Rebecca Smythe: Witch in Training || ONC 2021

Becky the Courier

Melinda was right. The lumber cart wasn't terribly uncomfortable. From her position, wedged between two logs, Rebecca could see the stars flit by overhead. The cart creaked in protest but the dirt road leading to Smert was fairly smooth. Rebecca found herself hoping that they would hit a pothole or run into a ditch or that the cart would spontaneously shed a wheel. Something, anything, to prevent her from attempting the newspaper drop. She was just imagining expressing her sincerest regrets to Caldwell and Melinda from the warm safety of her own bedroom when the driver pulled the cart to a stop.

"We're here, miss." The driver's voice rumbled out into the night.

Rebecca reluctantly hoisted herself off of the logs and secured the bags of newspapers. Her hands were sticky with sap and she tried not to think about the last time she had been surrounded by this much firewood.

Little flecks of spittle landed on Rebecca's cheeks as the driver rasped out directions to the hatter's shop. Rebecca could see the lights of Smert flickering in the distance and set out at a brisk pace.

After about fifteen minutes, the dirt road transitioned to cobblestones and buildings rose up from stretches of farmland. Rebecca was struck by how similar this town looked to the one she had grown up in. She had always thought that everywhere else must be far more interesting than where she was but Smert and Shettlewood could have been two halves of the same village.

Several minutes passed and Rebecca found herself skirting the town square. She was anxious now. Shadows from street signs made her jump. The call of a stray cat made her heart leap within her chest and sweat bead cooly at the back of her neck. Rebecca ducked into a side street. There, illuminated by the glow of curtained windows, was a large wooden sign in the shape of a tophat- Crenshaw's shop! She had made it. Rebecca felt a rush of relief. She sped up. She could already feel the lightness that would come when Crenshaw took the bags of contraband from her.

In ten feet she would be free. Now nine feet. Now--

Two men stepped out from an alley to her left. One was short, fat, and balding. The other was gargantuan with a bulbous nose and a smattering of smallpox scars across his cheeks.

"What've we got here?" the taller of the two asked. Rebecca shrank back and felt the cool stone wall of one of the shops press against her spine. She was cornered.

"What are you doing out at this hour, missy?" The short one's voice creaked like a hinge in need of oil. Rebecca shuddered.

"I'm just running some errands," Rebecca squeaked.

"What d'you have in them bags?" The tall man was towering over her now, craning his neck to peer into the leather satchels at her sides. He seemed to be salivating and was making dramatic slurping sounds as he sucked on his teeth. Rebecca felt a surge of terror. It was as though Caldwell had sent her into battle unarmed and expected victory.

"I,I--" Rebecca stammered.

"Are these gentlemen bothering you?" A young man in a constable's uniform had emerged from an archway to Rebecca's left. She felt her knees grow weak with relief. The two other men looked at the constable and collided in their eagerness to get away. When they found their footing on the cobblestones once again, they ran clattering down the street looking back only once with expressions of deep resentment.

"I can't thank you enough," Rebecca said. She pushed off from the wall tentatively, unsure if her legs would be able to bear her weight.

"Only doing my duty, miss," said the constable. He had a handsome face and kind deep brown eyes. "I hate to pry, but I must ask what is in those bags of yours." Rebecca looked down at her bags. A corner of a front-page peeked out beneath one of the satchels' leather flaps.