Lil Beetle

A rough jolt shook Anna awake.

The wagon shuddered several more times as the road’s quality decreased into a rough, rocky patch.

For a brief moment she wondered where she was.

Then it hit her, the smell of the oilcloth, the dampness of her clothes, the voices of Clayton and the elderly man coming from the front bench. Her whole body ached with sore muscles, her legs from walking for hours on end, her upper body from the terrifying trips up and down the rickety bone ladder. Even worse, it felt as if several things were crawling on her skin. She wiped at her face and squirmed in her damp clothes, which helped some, but the creepy crawling sensation continued.

Maybe there was a good reason why the flour was such a bargain.

Anna tried to not think about it, focusing on the conversation coming from the front to distract herself.

“So you are quite the bargain hunter?”

“Sure am,” the old man replied, fairly loudly, given his hearing. “I traded up from a cart to this wagon here. And I got Astra for nearly a song, even when she is a decorated racehorse. I found out she won the annual King’s Plate twice, in successive years.”

“Why then is she not living the good life, mowing grass for a noble? … No offense.”

“None taken. I found her being sold for meat. Racehorse is tougher than tough to chew. Got her real cheap. Seems like a terrible way for a decorated horse hero to go out. Almost like she is being punished.”

“Fate can be cruel.”

“People can be more so.”

“I do not understand. Horses are loyal. There is no reason to punish one.”

“Maybe it was not to punish her, but someone who deeply valued her.”

Clayton fell silent for a long time.

“So what is your bargain this time?”

“Weevil infested flour.”

Anna shuddered, feeling one crawling up her back under her blouse. She pressed herself against a sack, hoping to squish it. The crawling persisted.

“If it has gone bad, it does not seem like much of a bargain.”

“I heard there is a lady in Runetown who will buy bad flour for a bit of coin. So it is worth it for us,” the driver replied.

Clayton turned quiet again for a time.

“What do you think of the sudden weather change?”

“Only magic could have caused it,” the driver replied confidently.

Clayton’s voice turned cautious. “What would make you think that?”

“I have been around a while, seen a lot. This is definitely magic. Powerful magic at that. Woke up early. Fair weather. Suddenly a strong wind. Then it started raining in an instant. Magic.”

“What do you think about those who can use it?”

The driver thought for a while. “...I think they are a convenient scapegoat to blame for past things that have gone wrong. After all, a dead man cannot defend himself. … They also make a good excuse for the nobility to rule by fear. … But that is an opinion best to keep to oneself.”

The wagon noticeably slowed.

“Oh. Look. There is a check-point ahead,” Clayton said loudly, emphasizing each word.

Odds were they would check the wagon’s cargo.

Anna started shifting the flour sacks, creating a channel to squeeze into in the middle. It wasn’t much of a hiding place, but a distinctly body shaped mass under a funeral pall would draw even more scrutiny.

The wagon came to a stop.

“Clayton? The witch hunters wore you out already?”

The young man did not reply.

“I told you, you would not hack it.”

There was a long, uncomfortable silence.

“Astra here is a former racer. She does not stand still for long.”

“I have to check your load.”

Anna hugged against a sack, pressing her face against it, the scent of dry, musty flour filling her nose. She could feel a weevil slowly crawling across her cheek. She bit at the inside of her lower lip to distract herself from the feeling of all those icky, tiny little legs shuffling their way across her skin.

The corner of the oilcloth cover folded back.

The guard eyed the black velvet spread over a single broad, uneven mound under the pall.

“Why is a funeral cloth covering your load?”

The weevil motored along, now headed for Anna’s lips.

“My dead uncle was hardly using it.”

The joke landed with complete silence.

“We are looking for a witch.”

“No witches here. Only weevils. And flour.”

The weevil lost interest. It changed course, feeling the warm flow of air from above, heading up to Anna’s nose. That seemed far more worthy of further investigation.

“I can see that,” the guard replied. “Ugh.”

“It was a bargain!”

“I am sure it was.” The oilcloth returned to its original position. “If you see a strange woman with pale blue hair, alert the town watch.”

The lil beetle started to frolic around the edge of Anna’s nose, testing whether taking the plunge was a smart endeavour. It tickled intensely. Anna clenched her eyes tightly shut, resisting the urge to sneeze.

“Trust me, I will not.”

“Oh-” the guard’s voice turned apologetic “-right.” He paused with embarrassment. “Carry on.”

The driver clicked and the wagon resumed its swaying.

As soon as Anna thought they were far away enough, she started to frantically wipe at her face, swiping with both hands, sending the weevil sailing off into the darkness.

The wagon continued for a time.

“Let me off here,” Clayton directed.

“What about your friend?”

“The lady buying your flour will be more helpful to her than I,” Clayton said solemnly.

The young man could be heard climbing down. “Thank you for the ride. Thank you to you too, Astra.”

No goodbye. Instead the young man was gone.

The wagon resumed traveling. After about ten minutes it came to a stop. Anna could hear muffled voices coming from a distance. “Well Astra,” the old man said aloud to himself, “time to get you something nice to eat. I can unload this flour later when there are not so many people around.”

“It is a good thing that I can park behind the bakery. Probably in ten minutes those people talking over there will be gone. Then no one will be around. Wait here Astra. I will let the baker know to unlock the back door so I can unload later when I want to.”

The elderly man was gone for a time. During his absence the distant muffled voices faded away.

Anna heard someone approaching. “Ok, Astra. The lady knows about our delivery.”

“Let me loosen the oilcloth. It will make for faster unloading later.”

Ropes were loosened. The oilcloth drooped in the middle, no longer taunt, but remained closed, covering the load. More sounds of unhitching followed, then a click to get the old mare moving.

“You did well today,” the old man cooed as the sounds of the two departing faded away.