Hey, everyone! This is the story that I began working on when I thought that Ollovan's roleplay was a collaberative story. I don't know how far I'll continue or if I'll continue this, but this is the first chapter. It's set a short time before the fangs took over Skree.
Chapter 1: The Secret
Hyldie Freebonnet was in a hurry. Dodging between townsfolk and under baskets filled with goods, she tucked her own basket under her arm and searched for a quick place to rest.
It was market day, and the town was in an uproar. The sounds of crying babies and loud bargaining were so numerous, that it all combined into a single, deafening noise. A horrible stench met her nose, and she gagged, then jumped back as a huge troll lumbered past. After catching her breath, she dived again into the sea of bobbing heads and baskets.
“Hey, girl! Get out of the way!”
“Sorry!” Hyldie cried, narrowly avoiding a horse and buggy loaded with sweet melons. The crowd squeezed her, and she could barely breathe. She had been in Dugtown before, but she had never seen a crowd like this.
Finally, a gap in the traffic opened, and Hyldie lifted her skirts and ran. She broke through the opening, then found herself at a small shop that appeared to be closed. Out of breath, she sat down on the bench outside and took a quick inventory of her purchases.
12 hen eggs, not broken. Good.
Four bags of dried diggle, flour, and salt.
She was relieved to find that everything was the same as she had left it, because you could never be too sure in Dugtown. Her father had always said, “Some people there will pick your pocket, sure, but most will rob you in plain daylight, then cut your throat so you aren’t there to tell on ‘em. It’s a sad business.”
Now, as she glanced at the sea of faces -dirty faces, mean faces, kind faces- she prepared herself for another run. The sun was sinking fast, and her father would be home soon. She didn’t want him to return to find that his daughter had left. She had to be quicker than that.
Hurriedly, she checked the piece of paper on which the salesman had written the directions. Two more streets to go, and she would be there. She still had the money, hidden in an inside pocket that she had sewn into her dress.
Steeling her nerves, she dived back into the noisy crowd, swerving and ducking between people with such speed that she was dizzy.
After what seemed like hours of weaving through the traffic, she was there. She swerved at a corner and found herself on the right street.
It was quieter here. Hyldie nearly dropped her basket, sat down heavily, then began pinning some of her wavy dark hair back into place. She had made it.
The store was small, but warm and inviting, and Hyldie felt immediately that she had chosen the right place. A little sign hung over the door, reading the following:
“Muffintin’s Premium Wilderness Gear and Toys for Bitties”
Open all hours from noon to night except for Market Day Evenings
Hyldie stared at the sign, mouth open. She dropped the basket in her shock, then winced as she heard the sound of breaking eggs.
“No,” she groaned, and sat down hard, heedless of the dirty condition of the pavement. Her father would already be home by now. He would find her gone, and he would worry. When she got back, she would be scolded, and all for nothing. The store was closed.
“Escuse me, ma’m? What are you doing on the pavement?”
Hyldie glanced up to see a short, round man looking down at her. Suddenly embarrassed, she jumped up as though she were sitting on lava.
“I was…” she fumbled for words. “I’m sorry, sir. It won’t happen again.”
“There’s no need to apologize,” the man reassured her. “I was simply wondering if something was the matter.” He looked her over, and she shifted uncomfortably. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but are you the daughter of Jaron Freebonnet?”
“Why, yes,” Hyldie said, taken aback. “Have you met my father?”
“Oh yes! He’s a frequent customer of mine, and an old friend. Purchased a lot of wilderness gear from me, he did, and even some toys years ago for his daughter. I assumed that would be you, because you look very much like him.”
It suddenly dawned on Hyldie that he was the owner of the very store that she had wanted to visit.
“Are you Mr. Muffintin?” she asked, and he nodded. “I was coming to buy something from your store, but I thought it was closed.”
“Oh, it is,” the little man answered. “But I like to use market evening to tidy up my store a bit. If you are still interested in buying that product, I could make an exception for you.”
Hyldie beamed. “Thank you, Mr. Muffintin! Thank you ever so much. I would like to buy a present for me father. His birthday is tomorrow.”
“Ah! What a fine lass, you are. I suppose you would like to look in the wilderness gear section, not the toy section!” the man giggled at his own joke. Hyldie smiled weakly.
“If you don’t mind, Mr. Muffintin, I need to get home soon. My father will be worried…”
“Ah, yes, of course.” Mr. Muffintin said with a wave of his hand. “I understand. What were you looking for, now?”
“A new travel cloak, please.”
“Of course! We have a few of those, but I keep them in the back. Wait here, will you?”
She waited as the little man scurried off to find a cloak and spent her time looking around the shop. The left side of the store was filled with all the wilderness gear that a man could wish for- hunting knives, daggers, tinderboxes, and sturdy boots. The right side of the store was quite different, Hyldie noticed, and consisted mainly of wooden toddler toys.
She glanced outside and realized that it was getting dark fast. Dugtown at night? She had heard terrible stories about folks that were late for dinner one night, and never came back. She shivered and resolved to finish this trip as quickly as possible.
When the little man hurried back, he was carrying a green cloak under his arm.
“Will this do?” he asked, holding it up for Hyldie to see.
It was beautiful. The embroidery around the hood was intricate and detailed, and, as Hyldie thought, decidedly Hollish. She knew it was waterproof, as all Ranger cloaks had to be, and noted that the hood was lined with warm wool. She was afraid to see the price tag.
“Your father is a good man,” Muffintin remarked, studying the cloak in the light. “I know he’s paid well to guard Skreeans against creatures, but most folks say that he would do it without pay. He would help protect folks even if there was nothing in it for him. He’s a fine one, your father.” His eyes were no longer focused on Hyldie, and she wondered if he was thinking of a favor that her father had done for him once. “Ah, anyway,” he said, coming back to himself. “I’m sure he’ll find this cloak useful. It’s waterproof. And…” He put a hand to the side of his mouth and whispered, “Don’t tell your father this, but I had this cloak coated with snotwax! It’s bugproof as well as waterproof. It’s the best way to waterproof cloaks, nowadays, if you don’t tell the folks that are buying it.”
Hyldie laughed, wondering if the cloak would interfere with catching bugs. Then the idea of the price came back to her. “Mr. Muffintin, I would love to buy this cloak, but… what’s the price?” She worried about the answer. The salesman that had come to their door yesterday had not said anything about the cost.
“40 pieces of gold.”
Hyldie sighed. “I’m afraid I can’t afford it, then. Do you have any cheaper ones for 20 pieces?”
“Why, yes, of course, but this is the only one made with snotwax.” The little man thought for a minute. “I’ll tell you what. I’ve had this cloak in the store for a little too long. Maybe because I keep telling people how it’s made. Either way, I need to get rid of it. How about a half-off deal?”
Hyldie smiled. “That’s very kind, Mr. Muffintin. Thank you.”
“My pleasure, lass. And this isn’t just out of kindness, mind, because I can’t seem to sell it. Most people don’t care for snotwax. There’s just one favor for me to ask. Would you tell your father Happy Birthday from me and my family?”
Hyldie promised she would, then prepared to leave. As she opened the door, Mr. Muffintin called behind her, “Take care, lass. Dugtown is dangerous at night.”
Hyldie smiled nervously, wishing that he hadn’t reminded her. “Thank you, Mr. Muffintin. I’ll be careful.”
She opened the door, and her eyes were met with a thick darkness. It was even later than she thought. After thinking for a minute, she slipped back inside the store and asked to borrow a lantern.
Then she was walking down the dark, nearly empty streets of Dugtown.
Good job Anna. You really should start writing more. And thanks for using the name "Muffintin." I greatly appreciate it.