For Love or Money by Lady MSM

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An Attempt at Reconciliation is Made

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Chapter 9: An Attempt at Reconciliation is Made

           

            I’m up most of the night figuring out my plan, so needless to say, I’m not in the best mood when Mahtan gets me up at seven to finish up the cart the day before the festival begins. My plan for today goes as follows: Apologize to Mahtan for not listening to him. Finish cart. Present cart to Ward Seven. Apologize to Ward Seven for acting like I’m better than them. Apologize to Angaring for pushing his cousin. Hit Ward Seven with my brilliant idea. Bask in praise.

            Oh, and if I see Bril, I guess I’ll have to apologize to him too. I am not looking forward to that one.

Mahtan doesn’t seem to be in a good mood, either. “Sure and ye’d better wake up now, Ernil,” he says. “We wouldn’t want ye to make a mistake and ruin all our hard work now.”

            All right, time for today’s first apology, I think. “Mahtan, I’m sorry.”

            “I forgive ye,” he says calmly. “Here, get that red paint and get to work on the wheels.”

            That was almost too easy.

 

            A couple of hours later, the other Ward Seven lads show up at our house. I’m treated to more than a few evil looks, and everyone else just ignores me. I hold my tongue for now, and let Mahtan do the talking.

            “Well, lads,” he says, “we’ve finished the cart and I have to say it’s the best one we’ve ever had. It’s going to be damn hard to burn this one. Nevertheless, here it is!” With that, he steps aside and reveals our work.

            It’s a damn fine job, I have to say. The cart’s plenty big but not too thick, so it’ll be pretty easy to destroy once we get to the top of the hill. It’s lightweight enough that we’ll be able to pull it without much difficulty, and to top it off, Mahtan and I painted the whole thing with red and yellow flames (that was my idea. Mahtan told me that it wouldn’t blend in with the woods, but I told him, “That’s the point”).

            There’s a brief silence, then Ararast nods. “Sure and that’s the handsomest cart I’ve seen in a long time.”

            “Aye, and perhaps we’ll be able to win the race earlier, seein’ as it’s already on fire,” says Marnil. He glances around. “Oh, come on, no one’s going to laugh at that? Sure and it’s no worse than some of the jokes yerselves make.”

            “It’s a fine job, Mahtan,” says Angaring. “No one but you could’ve done it.”

            “Ernil helped quite a bit,” says Mahtan, nodding in my direction. I see what he’s doing—giving the others a reason to trust me again. Little does he know that I’ve got a better one.

            “Oh, come off it, Mahtan,” I say. “You know perfectly well that I only did maybe five percent of the work! I certainly can’t take credit for something as brilliant as this.”

            Mahtan gives me a surprised look. I just smile mysteriously and don’t say another word.

            “Well, lads, it’s the day before the festival,” says Ararast. “Has anyone thought of any plans at all?”

            There’s some shuffling and looking at feet. I let this go on for a minute, and then raise my hand.
            “I have an idea,” I say.

            Every eye in the room fixes on me.

            “You?” says Lomelind.

            “Aye, me,” I reply. “But before I say it, Angaring, I’m sorry I shoved your cousin. I was out of line. It won’t happen again.” He nods, and I continue. “Ararast, you said yesterday that it didn’t matter if anyone from another ward overheard our plans because they’d be too busy coming up with their own, didn’t you? Every single ward in this town wants to sabotage Ward Two. And that’s what they’re going to be concentrating on. They won’t even remember we exist. Do you see what I’m saying?”

            “While they’re all goin’ after Ward Two, we give ‘em the slip,” says Mahtan slowly. “It could work.”

            “Exactly,” I say. “After last year, no one will expect us to beat Ward Two. We’ll be completely off the hook. Angaring, you were right after all.” Angaring doesn’t say anything, but he smiles and looks pretty pleased with himself.

            “Sure and it’s not a bad idea,” says Ararast thoughtfully. “And more importantly, it’s the only real idea anyone’s come up with so far.” He frowns at me. “But Ernil, if we use yer idea, will ye promise to shape up and stop hitting people?”

            I can’t help grinning. “Damn right I will.”

           

            “And don’t ye go spreading this around to all yer friends, Harma,” Mahtan warns his wife at dinner. “I know how you women like to gossip.”

            Harma sniffs in mock offense. “Oh, please, men gossip just as much as women do. Don’t ye remember back when we were younger and that lass showed up in the village, and ye were all convinced she was a princess and she turned out to be a merchant?”

            “Aye, and ye haven’t let ever let us forget it, either,” mutters Mahtan. “But me point is, if any of the other wards find out about this we’ll be humiliated for the second year in a row.”

            “It actually isn’t a bad plan,” remarks Nerdanel (I guess Harma had the be-civil-at-the-dinner-table talk with her, too).

            “I’m glad you think so,” I say. “And please, don’t let Bril in on this.”

            “I would never tell Bril something like that,” she snaps, and furiously stabs a potato with her fork. I guess that’s all the interaction I’m going to have with her tonight.

            “Well, me advice is, forget all about this for the next two days and just have a good time,” says Harma calmly. “And then go and win.”

 

            I have mixed results taking her advice for the next two days. Sure, I manage to have a bit of fun drinking and gaming with Angaring (who seems to have mostly forgiven me—I guess they forget fights pretty easily in this town) and Lomelind, and there’s not much discussion of the race or our plan. But that doesn’t mean I forget about it. My mind is racing every moment of every day with worries, ideas, and frustration. But mostly excitement.

            I’m up half the night before the race—which is not a good idea, since I’m going to need rest for tomorrow, but you try sleeping when you know your reputation and the reputations of all your friends depend on an idea you came up with on a whim. Please, Eru, I think, don’t let us completely humiliate ourselves. Help us focus and move quickly.

            Oddly, my last thought before I fall asleep is, I wonder if Nerdanel will talk to me if we win.

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