The Historian’s Novel

Every bump in the road felt like a pebble that ought to have been born a boulder. And each time the coach creaked Amelia found herself holding her breath, hoping that a louder noise would soon follow. Only, the coach she and her father sat in continued smoothly onwards; a testament to the good work of those who had built it. An accomplishment to be lauded, if it were not for Amelia’s inner turmoil that desperately wanted their ride to come apart at the seems.

   “You’ve been jittery since we left,” Havoc said, pulling Amelia out from her mind’s palace and back into the real world.

   His remark stunned her. Having thought it a given her father would quietly spend the entirety of their ride with a drink in his hand.  “I’ll admit to being excited,” she said, keeping her eyes trained outside her seat’s window, “it’s been a while since we spent time together like this.”

    Havoc grunted. Amelia couldn’t tell whether that meant he agreed, or if he was holding back a dissatisfaction in having to bring her along.

   Amelia couldn’t convince herself to look at him and find out. For she feared ruining this opportunity to be with her father. Such was the rarity of them being in each other’s company since the passing of Ophelia Strightsworth. These days, it sometimes felt as if Havoc had fallen off the face of a cliff. He could disappear for days at a time and nobody would be none the wiser as to where he might be.

   “Is the entire road going to be this well maintained?” Amelia asked, trying to make safe conversation while estimating the chances that her plan might succeed.

   “From beginning to finish,” Havoc answered, which only worsened Amelia’s worries.  “Once, the ground here looked no better than a well-trodden path. I found this gave our… neighbors, ideas. Which led to my decision that our borders deserved a symbol. A line if you will, that none would dare cross.”

   Amelia hummed in agreement. She could remember those dirt roads. As well as the times she spent gathering flowers under the watch of her mother near them. All while Havoc stood on the highest hill to keep guard. As if daring those on the other side of the border to try and stop his workers from permanently marking the land he protected. 

   And oh, how they had tried.

   One head, two heads, three heads, more. The number of pikes marking the landscape at that time had quickly risen in correspondence with the number of assassins the West had sent forth to put Havoc’s legend to the test.

   Amelia smiled. She remembered having found one at the base of a hill. As well as the shrill scream of shock which Ophelia had let loose upon seeing what her daughter had brought her.

   “Amelia Strightsworth! You drop that this instant or else it’s vegetables for a week!” Ophelia had shouted. Bringing the memory to a close with the unpleasant taste of boiled brussels sprouts. Remedied only by her father, who had snuck a chocolate bar into her grubby hands later that day.

   The bonds their family once shared emboldened Amelia to listen to the small voice in her heart which urged her to sneak a glance at her father from under her wide, wool felt hat. And like a mouse who dared peak it’s head out from its burrow, only to find a cat staring back, Amelia’s bravery found itself extinguished. Havoc’s glare was simply too much. He must have really been against her coming along. Frantically, Amelia searched for a reason to stay should her father decide to renegade on his promise and have her sent back home early.

   She found a possible excuse in the town that had begun to rise round the road’s bend.

   “Heimdall!” Amelia shouted, raising her voice for the man riding on horseback to bring his steed over to the window she opened, “Heimdall, is that Lurington which I see?”

   “It is,” Heimdall answered.

   “And would I be correct in saying that it’s the closest town to the border?”

   “You would, have you a need to be met there?”

   Amelia shook her head no. She only wanted her father to remember that he had promised to bring her along while Heimdall was present. Though in asking her question, she also confirmed the name of the town wherein the princess would have spent her childhood growing up.

   “No thank you,” Amelia said, “I simply wanted to match what I’ve read with what I now see.” While in truth, she wanted to point and yell: ‘Go! Find and bring me our Kingdom’s only hope for survival!’ But that would draw far too much attention.

   Hence why she began to panic as they approached the town’s turn-off.

   What if the coach’s wheel never broke? How could they stop for repairs if there was nothing to repair? Amelia’s heart beat tremendously with worry. The trip had already taken three hours. A distance much too far for her to reasonably sneak out and visit on her own.

   She nearly jumped up in fright when Havoc nudged his foot against hers.

   “Is there a point to you wearing gloves in this heat?” Havoc asked, pointing to the white lace Amelia was using to hide her still injured hand.

   “It’s for fashion,” she mumbled, “I overheard a few maids talking of how in the capital, the lady’s there have taken to wearing gloves even during the summer.”

   “Weird,” Havoc said, “you would think the heat…”

   The Baron stopped talking. A deep frown crossing the corners of his mouth before he placed his hand to the floor. Moments before Amelia’s plan came into fruition, and a horrible shudder accompanied a loud snap.

Havoc was already half-way out the door by the time the wheel fully broke.

   “Whoa, whoa now!” cried the coachman, pulling hard on the reigns, when the coach hit the ground with enough force that Amelia found herself falling off from her seat.

   Painfully hitting the floor, she barely managed to catch Havoc’s half empty wine bottle before it could make impact with her face. Holding a hand over the bottle’s opening, Amelia curled up to try and ride out the coach that began violently shaking. She had imagined the coach ought to be heavy enough it would slowly come to a stop after losing a wheel. Never could Amelia have predicted the horses would instead panic and begin to pick up even more speed.

   The brute force of the animals alarmed Amelia greatly. They were riding with an escort, and she now feared her ill-conceived plan might result in a knight, or their steed getting injured.

   And when it felt as if the out-of-control coach had hit a brick wall. Amelia wanted to cry.

   Desperate to take responsibility for the damage she’d caused, Amelia struggled to crawl-climb her way out from the slanted coach. Practically falling out the door and into the arms of Heimdall who had come to help get her out.

   “Is anyone hurt?!” she asked him, only to grow greatly confused when Heimdall’s worried expression broke out into laughter.

Which made not a lick of sense, until she saw the front of their coach. Where Havoc stood calmly shushing the two panicked horses he held: one arm under each barrel belly. Contrary to Amelia’s assumption that they had gone off road and crashed into the forest, her father, using an unreasonable, inhuman amount of strength, had singlehandedly put a stop to the consequences created by Amelia’s lack of foresight.

   In relief, Amelia let herself bawl. Though she took comfort in knowing only Heimdall would see her up close as the knights were already gathering around their Baron to find out what had happened.

   “Foul play is at foot!” Havoc said loudly, placing down the horses who sat next to each other as if afraid of becoming his lunch, “I want ten by my daughter! The rest are to draw weapons and search for whoever might be the cause! Do not stray further than your eyes are able to see from this spot. If you find anyone, they are to be dragged alive and placed on the ground at my feet!”

   His knights sprung into action. Each one trying to move quicker than the last. Their armor glimmering under the dark blue colors of her family’s crest. Cleaned and maintained even so far as much Amelia finally realised something was different than normal.

   Had the knights gone above and beyond in preparing their equipment to march?

   For so long had Amelia grown accustomed to seeing them walking around in but the lightest of armor, that the idea she may not be alone in wanting her father to regain his old self re-energized her fully. Tucking away the handkerchief she used to clean her face, Amelia let the pride she was seeing in each knight’s body-language guide her feet to her father.

   “Are you hurt?” Havoc asked, sounding so genuinely worried Amelia almost admitted that yes, she had taken a tumble that would leave a few bruises.

   “I’m fine,” Amelia said, wanting to look strong in his presence, “what happened?” she asked, pretending to not know.

   Havoc looked back at the coach, “carriage wheel came off,” he said, and to Amelia it sounded as if her father had begun to come down from an adrenaline high, “someone get me my drink,” he grouchily ordered, before calling for Heimdall.

   “Results?” Havoc growled, when his aid arrived at the same time as his bottle.

   “Sabotage,” Heimdall said, his eyes narrow, his voice nearly cracking from how angry he’d gotten, “no signs of ambush. They must have miscalculated. Give me the order, and I’ll ride ahead to return the surprise.”

   “Unnecessary,” Havoc said, sitting down on a boulder that sunk a few inches into the ground, “instead, take seven with you to Lurington for a replacement carriage to bring Amelia back.”

   Desperate for that not to happen, Amelia spoke up. “Why not let me help? I… I can represent you in Lurington. It wouldn’t be hard!”

   Her hope in meeting the princess had only just been restored. She wouldn’t let things go south so close to success. Daring to touch her father’s shoulder, Amelia opened her mouth to further try and convince him, only to pull that hand back as if it had touched the fire his burning gaze held.

   It made sense. From his perspective, they had just been attacked. And here she was asking to go off from the group. Like an idiot.

   Still, she couldn’t give up.

   “I have faith in the knights who you’ve trained,” Amelia said, finding the grass pretty enough to appreciate while talking, “whoever did this, they wouldn’t know I’ve come with you. But if there’s an ambush ahead, then they might be expecting reinforcements to be sent for. Wouldn’t Lurington be the safest place for me to be right now?”

   Heimdall nodded. “She’s not wrong. Only you and I knew Amelia would be joining us today.”

   Well, them and a few night-shift guards. But Amelia held her tongue and did not correct him. Instead, she waited on her father’s decision with both fingers crossed.

   Havoc gave no response. The baron instead now occupied with staring off into the distance. Signalling for Heimdall to lean in, Havoc whispered something to his aid that Amelia couldn’t hear. Whatever was shared however, had Heimdall urgently nod in clear understanding.

   Her hope wavered, for the umpteenth time that day. Amelia fully believing her father had pulled rank to have her returned. Until Heimdall inexplicably dashed off in a sprint. Quick as a gazelle, he ran up a nearby hill, and disappeared over its side.

   Daring not to break the awkward silence that fell, Amelia received a surprise when Heimdall returned after a few minutes, dragging two young women by the scruff of their clothes. Along with a heard of sheep. Who couldn’t tell the difference between their owners leading them on to new pastures or being straight up abducted.

   “Daddy, what’s going on?” Amelia asked, immediately wanting to slap herself for the infantile gaff in how she had addressed him.   It couldn’t be helped. Her brain must have returned to a childish state due to not being able to keep up with the strange development that was two people thrown in front of her father’s boots.

   “Before you stands the Baron of the land on which you live!” Heimdall announced with great force, “know that any lies from this point forward, will be met with punitive action!”

   One of the girls kept crying. Her mousy hair used to hide herself away from the world as she curled up into a ball. The other, a blond, got onto her knees to look towards Havoc.

   Amelia, who empathised with the fear the first girl felt in being forced to deal with her father, did a double take when she moved forwards and got a good look at the blonde. With hair as golden as wheat yet with the texture of silk. Skin that knew of the sun yet remained unblemished and smooth. The blond was a beauty. Even the knights who were watching began murmuring when she stood and performed a perfect curtsy to address the Baron.

   “We’re residents of Lurington my lord, out tending sheep. Please, ask us any questions you might have. For such a heavy-handed method of calling us over, I imagine urgency is essential.”

   She even talked pretty! Had fortune smiled upon her? Amelia certainly thought so. Since the woman before her, looked like a younger version of the late queen whose painting she had found in The Historian’s book!

   This must be the princess. But to confirm, she needed a name.

   Although she simply couldn’t understand how the perhaps princess could stand confidently in front of Havoc, whose bloodlust began to seep from his body in dark red tendrils of power that looked ready to ignite. Even standing behind him, Amelia could feel the air growing heavy.

    “Heimdall, am I incorrect,” Havoc said slowly, “or are we a fair distance from pastures worth grazing.”

Heimdall pushed up his glasses, taking in their surroundings before answering.

“They’re not ideal, why, you think they’re involved?”

“No,” Havoc answered, close enough now to the two women that he towered above them. “But I want to know why they’re here and not elsewhere.”

The girl on the ground cried even louder. And though the potential princess opened her lips, not a sound did come out. In fact, her hands seemed to be shaking with worry. Amelia shuddered when she realized her father might very well be brute headed enough to trample the luck bestowed upon her by providence.

Rather what was she herself doing! Was this not the perfect time to leave a lasting first impression? Grabbing the sides of her dress, she hurried to step in front of Havoc.

   “Apologies, our coach encountered some difficulty, thus my father, his lordship, is on edge. Understand he is simply worried for the safety of his knights. Any explanation you could offer as to why you are here would be greatly appreciated.”

   The maybe princess, her posture relaxing at having someone much less imposing to talk with, gave Amelia a thankful regard. “We saw the accident from a distance,” she said, “so we figured to take a closer look in case any help might be needed. Our curiosity seems to have done more harm than good. I take it that it was no accident to begin with?”

   The possible princess presented both of her arms unto Havoc. “Do with us what you will. It’s understandable you would need question or detain us under these circumstances. We are more than willing to wait while our identities are confirmed.”      

   Amelia breathed in through her nose in excitement. As expected of the princess. The knights, along with Havoc who released his pressure, looked convinced the two women were most likely not threats.

   “Please, lower your arms,” Amelia said kindly, “you are citizens under my father’s protection. My family is not one to judge someone as guilty without first finding fault. Might I have your names? I’m certain your positions will be cleared up in no time.”

   “Clarice,” said the Shepheard, still refusing to look at anyone in the slightest.

   “This one is named Grace,” said the princess, and Amelia suppressed a desire to squeal.

   Success! Nay, this moment might be considered even a grand success in the future. For with her suspicions confirmed, Amelia could now fully commit to believing in The Historian’s Novel. That last lingering doubt vanished. The princess was real. The Historian's Novel was real.

            Oh god the Historian's novel really is real, Amelia thought, feeling the reality of what that meant wash over her now that the floodgates of possibility in her mind had been opened.

            Could she do this?

   Turning to her father, Amelia sought approval to continue speaking. She found him with a drink to his mouth, bearing a disinterested look. Amelia could feel her lips ask permission to tremble in grief. Telling them to wait until nightfall, she managed to negotiate an undeterred smile with a future promise of sweets.

   “Then I would like to both thank you for stepping forwards to help and apologise for this misunderstanding.” Amelia said to the two women.

   “We can do more than step forward,” Grace said, showing a cheeky grin that Amelia just knew had managed to ensorcell at least half the men present. “Why not come with us to town? I know a good craftsman who's been looking for work, we could confirm our alibis while he helps fix your coach?”

   “Splendid,” Amelia said, happy to see the building blocks to the Kingdom’s survival were now falling where she wished that they would. “Doesn’t that sound like a good idea?” she asked Heimdall, using him as a middleman to obtain permission from her father.

    Heimdall agreed. And soon, the princess was helping her friend up to depart with an escort of knights.

   Having established first contact with Grace, Amelia no longer had any reason to stay. Moving closer to Havoc, she thought of how best to get approval for that which needed to be asked.

   “I’ve decided you are to return with Heimdall once the carriage has been fixed,” Havoc said.

   Amelia did not object, “of course,” she said, thinking back on her plan. Originally, she had wanted to seek out the princess, put herself in a position where the two of them would meet through happenstance, and go on from there. But that had already been done! Which left only one thing.

   “Father,” she whispered, sliding in a bit closer, “can I speak with you alone for a moment?”

The Baron waved his knights and Heimdall away. Once alone with her father, Amelia couldn’t help but second guess the script she’d come up with.

“Well?” Havoc asked, his voice unquestionably impatient to get on with things.

Allowing the onion in her sleeve to fall into her glove, Amelia took a deep breath. Knowing logically, convincing her father she needed Grace to become her handmaiden, made no sense at all.

Meaning her only recourse would be to appeal to emotion. And pray it wouldn’t annoy her father instead.

“I want her,” Amelia said, and she winced under the baron’s eyebrows that arched in perplexion. 

 “By ‘her’, do you mean the girl who talked with me, or the ostrich masquerading as a human.”

“The girl with blond hair,” Amelia said, biting her lower lip to give the slight impression she knew what she asked for was strange. “Mother had her ladies in waiting… And… Well… Grace left a good impression. You must have seen it, how she remained calm before you.”

Up came the unneeded onion when Havoc failed to reply.

Down came the tears she pretended to fake.

“I’m sorry,” Amelia said, when Havoc opened his mouth and she worried he might refuse her outright, “It’s… It’s been hard since mom left us. I was hoping to maybe try making a friend. You used to tell me stories of living in a small village, so I thought, maybe she might end up being someone like Heimdall.”

Havoc nary blinked once while she spoke. Amelia wondered if by mentioning her mother, she might have unintentionally angered her father. A fret that seemed all but confirmed when the ground beneath Havoc splintered in fivefold directions. The very earth responding to the Baron’s state of mind that began raging about.

Cursing herself for not having asked Heimdall instead of her father, Amelia flinched under the hand that Havoc raised high.

Only to fall into absolute disarray when his palm heavily coddled the top of her head.

“Hard work will bring strength,” Havoc said slowly, and Amelia’s emotions were put on hold to try and figure out why he would mention their family’s motto.

“And under us will the weak gather?” she said, finishing it for him. Unable to see Havoc’s expression from under his hand.

It felt strange. But Amelia kept quiet. Letting the warm foreign fuzzies in her heart spread the nostalgia throughout her. She quite liked the words which adorned her family’s emblem of a blue-bird in flight. Simple in design like her father’s roots, but bearing a message that anyone knew to be true.

The moment between them ended just as quickly as it had started when Havoc pulled back.

“Do what you will,” said her father, turning to leave, “Now head home. I’ll be going ahead to meet whoever is responsible for having disturbed our outing.”

“Father, That’s… That’s the other side of the border,” Amelia said, when she saw in which direction he headed.

“I know,” Havoc answered without looking back.

His departing figure left Amelia feeling like a child who had received some attention, but not nearly enough. She huffed. Not liking the thought that anything she did might be childish. After all, her mother had hoped her daughter would grow to become a dutiful lady. 

Thus, she took one last look at his back, before running to the coach. Where she dug through her bag for a letter she had already written. Calling a knight over, she handed it to him, along with some money.

“I wish for you to deliver this,” she said.

“To whom?” Asked the knight.

“Have you heard of the rumours of a drink that tastes just like heaven?”

“In Lurington? Yeah, the boys — apologies — the other knights, they’ve been singing its praises at every chance lately.”

And do you remember the woman with blonde hair who Heimdall brought over?”

“Like a ray of sunlight in summer,” the knight sighed.

Amelia frowned. Waiting for the knight to break out from his love-stricken daze.

“Uh… Is this for her then?” he at long last asked, looking almost hopeful about it.

“That young woman is my friend,” Amelia said, sprinkling in a small lie in case the knight got any funny ideas. She wouldn’t risk having the princess stolen out from under her nose this early into The Historian’s story. “You will find her working in the pub where that heavenly drink is produced. Enter it knowing every word you say should be treated as my own. I want you to yell, at the top of your lungs if you must, that your purpose for visiting is to seek out the person responsible for making those drinks.”

The knight must have realized Amelia was serious. “By your will then,” he said, striking his chest with great gusto.

   “One last thing,” Amelia said, wanting to make up for her father’s bad first impression, “if anyone but my friend steps forward claiming to be the creator…”

   “Yes?”

   Amelia impishly grinned. Knowing her next words to be naughty.

   “Beat them for me. Until they beg for forgiveness.”