laneys.info Beware of Yankees, drunks, and loose women.

Dillon opened his eyes with a snap and lay in bed, listening. The town was still quiet, though he could see the pre-dawn twilight through his window. In the distance, a rooster crowed from one of the outlying farms.

“Almost over,” he sighed.

Dillon slid out of bed, dressed quickly, and then quietly slipped into the hallway to begin his morning routine. Emptying the chamber pots was the most difficult part, for Magistrate Farnstead was a light sleeper. Dillon had found that awakening him made for a most distasteful day, but awakening to an empty, clean chamber pot put the Magistrate in a cheerful mood. That was motivation enough to teach Dillon that if he were early enough and quiet enough, he could almost always get that job done without disturbing him.

Dillon worked his way down the hallway to the magistrate’s room, avoiding the creaky boards next to the stairway landing and the guest room. He eased the door open, and then paused. His breathing was slow, deep, and regular – an excellent sign. Dillon padded to the far side of the bed, swapped the clean pot in his hand for the foul one on the floor, and then beat a hasty retreat. Once back in the hallway, he breathed easier. The hardest part was over.

Downstairs, he placed the dirty chamber pots on the floor next to the back door and knelt in the corner. Feeling around the seams where the wallboards met, he dug the nail out of its hiding place among the chinking and moved quickly to the lock on the door. With the speed of a practiced hand, he soon had the lock in his hand. He set it on the floor next to the chamber pots and quietly slid the bolt back.

He looked around quickly as he slipped out into the street. Most people didn’t give him a second glance anymore, but it still wouldn’t be good if he were spotted outside the magistrate’s office this early. Technically, his servitude wasn’t over until the end of the day today, and being caught outside the magistrate’s office without a ticket of leave could land him in the dungeon for years.

He rinsed out the pots with the last of the water in his bucket, then set them outside the door to dry and headed off to refill his bucket. He headed north to a well on the edge of Milford. It took longer to fill the bucket there, since he had to crank the water up from the bottom of the shaft, but the fountain in the town square was too visible and hence, too risky.

Twenty minutes later, he was back in the alley. Something wonderful was cooking at the inn down the road, and his stomach gurgled in desire. He put his free hand over his belly, as if he were calming an excited dog, but his eyes were drawn to the end of the alley. The sign peeked out from the corner of the building, beguiling him with the long, golden hair of the lady that graced it. He knew he needed to get back inside; Trevor would arrive at the office soon, and he couldn’t risk getting caught. But the smell held him, his eyes riveted to the sign. The Golden Lady was calling to him in the language he loved best: ham, potatoes, and fresh bread.

He came to his senses with a jolt. Crossing the alley, Trevor was headed for the front door. It would only take him seconds to unlock and from the door the hallway ran straight through the building to the back door where Dillon had to reenter. He turned and bolted to the door, sloshing water all the way. He quickly set the bucket next to the chamber pots, flew through the door, slammed the bolt in place, and relocked it just as Trevor pushed open the front door. He spun and forced a smile through clenched teeth, trying to force his breathing to slow down.

“Good morning, Trevor.”

“Good morning, Dillon. Up early as usual, I see.” Trevor seemed preoccupied with his own morning routine.

“Yes, sir. I was smelling something good earlier, is it the inn?”

“Hmm? Oh, yes, the ‘Lady did seem to be working up something appetizing this morning.”

“I was thinking… perhaps I could fetch us some? It is a bit of a special day…”

Trevor looked up at last. “Oh, didn’t you hear? Magistrate Farnstead has decided that you’re to serve another ten months, since you’re so useful.” He broke into a broad grin.

“Very funny, sir,” Dillon smiled back. “As much as I’ve enjoyed being your slave and all, I think I would much rather have the freedom to empty my own chamber pots and wash my own dishes. But, feel free to come visit me, anytime.”

Trevor paused. “You know, Dillon, there’s still an outstanding balance on the fine you owe. I don’t know how he’s going to handle that. But you’ve done such a good job these last ten months, I’m prepared to suggest that he hire you on as our assistant until you work off those last four gold. You’d at least be free to move around town, since your servitude would be finished.”

Dillon didn’t know what to say. The church of Arhus still owed him five gold pieces for breaching the contract for the candles he and his family had delivered to them, but they kept stalling, even when the magistrate himself went to inquire of their payment. Working off a debt of four gold could take years. But he had to admit, the magistrate’s work was fascinating. He had learned so much in the last ten months: legal proceedings, the different crimes and penalties, even some of the town dirt, like who owed money to whom or who could or couldn’t keep a secret. Trevor and Kevin had even worked with him to improve his reading and writing. It wouldn’t be so bad, working here. But down deep, he longed to be back in his home, working the chandlery that had been his father’s and his grandfather’s. Down deep, he believed that he could overcome the negativity that had grown around his family’s candles.

“I appreciate that, sir, and I am grateful for the kindness that you and the Magistrate have shown me, but I’m still hopeful that the church will pay me so I can go back home.”

“Sure, I understand. Everyone deserves the chance to live with their family memories. I hope he can get that payment for you today. In the meantime,” Trevor said, flipping him a silver piece, “why don’t you go get us some breakfast? I’ll write you a ticket, even though you really don’t need one, since your shoes are already wet.” He grinned.

Dillon stood still, shocked, then laughed. “And here I thought I had been quick and quiet enough.”

“Dillon, we’ve known for months,” Kevin Farnstead said as he descended the stairs. “Did you really think you could have clean chamber pots in our rooms and outside the door, the wash basins refilled, and a fresh bucket of water outside the door, all before Trevor arrived in the morning, without us noticing? We are trained in investigations, after all. Oh now, don’t look so dejected. Why don’t you go get that breakfast Trevor mentioned? It smells great, and I’m famished.”

***

That day was one of the best Dillon could remember since his parents died. Kevin and Trevor gave him very little to do, and allowed him to spend his free time however he wished. They gave him a couple of messages to run up to the keep, and didn’t ask for his ticket of leave back like they normally did. However, this also meant that it was one of the most unbearable days Dillon could remember. All that free time meant he had nothing to take his mind off the waiting. When would the church pay him what they owed? Would they even bother? Could the magistrate force them?

As afternoon dragged on into evening, Dillon was growing more and more impatient. Finally, he couldn’t stand it any longer and he knocked on the magistrate’s door.

“Come in.”

“Sir, I'm sorry to bother you,” Dillon started.

“Not at all, Dillon.” He motioned for the boy to take a seat. “I'm impressed that you've waited this long, actually. But then, I've been impressed for several months, now.”

“Thank you, sir. It's just that my sentence is supposed to be up today, but I still don't have the gold I need to pay the fine.”

“Yes, and you would be able to do that, except the church of Arhus hasn't paid you.”

“Yes, sir. Is there any way we could work something out, since I've worked so hard for you all this time?”

“You have worked very hard, Dillon, but your sentence is not negotiable. Neither is the church's, for that matter. Unfortunately, they have an excellent knowledge of the law, and they have been able to delay paying their fine. However, I believe that all ends today.”

“How so, sir?”

“One of the messages I sent you to deliver this morning was informing the duke of the church's failure to pay. Since that puts them in contempt of this office, and therefore, the duke himself, it represents an affront to the duke's authority. He sent members of his personal guard to the church this morning to deliver a message of his own. I am confident that they will have your payment soon.”

The magistrate smiled. It was the same type of smile Dillon had seen on the day he met Kevin Farnstead, as the magistrate informed Father George of the fine they had to pay Dillon.

“Dillon, have you thought about what you're going to do next?”

“Yes, sir. I want to go back home and resume my family's business as chandler.”

“That's a risky proposition. Part of what landed you here in the first place was because of the difficulty you had in doing that.”

“Yes, sir. But, I believe that your ruling in my breach of contract suit will help that situation. That business has been in my family for generations, sir. I would be letting my father and grandfather down if I didn't continue their tradition.”

“Well, the reason I ask is that there may be an opening here in this office for someone who's a hard worker.”

“Thank you, sir. I appreciate that.”

There came another knock on the door.

“Come in,” said the magistrate. Trevor entered.

“Sir, is there anything else before I close up for today?”

“Has anyone from the church of Arhus been by?”

“No, sir.”

Magistrate Farnstead frowned. “I thought for sure he would respond to the duke. I can't figure him out.”

All three turned at the sound of the front door. Trevor stepped back out to his desk in the hallway. After a few minutes of conversation that Dillon couldn't make out, he stepped back into the magistrate's office with a grin and tossed Dillon a small pouch.

“There you go, Dillon. Paid in full.”

As Dillon pulled open the pouch and stared at the contents, Trevor placed a parchment on the magistrate's desk.

“Here you go, sir. All drawn up as you instructed.”

“Thank you, Tevor. Do you mind staying a bit to witness the document?”

“Not at all, sir. I'm happy to do it.”

“Dillon, please come here.”

“Yes, sir?”

“In the matter of Milford vs. Kandliss, you have served your sentence with distinction. Have you the payment for your fine?”

“Yes, sir. I paid six gold the day of my sentencing, and I have the rest right here.” Dillon counted out four gold pieces onto the magistrate's desk.

“Excellent. In light of your having fulfilled the terms of your sentence, I pronounce your debt to society paid in full and you are free to go. Please sign here.” He slid the paper over to Dillon and turned it to face him. Dillon signed it quickly, but then stopped and stared at the magistrate.

“Thank you, sir. For everything. You've been most kind.”

“Thank you, son. I have a good feeling about you, Dillon. Your fate will not be normal, for sure. If you decide that the chandler's business isn't working out, you come see me. I know you'd be a great asset to this office.”

“Thank you, sir. May fate be kind to you. And to you also, Trevor.”

“See you around, Dillon.”

***

Dillon turned and sped out of the building. Even though he had just been out in the town earlier that day, it was like a whole new town to him. He ran down the street, through the town square, and passed the fountain at a dead run. He felt around in his pocket for the key to his house. All this time, he had carried it with him every day, dreaming of this moment when he would return home. He sped around the corner, almost collided with a horse-drawn cart, and then tore around it to his street. As he got closer, he stopped.

There were people in his house.

Not at his house, in his house. He ran up and stepped inside.

“Hey, what are you all doing in my house?”

A short, plump man turned and stared at him.

“Your house? I think not, young man.”

“My name is Dillon Kandliss, and this is my house. It belonged to my father before me, and his father before him. Our chandler's shop is right through there.”

“Kandliss? Really? Why, I didn't know you were still around. This house has been abandoned for nearly a year. Why didn't you respond to the notices posted around town, asking for someone to come forward and claim ownership?”

“I've been... busy.”

“Well, son, busy or not, you can't just walk off and leave a house sitting around. It gets vermin in it and begins to fall apart. When no one responded to the notices, my office declared it abandoned two months ago. We sold it this morning and now we're here to change the locks and clean up any last issues before the new owner takes it over.”

Dillon stood thunderstruck, rooted to the spot, when another voice joined in from behind him.

“Yes, and here he is.”

Dillon turned to see Father George standing in the doorway.

“I expect this will make an excellent rectory.”