The Writer, Chapter 2: Aed

How happy the realm was! The young Princess Penelope was a free-spirited and caring child. Striking a friendship with a poor baker’s daughter, she took to traveling often to the village. She would go with baskets full of food from the kitchens and toys for the children, and her visits were always awaited with great anticipat —

“Do you think he likes me?”

I hadn’t been paying attention, watching the two old women on the nearby porch gossip, and the question startled. “Who likes you?”

Biddy glowered at me. “You know.”

I looked over and followed her gaze directly to the tanner’s son, a strapping young man that Biddy had recently taken a fancy to.

“Sure he likes you,” I agreed.

“You’re just saying that,” Biddy accused.

Ever since my first visit to the village on my thirteenth birthday, I had been finding more and more excuses to go back, mostly spending the time helping in the bakery. Sometimes when the bread was baking, we’d sit in the shop and sell together, or go make deliveries, as we were doing on this particular day, wandering along with our baskets of bread.

What I loved about the village was that there, I was just Penny. People didn’t know my face and didn’t necessarily associate Penny in her trousers with Princess Penelope, and if they did, they didn’t seem to care. They knew I helped in the bakery and sold bread with Biddy, and people loved Biddy. If I was her friend, then I was their friend too.

“Nobody gives a rat’s ass who you are as long as you do your part, honor your neighbors and don’t make trouble,” as Biddy put it. “You could be the Maker himself and they’d still call you by your first name and ask after your family.”

In any case, both of us just past fifteen now, our talk was ever more centered around boys, and which of the villages boys we thought were good-looking. Usually I pretended to be annoyed with Biddy’s yammering about it, but I enjoyed it just the same.

“Biddy, you like a different one every week, why does it matter if he likes you? Next week you’ll think he’s ugly and stupid,” I told my friend, as she dawdled, staring.

“No, but I’ve always liked him,” Biddy insisted, and I rolled my eyes.

“That’s what you said about the butcher’s bastard last week.”

“Oh come on Penny, I was talking about Luke months ago.”

“Sure.”

“He doesn’t like me, that’s why you’re saying this.”

She looked so down that I punched her lightly in the arm. “Nah, I think he likes you. Look, he’s looking at you.”

“He is?” Biddy’s head whipped around, but the tanner boy looked down quickly. “He is not.”

“He was. He’s not going to look now that you’re staring.”

“Oh, well.” Biddy looked down, flustered, running a hand from her hair, these days freed from its plaits and pulled back loosely. “I’m not pretty enough for him.”

“Are you kidding?!” I stopped in my tracks to glower incredulously at my friend. “Come on, you’re beautiful.”

She was, too. She fit well into her body, comfortable and easy with a natural spring in her step and a constant twinkle in her eyes, a lively heart-shaped face and pink, healthy cheeks. Her hair had that wonderful natural wave I had always craved, and pinned back or plaited, it was always lovely.

Biddy blushed. “But he’s so handsome.”

“So? What are you going to do about it?”

“I — I couldn’t.”

I rolled my eyes. “For heaven’s sake.” I took her hand and marched towards the tannery, calling out, “Fresh bread, fresh bread, two coppers to a full loaf, three for two!”

“What are you — Penny, wait up — “

“Good morning sir, do you need some fresh bread?” I asked the tanner boy, who looked somewhat terrified at being approached so boldly. He was perhaps a year or two older, strong as a horse already from the work, shoulder-length auburn hair pulled back in a low ponytail and two startling green eyes set in a sculpted face. I highly doubted that Biddy was the only one after him.

“I — good morning Penny, good morning Biddy,” Luke said politely, recovering his wits. I reached behind me and pulled Biddy from where she had been trying to hide behind me. “I –well, I guess I’ll take a loaf, three coppers is it?”

“Two,” Biddy corrected shyly.

“Biddy made these,” I told him. “The best bread you’ve ever tasted.”

Luke glanced at her and offered a little smile. “If she’s been taught by Aed, I don’t doubt it. All right then, two loaves.”

He passed over the coppers and Biddy carefully wrapped two loaves from her basket and handed them over, holding on perhaps a bit longer than she should.

“Thank you milady,” Luke said, inclining his head slightly with another smile. “You have a good day.”

“Y-you too,” Biddy stuttered. It was the most uncomfortable I had ever seen her. “Thanks.”

She backed away as he turned back into the tannery, already pulling off the edge of one of the loaves. Once the door shut, she reached over and smacked me heartily.

“What??” I demanded, but she was grinning. “Told you he likes you.”

“And what about you, dear Princess? Who’s your Prince?” Biddy demanded, gaily linking her arm with mine, her face glowing.

“Ha.”

“Oh, please, there must be someone,” Biddy teased. “Any serving boys in the palace?”

“Gods no, they’re busy running after the maids anyway,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“I know who it is. The bookstore owner’s grandson.”

I was silent, and Biddy cackled, knowing she was right. The bookstore was one of my favorite places in the entire village. I don’t know how it stayed open — most of the villagers couldn’t read, and no one had much time for books, but the owner was a tiny old man (Aed maintained he was part Imp) whose lack of teeth never stopped him from smiling constantly.

The shop was tiny, but filled head to toe and side to side with books. It was hard to move without knocking over a stack. He had the fairytales, sure, but every other kind of story, dark and twisted or adventurous, or romantic, or evil. Biddy said some of the books were magic too, that the customers were fairy folk that came at night, or scholars from the ends of the world who came just for the books he had. She said she’d seen mysterious people in and out, only whenever I was there, it was empty.

Part of the reason I spent so much time there, of course, was that there was always the possibility that the owner’s grandson would drop by with a meal or a bit of news for his grandfather.

“I knew it,” Biddy crowed at my silence. “Well, go on then. I’ll finish this by myself.”

“What? No, I’ll — “

“You’ll do no such thing. Go find your Prince Charming, Penny.” With that, Biddy gently took my basket from me, handed me a loaf, and pushed me down the side road to the small cottage a short walk away.

Leaving me no other choice, I went off, soon enough opening the door with a small tinkling from the bells tied to the knob.

“Well, well, well, look who it is, my little Penny. How are you, child?” The owner looked up from the large book he had been writing in with a smile, the light from the window behind him making a halo of the last wisps of his hair.

“Good day, grandfather,” I said, nodding to him. “I brought you bread, sir.”

“Ahhh, I can smell it from here. God bless Aed,” the old man responded, and I walked over to hand him the loaf, still slightly warm in its wrapping. “How much?”

“Never mind, sir, Aed’s gift.”

“Absolutely not. Two coppers for a loaf, I’ve heard you calling.” The old man smiled and pressed the coins into my hand. “Sit down, my child, share with me, it’s no good to eat alone.”

He pulled up a chair and I sat, taking the share of bread he passed me.

“What news from the castle?” he asked, and I sighed.

“The usual. Nothing much changes there.”

“Nothing much changes here either, you know,” the old man responded, flashing a toothy grin.

“But I like it better here,” I said, and he laughed. He began to speak, but the tinkling of the bell interrupted him, and quite without warning, the shop was filled with his grandson, and — a girl.

I dropped the lump of bread.

“Ah! Javen! And you’ve brought Mairi! Well, you’re just in time, Penny and I were just having some bread, do come join us.”

A sort of irrational feeling came over me, and I jumped up. “Sorry, grandfather, I should be going, Biddy –“

“You’ll do no such thing, it’s not polite to leave during a meal,” the old man said firmly. “Come, I know you know Javen, but have you met his twin sister, Mairi? My beautiful granddaughter.”

There was a pause. I sat, feeling really quite stupid. “I haven’t. Nice to meet you.”

“You as well,” Mairi agreed. “Penny, was it?”

It was quite clear now the two looked alike. Javen was not the best-looking young man in the village; he wasn’t very tall, only just my height, and a little scrawny, but his eyes were kind and he had a quick, impish grin much like his grandfather, only with more teeth. Good-looking or not, I found him impossibly charming and often had trouble speaking around him.

“I didn’t know you had a twin,” I said dumbly. Mairi had the same features exactly, but with red hair instead and she grinned at me as well.

“It’s not all it’s cracked up to be,” she said, elbowing her brother. “He’s always trying to pull the older brother card, even though I was born first.”

“By ten minutes,” Javen retorted. “That doesn’t count.”

“Right, precisely what I always tell you,” Mairi shot back. In their bantering, it was clear they were close, and I thought of my own brother, who was, to put it nicely, a sanctimonious prick.

A word about my brother: apparently, all the good looks and goody-ness in the family was saved up and kept from me just in order to give to my brother, who had obviously decided long ago that he was the sweetest, the best-looking, the most charming, and generally the most wonderful human being to grace the planet. He prided himself on being ‘noble’, which really meant sanctimonious, and was constantly conspicuously doing good deeds right where everyone could see, and yammering about some grand adventure he was going to go on and save some pretty girl. Yawn.

My constant teasing of him was greeted with more of his sanctimonious nobleness. As if it wasn’t enough that I got lectured from our parents, I got lectured from my younger brother. Quite unfortunately, at this particular point during that summer, I was being forced to be polite, as my father had caught me calling him something very bad after Elden had, very sincerely and righteously informed me that he was embarrassed by my outfits when there were other people around.

Evidently calling your brother a gnat on a donkey’s ass is not appropriate for a Good Princess.

Mairi called her brother all kinds of names too, but it was clear she didn’t mean them badly, just as a way to tease him, and he responded right back. I found myself quite jealous of their easy repartee.

They had brought more food, and the four of us crammed around the desk, Javen perched on a stack of books and Mairi on an old trunk, to eat. Javen and Mairi spent the entire time talking, chattering about the family and town gossip, laughing and bantering. When the food was gone, I found myself loathe to leave, wanting to stay there forever.

But good things never last, as Javen said, “Well, grandfather, as always lovely to see you, I should be getting back, the old cobbler gets nervous when I’m out too long. Good to see you too, Penny, bring some of that bread by the shop, will you? I always miss you on the delivery runs.”

I nodded, tongue-tied again, and could only smile when Mairi squeezed my elbow and said, “So nice to meet you at last, Penny, Javen always mentions you, I was starting to wonder if you were just another tall tale of his.”

Javen always mentions me? I thought, a thrill running through me, but before I could respond, the two were out the door, leaving a whirlwind of energy behind them. I glanced back at the old man, who was watching me with a very knowing smile.

Suddenly very embarrassed, I ducked my head. “See you soon, grandfather, thank you for the meal.”

“You take care, dear child,” he responded, and I hurried out of the shop, a bit too happy for my own good.

When I returned to the bakery, Biddy wasn’t there.

“Where’s Biddy?” I asked Aed, busy with the next batch of heavenly bread.

“Helda’s mother is sick, I’ve sent her with some bread. She’ll be back soon.”

“Oh. Can I help?”

Aed passed me a bowl. “Knead this, will you?”

I took it and dug my hands into the dough. He knew I loved kneading best. We worked in silence a few minutes before he asked, “So, how is the grandson?”

I looked up, startled. “Biddy — “

“I didn’t think it was for the books you spend so much time there,” Aed said with a little smile.

I blushed, looking down. “Oh. Well. He’s — he’s good. He has a twin.”

“Mairi.” There was a pause. “Your parents don’t have some Prince lined up for you?”

I frowned. “Probably. But only if he’s Charming.” I snorted. Aed didn’t respond, and after a moment, I asked, “What do you think about all that, those stories?”

He paused, frowning thoughtfully down into the doughy goop. “I think it’s something for the rich and the royal to worry about,” he said finally.

“How do you mean?” I asked.

“Here — well, you know, being a hero, living in the storybooks forever, it’s just not that important to us. Here, what’s important is feeding the family, being healthy, being safe. That’s all that really matters, and all the time we have is spent trying to make sure of that.”

He paused, reaching to the bag of flour to add a few handfuls. “For the royals, having enough food is no issue. So they worry about other things, like being heroes.”

I kneaded quietly for a minute before asking, “But what if some Prince were to come tomorrow and ask to marry Biddy?”

“So he could take her away to some far-off land, come back to visit every five years in fancy carriages?” Aed asked, scoffing a bit.

“Even if she were in the storybooks?”

“What good are storybooks if it means I lose her?” Aed asked gently, turning to me. “My little bird is all I have since my wife died. I couldn’t bear to see her gone too, even to a Prince.”

I looked down. I had never asked again about Biddy’s mother. “What was her name?”

“Gwendolyn.” He stared down at the bread, eyes far. “My lovely Gwen.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, not knowing what else to say.

“It’s none your fault,” he said gently. He smiled, adding a few more handfuls of flour to his concoction. “No, I have no need of Princes or storybooks. I have my little bird, I have my bread. For this life, that’s all I need.”

I stared down at my own dough, thinking of the extravagant life at the castle and the fuss and furor over such small things. “Is that her real name? Biddy?”

“Her name is Wren. She was always my little bird, but when she was small she couldn’t say bird, she said biddy instead, and it stuck.”

Right on cue, as if hearing her name, Biddy blasted through the door, her hair falling in her face and eyes bright and alive. “Well, look who’s finally back! We thought you’d gotten lost, or fallen into a book! Tell.”

I glanced over at Aed, stirring the dough, and we shared a small smile before I turned back to my impatient friend.