For the Love of Poultry

“What do you think about this?” I held up the ragged shirt for inspection.

Pumpkin, the russet-colored hen, continued pecking at the ground.

“You’re right. It looks terrible.” I flopped back on the ground and laid an arm over my eyes. “How do I gain entry to the castle if I look like a peasant?”

I heard Pumpkin scratching at the dry ground and when I peeked at her, saw the hen rustling deeper into the pit she’d created, fluffing her feathers and turning on her back, the dirt flying out around her.

“Where am I supposed to get better clothes?” I asked as Pumpkin continued her dirt bath. “Washing isn’t enough. I have to look like a…uh,” my eyes wondered to the other side of my small yard where the rooster, Archibald, stood stock-still as he listened for threats. With the seasonal molting finished, he’d regained his former majesty and now two glistening green feathers rose high above his tail and fluttered in the wind.

I stood and shook out my loose, old clothes. “I need to look like a courtier.”

~ ~ ~

Finding better fabric was easier said than done. If a neighbor did have a scrap of finer cloth, they were quick to tell me that no bargaining or persuading would convince them to part with it. They pitied me. But that did not translate into generosity, not with winter fast approaching.

I continued to think of an answer to my problem as I went about the work of feeding the chickens, harvesting the last potatoes, patching my roof, and hauling water from the river.

At the river I met my neighbor washing her clothes. She whipped a shirt down on a rock and smiled smugly at me.

“My Cedric was chosen by a knight. I know he’s going to make a fine page.” Her smile turned imperious and the shirt whistled through the air to smack on the rock.

I swallowed and edged farther downstream. “I’m sure he’ll do you proud.” I wasn’t, but I didn’t cross her lightly.

Cedric had the agility of a blind sheep, and the brains to match. I didn’t say that lightly, nor did I say it alone. Half the village dreaded getting sucked into conversation with him, and the other half knew to stay clear. But if a knight wanted to have Cedric as a page, good luck to him, and praise the heavens we wouldn’t have to deal with Cedric.

Cedric didn’t deserve any special attention. He was just one of the many boys being swept up by the castle’s promise of a chance at knighthood. But you’d’ve thought the hand of the princess was being offered with the way every parent trussed up their young and all but threw them at the castle doors. Anything was better than living in this village where the ground yielded little and the weather took the rest. Fight dragons, chase ogres, cross diseased marshes, be conscripted into war itself, it didn’t matter so long as it was far from here. “Go, my son, and do better,” was a phrase one man said to his grandson. 

It looked ridiculous on the outside, all those skinny boys and dumb bullies making their way to the castle for the last few years. Some of them might do well; Jack, one of the latest departures, could sell a fox den to a chicken and somehow get gold out of the deal. But most of the families were glad of one less mouth to feed, especially if that youth could return home one day a hero. They hadn’t yet, but hope was the only thing keeping most of us villagers here.

What I didn’t understand was why the castle would take them all. And I don’t mean they sent back a few of the smaller ones. They took THEM ALL. Why? Was everyone at the castle dumber than the boys? I didn’t think so, and when they took Sam, I definitely knew that wasn’t the truth.

Sam and I were born days apart and we’d never wanted any other friend but each other. What our duo lacked in numbers we easily made up in wit. Jack might fool chickens, but Sam and I could’ve gotten geese to heard sheep, dogs to play with cats, and the foxes…well, they’d guard the chickens. With me pushing his wheeled chair and him spouting fancy words, no scheme would’ve been out of our reach.

When Sam’s parents took him to the castle, I about burned down their house in my rage. And when Sam didn’t return, I set my eyes on burning the castle.

I didn’t have anyone to look after and with my parents long dead, all that stood between me and my goal was hard work. But living in a place that barely survived in good years meant I didn’t have a lot of time to make a scheme; staying fed and dry was a daily burden and I had to make sure that when I left, I could leave for good.

Which had led me to my current plan: dress like a courtier, weasel my way into the castle, find Sam, and run away to seek our own adventures far from here. I’d considered going to the castle as a hopeful page, but what if I immediately got sent off to the edges of the kingdom? I didn’t think whoever took Sam would bother to carry him from the castle—which was stupid, he could’ve been a great ambassador—so entering the castle on my own and not as a servant seemed the best way.

Pumpkin was the one to guide me to my answer. She jumped the fence and streaked into the forest, chasing a bug or something. I didn’t follow; she always found her way back to the coop. But when the sun set and she still hadn’t returned, I lit a candle and headed in the direction she’d disappeared.

I searched the trees, checked the low bushes, and called her name, hoping she’d hear and cluck me toward her hiding place. All I heard was the crickets and owls. It’d gotten cold and I’d be forced to turn back soon. This couldn’t be the end for Pumpkin though, she was too smart to get eaten or lost.

But there, like the touch of spring, I heard music. I don’t know why I stumbled toward the sound—Pumpkin wasn’t smart enough to play music—but I reached the top of a small hill and saw below me a fire and covered wagon. In front of the fire sat a woman in colorful clothes, strumming her instrument and humming softly. And beside the woman was a wooden cage and inside it I could just see Pumpkin’s plumage.

“Pumpkin!” I all but screeched, hurtling down the hill and collapsing beside the small cage. I set aside my candle and peered in at my bird to see her sitting plump and content, apparently unruffled at being in a different roost. I stared up at the woman, my relief quickly replaced by outrage. “You stole my bird,” I said, and lifted the cage to rest it on my knees.

The woman laughed brightly and set aside her instrument. “I didn’t steal your bird, good sir. She came to me, I fed her and as no farm seemed to be nearby, I put her someplace safe. But you wouldn’t happen to be from the village by Castle Forsyth, would you?”

I sat down and looked at the fire, a little confused by this woman’s kindness and grace. Nobody trusted strangers. And yet for some reason I wanted her to be unlike the stories I’d heard: the tales where children disappeared and chilling storms appeared in the night, the ones that said trust in the unfamiliar led only to disaster.

“I might be,” I said.

She clasped her hands together and smiled at me. “Wonderful. I need your help to gain entry into the castle.”

“I need to get in the castle myself,” I said, and a moment later cursed my foolishness. She’d use that against me; Sam would’ve been smarter about his words.

“Then perhaps we can help each other. I’ve heard stories about this place, the children being taken. Some colleagues of mine suspect the wizard is behind it and that he’s using them to increase his strength. Do you know anyone who’s gone missing?”

I stared dumbly at her. Stories? About here? Why would anyone care about here? Besides, the children weren’t taken, they were…they were… I opened my mouth and closed it. Pumpkin clucked.

I glanced at Pumpkin and then looked deep into the woman’s eyes. Sam said the truth of anyone could be seen in their eyes.

I inhaled slowly. “I have a friend. His name is Sam…”