The Faintest Ink (Watty Winner 2015)

Chapter Forty-One

The princess had been wary of sleeping in the stables. At first she had insisted upon John finding a room for her, but as it turned out, there were none to be had. The night before market day apparently meant that there wasn't a bed free in the entire town, as every farmer and tradesman within a fifty mile radius had swarmed to Whitfair in search of their fortune.

The landlord of the Wisp and Lantern had been sympathetic, and offered the blanket off his own bed to make their stay in the horses' accommodation that bit more human-friendly. John had found the whole experience utterly hilarious, much to the princess' annoyance.

"I could not possibly sleep in a stable," she hissed at him.

"You'll be fine. Half the people here will be kipping on straw tonight."

She felt her mouth drop open as images of that unthought of horror flitted through her mind.

"Don't worry. I'll stay next to you." She must have made a face because he laughed again. "And you have nothing to worry about from me."

The landlord, with a martyr's sigh, pulled out a small bottle from his apron and splashed the contents into the Princess' cup. "That'll help keep you warm, love. Now don't you fret, I keep a good house. I guarantee it's the freshest straw you'll find in Whitfair."

With great dignity, the princess accepted the drink and took a short drink. Almost immediately she could feel the warm tingles seeping through her limbs. She took another sip.

John had retreated into the crowd. She could spot him, head and shoulders taller than everyone else there, chatting to a group of ladies, who, by the looks of it, where teaching him to knit. He was frowning in concentration as he watched them work and after a few minutes of intense onlooking, had a pair of needles thrust into his hands and three ladies with a combined age of at least two-hundred and fifty, were holding on to him as he attempted to manipulate the wool into the shape of a sock.

The princess giggled, and then found that she couldn't stop. She was laughing so much at the sight of these grey-haired woman fawning over John that she barely noticed the blushing man standing at her side, cap in hand.

He said something, but the princess couldn't make it out over the din of instruments, which despite not seeming to be playing any of the same notes, were producing a heady rhythm.

"Pardon?"

The shawl had slipped down the back of her head and she made a half-hearted attempt to cover it again. Her fingers felt all fumbly and she couldn't quite remember why it was so important to remain hidden.

Her new friend leaned in closer and shouted in her ear. "Fancy a dance?"

She frowned. John had already tried to teach her something called the Three-Pebble Jig which she had submitted to in order to avoid him asking her any more awkward questions, but she didn't need anything from this one. Which is why she was so surprised at finding herself saying: "I'd be delighted."

Taking the proffered hand she was led over to the dance-floor, constructed by the simple means of pushing the tables back against the wall. Eight couples were whirring around each other at such a feverous rate it made the princess' head spin just to watch them. She had to turn away to keep herself from feeling sick, and found herself looking for John in the corner of old women, but he wasn't there.

Her dance partner pulled her forward, but she held back. "I'm afraid I don't know this one," she said. "You'll have to excuse me."

She tried to dive back into the crowd but there was someone in her way.

"Giving up so soon?" said John.

The princess frowned. "I need to sit down."

"Ah, come on. I can teach you this one if you like."