Shoemaker

“Blast.” She cursed.

The dirt road scratched the shoemaker’s bare feet as she ran, but she didn’t care. She had bigger problems.

“Blast. Blast. Blast.”

Her pack, full to bursting with tools, with leather and thread and cloth and even wooden heels, made a wretchedly distinctive sound as they slammed against her back. The shoemaker adjusted her glasses on her sweaty nose and gulped for air. Perhaps she should have taken the cart rides she was offered many times along the road. Unfortunately, carts and carriages were rather unfit for plunging into the roadside woods when ambushed by a royal envoy.

If she did say so herself, the shoemaker was becoming talented at dodging that ridiculous prince. The first time, when he sacked her house in the artisans’ district in the city, she’d been frightened.

But now-frankly-she didn’t have the energy to be frightened. Nor the time.

She rounded a bend and came upon a town, finally. She’d been traveling alongside a river for hours now, hoping to find some sort of settlement.

This was no half-cooked village either. It was a proper town, with a gate and sheriff alongside it.

“Blast.” The shoemaker said.

She’d come all this way- the last thing she needed was to be nabbed at the gate in the middle of an interrogation.

“Who are you?” The sheriff asked, arms crossed.

“The name’s Uburu.” The shoemaker gasped. “Let me in- take me to the jail, if you like. Let me in and I’ll tell you whatever you want.”

Thankfully, the sheriff had no reason to refuse such a reasonable request. Uburu was allowed in, taken to the pub for a drink while she discussed her business with the sheriff. She shouldered off her pack and jumped on a stool next to the bar. The bartender plunked down a beer in front of her, and Uburu drank it in three gulps.

Uburu was no drinker; she hated the taste of alcohol. Short and slight as she was, whatever she drank could easily go to her head.

But, blast it, she was thirsty. And she would drink, fugitive or no.

“I’m a shoemaker by trade.” The shoemaker said, staring longingly at the pot of stew bubbling in front of the stove. “I’m passing by…traveling to the capital.”

The bartender took pity on her and retrieved a plate and bowl from a cupboard. Potatoes, carrots and pork in the broth, and a thick slice of bread to go with it. Uburu took in the smell of it and nearly fainted from hunger.

The sheriff and the bartender exchanged glances. Good hosts as they were, they had the courtesy to shut up while the newcomer replenished her strength.

The pub was small and warm. In a familiar town like this, it was always relatively full. But now, between midday and afternoon, the only two customers were Dornan, who’d sprained his ankle two days ago, and his sweetheart Eva. Seven tables crowded between the door and the bar, and there was an old piano on the left side of the pub, which the bartender played whenever his younger brother could be persuaded to mind the bar.

The bartender, Sean, was somewhere in his thirties, and all but ran his father’s pub. He was pudgy and tall and had a perpetual half-grin. He looked so at home behind the bar that no one-least of all Uburu- would suspect that he could play piano as well as half the musicians in the capital.

The sheriff’s name was Kevin, and he was fifty. He had graying hair and a limp. He had once been a soldier, but now he considered himself first and foremost a grandfather. He tried not to look too concerned as he eyed the scruffy-looking newcomer and realized she was a girl. He threw Sean a disapproving look for giving her ale without asking first.

The shoemaker finished her food and finally caught her breath. She tried not to look like she knew they were observing her; as they would observe any traveler. She became conscious of her feet, dirty to her uncovered knees; her shock of hacked-off auburn hair, which she was fairly sure had leaves inside it; and her clothes, well-made but starting to thread.

She hadn’t bathed in more than a week. Luckily, she’d remained out of the prince’s clutches for the same amount of time.

“I don’t mean to cause you trouble,” She told the sheriff, and shook his hand. “But the crown prince of Sultur is after me.”

Sean handed her another bowl of broth, dodging the sheriff’s watchful eye. Uburu nodded in thanks.

“The prince of Sultur? The cripple?”

Uburu made an unladylike sound. “He’s no more a cripple than you are, sir.” She nodded toward the sheriff’s lame leg.

Sean leaned his elbows on the bar. “I heard he never leaves the castle.”

“He’s just sent some soldiers after me.” The shoemaker said. “But you’ll have to let them in if they arrive. They’re just as stubborn as he is.”

Kevin raised an eyebrow. “Do you know him well, ma’am?”

Uburu blushed. She tried to disappear into her stew. “I made a pair of shoes for him.”

The two men, wisely, asked no more questions. The shoemaker finished eating and slid five gold coins across the bar.

“I need somewhere to bathe, new clothes, food for the road, and a place where I can wash and mend my clothes.” Uburu rattled off. “Then I’ll be on my way. I mean it when I say I don’t want to cause you any trouble.”

The two men stared at the money on the table, eyes wide. The shoemaker crossed her arms and grinned.

“I’m good at what I do.”  She leaned both elbows on the bar. “So, gentlemen?”

Sean skidded to his house and asked his wife if she could help the shoemaker wash, dress and mend her clothes. Then he sent Dornan and Eva off to buy clothes and food.

Sean’s wife, Victoria, a short, pretty, robust-looking woman wearing a blue apron and wooden shoes, took Uburu’s hand and fairly dragged her inside her home.

“The kettle’s already boiling. I’ll warm the water for your bath and then I’ll make you some tea. Wipe your feet before you come in, mind you.”

Uburu obeyed. After so long on the road, and years as an orphan, being fussed over by a kind woman made her want to cry. The knot in her throat tightened when Victoria’s two daughters helped her undress, asking about her travels and saying she would be pretty if she weren’t caked in a week’s worth of dirt.

“Do you have a sweetheart?” Lily, the older of the two, asked as she scrubbed Uburu’s glasses with dish soap. Uburu would have preferred to do it herself-she didn’t like people touching her things-but Lily was careful and thorough, so she said nothing.

Uburu shook her head. She couldn’t help a self-deprecating smirk from curling her mouth.

“There’s someone you fancy!” Mary, the younger, concluded.

“Hush.” The shoemaker grinned. “I’m a traveler- I’ve no mind to fancy anyone.”

“You can’t help such things.” Lily nodded matter-of-factly.

“Your bath is ready, my dear!” Victoria called, saving the shoemaker from having to deny Lily’s wisdom. She hurried to Victoria’s backyard in a towel and scrubbed down with a sponge until every inch of her skin was glowing red.

Gods…being clean was the best thing on earth.

She dressed in her new clothes. Thankfully, Dornan and Eva had been thoughtful enough to buy her trousers and a man’s shirt, like those she’d been wearing before. After she dressed, Victoria evened out her rat’s nest of a head.

Or tried to, at least.

There was not much to save. Uburu had attacked it haphazardly, hidden in a neighbor’s cupboard, in an attempt to give herself some anonymity. Victoria’s ministrations left her with a boyish cut just below her ears.

“Thank you.” Was all Uburu said.

She almost looked like a proper boy. If she practiced making her voice deeper, she might not have to deal with so many questions, or attempts from local authorities to take her somewhere “safe”.

Lily and Mary laughed and tried to make tiny braids in her hair. Victoria helped the shoemaker mend her trousers while Uburu mended her own shirt. With her glasses clean once more, she didn’t even have to squint.

She was halfway through the tear along her collar when the herald’s trumpet sounded. Uburu jumped, pulling the needle too hard and tangling the thread.

“Blast!” She growled. “I have to go.”

Mary and Lily peppered her with questions while she stuffed her half-mended clothes and packets full of food inside her pack.

“No time, no time!” The shoemaker’s voice shook. “Tell me there’s a back way into the woods.”

“There’s a hole in the Jeffersons’ fence.” Mary said. “But there’s no way to cross from our yard to theirs. We have to go through the front door.”

They could hear the convoy’s wheels clattering along the main road.

“Let’s go, then.” The shoemaker said through clenched teeth.

Uburu thanked Victoria and kissed them all goodbye, though the adrenaline was making her tremble. She would get away. She had to.

“I owe you all a pair of shoes.” She grinned. “The prettiest shoes you’ll ever see.”

Lily grabbed her hand, and they both dashed out.

The evening was waning, and a cool air blew past them as they ran by. There was a shout; Uburu had been sighted. Three houses separated the Jeffersons from Sean and Victoria, and the distance suddenly seemed eternal.

“Shoemaker!” When she heard Prince Ostinato’s voice, her heart tried to jump out of her mouth.

Her legs turned to butter, but she only ran faster. She and Lily turned a corner into the Jeffersons’ yard.

“Shoemaker, stop!”

The clatter of wheels neared-then stopped. Lily turned back to see a finely dressed young man dash toward them, half-falling. One of his boots had metal rods along the leather, from the ankle to the knee on either side of the prince’s left leg.

Prince Ostinato ran into Uburu, knocking her to the ground. When he fell, Lily saw that the metallic boot was visibly smaller than the other.

“Shoemaker.” The prince panted, grinning.

Uburu looked up at him and snarled.

“You’re not supposed to run yet, you absolute buffoon.” She struggled, but the prince had pinned her wrists to the ground. “You’ll snap your ankle or something- let me go, blast it! Let go!”

“I commissioned five pairs of shoes from you.” Prince Ostinato said. “You’ll be free of me when you deliver, madam.”

“I’ll take whatever commissions I please.” Uburu growled. “I’m a free worker.”

“You’re under arrest,” The prince chuckled. “For insulting my royal self.”

“You’re a menace.” The shoemaker bared her teeth.

Lily saw that the shoemaker was blushing bright red, and turned away to hide a laugh. She decided it was not in her best interest to whack the heir to the Sultur throne on the head with a broom and decided to slip away quietly.

She’d barely turned away when Prince Ostinato kissed the shoemaker’s mouth. The shoemaker blinked-and then she closed her eyes. Her fists unclenched. When Prince Ostinato pulled away, she looked baffled.

“Yes.” Prince Ostinato said. “Yes I am.”

Lily looked to the carriage, where guards were already jumping down to arrest her friend, and changed her mind. She grabbed the Jeffersons’ broom from where it stood beside their shed.

But when she turned around, the shoemaker had already shoved her knee into the prince’s stomach. When he let her go with a groan, she slapped him.

Uburu pushed herself up from the ground. She stood and adjusted her pack on her shoulders and nodded to Lily. When she slipped away safely through the crack in the Jefferson’s fence, Lily shoved a pail of water onto the swampy ground, making the prince’s men slip.

Then she ran.

Uburu stumbled into the woods, and even as she gasped for breath and fought through branches and piles of leaves, she was smiling. Nearly laughing.

“You beautiful fool.” She muttered. “You’re not taking away my freedom.”

She could still feel his kiss on her lips. Buffoon. Scoundrel.

“And I am not,” She told herself sternly, pushing her glasses back up her nose. “Falling in love with you.”

The shoemaker heard the guards’ voices distantly behind her and ran, the tools of her trade clinking behind her. She was still barefoot.