Puss in Boots (Timeless Fairy Tales Book 6) Page 3

  “Can I see them?”

  The craftsman smiled—a gesture that even the uncaring Gabrielle had to admit magnified his good looks. “Of course.” He tossed the lead-line over his donkey’s neck and opened a saddle pack secured to his animal’s back. Considering the size of the pack, he seemed to pull out more items than could fit in it. “Aha!” He lifted out a pair of brown, leather baby shoes.

  The craftsman handed them over. They were well made, expertly pieced together with feathers and flourishes engraved on the leather. They were true boots, and would—on a chubby baby—rise past the ankle and almost to the knee.

  They would be too big for the magic cat. Even though he was large, his paws were much smaller than a baby’s foot. However, it was the best Gabrielle could manage—unless she dragged the cat to Hurst’s and asked him to custom-make the boots. But she wasn’t certain she would ever be able to live down such an act, and it would delay their journey by several days as they waited for Hurst to make the shoes.

  Gabrielle chewed the end of a lock of her hair. “How much?” Her eyes remained fixated on the small boots.

  “You really want baby boots?” the craftsman asked.

  “I need small boots.” She squared her shoulders as she prepared herself to hear the outrageous price the handsome craftsman would name.

  He nodded, deftly avoiding his donkey when the animal tried to snap at him. “Pricker Patch, behave.” He returned his attention to Gabrielle. “Two silver coins.”

  She wanted to cheer and grimace. She had just barely two silver coins in change. It was expensive, but she could afford it. She’d been afraid he would charge a gold coin. Gabrielle nodded and opened her tiny bag of coins, pouring them into her hand so she could sort through them.

  “I’m sorry. I would sell it for less, but I’ve already charmed them, and my magic and the Conclave have finicky rules,” the craftsman said.

  Gabrielle looked up from counting. “You’re a mage?”

  “Craftmage Rumpelstiltskin, at your service,” the young man said, folding over in a bow.

  Ahhh, that explains his looks. “Well met, craftmage.” She held out a handful of coins. “This is your price.”

  The craftmage took the coins and glanced at them. “Thank you for your purchase.” He passed the baby boots over.

  “Thank you.” Gabrielle’s shoulders slumped with relief as she took the boots.

  He secured his saddle packs and bowed again. Then, he was on his way, Pricker Patch trailing after him.

  Gabrielle ambled back toward Ilz. She perked up when she reached the small village. Hopefully, with this purchase, the magic cat would agree to leave.

  She passed through Ilz without harm, and the mill was within sight. Soon, I will be free, Gabrielle thought. But a large hand grabbed her shoulder and drew her backward, interrupting her moment of joy.

  She cursed her luck under her breath. Clutching the boots to her chest with one hand, she flailed out with the other. “Let me go!” she barked, elbowing her captor in the gut.

  “Temper, temper, Gabi,” a male voice chuckled in her ear. It was Axel—the potter’s son who was bigger than Ewald and only half as stupid.

  “Don’t call me that,” Gabrielle snarled, thrashing in his grip like a horse trying to rear. “If you don’t get your paws off me, I will scream.”

  “Don’t do that,” Axel said. “All I want to know is when you’re going to make up your mind.”

  “About?” Gabrielle wrenched one of his fingers back, making him cry out in pain and release her.

  “Who you’re going to marry. You’ll have to decide soon,” Axel said.

  “What?”

  “I assume your parents will want you married before they leave for Loire.”

  “How do you know about that?” Gabrielle’s voice shook as she took a step away from the giant oaf.

  “The whole town knows. Jana told anyone with breath in their lungs.” Axel’s lips shaped an ominous smirk. “Most think you’ll choose the master merchant’s son, but I think you can be persuaded.”

  Gabrielle ran several steps, but Axel caught her and yanked her off her feet. “Let me go!” she demanded, dropping the magic cat’s boots so she could form a club with her hands. She swung at Axel’s neck, but he held her against his chest, pinning her arms. “Stop it!” she shouted.

  “Let her go, Axel,” said Bastian, a farmer’s son, one of the nice boys who never looked twice at Gabrielle. He was tall and lanky, but last summer during a festival wrestling contest he had come in third—beating Axel, who had placed fifth.

  “What does it matter to you? You’re not sweet on her are you, farm boy?” Axel sneered. He broke off in a yelp when Gabrielle bit him.

  “Perhaps not, but my father taught me to treat women with honor. Let her go.” Bastian rolled up the fabric of his shirt sleeves.

  Axel laughed. “You think you can make me? You got lucky last summer, farm boy. Today I won’t go so easy on you, ouch—curse it, Gabi!” Gabrielle managed to get a fistful of his hair and yanked.

  “Maybe and maybe not. Either way, I’m certain Gabrielle’s brothers will be very interested to hear how you treat their little sister. And it seems to me they have both thoroughly thrashed you in the past for similar behavior,” Bastian said.

  They what? Gabi stopped struggling for the moment to gawk at Bastian. As far as Gabrielle knew, her brothers never did anything to make her troubles with the village boys easier. Rupert was careful to keep an eye on her, but in recent years, he seemed more frustrated whenever she fought off an amorous boy instead of coming to her defense.

  “I thought you mentioned honor,” Axel said, his grip growing lax as she remained motionless. “Tattling to her brothers would hardly be honorable.”

  “I don’t think the lady would agree with you,” Bastian said.

  “I don’t care—oof!” Axel’s eyes bulged like a frog’s when Gabrielle slammed her knee to his delicate bits. The topping on the attack, though, was the moment the magic cat launched himself on Axel, crawling up his block-like body to claw at his face.

  “Get off!” Axel let go of her so he could swat at the cat.

  “Cat, run!” Gabrielle shouted, snatching the baby boots from the ground. Fear and adrenaline revived her tired lungs and legs, giving her new zip. “Thanks, Bastian,” she called over her shoulder as the magic cat jumped from Axel—who toppled to the ground—and chased after her.

  The boy didn’t respond—or if he did, she didn’t hear him.

  Gabrielle and the cat didn’t stop running until they reached the back of the mill. She leaned against the solid structure, her lungs burning again, before her legs gave out. She plopped down.

  “It’s like that every time you visit your village?” the magic cat asked, digging his claws into a wooden board.

  “No, just…only when I go alone.” Gabrielle’s breath came in pained wheezes. “I got lucky that Bastian was there,” she added. “Axel is hard to fight off.”

  “No small wonder you hate your appearance. Do not worry; you shall see it is to your advantage once we travel. Did you get the boots?”

  She set the beautiful, leather boots down on the ground in front of the black and white cat.

  “Beautifully made, with exquisite engraving. My, my, there’s even a charm worked into the leather—to lessen crying it seems. You bought me a child’s boots?” He circled the footwear.

  “It was the only option. Cobblers don’t make shoes for animals—even magical cats.” Gabrielle forced herself to stand. She walked to a barrel of water and unhooked the ladle fastened to the side. She took a swig, refreshing her dry mouth.

  “I know this magic. It is not Angel’s, but…where did you get these shoes?” the cat asked.

  “From a mage. You’re lucky; he gave me a great deal on them, I think…” Gabrielle leaned against the water barrel.

  “What was his name?” the cat said, his voice taut.

  “Um…Rump…Rumpel—something. Rumpel-
something-skin. Sorry, it was a mouthful.”

  “Rumpelstiltskin is here? Where is he? I didn’t see him enter Ilz, nor did I hear word of a mage in the village!” The cat’s voice held a note of urgency as the liquid set of his spine and shoulders stiffened.

  “He left already.”

  “We must catch him. Immediately! He might be able to help.”

  “He was already well over a mile away from Ilz when I bought the shoes, and that had to be not quite an hour ago. If you think chasing him will be an adventure, we can go after him, I suppose.”

  “No, we’ll never catch up with him before he enters Loire. He’ll use magic as soon as he crosses the border, and then we’ll never find him,” the cat sighed. “It’s a shame I missed him, but such has been my luck.”

  “At least I got you the boots.” Gabrielle took another swig of water.

  “Indeed,” the cat said, the superior edge returning to his voice. “So now, we leave,” the cat said, walking away from the boots.

  Gabrielle blinked. “Wouldn’t it be safer to spend the night in the mill and leave in the morning?”

  “It is not necessary. Summer is a pleasant season in Arcainia, and I will be able to provide for your basic needs. If we are to leave on an adventure, it is better to begin immediately than to put it off. Unless…did you want to put it off?

  Gabrielle scowled. “We can leave. Aren’t you going to wear your boots?”

  “No. We can leave them behind.”

  “What?”

  “I stated it clearly when we first spoke. The boots were merely a test to see if you are willing to follow my instructions. You did, so you passed. We will be traveling companions.”

  “You are wearing the boots.”

  “Certainly not,” the cat said, licking his chops.

  “Listen, Puss. I did not spend almost all of my money on a pair of baby boots for you to reject and leave behind.” Gabrielle stabbed a finger in the cat’s direction.

  “Fine, bring them along if you must. And my name is not puss. I have a very fine, revered name: Roland Archibald Whisperpaws the Fifth.”

  Gabrielle retrieved her burlap sack and tossed the boots inside with her blanket as the cat kept talking.

  “It is a name that has been passed down from generation to generation, and is whispered in horror by those of evil and spoken with veneration by the magical community. It is an ancient name belonging to a superior family of cats—”

  “Yeah, yeah, I get it. Your name is special. It’s also too long, so you’ll be Puss from now on.”

  “How dare you! You cannot rename me. I am Roland Archibald Whisperpaws the Fifth!”

  “Well, Mr. Whisperclaws—”

  “It is Whisperpaws.”

  “Which way should we travel for our journey?” She slung the sack over her shoulder.

  “You are ready so soon?” the cat—Puss—asked.

  “Yes. I would try to snag my second dress, but it’s stored in the cottage where Jana is stationed like a beached whale. If she sees me, we’ll never manage to leave tonight. Unless—are you certain I don’t need to pack food?”

  “There is wisdom in your words, and I am certain. It is summer—the easiest season in which to forage. You will eat well. Come, let us commence our adventure.” Puss raised his tail like a flag pole as he trotted around the mill.

  Gabrielle fell in step with him. “Where are we headed?”

  “To the next settlement due east: Wied.”

  “I’m surprised you know Arcainian cities.”

  They started down the road, their backs to Ilz. “Calling Wied a city is more than generous, and I am a magic, learned cat,” Puss said.

  “So I gather.” Gabrielle stopped to look back at her home—the only place she had ever known.

  The mill rumbled on as Rupert and Gregor worked away. From this angle, she could see Marta puttering around in the garden. Now, when she was about to walk away from it all, Gabrielle realized how much she loved her family.

  “Having second thoughts?” Puss asked, sitting down by her feet.

  “No, just thinking fondly. I love my family, but I can’t stay here. I can’t.”

  “Do you wish to tell them you are leaving?”

  “No. Gregor would hogtie me to a fence—and Rupert would help him. It’s better this way.”

  “What if they think something ill has befallen you?”

  “They won’t. They know I want to leave Ilz. That’s why Mother and Father’s refusal to take me with them was especially mean,” Gabrielle said. Marta appeared to catch sight of her, for she waved.

  Gabrielle returned the gesture and waited until her sister-in-law returned her attention to her garden before she turned her back to the cottage and mill and started walking again. “Besides, I’m still angry. They put me in an impossible position, and they expected me to be accepting—happy, even. And it wasn’t just Jana and Gregor—whom I could expect such actions from, but all of them. No, I will not tell them.” Gabrielle quickened her pace.

  “As you wish.” Puss trotted at her side. They were quiet for several minutes as they passed through farmland. They weren’t quite at the borders of what was considered Ilz territory when they saw a carriage pulled by a team of four beautiful horses prance up from the south. The carriage’s path intersected with their road, but instead of turning east—as she and Puss were traveling—it turned west and passed them as it rolled in the direction of Ilz.

  Gabrielle glanced at the carriage, but she stared with interest at the spattering of soldiers riding with the coach. “I wonder what that’s about,” she murmured.

  “I must admit, I was impressed to see the way you handled that trollish fellow. Very tidy work, there.”

  “Thanks. I’ve become a bit of a fighter thanks to moments like those.”

  “It will make you that much safer during our travels,” Puss said. “You did quite well.”

  “Thank you,” Gabrielle repeated, this time her words a little more sincere. “Mother and Jana always lecture me on my conduct, but I don’t care.”

  “It is good for a lady to be able to fight back,” Puss said.

  “Exactly!” Gabrielle launched into a description of some of her more violent fights, while she and her feline companion marched down the dusty road, heading straight into adventure.

  Crown Prince Steffen, the oldest child of King Henrik of Arcainia, sat in the royal coach with his father as they rumbled along on their unofficial inspection. Steffen had cooked up the country-wide tour as a last ditch effort to show King Henrik why he needed to live. Since the death of his queen, the king’s heart had not rallied.

  When Queen Ingrid died, King Henrik had lost his anchor to the world.

  This morning, like all the others, the king had spoken very little after they climbed into the coach.

  “What village is next?” Steffen asked.

  “Ilz, a border settlement,” his father answered, staring down at his boots.

  “We’re that close to the border of Loire?”

  “Yes.”

  Steffen nodded and, at loss for words, looked outside the carriage window. He saw a girl—he caught only a glimpse of her, but she was quite pretty—and a cat, walking in the opposite direction, and then there were acres of countryside.

  “It will be nice to return to Castle Brandis in a few days—for a short time, anyway. I’m sure there are piles of work waiting for us.”

  His father nodded and said nothing.

  They sat in silence until the carriage rolled to a stop in Ilz. Relieved, Steffen climbed out of the carriage and took a deep gulp of fresh air. He almost choked—the Ilz air was liberally peppered with smoke from all of the forge fires—and his knees cracked as he glided away from the carriage to caress his horse.

  They had drawn a crowd. Although no herald rode with them to announce the king’s presence, Steffen’s father was well known to his people, and the simple crown he wore on his head—as well as the golden circlet Steffen wore—m
arked them as royalty.

  Villagers whispered and bobbed in bows and curtsies whenever anyone from the small, understated, royal procession looked in their direction.

  “Are you going to have a look around and make the first inspection?” Steffen asked his father as the king approached his horse—a large gelding led by a member of his guard.

  “Yes. You’ll make the sleeping arrangements?”

  “As you wish,” Steffen said. “Take care, Father.” But he stayed near enough to watch for a moment—and listen.

  King Henrik nodded and wore a feeble smile when he turned to meet his subjects. “Greetings, people of Ilz.” His voice was much quieter than usual, lacking its thunderous and joyful peals.

  “It’s the king!”

  “Poor soul—he looks dreadful.”

  “Gabi is going to be enraged when she learns what she missed out on while she pouted in the hills.”

  “Give her grace, Rupert.”

  “God bless the king!”

  The people, aware of their king’s pain, rallied around the man, trailing after his horse as a short scrawny man—the master of the local merchant guild office, presumably—scrambled down the road, halting at the hooves of King Henrik’s horse.

  “Welcome to Ilz, Your Majesty,” the man said, bowing deeply. “It is our honor to host you here. We heard of your inspection, but we did not dare hope that you would bless us with your grace and presence.”

  “At ease, man. Could you show me your beautiful village?” King Henrik asked, making a good pretense at interest for his subjects’ sake.

  “Of course, Your Majesty! This way, please,” the scrawny man babbled.

  Steffen rubbed the back of his neck as he watched his father ride down the street. “This has been one stupendous failure.”

  “What makes you think that, Kronprinz?” asked Timo. He was the commander of the king’s personal guard and had handpicked all the guards and soldiers that accompanied Steffen and King Henrik on this inspection.

  “He is still deep in his grief. I knew the loss of my mother weighed heavily on him, but…” Steffen raised and dropped his hand, unable to find words that described the depth of sadness that had taken King Henrik.