Lora of Two Worlds

Norton delivered the apricots to the tower chamber and ran back to the side gate. Lora was long gone.

The gate guards teased him: ”The young lady left ages ago! Norton, your ears really better? They say you’re joining the household guard soon, will you be able to hear the calls?”

”Every word you just said, I heard it!”

His last course had two sessions left, every other day. Gareth had told him: after the Cold Hearth fast, he could start training with the guard.

That had been his dream since childhood. But now, he was reluctant to leave the tower chamber. Since the young lady didn’t need him to tag along, he’d find his godfather and show him the modified hand-bow.

Lora didn’t think she needed a crowd. With Lucy and Shawn in tow, she ate and browsed her way to the South Market.

Standing at the market gate, the honey-nut cake in her mouth lost its appeal:

Why was I eating on the road? This was a paradise for eaters.

Two- and three-story buildings, steam and noise, eyes darting every which way. Smack-lipped children, picky young ladies, pinch-penny old men, loud young lords...

The endless sprawl of it made Lora tear up:

And this was only the Empire’s waning years. In its prime... she’d need to be carried home.

The South Market was two wards across. Row after row of neat buildings, divided by streets and lanes. Merchants from every corner of the realm.

The canal hadn’t been straightened into the great waterway of later centuries.

The southern trade route ran to Lohenheim, and from there north to Yorvik. Lohenheim, at the bend of the canal, rivaled Augustburg in the west.

Lora ate her way down a lane, a lamb skewer in one hand. She turned into a quieter street and stopped. Mattocks, rakes, spades, hoes, handmade tools, unchanged from age to age.

”What’s this? A grain peck big enough to bathe in.” A wooden measure sat by a shop door, as wide as a washtub.

The shopkeeper laughed: ”You know your pecks, miss! It does hold grain, unhusked grain. This is a threshing measure.”

Lora looked it over. She remembered a foot-powered thresher from her childhood, no fuel, no electricity. Maybe it could be built here. Much faster than beating grain in a tub.

She’d have to draw it up someday.

She tossed her wooden skewer, clapped her hands, and was about to move on, when a carriage came down the street. Not moving fast. A scream:

”Ai! My dog!”

The driver hauled the reins. The carriage stopped. Two men on the box jumped down and looked under the wheels.

Lora went to look too. The carriage had hit a shop dog.

The dog lying under the wheel was a big yellow, the same color as Chance, just a size smaller.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

The shopkeeper didn’t even look at the dog. He came out with a cleaver in his hand, grabbed the driver’s collar:

”Think you’re somebody because you’ve got a carriage? Kill my watch dog and you’re not leaving without paying!”

”I had my eyes on the road the whole time. I never saw your dog. It crawled under the wheel itself, my fault?” The thinner driver was quick-tongued, not backing down.

”Didn’t see? That’s just throwing your weight around. The new Lord Regent’s right here in the South Market, believe me, I’ll go petition his carriage and let him judge!”

The cleaver shopkeeper held the blade to his chest, looking smug.

At the mention of the Lord Regent, the other man on the box cut in: ”Let’s look at the dog first. Maybe it’s not dead.”

They turned to the wheel. The dog was gone. The thin driver laughed: ”See? The dog got up and ran. What’s to pay? Rees, let’s go.”

Impossible! The shopkeeper panicked, looking around. Someone pointed:

”Rufus, your dog’s over there. A young lady’s treating it.”

Rufus saw the dog lying on a bench. Relief, then he ran up and grabbed the carriage reins:

”Oh no you don’t! My dog’s hurt, maybe ruined. You pay, or you don’t leave.”

Lora was crouching by the bench, examining the dog. One front leg was broken. She turned to Lucy:

”On the street we passed, there was a herbalist with fresh comfrey and yarrow. Buy a few leaves. And find two splint sticks and a cloth strip. I need to set the leg.”

Lucy had seen Lora graft the old apple tree, she understood the splint idea at once. Off she went.

Passing the carriage, Lucy couldn’t resist: ”Hmph! Break a dog’s leg and then try to run, good thing our young lady’s here. Black hearts!”

”What’s that, girl? My wheel never touched it ” The driver bristled, hands on hips. Lucy pulled a face, stuck out her tongue, and ran.

A voice from inside the carriage:

”Armand, take a pouch of coins to the young lady fixing the dog’s leg.”

”My lord... it really wasn’t us. If the wheel had run over something, the carriage would’ve jolted. We’d have felt it.”

”I know. But not everyone’s sharp. Go, medicine costs money.”

Outside, Rufus saw Armand with the pouch and lunged: ”That’s my dog! Pay me, not her!”

”My money. I give it to whom I please.”

The carriage went silent.

”No! The money’s mine!” Rufus, seeing a heavy pouch tossed between the curtains, went red-eyed and grabbed for it.

Claude Sheffield, cold-eyed till now, chopped him on the neck with the edge of his palm. Rufus crumpled, mumbling: ”You... I’ll report...”

Claude Sheffield kicked his wrist. The new cleaver clattered two paces away: ”Good people, this man waves a blade in broad daylight, tries to rob. When the constables come, you’ll all be our witnesses.”

”This is my lord’s money for the dog’s medicine.” Armand pressed the pouch into Shawn’s hands and ran.

Shawn had never seen Armand or Claude Sheffield. He certainly wouldn’t guess who was in the carriage. He hefted the pouch, half a mark in copper. Far too much. He tried to call Armand back, but the carriage was already moving.

”Show-off. Money buys everything, huh?” Lora muttered. She’d set the bone. When Lucy came back with herbs and splints, they realized they’d forgotten the cord.

”No matter, this’ll do.”

Lora pulled out a handkerchief and bound the splint.

The dog was a young female. The pain had filled her eyes. When the hand that saved her stroked her head, she stretched out and licked Lora’s knuckles.

Rufus finally staggered over, shamefaced:

”Dog won’t stay still, you bind it and she’ll have it off in a day. Can’t be raised like that. Tell you what, you’ve got a kind heart. I’ll give you ten coppers, not a penny more.

But that pouch, you hand it over. Tomorrow, the day after, changing the dressing costs money! Otherwise I can’t afford to keep the thing...”

Lora thought about it and gave him the pouch: ”Call it your bad luck. Tie her up so she can’t move around. Change the dressing every day. Chicken and duck are cheap, save some from your own plate for her.”

”Oh, yes, yes, yes! The young lady talks sense. I’ll buy the fattest chicken, no, chicken’s no good, must be meat, meat!”

Rufus was beside himself. He crammed the pouch into his shirt, afraid Lora would take it back, scooped up the dog, and headed for his shop.

Lora counted out some copper pennies for the shopkeeper who’d lent the bench, thanked him, and the three of them left the ironmongers’ lane.

”Ah, the young lady’s too kind.”

The shopkeeper swept the coppers into his cash box. His apprentice grinned:

”Why didn’t you tell her? Rufus broke the dog’s leg himself this morning, opening up. He’s been waiting all day for a mark to come along.”

”Tell her? She’d curse him out and leave, and I’d still be face to face with Rufus tomorrow. Bad for business and out of pocket.”

”True enough. We sell hoes. He sells knives. Can’t mess with that...”

The two were chuckling when a figure slipped through the door and asked, gravely:

”What you’ve just said, is every word of it true?”