Page 20 of Bluebeard’s Key

“Nonsense. You look great,” Zayan said, brushing some imaginary dust off Tom’s shirt. He didn’t need to embellish the truth. Tom looked delicious in his new riding gear. The pants showed off the full curve of his butt in a most flattering way, and the boots accented his height. This would be no work at all. He suggested, “Let’s go say hi to your horse.”

This brought a smile to Tom’s lips, and he asked, “Do I get to ride with Hollyhock again?”

“Of course,” Charlie said, joining them. “She’ll be your companion for the duration of your apprenticeship. We’re about ready to go. My word, Zayan, you look sharp today.”

Frankly, he had to agree. Thierry had proactively provided an ensemble that Tom would be unable to resist—form-fitting riding pants and polished dress boots, a dark blazer, and to top it off, some bad-boy sunglasses—and it was already working. Tom couldn’t take his eyes off him.

“Such a pretty girl,” Tom cooed to Hollyhock, stroking her mane. “We’re going to have a great time today, aren’t we?”

“Remember, watch your right leg,” Zayan said, patting Tom on the butt as he mounted the saddle. “Make sure you don’t kick her as you swing your boot over.” He then gave some tips about riding posture and placement of his feet, punctuating each with touches on Tom’s legs and back, enough to keep him interested without distracting him from his connection with Hollyhock.

Soon, they were on their way, and Zayan felt the power of his magnificent steed in every step, begging for a wild chase through the trees. But he held Stormfire in rein, matching the slow pace set by the others, largely for Tom’s benefit. Charlie was the picture of equestrian comfort in her well-worn leather gear, but Beatrice had pulled out all the stops with a plum-colored waistcoat, matching tie, and a jaunty derby hat. Her horse, a milky white mare, filled out the romantic image perfectly. Clearly, she was taking her role as lady of the castle seriously.

As the trees broke and the view opened to bucolic vistas of fields and pastures, Zayan remembered the scene from the wedding night. Would they be chased into a hasty retreat by pitchforks and torches? He kept watch, scanning the roads and trails, but danger never materialized, at least during the journey into town.

Riverford turned out to be a bustling village, a mixture of medieval charm with modern convenience. Most people rode horses or traveled in carriages, but there was the occasional modern vehicle, largely silent electric carts. The storefronts had whimsical hanging signs, boasting everything from a blacksmith to modern appliance repair. As they made their way past the wagons and wheelbarrows, Zayan watched as Tom pulled out his phone and waved it in the air.

“Anything?” he asked. Tom was so funny. Thierry had told them that there was no cell service anywhere in Greenhaven, but Tom still tried wherever he went. If there was going to be a signal anywhere, surely it would be here in the heart of commercial Riverford, such as it was.

“Not a single bar. I think I’m ready to give up any hope of reaching the real world.”

Charlie said, “You’ll get used to it. The internet is overrated, along with automobiles and airplanes and television. They don’t fit this place, do they? We have other entertainments here.”

Tom asked, “Such as?”

She answered immediately with the obvious response, “Riding a friendly horse through a shady forest on a beautiful summer morning, on your way to a cozy luncheon at a picturesque pub.”

Tom patted Hollyhock on her patterned neck and said, “I suppose you’re right.”

“In any case, we have arrived.” She led them to a small stable and arranged for care of their horses, and then guided them out to the High Street. “I have some minor shopping to do, and then we can meet at the Cardinal Tavern for lunch. They have a lovely garden terrace and do a passable shepherd’s pie.”

“Um,” Tom said. “What kind of money do we use here? I have some American dollars and Zayan probably has…”

“Don’t worry. If you have any major purchases, simply mention my name—Charlie from Château des Fleurs—and you should have no problem. But perhaps don’t mention the Mage.” She then passed them two small change purses filled with clanking coins, saying, “Thierry also sent some pocket money for you, in case you find some trifles you can’t do without. Beatrice, would you like to join me? We can leave the boys to their mischief.”

Tom was wide-eyed as Zayan laid a hand on his shoulder and guided him down the street. Zayan wasn’t surprised—the scene was right out of a fairy tale, making it hard not to stare. They walked by storefronts for a butcher, an apothecary, and a tailor. Street vendors hawked their goods from carts filled with dented pots, fabrics, and jewelry. A large open-air market opened up on a side street, and they took a moment to purchase a basket of plump red strawberries, stumbling over the unfamiliar copper and silver coins from their change purses.

It was hard not to get caught up in Tom’s enthusiasm. Soon, he was no longer guiding Tom along the street with a steadying hand. Rather, Tom pulled him like a dog on a leash from one offering to the next. So far, they’d been window-shopping past storefronts and street sellers, but all the while, Zayan was busy scheming. This would be a perfect opportunity to build firmer connections, but he needed to find something personal. Further down the road, Zayan spotted the perfect opportunity.

“I think you need a riding hat,” he suggested, pointing to a hanging sign emblazoned with a fancy tricorn. They dashed across the street and peered in the window, filled with everything from berets to top hats, and he steered Tom through the door before he could refuse.

“Welcome, gentlemen,” the proprietor said, coming out from behind the till. He was exactly what you’d expect from a hat shop: tall and thin with a smart vest and tie, impeccably waxed snow-white moustache and bushy eyebrows to match, all topped by a slightly harried look. “May I help you find something?”

Tom looked nervously around the shop, completely out of his comfort zone, but after one glance, Zayan knew exactly what he would ultimately choose. A rack of leather safari hats sat in the far corner, all in natural tans and browns with wide brims and a chin strap. They were perfect for his shy Tom, but they mustn’t get there too quickly and lose the magic of the moment.

He said, “We’re looking for something for my friend Tom here. Let’s try one of those fetching top hats first.”

“Excellent. Come this way. I craft them from the finest silk, and they’re sure to catch a lady’s eye at any formal occasion.”

Zayan’s opinion of the fellow dropped a notch or two, clearly not reading the room with the two of them.

“I think you’d look dashing in that one,” he said, pointing Tom to a shiny little number with a flared top. Tom didn’t seem at all sure, but with sheepish fingers, he put it on and tried to smile.

Looking in the mirror, he said, “It’s nice, but I don’t know. Seems like something for the theater or the opera, not riding a horse.”

Zayan observed, “We do live in a castle, but as good as you look in it, I think you’re right. Let’s try some derby hats. I bet they’re comfortable and they do have an equestrian flair.”

Zayan cajoled Tom through two dozen more options—straw bowlers, wide gauchos, even a classic Robin Hood bycocket—and had Tom laughing after the sixth one. The proprietor must have been used to this type of foolishness because he remained attentive without hovering. By the time they got to the leather hats, though, it was easy to see his patience was wearing thin.