Chapter 33
A Late Night Meeting
It was a dark, dark night in Belsden, when a raggedy middle-aged farmer named Pinsel Phillips made his way into town and toward the saloon. His head glanced this way and that, as he scurried along from wall to wall, careful to spot any Palace Guardsman or Mad Mob member that might happen along; for surely they would have questions for someone like him making his way down the street at such a time. He cut down an alley and into the darkness, careful to stay out of the moonlight. He was cautious, but quick, his legs darting almost as fast as his eyes, until finally he found himself before the saloon door.
He gave three solid knocks, glancing round once again to make certain that he had not been followed. Suddenly, the door’s porthole opened up and a set of dark brown eyes stared out at him.
“We’re closed,” said the eyes, in a rugged, gruff voice.
“Uh, even for cats and dogs and mice, too?” said Pinsel.
“Aye.”
The porthole closed, and for a moment Pinsel thought that his cause was lost. But he soon heard what sounded like a bolt being undone, and a moment later the door was opened.
“Come, come,” said the man with the eyes, a broad, burly fellow with a set of dirty clothes to match his dirty face. “Hurry-up! We can’t take bein’ seen, now can we?”
Pinsel stepped quickly inside and heard the door shut behind him. To his surprise, he saw before him nothing but an empty saloon, seemingly void of any activity.
“Where is everybody?”
“Ssssssssshhh!” cried the man, his finger to his lips. “Ya nevva know who’s listenin’.” The finger dropped from his lips and fell to a small window to his left.
“Sorry,” Pinsel whispered.
“Who sent ya?” said the man.
“I’m – I’m sorry?”
“Who sent ya?” the man repeated.
“Why, farmer Roald.”
“Farmer Roald, ey?” He folded his arms over his chest. “Very well. Come with me.”
The man made his way around some tables and to the other side of the bar, Pinsel following close behind. He watched as the man removed two slabs of wood, revealing a small set of stairs which evidently led to a cellar, from which voices could now be heard.
“Down there,” the man directed. “And be quick about it.”
Pinsel glanced into the darkness, then carefully placed his heel onto the first step and began making his way down into the warm, dark basement. There was no light on the stairs, only the torchlight from down below, and Pinsel found it safer to follow the voices. The darkness unnerved him somewhat, and when he found a hand jutting into his chest by the bottom, he turned in a start.
“Who goes there?” said the hand.
“P-P-P-Pinsel Ph-Ph-Ph-Phillips,” he managed to mutter. “F-F-F-Farmer Roald sent me.”
A harsh, beat-up face appeared, along with a hand and a torch.
“Right, right,” said the face. “Come with me.”
The man took his hand from Pinsel’s chest and brought it to his arm, leading him in this way. Nervous and unsure, Pinsel followed him to another door, from which the voices seemed to derive. He knocked three times, then opened it, revealing a crowd of more than thirty people. In the center, was John Miglene.
“Who are you?” John asked.
“Pinsel Phillips, sir,” answered he. “Farmer – ah –” he felt for the wall, “Farmer Roald told me to come.”
Miglene glanced over to Roald, a bald man with long whiskers, who sat shaking his head affirmatively.
“You’re late, ya know?” John said.
“Ah, yes, sir, I do,” said Pinsel. “A long and arduous travel it was on foot, especially at this time of night.”
“Very well,” said Miglene. “So long as you were not seen. Sit down. I expect that you understand the basis of this meeting?”
“Yes,” said Pinsel, “and I am with any man who is willing to challenge the Dark Duke’s power. He took half my farm – and a lot more from other people. If we can t-t-take” – he noticed the stare of the others – “if we can take some back, then – then I’m all for it.”
“Good,” said John. “Then let us continue. Where were we?”
“The Day of Pig,” said Ezra.
“Ah, yes. The Day of Pig.”
“It is a crazy idea,” said a man from the corner. “Do you know how heavily the palace will be guarded on that day?”
“Yes,” said John. “But I know as well that there will be many thousands in the palace courtyard, and in the streets – they are the key to our success. Our numbers alone – with what you can raise and with my small army – are far from enough. But if we can solicit those thousands to our side – only then do we stand a chance. Our inside source tells us that the Dark Duke has chosen a bride now, and many expect that he will announce her on that day. This means that even more people will be around the palace than usual, and if we could arouse in them a fire, we can fire the palace itself. Perhaps even some of the Guardsmen would desert.”
“Ah,” said Ezra Dunn, “but just how are we going to spark that fire?”
“Well,” John confessed, “that I’m not exactly sure of yet. We need a symbol, I believe – something in complete defiance of the Dark Duke that could spark that fire, that would call the people to action…”
“I beg ya pardon,” said Pinsel, still not quite sure that he had earned the right to talk, “but the Dark Duke, ya see…he took half my farm.”
“Yes,” said John, “I’m very sorry.”
“No, no,” Pinsel said, waving his hand, “you don’t understand. Let me explain:
“He took half my farm because of the arugula. I was known to grow some of the best arugula in all of Belsden. The Dark Duke loves arugula. That’s why he has that huge field of it growin’ by the palace.”
There was a moment of silence as they tried to understand where Pinsel was going with this.
It hit Ezra first, and he cried-out, “By golly, he’s right!”
“Mr. Phillips here is leading to something,” said Miglene, catching on. “Ezra – What do you think might happen if we were to ruin the Dark Duke’s arugula?”
“I’d say thad create quite a stir,” the hefty man replied.
“Aye,” said John, “so would I.”
“Maybe even cause a revolt,” Ezra added.
“Maybe,” returned Miglene.
“But what if it doesn’t?” someone asked.
John thought this over for a moment. “Probably,” he said at last, “we die.”
“What if they catch us before we can do it?”
“Then we die,” John repeated.
“What if there’s a rat?”
John looked from man to man.
“Then we die,” he said.
“Mind you that we are all in this to the death,” Ezra cautioned. “If the Dark Duke even finds out that you were here tonight, then he will surely kill you. So from here on in we must establish the ultimate trust, and you must understand that it is either victory or death.”
“Most probably death,” said someone in back.
“Maybe friend,” retorted Ezra, “but it is a far better death than this is a life.”
“Some choices we got!” cried-out another, much to their amusement.
“Unfortunately,” said John, “they seem to be our only choices.”