Kidnapping (1)
The festival in Harrington Village carried on deep into the night. Most of the villagers had drifted off to the square, so the inn run by Canna's parents sat unusually quiet. Canna would have liked to be out there herself, but her parents had left the place in her care, and she had no choice but to mind it alone.
Even so, she was content. Today's festival was meant to celebrate Daisy's recovery, and Daisy had only gotten well because Ariel and Lou brought Patricia back. As for the one who had led Ariel and Lou to Harrington Village in the first place—
That was me.
Canna, too, had done her part in the day's joy. No one in particular was acknowledging it, but her heart was still warm with pride.
A bell chimed. The inn door opened and someone stepped inside, and Canna turned toward it.
"Welco—oh."
It was Ariel.
Her face was as blank as the first time Canna had seen her, and yet something faintly dissatisfied seemed to linger there.
"Ariel. Why are you back already? Was the festival no fun?"
At the question Ariel nodded, then pattered over and sat at a table in the inn's dining room. Canna went to her.
"Want something to eat?"
"Cream bread."
Ariel put a peculiar weight on the words. Canna let out a little laugh.
"You didn't eat anything at the square? There's plenty there better than cream bread."
Ariel stared quietly into empty air. She had asked the village chief for cream bread and been brushed aside. The villagers, for their part, had offered nothing but thanks—no food at all. What Ariel didn't know was that the chief had given them strict instructions: pass along their gratitude, but never so much as mention a reward or a payment. To do so, he had said, would insult an elf's pure heart...
"Huh? Where's Lou?"
When Canna asked, Ariel rummaged in her pocket, drew something out, and set it on the table.
It was Lou. Lou's face was flushed red, dead to the world—having drunk fruit wine to the limit and gotten thoroughly, magnificently drunk. Canna laughed again.
"Anyway, I'll get you the cream bread, so wait a little."
Humming under her breath, Canna set about preparing the cream bread. She had been a little bored, stuck inside while the festival went on in the square, but if she could spend that time at the inn with Ariel, this was better. And with Lou drunk and asleep, maybe she could even indulge herself. Once Ariel had eaten the cream bread and milk and looked satisfied, Canna meant to casually ask whether she might touch those ears. If the ears were off-limits, stroking that gleaming silver hair wouldn't be bad either. And if the hair was off-limits too, then at least the cheeks...
"Ooh, something smells good."
Someone had come into the kitchen as they spoke. Canna startled and turned—and found a familiar face.
"Jack?"
It was Jack, the blacksmith's son. He was about five years older than Canna, old enough that the village counted him among the young men, and yet he still didn't seem to have grown up. He never worked with any diligence, too busy drinking and chasing after girls. He was forever saying how sick he was of a backwater like Harrington Village, how someday he would go to the city and live in style. Canna didn't think he would manage it. There wasn't much Jack actually knew how to do.
In short, he was the village layabout, nursing nothing but grandiose daydreams.
"That bread's for the elf, right?"
Jack pointed at the cream bread Canna had prepared. One hand stuffed in his pocket, his body swaying, he looked thoroughly delinquent.
"And why do you care?"
"Hand it over. I'll take it to her."
"Why would you? No. And what are you even doing here? They're holding the festival in the square right now."
"So what? Who cares about some boring festival? Give it here. I'll deliver it. I've got business with that elf."
For an instant, one corner of Jack's mouth curled up. The sight sent a prickle of unease through Canna. That little lift of the lip was a habit she had seen every time he was about to cause trouble—before he set fire to the village palisade in a fit of spite after the adults gave him a thorough scolding, and again before he slipped into the chief's house to steal valuables.
"Hey, Canna."
Someone else had come into the kitchen. Two people this time: Tom and Susan. Both of them ran with Jack.
Tom was heavyset, timid, and simple-hearted, yet he dogged Jack's heels simply because they were friends—something like a dull-witted henchman. Susan was another of the village's chronic headaches, forever throwing looks at men and stirring up trouble. She had once shown up at the chief's house in the dead of night; whatever she had been planning, the chief had torn into her for it. She was cut from the same cloth as Jack. Harrington Village was a tedious backwater, and someday she meant to reach the city and live in splendor. She was always certain that the moment she got there she could wrap some nobleman around her finger, though to Canna that seemed unlikely. Objectively speaking, Susan's face was not a pretty one.
At any rate, the pack of village troublemakers who followed Jack had come crowding into the kitchen. They were plainly plotting something. Canna turned, meaning to get help—slip out the kitchen's back door, run to the square, and tell the adults.
"Where do you think you're going!"
Jack caught her before she could. A cloth was shoved over her mouth, her hands and feet bound with rope, and she was shut inside the kitchen storeroom.
"Then take a little nap, Canna. Be good."
Jack snickered and shut the storeroom door. From outside came the sound of the bar sliding into place. And so Canna was sealed inside the pitch-black kitchen storeroom.
"Hello?"
Susan set the cream bread and milk on Ariel's table and sat down herself.
"I hear you saved Daisy's life. Thank you, really."
Susan said it, but Ariel gave no answer. She simply reached out, took hold of the cream bread, and gazed at it with eyes that had gone faintly bright. Susan might as well not have existed. Susan bristled a little, but she swallowed it for the sake of the plan. A heavy dose of sleeping draught had gone into that cream bread and that milk—weaker than a fairy's sleep-powder, but still decent enough for treating insomnia. She had mixed a great deal of it into the cream and shaken plenty more into the milk. Eat it, and the elf probably wouldn't wake until morning.
Ariel started in on the cream bread, stuffing her small mouth full and eating with obvious delight, then washing it down with milk whenever it caught in her throat. Susan smiled quietly. From the kitchen, where he was watching, Jack smiled as well.
Done. It worked. This elf will be asleep any moment now. Then we move.
It was a plan Jack had made: kidnap the elf and the fairy.
The bumpkins of Harrington Village didn't seem to realize it, but an elf and a fairy fetched an enormous price—enough, perhaps, to buy a noble title. Jack knew. He had picked it up from a mercenary who once passed through the village, and that was how the plan had taken shape. Reckless, yes, but if it succeeded his life would change. No more rotting in a backwater like this. A brilliant life in the city.
He let Susan and Tom in on it. Coward that he was, Tom hesitated, but he had no real choice. If Jack told him to do something, he did it. Susan was delighted. She had always thought the same way Jack did, so of course she was.
The plan itself was nothing elaborate. Kidnap the elf somehow and flee all the way to the city. All they needed was rope, cloth, and the sleeping draught Tom's mother took. And if they were going to do it, Jack had decided, it had to be today. Now, while everyone was caught up in the festival, was the chance: while the villagers were distracted with drink, quietly take the elf and the fairy, steal the village's shared carriage, and run for the city.
With the plan set, Jack had loitered around the square, keeping his eyes on Ariel, and the opening came quickly. She tucked the fairy into her pocket and headed off somewhere—the inn. Jack thought heaven itself was helping him. The village's communal carriage happened to be kept at the inn; they could leave at once. Better still, every villager was in the square. The only one at the inn was Canna. He brought Susan and Tom inside with him, and that was how things had come to this.
Jack was waiting at the kitchen entrance when Susan walked over.
"The elf ate the cream bread and the milk and passed right out. And the fairy's dead drunk, too. Completely out."
"Yeah?"
Jack's mouth curled up again. It was his own plan, and yet it seemed almost too perfect. No wonder he had felt so stifled, letting a mind this exceptional rot away in the countryside.
"Let's start. Tom, bring the elf. Tie the hands and feet properly. If she wakes, she might thrash. Susan, you take the fairy. A glass jar ought to do. Poke some air holes—it might die otherwise."
"Got it."
Having given his orders, Jack opened the inn's back door and stepped outside. While Tom and Susan secured the elf and the fairy, he meant to take the village's communal carriage. Calling it theft was almost too much. Honestly, he only had to walk off with it. There wasn't even a lock. He led two horses out of the inn stable and hitched them to the carriage. It was a carriage the villagers used together, precious property of the village, but he didn't care. He was never coming back to this dump anyway.
A short while later Susan and Tom came out the back door. Susan carried a large glass jar. Tom held the elf, bound tight with rope.
"Get in."
Jack climbed onto the driver's seat. Susan and Tom boarded as well. He drew the reins, the horse let out a whinny, and the carriage set off.