The Heartwood

Chapter 12

Dear Count of Heart Wood,

I owe you the greatest of apologies and even greater gratitude. You were perfectly correct when you labeled me as The Jester. I did many things I am not proud of but I knew what they were when I did them. My age and other influences cannot be to blame.

You will not have to fear your back doors or windows any longer. I am leaving with Mr. Kingsley to be a vanguard. He wants me to treat this as a secret but I believe you are already familiar with the organization and Mr. Kingsley's profession. I am not being coerced. I really am looking forward to it.

They hunt monsters and daemons, Mr. Fry. And I am told that you do, too. I am satisfied that this would explain your apprehension of the brooch we discussed in the spring if it were a cursed item, and why you were always busy and never open with me (not that I was ever owed an explanation).

I understand if you disregard this and choose to never see me again. I never meant any harm but that means nothing now that I understand how bad things could have been. I just hope to express that I never meant to be an inconvenience and I am so very sorry for everything. When I am away and I think about home, I will be remembering the weeks of this summer when I would slip away to see Heart Wood.

Please treat your estate better.

Humbly yours,

Asher Walsh

- Also, as the daemon in your stone was trying to get away, it was very afraid of you. That must mean you are a very powerful hunter. Perhaps if I live to be an adult and my Damner does not come first, I can return and somehow be of service to you. I would like that.

Asher borrows an envelope and his father's seal. He has mined the dictionary at length and worn down a quill. A glance at the time causes him to panic, though. How does he lose so much time when Heart Wood is involved? Darren will be arriving soon and Asher is certain that he is not even allowed to communicate with the Count. He has a feeling that should he ask, he will be denied and that Darren will deem writing even too dangerous...

Which is why Asher doesn't plan to ask.

He is clumsy with the candle and the wax seal. He does not reread the letter, hoping it is grammatically correct. Trusting his schooling for once. He reads a lot and had spent the winter months dictating for his father in order to earn the books that he had wanted. Perhaps that ambition had dressed him up to catch the attentions of the Eternal vanguards in the first place.

Asher takes the front door, certain that if Darren expects him to leave it will be by the discreet route. The sun burns orange and makes the shadows creep blue across the yard. Asher sprints on legs that are not happy with the repeated regime from the previous day. He reaches the road with some hedges as cover. They protect Asher from casual eyes but not, he would guess, from the vanguards.

A familiar cart rolls by, Asher almost cries from the serendipity of it. Jim Angove, the farmer, is on his way up the hill. Asher crawls to his feet and with the white note crushed in his hand, he hurries after it. There is no shouting. Asher doesn't have the mind to think of a convincing lie so instead, he hops onto the back of the cart with his wrist stinging in barely healed protest. Inside the back are covered baskets and Asher grabs a sack and lifts it.

Jim Angove labels his baskets, bless him! The second basket says "NC" on it in black paint and Asher can think of only one place that those initials represents. He shoves the letter in with the small supply of apples, corn and potatoes. He trusts that his fortune favors him. If Ms. Clement finds it, she will deliver it.