Day In. Hide Out.

Chapter 5

After a long while of walking, it's evening, and I take refuge in a little shed off the path, hidden behind the hanging branches of the thick laid trees. I reach for the rusty, metal door handle, but it's almost too overgrown with moss and cobwebs to move. The wooden door creaks open and I close it behind me as I tiptoe inside.

Long, stringy spiderwebs decorate the ceiling and the walls, and the dirt floor is littered with cans and bottles and other household items. A pocket knife, useful as it is, has been left on the shelf that encircles the small room. I blow it off and set it in my satchel carefully. Then, I set down my bag in the corner behind the door. The dim, leftover sunlight peeking just over the mountains filters in through the smudged, glazed over windows, and the trees cut off any more to come in through the large crack in the wall. A tin roof covers me, and boxes in the dark room. It's hard to see, but I make my way to the shelf and feel around. I feel nothing else useful, but I can only make out shapes, and decide to check in the morning.

With another useless look around, I sit down on the dirt floor cross-legged. The trash laying all across the floor, I brush off, and take out my thick winter coat. I lay it down softly on the ground, first smashing a daring spider who scrambles onto one sleeve as I set it down. With a long sigh and a glance up at the dim lit window, I close my eyes and drift into a much-needed sleep.

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I wake up to loud rumbling of thunder, clapping overhead, and the momentary flashes of bright lightning over and over. The rain patters hard on the tin roof, and I can barely hear myself think as I try to stand. But my hands sting, and I am literally stuck to the floor. As my eyes open slowly and groggily, I see a shadow above me, the shapeless outline of a very big man. I struggle, and panic begins to overtake me and my common sense. I thrash around, only increasing the pain in my hands, and I look down to see what's wrong. My hands are bound to the floor with thick ropes, and the man above me is glaring down with pursed, colorless lips like the king's.

My eyes bug and my lips quiver and I continue to shake, but realize it's useless and lay back, defeated.

A deep, gruff voice growls, "You finally woke up. I thought you were dead. At least now the king will be happy." He sighs and reaches down, untying the ropes from the stakes he's planted in the ground. The blood flow resumes in my fingers, and a tingling sensation takes them over. As I move my fingers and hands so I can feel them again, he roughly grabs my arm and pulls me up off the ground with one hand.

I shiver a bit, at the cold, wet weather outside. Through the cracks in the walls and the loose, crusty windows, the cool air escapes inside. The man, obviously a guard of the king, is dressed all in black, with an auburn mustache and beard that somewhat match my hair. I glare in his direction as he pushes the door open and shoves me outside into the rain. I think about running, but I've never been a very fast runner, and a man like him surely has giant steps that will overwhelm me in a minute. He grabs my arms from the back and pushes me forward, as rain trickles off my nose and arms and forehead.

Thick clouds gather overhead, and large raindrops roll off the tin roof and spill over the edge. Little drops land in my tangled hair, and soak my dress and overcoat. My boots slop mud around as I walk, the guard behind me glaring at the back of my head so hard I can almost feel it. As he leads me toward a horsedrawn carriage, one of the king's I presume, I realize what a dummy he is. He seems tough, but his eyes are drawn out in a goofy, crosseyed manor, and he walks, clomping like a fat Clydesdale horse. His hands are holding tightly on my shoulders, but he looks around him, unfocused.

Maybe I'm smarter than him. Maybe, just slightly maybe, I can outsmart him and get away. I sure wouldn't want to go back without my satchel, after all the work I've been through to get that stuff. He only has his hands on my shoulders, and I shrug. He stops and comes in front of me. "What?" he asks in a threatening voice, raising his eyebrow.

"Nothing, I'm just going to get in the carriage now," I inform him with an innocent grin. The fool buys it. He really buys it. He lets go of my shoulders. "You know, I think the way the king treats you is wrong. You deserve better."

"Huh?" he says, raising his eyebrows again and stepping in front of me.

"Well, you know, he treats you like trash. You're never given food while you're on duty, and you're left outside at night to guard him instead of sleeping in a nice....warm....comfortable bed. Even the servants get beds. Just seems wrong to me, that's all. Well, better get a move on. Don't want to keep King Branton waiting. You know, he doesn't like waiting much," I say with a sigh, reaching up for the handle to step into the back of the carriage.

"You know, you're right. That king never gives me anything. He barely knows my name. I deserve to be appreciated. And you do too. Let's leave him waiting. He won't send out a search party or anything for us. Don't worry, kid. You're alright. Go on, have your fun. Find someone who appreciates you," the dummy says with a lopsided grin.

"I hear there's a king just over the border that's looking for a right-hand guard," I say enticingly, winking.

"I'll go see him right now!" he cries, running diagonally to the carriage and jumping up on the seat. He nearly breaks it. The poor, painful creak expressed from the wood is enough to make me tear up. He slaps the whip on the horse's back harshly, and swerves the carriage in a mud puddle, narrowly missing me.

I smile happily, satisfied, and walk back to the ramshackle little shed, squeezing out the hem and sleeves of my coat outside the door. I dash into the warm, dry little place and take no notice of the chilly breeze I'd felt earlier. I pull off my soaking coat and dress and replace them with a white shirt and a pair of the brown pants. They're a bit too big, making me look like a scrawny stray dog that hasn't eaten in months except for the banana peels and stale bread from the trash bins.

I also take out a cap that I found tucked in the bottom of the satchel, and put it on. My long auburn hair cascades down from it over my shoulders, and down to the small of my back. I pull it together and tuck it up under the hat, letting little pieces fall out and hang around my ears.

Considering my recent experiences in being noticed, I figure this disguise could, hopefully, help me a bit. I'll stay in the forests as much as I can, and sneak out into the villages at night, when the late night shops are open and the shopkeepers are tired and careless. As a final aid, I pick a handful of dry dirt from the ground and dab it in streaks on my face and in my leftover hair.

I reach up and pick a shard of glass up from the shelf. With the edge of my wet (and not quite as white), mud spattered dress, I wipe it off, and blow on it to dry up the little murky droplets. Then, I hold it in front of me, and look at myself and my new look. Satisfied, I nod and set the makeshift mirror down, smiling.

I am as happy as I can be with my new, however I wouldn't say improved, look. The guards searching for me, (though I do hope they've stopped by now), won't pay any attention to a dusty young boy walking down the road or playing in the forest. And with all this gunk on my face, I surely won't be recognized as Lily, whomever she may be, Moore's little servant sister.

The day drags on, and the cool pitter pattering of the rain dripping softly on the roof lulls me to sleep once again. I made sure to block the door with a heavy box from the corner, so I feel safe enough to curl up with my coat wrapped around me and my clothes hanging to dry on the shelf.