\u201cThis is a true story, one that happened to me. But first, let me tell you about the Feral Sheep. It is said that she is an old woman, always a stranger in town, and always in the marketplace. She is on the lookout for particularly nasty little boys and girls, to steal away, fatten up, and sell to the highest bidder, for whatever purposes they have for small, fat, ill-behaved children. It is said, she particularly likes those who are greedy, because it is easiest to lure them into her traps. She arrives in town, early on market day, parks her wagon and sits quietly in the shade and observes. She looks like any other old lady, in from the country. Hunched, with an apron and either a cap or a kerchief. She has curly white hair and chews spruce gum. It is said this is why she is called the Feral Sheep, because of the white hair and the chewing. But also because she seems mild mannered. And she never sleeps in town.<\/p>\n
\u201cAfter noon, she starts hiring boys and girls to run little errands for her. She gives them a penny, or some toffee divine, or some other little treat. And before they know it, they are bringing over friends to get a share of the Feral Sheep\u2019s offerings. She sends them off to buy things for her, and she sits, chewing her gum and knitting, or crocheting, or tying knots in a cord — little things she can drop in a heartbeat. She watches the children, sees how polite they are, sees who in town likes them, sees if they are kind or mean, if they play dirty tricks. Then by the end of the day, she asks the ones she has picked, to come a little closer, just carry a little something to her wagon. And one by one, without anyone being the wiser, they disappear, under the hay, into the false bottom, made all sleepy and comfy by something in the toffee.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe used to play this when we were kids, Jenna and Ducky and me. But this story isn\u2019t about when we were kids, and it isn\u2019t about the real Feral Sheep, because yes, she was real. This story is about the time I played the Feral Sheep when I was doing some spying for the King of Alorium.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe King suspected he was losing tax money\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat\u2019s \u2018tax money\u2019?\u201d piped a small voice off to Rafe\u2019s left.<\/p>\n
Rafe had the questioner nailed with her glare in a heartbeat. \u201cMakes no difference what that is. The King needed it and didn\u2019t have it. And it was my job to find out why. That\u2019s all you need to know.\u201d<\/p>\n
ac<\/p>\n
The King was losing tax money, which he badly needed to press the war he wanted to start with Phelonius. Since he\u2019d hired Rafe\u2019s cadre to fight on his side, she was particularly interested in seeing he had enough money to pay them. And a little extra poking about on either side of a war was never a bad idea, so she started to prepare.<\/p>\n
Rafe snagged the long-haired goatskin from the chair in her chamber as she headed to the encampment to get help from Zoral, trimming off a strip at the edge of the belly as she walked. The hair was yellowed-white from years near the fire, and not terribly coarse. She tied it around her head, covering her hair line, and concealed the cut edge with a kerchief. \u201cWhat do you think?\u201d she asked Zoral as she approached his cook fire. She adjusted her stride so elbows and knees stuck out at awkward angles. \u201cWill I do for a little game of Feral Sheep?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThe hair will do if you tuck it in a bit. But if it\u2019s ancient you\u2019re going for, stick your face in the smoke for a minute and let\u2019s get you covered with the dust of ages.\u201d Zoral got an egg, cracked it open, and let the white flow into a bowl, cupping the yellow center in his palm. \u201cNow, let\u2019s make some wrinkles.\u201d<\/p>\n
He held out his hand. \u201cDo you want the yolk?\u201d Rafe shook her head and Zoral slurped it down. He beat the white with a little water and started smearing it on Rafe\u2019s face, stretching the skin taut before before applying the mixture. He dipped his hand into a different pot. \u201cAnd maybe a little oatmeal to add some warts. What does this Feral Sheep look like anyway.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWho knows. What does any legend look like? She\u2019s supposed to be old, and wily. Ugly enough that no one wants to look too closely.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDo you have clothes?\u201d Zoral looked down at Rafe\u2019s leather breeches, eyes traveling up to her jerkin and sweater held in by a harness filled with knives. \u201cThe sweater will do. It\u2019s grubby enough around the cuffs. But you look somewhat dangerous to be masquerading as a gnarly old lady.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ve got skirts and a bodice and apron from the castle kitchen. Alorium said I should take what I needed.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHence the mutilation of the poor goat.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNeeds must. You\u2019d better get the backs of my hands. I don\u2019t think the Feral Sheep would put on so many airs as to wear gloves. I\u2019m thinking she\u2019s work-hardened.\u201d<\/p>\n
Zoral applied the goop to her hands and blew paprika on her. \u201cThat will darken you up a bit, and sink into the crevices. Make you look a little worn out. I\u2019d rather use cinnamon. Better color but you\u2019d smell too nice.\u201d<\/p>\n
Rafe hunched and hobbled around the cook wagon. Zoral looked at her and nodded. \u201cYou\u2019re still a bit damp, but will wrinkle up well by the time you get to the market. How are you getting there?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ve got a dog cart I\u2019ll use. I thought I\u2019d take Snarge.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou won\u2019t feel naked without your hardware?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ve got a staff. That will have to do. And a short knife up my skirts. And a hook knife for the vegetable basket. And I\u2019ll take my knitting. I\u2019ll be fine.\u201d<\/p>\n
Some time later Rafe had made her way past the customs inspections to enter the market and was sitting in the shade of her dog cart knitting. A small child ran up with three apples and handed them to her. Rafe made a great show of examining them, and pushing a grubby fingernail into a what might have been a soft spot. She took the hook knife and made a show of slicing into one of the fruits.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019ll need to pay me for that one whether you like it or not,\u201d said the child mimicking the shrewd look his mother must give when she dealt with vendors.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ll pay, no doubt. Don\u2019t you worry about that.\u201d Rafe took a small bite of the white flesh and sucked it from between her teeth. \u201cThat will do. Here\u2019s your penny for the apples, and a hay-penny for your time.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou got anything else for me to do, old lady?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cCheeky bugger. Yes. And for two friends as well.\u201d The lad was away and back shortly with another boy and a girl their same size. Rafe made a show of looking them over and testing their grips. \u201cYou want us to steal something?\u201d asked the first boy.<\/p>\n
\u201cNot right yet, I want you to count some things for me. Quilts and two handled jugs. Maybe follow a person or two. See that man with the mustache? And that one with the gold tooth. Follow them. Can you do that?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHow much do we got to count? Gel here runs out of fingers after ten.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat will be plenty.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd if we get asked, mum\u2019s the word, right.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMum\u2019s the word the first two times you get asked, but after that you let them know that someone\u2019s paying you for your eye skills. Two more asks and you can tell them it\u2019s me.\u201d<\/p>\n
Rafe sent them out twice and had them following and counting different ones before they started getting asked what they were about. By then she noticed that she had competition on the edge of the square, on the other side of the orange tent. Another old woman was hunched over a pile of wool, working her spindle. Three colorful quilts were draped over the side of her wagon. She\u2019d made a big deal about asking her neighbor for help un-hitching her horse. Rafe\u2019s own poor pony stayed hobbled to her cart. There was a steady stream of small children running back and forth, bringing fruits, vegetables, and bread to her and storing it in the wagon behind the quilts.<\/p>\n
By the time the noon rush was over, Rafe had gone through three sets of kids. Some of them, she noticed, were also working for the other old woman. Rafe tucked her knitting in a pocket and heaved herself off her stool. Slowly and painfully she shambled past the orange tent and nodded to the old woman sitting in front of the wagon. There were a couple of kids sitting near her sucking on sweeties. One had worked for her earlier in the day. Another, with eyes quivering to stay open, was climbing into the back of the wagon. There were no more children around, but Rafe wondered without letting the wonder reach her face.<\/p>\n
She continued on around the market and hobbled back toward her cart, moving through the center alley still piled with potatoes and artichokes. The meat vendor had only a few strips left hanging from his hook, and a goat head, horns sticking out and brown hair shining between the buzz of flies. She felt eyes on her and saw a couple of men, arms crossed, paying more attention to her than their stalls. Rafe had collected some interesting news from her small troops and, she hoped, stirred up some interest from those she had followed at her behest. Her disguise was good but would not stand up to close inspections and that was what she was trying to give her targets on the walk. She hoped they would send someone to confront her when she was well outside town.<\/p>\n
On returning to her cart, Rafe packed her purchases in the back of the cart and struggle onto the seat. The dog turned reluctantly and they headed toward the road back out of town. She noticed that the other old woman, now bereft of children, had found someone to hitch up her horse. Rafe admired the step stool fastened with a long rope handle which the other woman pulled up after herself as she settled in her own seat and started her horse forward. Rafe squinted. Surely this old lady was neither the spy nor embezzler Rafe was looking for.<\/p>\n
The old woman\u2019s horse was lively, however. He hadn\u2019t been standing in his traces all day as Rafe\u2019s dog had. As the old woman\u2019s cart drew even with Rafe\u2019s it was clear there was only one quilt left folded tidily in the bottom of the wagon among the baskets of produce. Then the wagon passed and Rafe was pulled aside to have her own cart inspected by the tax men.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat about that one?\u201d Rafe grumbled, pointing at the old woman\u2019s wagon, now starting to cross the bridge. \u201cShe sold all her quilts and you didn\u2019t even check her out. I came in with nothing and I\u2019m only leaving with what I bought, and here you are pulling my cart apart.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThe King will have his due, mum. You just settle now and we\u2019ll be done soon enough.\u201d<\/p>\n
Rafe kept an eye on the old woman\u2019s wagon and the people streaming out of the gate after her. She started to hum in annoyance. There went the two men who had been eyeing her at the end of the day. Rafe\u2019s smile could be mistaken for a grimace as she continued to hum. The wagon bounced over a rock and there was a crack and a squeak as the bottom dropped out and three boys fell on top of it, sleeping in a pile. The old woman laid her whip on the horse as townspeople converged, some on the boys and others to follow the wagon. This was just the sort of mayhem that would make Rafe\u2019s own departure most comfortable. She would meet up with those two men soon enough.<\/p>\n
ac<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd that, my friends,\u201d Rafe finished in traditional style, \u201cis the story of when I played the Feral Sheep for the King of Alorium.\u201cBut wait a minute.\u201d It was the same child who had asked about what taxes were.<\/p>\n
\u201cI had to wait more than a minute with those tax men, let me tell you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo. Not that. Did they catch the old woman? And did you find who was stealing from the King? And what happened with those men who had been looking at you?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAh. That. Well, it all got sorted out, and I found out what I needed to know. It\u2019s late and time you were in bed. And time I had some tea.\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
\u201cThis is a true story, one that happened to me. But first, let me tell you about the Feral Sheep. It is said that she is an old woman, always a stranger in town, and always in the marketplace. She … Continue reading