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  So, when the Pettifoggers loudly banished Bodric and his boy from their inn after the Great Beer Flood, no one in the village stood up for the boy. No one could say for sure that Koren wasn’t a jinx, now, could they? When Pricella tried to make Bodric pay for the damages, well, people said she had gone a bit too far, and most townsfolk took Bodric’s side when he told Pricella exactly what he thought of her, the Golden Trout, and their sour, flat beer. After all, what Bodric said was what pretty much everyone in Crebb’s Ford had wanted to say for years. Behind Pricella’s back, of course.

  Relations between the Bladewells and the other families in Crebb’s Ford were strained for years after that, with half the townsfolk saying Koren was a menace, half saying there was no such thing as a jinx, and half saying, well, there might be something to this talk about a jinx. There were three halves because some people changed their minds about Koren, depending on the day, or the weather, or what they ate for breakfast. Truth was, most people in Crebb’s Ford, and all of Crickdon county, were poor farmers, scraping out a living on land they rented from the Baron, and could not afford bad things to strike them or their family. Life was hard enough without a jinx making things worse. A lame horse, a broken plow, a hailstorm wiping out a field of crops, almost anything could spell disaster for a family already on the edge of poverty. And some people resented that the Bladewells owned their land, and their home was one of the best pieces of farmland in the entire county.

  It was most unfortunate, therefore, that Bodric took Koren with him to the grain mill, a couple weeks before Koren’s thirteenth birthday. That mill, along with the bridge across the river, were the only reasons for the village of Crebb’s Ford to exist. Although no one particularly liked the miller, and his boys were bullies, the miller was grudgingly honest and his prices for grinding grain were mostly fair, and the closest other mill was a full day’s journey along the river to the west.

  When they arrived at the mill that fateful morning, Bodric left Koren to tend to the wagon, and get water for their horse. Koren carefully put wooden blocks under the wagon’s wheels, unhitched the horse, and led the horse to the millrace stream to drink. The miller’s two boys, seeing a chance for a bit of mischief, crawled over to the wagon and slipped the blocks from under the wheels. They were trying to hide in the tall grass and keep from laughing out loud, when they noticed that the wagon was rolling the wrong way. Rolling straight for their father’s mill!

  What the miller’s sons should have done was to stop the wagon, but because they were cowardly bullies, they lay still and hoped they could blame it on Koren.

  When Koren saw the wagon rolling toward the mill, he shouted in alarm, which caused the horse to bolt away. Koren ran after the wagon as fast as his legs could carry him, and grasped onto the tailgate, digging his heels into the dirt and trying to pull the wagon to a halt. The wagon was far too heavy for the boy, it dragged him with it as it rolled straight for the door of the mill. Koren swung his legs up, planted his heels in the dirt road, closed his eyes and gave one mighty heave with all his strength-

  And the wagon did stop, at the same moment that the great waterwheel of the mill also stopped, causing the machinery inside the mill to break, shatter and fly around inside the stone building. Bodric and the miller ran out of the mill, holding their arms over their heads, and flung themselves flat on the ground, while the waterwheel jerked back to life, sending more large pieces of machinery flying about.

  The miller’s boys ran up to their father, blaming Koren for the wagon almost crashing into the mill, but the miller did not care about any stupid wagon. His mill! His precious mill was ruined! Ruined, and he might not have it fixed in time for the autumn harvest that year! What a disaster for the miller, and for the farmers of Crebb’s Ford, who now had no place to take their grain for grinding!

  The miller was sputtering with anger, pulling out tufts of his beard and yelling words that Koren’s mother had told him were very bad things to say. And saying bad things about Koren, that it was all Koren’s fault, that the boy was a jinx. Bodric shouted back that if the miller had taken proper care of his clunky machinery, it would not have broken. Both men were red-faced from shouting. They almost came to blows before Bodric told Koren to catch the horse, hitch it to the wagon, they would be leaving. Good riddance, said the miller, and don’t come back, ever! The Bladewells could bring their grain to some other mill in the future, he would not be grinding it for them, ever again!

  The miller went to the Golden Trout Inn that evening to drown his sorrows in a mug of beer, and the more he drank, the louder and more angry he became. Something would have to be done about that Koren Bladewell boy, something soon, he declared to anyone who would listen. Among the farmers in the common room of the Golden Trout that night, he found an agreeable audience. The news that the village’s only mill might not be available to grind their grain, with crops planted and harvest time approaching, spelled disaster for everyone in Crebb’s Ford, not just for the miller. Koren was a menace, a danger to poor, honest, hard-working people who could not afford any more bad luck in their lives. When Pricella Pettifogger announced that it was time for action, not more talk, about Koren, no one spoke against her. When Pricella spoke to the sheriff of Crickdon county, and explained how much trouble Koren had caused, the sheriff knew his employer the Baron would care about only two things. First, that tax payments from Crebbs Ford might be reduced, or delayed, because there was no local mill to grind the farmer's grain. And second, that Pricella Pettifogger was very upset and worked up about the issue of Koren Bladewell, and that she was very likely to be pestering the Baron until he did something about it. The problem with tax payments was serious, for the Baron had to pay his taxes to the Duke, whether the Baron had collected taxes from his subjects or not. But the sheriff remembered the last time Pricella had pestered the Baron about something; the woman had been so persistent, and so annoying, that the Baron had taken to riding far out of his way to avoid going through Crebb's Ford, and had even begun to dread reading his mail, lest he find yet another strident message from Mistress Pettifogger. So the sheriff was not sure the Baron would care about the taxes, as much as caring about keeping Pricella from pestering him again. What the sheriff did know for certain was that the Baron expected his sheriff to take care of problems in the county. Which is why the sheriff rode directly to the Baron's castle, explained the problem, and suggested a solution. A solution the Baron liked, liked very much indeed. The morning of Koren's thirteenth birthday, the sheriff met a group of scared and angry people from the village who were assembled at the Golden Trout, and led them to ride slowly up the lane to the Bladewell’s farm.

  Bodric released his wife’s hand, and put his hands on her shoulders, pulling her against him. “You can tell those people outside, that we’ll not leave our home because ignorant fools are scared of a silly superstition.” He spoke through clenched teeth, his jaw set in defiance. “It’s going to be all right, honey. We’re staying right here. Plain and simple.”

  The sheriff shifted his feet uncomfortably. “It’s not that simple.” He pulled a scroll from a pocket, and laid it on the kitchen table. “This has gone beyond the Pettifoggers, or the miller. My lord the Baron has declared your son banished

  “Banished?!” The Bladewells shouted together.

  “And he’s offered a fair price for your land,” the sheriff continued, pulling another scroll from his pocket, “a more than fair price. Even generous.”

  “This is outrageous! The Baron-“

  “Who is your liege lord, I caution you, Mister Bladewell,” the sheriff said quickly, with one finger held up for emphasis. “It would not do to speak ill of the Baron in front of his sheriff, I remind you.”

  Bodric fumed, but held his tongue from saying what he felt about the Baron. “We will fight this,” he said weakly, feeling he had to say something. “We can appeal to his grace the Duchess.”

  The sheriff shook his head sadly. “Bodric, yes, you can appeal to the Duc
hess, at the assize court next winter, if you travel to the castle. By that time, if you haven’t taken the Baron’s offer, he will force you off your land,” the sheriff didn’t need to mention that it would be he and his men carrying out the Baron’s orders, “and sell your land at auction. And I can tell you, good sir, the Baron will make sure he is the only bidder at the auction, and you will be the poorer for it. I know him, he’ll do it. Do you think the Duchess will side with you, over the Baron, who is cousin to the Duchess’ husband?”

  Bodric founds his hands were shaking as he held his wife, and she looked up at him with tears in her eyes. His own eyes stung, but he was determined not to show that to the sheriff. “This can’t be happening, not to us. How can our neighbors, people we’ve known for years, be afraid of our boy? He’s a good boy!”

  “There have bee odd things going on around Koren, for years now,” the sheriff said gently.

  “Odd? Rumors and silly stories-”

  “Enough to scare people.” The sheriff interrupted.

  Amalie wiped the tears from her eyes; she wasn’t sad or shocked, she was angry. “I didn’t hear people complaining when Koren helped harvest their crops over the years. or when Koren nursed Redding's cow back to health. That animal was near death's door, and Koren stayed by its side, day and night, and now it's scampering around the field like a calf! Strange things happen all the time 'round here, was it Koren's fault when that twister storm tore up the Rendell’s barn? Or when the flood last year knocked out the bridge? Or when lightning stuck the blacksmith shop? Were all those Koren’s fault?”

  “Amalie, Bodric, I can't dispute that Koren has been a good boy; hard-working, always ready to help people. Maybe there's something strange about him, maybe there's not, maybe it's all superstitious stories. All I can say is that my master, the Baron, has declared your son banished, and he has until Midsummers day to leave the county. The two of you don't have to leave-

  “We’re not sending our son away!” Mother and father said in unison.

  Not knowing what else to say, for everything that could be said had been, the sheriff pointed at the scrolls on the table, tapping them emphatically with a finger. “You have been officially notified of our liege lord the Baron’s declaration of banishment, and of his offer to purchase your property. I am going outside to calm people down, and get them off your land. I’ll be back here next week, by myself, and you can tell me your decision then. Until then, I suggest you stay out of the village.”

  So it was that, the week before Midsummer’s Day, the Bladewell family loaded the few possessions they hadn’t already sold into their wagon, and started down the narrow, rutted lane into the tiny village of Crebb’s Ford. Bodric had sold the farm, and all their animals except the horse, to the Baron. The sheriff, who had delivered the Baron’s money, waved to Bodric as the wagon passed, but the sheriff wasn’t smiling, and neither were the Bladewells. The sheriff wasn't smiling, because he felt sorry for the Bladewells; it had been the sheriff's idea for the Baron to send them into exile. The legal term was banished, but exiled sounded better, as if the Bladewells had a choice at all. And technically, the Bladewell family had not been exiled, only their thirteen year old son. Another reason the sheriff was not smiling was that he knew the Baron had likely paid too much for the Bladewell's farm. The amount of money the Baron had paid to the Bladewells was based on the amount of crops and animals the farm produced under the hard work of the Bladewell family. But the Baron had, foolishly, granted the farm to his youngest son, so the boy could 'learn the practice of farming and animal husbandry'. The lazy boy didn't know anything about farming, was apparently allergic to hard work, and was going to fail as a farmer. And the sheriff knew the Baron would not be happy when the most productive farm in the county fell into disrepair, and the sheriff would get the blame. So, he waved to the Bladewells that morning, and no one was smiling.

  Bodric had to drive the wagon through the village, for the east road was the only way across the bridge. It was early yet, most people were either still in bed, or tending to chores around their farms. The few people they met fell into two groups; those who glared at them as if to say good riddance, and those who avoided their eyes or pretended to be sad the Bladewells were leaving. A mile down the lane, they passed by the farm of Bodric’s brother Ander, who was pretending to fix a fence post, as an excuse to be out by the road. “Ander.” Bodric said with a nod toward his brother, and he brought the wagon to a halt.

  “Morning, Bodric.” Ander responded uncomfortably. “So, you’re leaving then? I hear the Baron gave you a good price.”

  “That’s between me and the Baron.” Bodric said bitterly. “Yes, we’re leaving, as if you didn’t know that. You’re not going to say you wish I would stay?”

  Ander looked down at his shoes. “I have a family too, Bodric. And you can’t say your boy hasn’t been around every time something bad happens around here.”

  “You should be ashamed of yourself, Ander Bladewell.” Amalie snapped. “Superstitious foolishness! Koren is a good boy. Do you forget about the time Koren nursed your horse back to health, when you'd given up? Was that bad luck for you? Bodric, we’re not wanted here, let’s move on, before I lose my temper and say something uncharitable.”

  Bodric tapped the reigns and the horse pulled the wagon away, without another word to his brother. It had been Ander’s betrayal that made Bodric decide to move; he did not care what the Pettifoggers, or the miller, or anyone else in the town thought. But when Bodric had looked out his front door that fateful morning, to see that his own brother Ander had joined the people seeking Koren to be banished, Bodric had not known what to say. His own brother wanted him banished from the town. Koren’s mother and father had argued late into that night, before wearily deciding to sell the farm, and make the long journey to a distant village where one of Amalie’s relatives lived. There, they could buy another farm, and get a fresh start.

  First, though, they had to get through Crebb’s Ford. Their route through the village was mostly quiet, until they passed by the mill, with its broken waterwheel. The miller’s sons came out to jeer at the Bladewells, and then they were joined by other boys; bullies who saw that none of the adults in the village would step forward to defend the Bladewells. The family kept the wagon moving, and ignored the insults, but then the bullies began throwing clods of dirt, and other things. An over-ripe pepper splattered against the wagon next to Koren, then a boy threw a large potato at Koren’s head. Quick as a flash, Koren caught it out of the air, and drew his arm back to throw the potato, when Bodric caught his arm. “Don’t waste good food, son. You tuck that in the back of the wagon, and we’ll eat it tonight.” The wagon went around a sharp turn in the road, rumbled up the cobblestones onto the bridge, and they left the village of Crebb’s Ford behind forever.

  That first night, camped beside the road, Koren had to admit his father was right, the potato was good, and almost big enough to feed the whole family. For a moment, in front of a crackling fire, camped out under the stars, Koren could almost pretend he was on a fishing trip, and they would return home in the morning.

  In the morning, they did not return home, and Koren awoke with a back stiff from sleeping on the ground beneath the wagon. His parents had spent the night in the back of the wagon, using what little cushioning they had to comfort their older bones. Koren got the morning fire started, and brought a pail of water to his mother to boil for the breakfast oats. “I didn’t notice it last evening,” Bodric declared, “but I believe this land used to be an orchard. Koren, come with me, we’ll see if we can find some plums.”

  The tangled, overgrown trees indeed used to be an orchard, although it was hard to tell from the road. Most of the trees were apple, with fruit not yet ripe enough to pick. Plums, though, were to be found here and there, with most of that fruit already laying rotting on the ground. Bodric kept a wary eye out for bears, for such an abundance of fruit would surely draw animals to feast, and some trees bore tell-tale claw m
arks. A bear, Bodric warned his son, was bad enough, but a bear drunk on fermented fruit was a true danger!

  Father and son wrestled their way through the overgrown branches to find ripe plums that hadn’t fallen, and as always, Koren somehow knew just where to find the best fruit. Soon Bodric stayed on the ground while Koren handed plums down to him. For a moment, just a moment, clambering around tree limbs, with warm morning sunlight filtering through the leaves, the air scented with ripe plums, Koren could almost forget that they would not be bringing the fruit home, that he wasn't picking from trees in their own orchard.

  "You saw the old stone wall under all that brush, as we got here?" Bodric observed. "This must have been someone's farm. A long time ago, looks like."

  "Why would anyone abandon a good farm like this?" Koren asked, puzzled. The plum, apple and peach trees were terribly overgrown, what must at one time have been a wheat or corn field was a meadow full of bushes and sapling trees, but when Koren had kicked over a rock, he had seen rick black soil.

  Bodric shook his head. "Could be anything. Sickness, accident, no children to take over working the land, taxes. Or the owner wanted too much rent. I wonder if our Baron owns this land." Bodric said with a grimace. "A spot of bad luck, that's all it takes, to knock a family off their land." Intent on picking plums, and talking halfway to himself, Bodric wasn't paying attention to what he'd said to his son.

  Koren's ears burned with shame. A spot of bad luck, like having a jinx for a son. “I’m sorry I caused problems for you and mother.”

  "Oh." Bodric realized what he'd said, and that he couldn't take back, or explain away his words. "I didn't mean - it's not your fault, Koren. Don't worry on it."