Part 3

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"That should be the last of it." Fredrick said as he tightened the rope on his bag to make sure his food supply would be safe.

Arthur made a disinterested smile. He tried his best to be supportive, but Fredrick could easily discern Arthur's seething jealousy. This fight was a fight they both had trained for, but Fredrick was the only one selected.

Fredrick put a hand on Arthur's shoulder, "You will have your calling one day old friend."

Arthur conceded, he had to be happy for his friend.

A young boy appeared in the stables in front of Fredrick and Arthur. Fredrick scowled, but his tone expressed a mockery that was clearly meant to be taken lightly, "And where have you been, while me and Arthur finished doing your chores?"

The boy panted, "Sorry, I was helping Godfrey with his books". Fredrick smirked rubbing the boys head, "It seems you have taken to books more than hard labour." Fredrick stated.

The boy looked away in guilt, he often skipped his chores to help the librarian, but doing it on the very day his father would leave for an epic herrowing journey might have been a bit too insulting. Fredrick smiled at his son warmly, "It's okay, it's important to play to your strengths. No doubt Godfrey will give an apprenticeship in the near future. Until then, make sure you help Arthur. He will need it Anselm."

Anselm nodded enthusiastically, "Of course father."

"That's a good lad." Fredrick embraced his son. Even Arthur couldn't hide his resolve with the emotional scene.

After expressing a few more pleasantries and final goodbyes to the people of Bellevue, Fredrick finally left with the oracle to perform his duty as warrior.

Now that he was gone, Arthur immediately stopped pretending his tolerance for Anselm. The next morning was more strenuous than it should have been for Arthur. Fredrick didn't bother teaching Anselm the basics of cattle farming. The young boy couldn't even complete the simple act of picking up manuar without falling over. Arthur wondered why his bones were so weak. Fredrick always had a robust size, and it wasn't like Anselm wasn't getting enough to eat. After the day had ended, Arthur concluded that Anselm was a lost cause.

Anselm didn't much respect his father's friend either. He felt that Arthur's outbursts were excessive. Arthur yelled at him when he spilled some water from his bucket while pouring it for the cattle. Anselm, found refuge with Godfrey everyday after that. Arthur didn't seem to mind, at least he could do good by not getting in the way. At some point, Anselm would only come home to Arthur and his wife each day for dinner and rest before leaving first thing in the morning.

Godfrey made Anselm reshelf the book stock and record books that required a rebinding or printing. He enjoyed the young boy's company. Godfrey had never seen someone take so much to knowledge other than himself. He was bright for his age. Probably a little too bright, after reading enough stories, and retelling, and historical documents, Anselm was slowly starting to see what Godfrey was seeing. That the enlightenment was flawed. Godfrey tried his best not to push his own biases on Anselm and tried making the boy come to his own conclusions. But Anselm's discovery was taking too long to manifest. Godfrey knew he had to be patient, yet decided to suggest him a few readings that would push him to the right direction.

The library in the duke's castle was vast. Anselm required a tall and skinny ladder to reach the top shelves. It was big and saturated with enough knowledge to require several weeks to map one's way around. Anselm still found himself getting lost each day. His short attention span was no help. Anselm got distracted easily, especially with his favourite types of epic journeys and romances. Godfrey was very patient, it didn't seem like there was much need for a library in this village anyway. He remembered a time when the library was filled with people as many as there was space to accommodate. When people had time to fill their days with fortunes, and fables and curiosity. But time ended when the first produce of the year turned to ash.

The reapers worked slowly. Ending seasonal crops a few patches at a time. Godfrey knew it was going to be worse. The time would come when people would suffer the pain of starvation and grief. He feared for the day where that would turn into the mundane. He hoped for the best but predicted the worst.

Anselm walked home late one day, he was caught up with the Canterbury tales before Godfrey urged him to go home. He snuck inside hoping to not wake Arthur or Elizabeth and successfully made it to his bed. Before he could fully rest, he heard a stone hit on his bedroom window. Anselm peered out and found what had caused the noise. It was Avice. She was wearing her nightgown and had her hair tied up in two messy braids. Her mother gave up taming that hair a long time ago.

Avice urged Anselm to come outside and Anselm graciously accepted the offer. He snuck out the same way he snuck in. Avice was waiting outside the door.

As soon as Anselm stepped foot on the gravel, Avice sprinted towards the forest. Anselm sighed, he hated running, and he couldn't keep up with her.

Avice waited for Anselm a long time on the tree where most children would climb during the day. The moon was shining bright, and Avice found herself in a daze until Anselm interrupted her with his panting.

Anselm leaned against the tree and Avice proceeded to hang upside down on the branch she was sitting on.

"I've been seeing you less and less these days." Avice remarked, her braids brushing Anselm's face. Anselm pulled away, "I know. I've been at the library, Godfrey has me studying the most odd things these days."

"Like what?" Avice asked as she sat right side up again and stretched an arm to help Anselm climb the branch. Once the two were comfortable, Anselm explained to her the type of authors who would make books only filled with essays critising just about anything.

"There seems to be no universally loved story or truth that everyone can agree on." Anselm observed.

Avice acknowledged his thoughts genuinely, even though she couldn't find herself grasping the bigger concepts Anselm often spoke of.

"Sorry." Anselm stated, "I'm speaking too much. How are you?"

Avice smiled, she always found it endearing when Anselm regarded her. He never seemed to be spending enough time on himself and focused too much on her.

Avice sighed, "Now that mum's getting sick, I have to do a lot more work around the farm. Jamie is helping out too now, he's only six, he shouldn't have to worry about this work."

"I'm sorry, that is truly unfortunate. Don't hesitate to ask me for help if you need it. I'll do with the useless skills Arthur calls what I can."

Avice chuckled, "Of course. Have you heard anything from your father?"

Anselm shook his head, "Not a word. And everyone says it's bad luck to ask."

"Well, I'm sure he's doing well." Avice reassured. Anselm nodded. He knew it wasn't true however. Somehow, he knew that his father was in grave danger.

Frederick was announced dead the next morning, and the entire town mourned.

Godfrey hadn't expected Anselm to come back that very day. Anselm didn't come to work however, he came to talk.


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