answer to their distribution problem presented itself as they arrived at a booth on the lawn where guests were being greeted ahead of the regatta.
“Ah,” said Rinka, who had been waiting nearby. “Those must be the pamphlets. These go out with the programmes,” she told a human who was handing out the programme of the day’s events.
“Yes, my lady, of course,” said the human. Keir sat the box next to him, and he took a stack of them and began handing them out with the regatta’s schedule.
Rinka took a stack from the box. “Come, Ms. Lennox. We must introduce everyone to the poet responsible.”
Rinka brought Alison around to a dozen courtiers—how had she possibly learned so many of their names in such a short time? Alison wondered—telling them all of her recent visit to the charming town of Herot’s Hollow and handing them a pamphlet to enjoy while they waited for the races to begin.
Alison marveled at her friend. It was hard to imagine that this was the same orc who came home every night covered in blood a few months earlier. Her grace, her beauty, her good manners—Alison felt that this life was made for her. She knew that Rinka could be happy with her in Herot’s Hollow, knew that Rinka could be happy pretty much anywhere—she was just blessed with the kind of easy good humor that eluded most. But Alison hoped that Rinka and Idris would find some way to continue once the summer had finished. It would be a shame to dull her sparkle.
They had made it back to Gwenla when Princess Ceri approached them. The princess wore a dress and hat that nearly matched Rinka’s, her dress in white, while Rinka’s was sage green.
“What do you think?” she asked Rinka, holding up the skirt of the dress as they curtsied to her. “I had them make me one to match yours.”
Rinka looked surprised but flattered. “It suits you, your highness.”
“What’s that you have there?” asked Ceri, taking a pamphlet from Rinka’s hands.
“It’s a pamphlet about Herot’s Hollow, the next town over,” said Rinka as casually as she could manage, as if the entire plan didn’t depend on the outcome of this conversation. “I visited recently. This is the poet, Ms. Alison Lennox. She’s courting the Marquess of Caernock.”
That was Keir’s proper title—Alison wouldn’t have been able to come up with that if asked. She marveled at Rinka once more.
“Well done,” said Ceri to Alison. “He’s very handsome. Are you coming to the ball this evening?”
Alison hesitated. “I’m afraid not, your highness. I’ve been hard at work on the pamphlet, and I haven’t had time to secure the proper attire.”
“The tailors here are superb; I’m sure they can make you something—wait, isn’t one of them from Herot’s Hollow? I thought that’s what my lady’s maid told me,” asked Ceri.
“Yes, that’s right,” said Rinka. “Lydiach has been making most of my gowns, and she’s from Herot’s Hollow.”
Ceri opened the pamphlet then, skipping the essays and flipping to the poems and illustrations.
Alison looked at Rinka and Gwenla tensely as the princess read. Rinka had told her that Ceri was a bit of a wild card, that she wasn’t sure what the princess’s motives were or if she could be trusted. It was a risk, trying to get her on their side.
“Oh, I like this one,” said Ceri, holding up the pamphlet to the poem titled “The Spriggan.”
Away! we go to the woods, away—
‘Fore sun’s last kiss has gone from day,
To seek and find Pan’s champion,
To mend the circle once again.
Through wildcat hole and fairy hollow,
The elder sage, the spriggan, follows,
O’er heathered hills, through valleys fair,
The spring’s awakening in the air.
He’ll grow his arms of branches high,
To lift the stones to Sulis’ sky,
And when the circle is remade,
He’ll meet the stag and quit the glade.
Away! we go to the woods, away—
To welcome back the Queen of May,
Through dappled light and tree trunk’s sway,
Away! we go to the woods, away.
“How did you come up with it?” asked Ceri.
“It really happened,” said Alison. “Herot’s Hollow is a magical place.”
“Don’t let my father hear you say that,” Ceri warned. She leaned in closer. “But between us, I would like to meet him. The spriggan, I mean. He sounds fun.”
“Of course, your highness,” said Alison. She looked at Rinka. It seemed to be going well, at least.
“Why does it say ‘Preserve Herot’s Hollow’?” asked Ceri as she closed the pamphlet once more. “What’s going to happen to it?”
“Well, it was going to be flooded to make way for a dam,” said Gwenla. “And now there’s talk of leveling it to mine coal from our hills for a power plant to be built here in Fossholm.”
“And you are?” asked Ceri.
“Gwenla, your highness. I’m a friend of Ms. Lennox. We’re hoping that if enough people learn about how wonderful Herot’s Hollow is, the king might be convinced to preserve it.”
Ceri laughed. “That won’t convince my father at all,” she said. “But I know what might. Come with me.”
They followed the princess as she marched them to the royal tent where her father and Prince Idris were waiting, along with the rest of the royal family, for the first set of rowers to reach the finish line.
Alison, Rinka, and Gwenla looked at each other nervously. What could the princess possibly have in mind?
“Father, I’d like you to meet Gwenla. She’s a dwarven industrialist from here in Wilderise, and she has a plan to bring ‘lectrics here without ruining the beauty of the place.”
Gwenla’s grey eyes looked as though they might pop out of her face.
“Not this again,” said King Derkomai. “I’m trying to watch the race.”
“But Father,” said Ceri, her voice a bit whiny, “Gwenla’s idea is just marvelous. It’s something brand new, and it’s going to save so much coin. It barely needs any workers at all.”
“No workers, you say?” said the king. He was on his feet now, watching the first boat come down the final stretch. “Come on!” he yelled.
Idris moved around behind his father to join Rinka, mouthing to her: what’s going on?
“Very few,” said Ceri. “Would you let her demonstrate it? Before the end of the summer, of course. I know you want to see Wilderise modernized soon. It’s such a clever idea. It’s going to change the face of ‘lectrics here and in Loegria. A new wave.”
“A new wave,” repeated the king absently. “Come on! Row! ROW!” he shouted at his boat, which had just lost the lead. “Row, dammit! Yes! That’s it!”
The king’s preferred boat fought back, coming up from behind and narrowly squeaking ahead of their competitor right at the finish.
“YES!” yelled the king, crumpling his programme in his hands and pumping his fist. He turned then to Ceri to clap her on the shoulder, elated. “And what is it, exactly, this new idea?”
Ceri looked at the group. Alison looked at Gwenla, who looked at Rinka, who looked at Idris.
It was Gwenla who dared to come forward. “Why, it’s the power of the sun, your majesty. The power of the sun, harnessed and yours to command.”
“Two weeks,” said the king. “You have two weeks before we’re heading back to the castle. Or I’m building the coal mine. Understood?”
“Yes, your majesty. I’ll prepare the demonstration at once,” said Gwenla, curtsying to him as they took their leave.
Alison looked at the others, flabbergasted and utterly helpless.
“Well,” said Ceri, following them from the tent. “Aren’t you glad I was here to help?”