The mist was thicker than pea soup, or was that biscuit gravy? Anjarn pondered the saying and continued to approach the castle through the mire of fog. Wealthy Estatesmen lived throughout the kingdom, but no one was richer than Estatesman Trem, or so the peasants under him said. A perfect place to lift a few coins, lighten the treasure room a bit, where no one would notice.

Just where was that road? It had to be around somewhere. The fog made the night perfect to nab some pocket money while avoid being seen. Muffled sounds of a horse drawn carriage drifted through the mist. The road was close.

"Muck-ridden dung heap," he cursed aloud, stumbling and hopping about, holding his right foot. His soft-leather shod toe echoed his cursing with a throb.

Horses neighed somewhere near, but Anjarn's balance was too disrupted for him to care. He fell straight down on a sharp rock and howled in pain.

"Hexed be!" he cried, jumping up and rubbing a sore bum. He limped cautiously about, trying to see how bad the pain was and if it would stay.

The mist in front of him gave way to a shiny red and golden wall. Anjarn hobbled closer, squinting at it and rubbing his sweat dampened neck. The peasants hadn't mentioned such a fancy accessory to the castle. Horses snorted and some of the gold gave way to a round face with wide blue eyes, curly blond hair and two large, brown freckles on either side of thin lips.

Anjarn leaped back and the lips curved into a smile.

"Good eve, good sir. Pray, head you to the castle of Estatesman Trem- my uncle?" spoke a high girlish voice.

Anjarn frowned and scrunched up his nose. "I don't pray, vile sport. And it's none o' yours to whither I be goin'"

"Really?" Her eyes widened.

"Mistress Juree, how long do ya expect we'll be sitting here?" asked a grumpy voice.

The face disappeared from the carriage window, as a carriage it must be, Anjarn decided. He heard a small whisper when he looked about for a way to get around the obstacle. No carriage was going to stop him from coin and treasure.

"Oh, hush now Croket. Your betters are talking."

The face reappeared, this time revealing a slender, swan-like neck.

"Indeed, your business is your own, good sir. But, I do believe such a fine personage as yourself heads nowhere else but to Estatesman's Harvesting Celebration of the new moon. It would be a privilege and honor if you accept our offer to join us."

It wasn't the graceful curvature of the woman's features, nor was it her speech that swayed Anjarn. It was the array of dull, unpolished diamonds that hung about the woman's neck like a collar, one that needed removing.

"An' if it be such a pridlige why, who am I to turn a couple o' ratty folks like yours self down?" He slipped on a smile for good measure. A free ride into the estate and, those jewels would be his if his luck kept.

The woman grinned, revealing dimples and the two freckles, and ushered him into the carriage. Inside it was cushioned with red velvet, damp with the heat and moisture. Anjarn took up residence, with a slight wince, beside a sullen looking youth wearing a torn doublet, and old leather shoes. The youth gazed at the floor and fiddled with a miniature medallion around his neck. From what Anjarn could tell, it was a kitten playing with a piece of cloth. He doubted it was worth much.

The woman, on the other hand, held a fan with her bejeweled fingers- one gem for each digit. Even her lacy dress, appearing blue in the darkness, was arrayed with the lesser stones. Anjarn glanced upward at the star painted ceiling of the carriage and thanked it while the carriage moved onward.

Leaning forward, eyes sinking into him, the smiling woman fanned herself, and whispering, "I am Juree. I shall tell my uncle you are Holder Smithey from King Rolen's lands. Just be sure to greet him with a bow. He'll do all the talking." Leaning back she spoke again, only aimed a glance at the youth. "And you, Dutyboy. Know your place. You will say nothing of this to my uncle. Understood?"

The carriage rolled to a stop, and with small fanfare the carriage door opened. Torches burned away most of the fog, Anjarn's gaze slid over the gathered crowd. They might stop him and ask who he was, but... there was a large purse on that man's waist. If he were caught, they'd put him in the stocks then hang- that was a very large emerald resting too lightly on that fat woman's fingers. The Juree woman was talking again beside him when they came to an old man with graying hair and three scars down his cheek.

Anjarn wondered if he'd be tossed immediately- wait, it couldn't be. It was- an original sixth cent piece. Only three minted during the former King's time in honor of his signet. A jaguar shredding the Mizinet flag. Bending closer, he saw it was indeed inlayed with two garnets as the jaguar's eyes and had three tiny jade pieces marking the points of the flag.

He stood, eyes following the linking chain to the neck of the old man, who smiled and inclined his head. "Such a bow; I am honored. Welcome to Harvest Celebration, Holder Smithey. It is a pleasure to have you guest with us. Unhappy circumstances have befallen you, so my niece tells me, but worry not. While here you shall enjoy the comforts of our hospitality as we anticipate a bountiful crop."

A voice to his right interrupted any reply. "Mistress Juree, you must introduce me to your new acquaintance. I must know the man who won escort to such an exquisite masterpiece of womanhood." The suddenness of the man's approach pulled Anjarn's longing gaze from where it lingered on the sixth cent piece, which disappeared with the speed of the old man.

The tall man to his right smiled, though his eyes only saw Juree. The woman gripped Anjarn's arm and mumbled his assumed name, giggling.

"Luck is funny." Anjarn shrugged, his glance wandering to bulges that did not belong to the poofed shirt the man wore.

"Dutyboy!" The old man's voice rose above the cacophony of the celebration. "Ring the dinner gong! The guests await."

Anjarn, held closely by Juree, followed the crowd to the dining hall. The woman would not let him go, thus he wasn't able to grab some of the easier pickings. He tried shoving her off his arm once or twice, but it only made her gasp as if he'd done her an affront, then giggle and grasp his arm tighter. He decided that maybe it was time for a try at one of those finger decorations.

He was hurried to his seat though, beside Juree and a prim rich man, and a feast lay splayed before them.

"A toast!" cried a rotund pink chap from across the room. All rose their glasses and Juree nudged for him to do so as well. Anjarn frowned and gulped his down while the rotund chap made a toast to the Harvesting Celebration's upcoming crops. He licked his lips and wiped them, reveling in the fine wine that hadn't crossed his pallet many times before.

Juree sipped with a smile, not even seeming to mind his indiscretion. Anjarn was beginning to wonder if there was something wrong with her and thought maybe he should have just tried the wall and back gate instead of coming in through the carriage.

One snippet of conversation caught his ears amidst the din.

"Is it true you have a Sparkling Chamber, like the former King- stars rest him and his lost son."

"Ahh, I've heard of that room. They say his was decorated with golden jaguars and jewels that guarded the most precious piece of all- the finest wrought white-silver medallion, bearing his signet, before he gave it to his son- stars rest them both. I do have something liken, but nothing so great," the old man with the sixth cent replied. Anjarn made the connection quite quickly then. The old man was the Estatesman.

"Well guarded I expect. Traps for the unwary?"

The Estatesman laughed. "More than you can possibly imagine. Only three know the way in and none without express permission have managed it alive."

"Where did you find the traps? Twice now we've been outdone by rampant rodents, peasant filth. We caught them, but not before they stashed some of my favorite treasury pieces."

Anjarn smiled and sunk his teeth into a succulent serving of boar's feet. Juice dripped down his chin onto his plate and he didn't care. He loved the fine foods of the rich. Soon he would be able to enjoy them all himself. Even if he didn't manage to find that Sparkling Chamber.

"Such a ravishing hunger. Didn't they feed you before they dumped you here?" asked the prim rich man beside him.

Anjarn, hunched over his food, glanced up at the droll man and grinned. Noisily finishing what flesh remained in his mouth, he let out a belch for good taste. He continued enjoying his meal, and the dancing entertainment as well as the fools that paraded in the center of the dining guests. He managed to slip a hand underneath the table and into the rich man's pockets, extracting a few choice coins. After one last belch he stood, as the meal was ending, and snuck out among the Harvest Celebration's revelers in the courtyard.

Music was abundant, as were the dancers and coin. The tall man who only had eyes for Juree had consumed her attention, allowing him to slip away, unfortunately without any of her ring trinkets. Flames kept some of the mist away, but fog still clogged the ground and skies. A deserted passageway met his gaze. A good place to start searching for that chamber. The castle was huge. It would take a while to find it, and even if he didn't, he still had the displayed trinkets of the house to filch.

The halls were empty, most of the servants no longer working, but enjoying the celebration in the courtyard. He passed a few snoring peasants smelling of too much ale, and avoided an amorous couple every now and then.

The corridors sprawled wide and twisting, often leading to a dead end or worse, colliding with guards. He hunkered down and stayed out of the torchlight scattered among the darker hallways. His rambling brought him to a giant hall, filled with a long table and tapestries from floor to ceiling. Even the fog rolled into this room, as most of the torches were too few and far between to light the spacious hall, much less keeping away straggles of mist. Wind seemed to ripple the giant tapestry of the former King's signet and the jaguar's bloodstone eyes caught in the dim light.

Anjarn frowned. The night was too humid and damp for the wind to stir the tapestry so, and him not know or feel it. On instinct he crept to the opposite side of the hall and disappeared behind the tapestry. It hid all light, but his fingers chanced upon a large crack in the solid rough stone. He pushed, then pulled, ending with his fingers stuck in the fissure. Yanking with silent muttered curses, Anjarn put is foot on the wall and pushed. The crack gave way, and he fell into the tapestry behind him, growling.

Something whistled over his head and thunked into the tapestry. He managed to untangle himself and stumbled into the dark opening. He felt for a wall to his left, found one, and did the same to his right, expecting one. With none to be had, he fell to the right, mis-stepping at the same moment. Dull clangs hit the stone above him, and he landed on soft padding.

"Hexed be," he muttered, kicking the pillows that cushioned his fall. He was blind, lost, and far from where he fell. He reached up the wall behind him and couldn't even feel the ledge by jumping. With nothing else to do, he went blindly forward, edging into the darkness. This time the walls stayed on his left and his right.

He kicked something and it skittered away, into the darkness, colliding against a far metal piece with a clank. Anjarn stopped for a moment, waiting and listening. He heard a low growl that faded, and smacking noises, like water pouring unevenly into a well. The hallway turned right, so he followed it, leaving behind a scraping noise mixed with a clicking.

His bum began giving him problems with all its abuse- the rock, the carriage ride, the hard wooden seat at dinner, the fall from the ledge- so his careful stride turned into more of a scattered roaming of the hallway. He tried to keep to the left wall, but he often meandered away, trying to walk in a way that was least painful.

The way echoed funny, sounds of his footsteps bouncing off the walls with odd tones, sometimes deep thuds, sometimes dulled thunks. His staggered stride probably had something to do with it, he figured. With his hand on the right wall, the door in front of him came as a shock to his nose.

"Hexed be mucked," he cursed before thinking that someone might hear. He was beginning to hope someone might, and that they would bring light. His hands felt solid wood that splintered in several places, as he discovered. Leaning his shoulder against a smooth patch of door, he picked at the splinter that had decided to become a part of his hand.

The smooth patch gave way slowly and he stumbled into a bright room. Anjarn had to shield his eyes from the glare. All around, large chests sat glinting in the torch light. He bit his tongue as, when his eyes adjusted, he realized a guard stood by the door, slumped against the wall. An upside-down and empty flask threatened to fall from loose hands.

Anjarn backed away, against the wall, foot nudging some loose coins spilled about the sides of the chest. They clanked but the guard simply twitched. All in all, the room wasn't much larger than a merchant's wine cellar, but it was stocked full with coins, golden, silver and bronze trinkets, as well as some good steel blades and jewel-speckled figurines. Delicate glass works sat in the center of the room, tiny gems glistening in the light. Two large marble statues took up one corner of the room.

Anjarn glanced at the sleeping guard, and slid coins off closed chests into palm-sized pouches. He found an elaborately worked jaguar figurine made entirely of jade and ivory along with several golden cuffs and chains. He chose some small silver pins decorated with the lesser gems as well. The poorer items were easier to be rid of than something so elaborate as the boar statue that lay at the foot of the glass figurines. The boar, inlayed with diamonds and encrusted with emeralds and ivory, was wrought entirely from the precious white-silver.

He filled his pockets and hidden sacks with what he could carry. A large sack would be too obvious, but several small cloth sacks and pouches, creating bulges where it wasn't so evident, worked perfectly.

The guard snorted and Anjarn was about to make his way to the door when he saw the metal flask slipping from the guards hands. That was sure to wake the man. Anjarn glanced around the room, finally choosing to hunker down behind one of the statues of the twins, Moon Watcher and Star Gazer. The marble workmanship was fine, and they'd fetch a good price, if they were smaller and easier to carry.

A resounding clink echoed in the room and the guard jerked from his sleep, blearily eyeing the room and bending down to retrieve the fallen flask. His back to Anjarn, he straightened and looked at the door. It was only then that Anjarn realized that one slab of the door was missing, raised at his entrance. He scooted back, further into the corner he had chosen, his palm connecting with the back wall, which gave slightly. Stone slid against stone, the sound hidden by the guard's closing of the open slab. The sliding floor gave way below, such that Anjarn stood at half his height in a hole.

Shaking his ankle, which had landed slightly wrong, and fighting curses, he ducked into the hole and found it was a passageway leading down, underneath the twin statues. Deciding not to bemoan his situation, Anjar bent and crept into the passageway, finding a torch at the foot of descending stairs.

Light seemed a better option than before, so he grabbed the torch and pulled it out of the holder. The holder slid upward and the stone door clanged shut.

"Hexed be!" he muttered, holding the torch aloft and limping his way down the passage. It wasn't too complicated, but it required much stair climbing and a few curses. Finally the passageway ended at a wall.

Anjarn stared murder at the wall, rubbing his sore bum with his free hand. The stairs didn't help it either. The pain hadn't bothered him in the treasure room. Treasure had a tendency to do that- make pain go away. Just one of the reasons he loved it.

Sliding the torch into the holder, he crossed his arms trying to decide what to do with the wall, when the one beside him decided to do something on its own. A small click popped open a wooden panel he hadn't noticed to his left. He slipped through it and found himself in a small anteroom, adjacent to a large chamber. The chamber was unlit, and no guards appeared to be about. His pockets weren't quite as full as he could make them, but there were the jewels of Juree to consider. Nothing he had seen yet quite matched those.

Anjarn snuck to the door of the room, peered out, and seeing no one, began to walk the corridor. No sound of footsteps echoed there, so he was surprised when he turned a corner and almost ran into the sullen youth from the carriage.

The youth's eyes widened, before returning to a bored look. "Sir Smithey, ya do come with me, as the night's revelry may be too much for one of your situation, lost as ya are. I am Dutyboy Croket and will show ya to ya bedchambers- to rest if ya so wish it."

The youth's tone was droller than a mid-morning sermon from the corner preacher, and Anjarn eyed him suspiciously, wondering why the lad questioned nothing, not even where he was or what he was doing. For that matter Anjarn had no idea where he was.

He followed the Dutyboy through a maze of stairways and corridors, finally arriving at a richly embossed door. The Dutyboy bowed and scurried off down the corridor with a scowl.

Shouts of "Guards!" echoed in his ears, urging him to enter, and leaving him wondering if the theft had already been discovered. Two heavy booted footsteps echoed down the corridor.

The door was unlocked. Entering with a peering glance, he shut the door behind him. Inside was an antechamber with a lounge sofa and matching table. The booted footsteps slowed, and finally stopped by the door. Anjarn felt his heart quicken. Why would there be guards outside his room; did they suspect? He relived his time in the stocks and the rope that had once lain against his neck before a fire had burned the stage and set him free. Turning, he saw another door opening into a bedroom.

A tallow candle burned low by a bedside, and a woman lay slumbering atop sheen covers. He recognized the round face and blond curls as belonging to Juree. He had found her room. Anjarn almost groaned- the Dutyboy had led him to the wrong room. Then he smiled with glee and turned his head to the ajar window, thanking the invisible star that led him to it.

The jewels, those lovely jewels of that Juree woman. Had he ever seen the like? Rare, some of them were, and large. He could chip them out, break them apart, or sell them whole. The placement of the jewels was a more difficult question.

Creeping to the wardrobe, he rummaged through as quietly as possible, discarding silken drawers, and velvet undergarments in his search as his frustration level mounted. Where were those jewels?

He turned from the wardrobe and paused, hand still holding a dark green tinted dress. Standing before him was Juree, watching him. His mouth fell open and he was about to run when she clapped her hands, a short smack in the dull moist night.

"I knew you would come! I've always known. Oh, uncle said those suitors were nice boys, and they are, but they aren't like you. You're wild and free. They're tame, and though handsome, quite boring. You're in need of a shave," her eyes traversed him, " a bath and a good change of clothes, but nothing will be beyond our procurement now that we're together."

Anjarn backed away from the woman. Perhaps she was mad, and that was why her uncle didn't question her bringing him here, and why the Dutyboy had not acted surprised to see him, wherever he was.

"Don't worry. I won't tell uncle. I won't even scream." She giggled. "I'll go with you quite peacefully, but you're right. We've got to make it look like I didn't want to go. Toss some more of those old clothes on the floor, and I'll gather my clothes."

Anjarn edged toward the open window, taking a peek to see just how high up they were. Fog clouded the distance but it didn't seem too far. Might break a leg, but it was that, or stay with the crazy woman- or give himself up to the guards out front.

"Don't worry. I've got the right kind of clothes. I bought them off some old couple, who traded them for my fine silk and velvet skirt." The woman displayed a patched tunic, short trousers with one leg cut off to the knee, and a cloak with many pockets and just as many holes.

"I haven't had a chance to try them on. Uncle would've gone mad if he saw me wearing such rubbish here. They won't recognize me there."

Anjarn had finally made it to the window. Below was fogged countryside. It did look a bit far, now that he looked directly down. Perhaps tying the woman up would be better.

"This is so exciting," Juree blathered on, "I can hardly-oh wait, you're right. You don't have to say a thing. There's not time to dally. I'm all prepared. I obtained the rope ladder from an old sailor. Look, it ties to the rungs here and here, and goes all the way down."

Anjarn watched in astonishment as the woman lugged a ladder from underneath her bed, hooked it to the sill iron slates and threw the extension down, into the courtyard. He was about to test the ladder and just leave her to her mad amusement, when something she said caught his attention.

"I'll change when we get far enough away. My jewels should make sure we'll be able to go anywhere you want, when we can't find our way more rogue-fully."

He sent a lopsided grin in her direction. "But o' course. Thinkin'on it...why doncha let me hold 'em for a while? For safe keepins'."

Juree smiled and wagged a finger. "Scoundrel! No time for it now. We'll get to that part later."

Anjarn creased his eyebrows, as she walked the ladder and ungracefully swung out, beginning her descent into the foggy night. The woman was mad, but she apparently had the jewels. Well, with her madness, he could weasel them out of her like as not without much fight, and leave her for her uncle to find.

Taking a last look around the room for any obvious trinkets, which he found none that could equal those already in his pockets, he clamored down the ladder. The splinter in his hand, his throbbing ankle, and his sore bum made it more difficult than he's expected. Once on the ground, she grabbed his arm and steered him through the fog. Better luck he hadn't thought to have. Not only would he obtain the jewels now, but Juree would free him from the castle estate.

Distant shouts of "Guards!" was dimmed by the humid air. Anjarn moved with some difficulty, stopping once or twice to rub his bum and shake out his ankle.

"They've found out already. This is going to be fun!" Juree's high, girlish voice whispered into the dampness.

The stables materialized out of the fog, almost right in front of Anjarn, much like the carriage had. Movement all about the castle could be heard, though distant.

"Old stables my uncle doesn't use much, since he had the new ones built closer to the track he likes so much. They won't suspect. Oh, what a life we're going to lead." She put a crushing grip on his arm.

He pulled away, ears picking up a sloshing noise as they passed the old stables. He started to creep around to the left, seeing an exit, but Juree tugged on his sleeve pointing right.

"That's too obvious. My uncle has guards there all the time, well usually. They do have Celebration nights off most times, since there's nothing back there but a lake and the land belongs to Holder Gib, one of my uncle's greatest supporters. This way though," she pointed through a clump of treetops visible, "is even better. It will take us to the main road. We just have to avoid-"

The scream that issued from Juree made Anjarn cringe away. The guards were certain to hear that, even on such a damp, miserable, hot night as it was.

"Mistress?" came a surprised voice. Anjarn recognized it as belonging to the Dutyboy.

"Croket! You incompetent fool! Hexed be! What are you doing? What is this-uhhg, it smells like foulness."

"Estatesman ordered the chamber pots cleaned before dawn," the Dutyboy replied, returning to his monotone and dull voice.

"I can't possibly continue on like this." The reek of the chamber pots was strong and Anjarn avoided Juree as best he could. She grabbed his arm. "Oh, darling wait for a moment. I must change. Croket, you say one word and you'll be wearing the chamber pots."

Her voice changed like a moody cat. Purring one moment and yowling the next. She moved off toward the stables. Croket dumped another chamber pot while answering, "Yes, Mistress."

"And don't you leave before I get back, Crocket." Her voice was muffled with the humidity, but shrill enough to make out. "You will scrub and fully clean this nightdress for that insult, and return it to my room."

Croket fingered his tiny kitten medallion, sighed and turned back to the next chamber pot he'd gathered. Anjarn wasn't certain at all what to do. He could try the way by the stables, but that was the direction Juree had gone. Perhaps he could try the secret way out Juree knew, only he wasn't certain where it was. Footsteps ranged close and shouts were within hearing distance. Body parts became viewable through the mist.

"Croket, come get this nightdress!"

Anjarn thought perhaps the stables might be a good place to hide. It was there or the unknown woods. More space in the woods, and more space to hide or be caught. Croket ambled along in the direction of the stables, and Anjarn followed him. Juree's voice, mumbling and grunting, could be heard from the stable door.

The nightdress was draped over one of the empty stalls. He sneaked to the opposite end of the stables and peered out through the misty gloom toward the exit. No guards were coming from that direction. He turned to see Croket trudging back to the chamber pots, dress in hand.

"Just a moment, darling. Almost got it. The clothing goes on quite oddly. But then again, peasants do dress themselves. Oh, to think I'll be-urrg, uh-doing the same thing."

Anjarn ignored Juree's mindless chattering, wondering if she still had the jewels. The guards were closer and he could hear their shouts.

"That's her nightdress! What have you done with the Mistress, Dutyboy?"

"There're her jewels, bright as day fallin' out onto the ground!" a second exclaimed.

Another shouted, "Mistress! Mistress Juree!"

Not daring to stay a moment longer, even for the jewels, Anjarn hurried out into the misty night. No guards met him and the way looked completely clear. If Juree were correct, there would be a lake somewhere up ahead, and with that lake, most likely were peasants. Peasants who he knew appreciated a little unidentifiable wealth for a ride-a thought addled his brain and he glanced back into the foggy night. Unidentifiable wealth, that pendant the Dutyboy stroked.

A smile of mirth formed on his lips, and Anjarn had to school his laughter. The pendant of white-silver depicting a jaguar shredding the Mizinet flag, not a cat and a ball of string. Anjarn looked to the sky, through which one small star could be seen through the fog. The piddle in his pockets meant nothing to him. The Dutyboy would be accused of thievery and his pendant, well, with a little of his own luck, soon Anjarn would be king.

The End

Published by Fools Motley Magazine, 2004. All rights are property of the author. Copying and distribution of this work is prohibited. Webpage designed by Fools Motley Magazine based on templates from www.angelfire.com . Background and image provided by Grsites .