For Love or Money by Lady MSM

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Ward Seven Heads Off to the Races

Chapter 10: Ward Seven Heads Off to the Races

At twilight on the third day of the festival, everyone meets up at the foot of the hill (which, incidentally, does not seem to have a name—I guess they never thought it needed one). The wards are all in line and glaring at each other—yes, even the women and the kids. I ask Mahtan what everyone else does while the men are racing and he says they go up to the top of the hill and start the fire, and then wait for us to get there. Exciting.

I have to say, it looks like most of the murderous glares from the various wards are aimed at Ward Two. Good, I was right—they are the least popular ward. Our plan’s got a decent chance of working.

“All right, lads, ye know the rules!” cries Regiel, who’s acting as referee. “First team to get up to the top of the hill and burn their cart wins. If anyone knocks anyone else out, breaks one or more of their bones, or makes ‘em bleed, then their team’s disqualified. Any questions? No? All right, on me signal, then…three, two, one, GO!”

And with that, we grab our cart and plunge into the woods.

It’s dark in here…really dark. The trees block out most of the daylight, which is dying anyway, and in a few minutes it’ll be pitch-black. We’ve got two choices when that happens: light a lamp and risk being seen by everyone else, or bump into a lot of trees. I expect we’ll do the latter.

“Any idea where any of the other teams are?” I whisper to Ararast, who’s next to me.

“The teams usually branch out around the hill at the beginning of the race,” he whispers back. “I’d say we won’t be meeting up with anyone else for a good ten minutes.”

“That’s good, right?”

“Aye, that’s good. Now keep yer mouth shut.”

“Oy! Ararast, is that yer team?”

We all cautiously turn around to see who’s talking. It looks like it might be Soronto, Soron’s nephew from Ward Three.

“What do ye want?” Ararast asks.

“I just wanted to let all of ye in on the plan,” says Soronto, grinning. “I’ve been talking to all the wards, and we’re agreed that we’re all going to sneak up on Ward Two and smash their cart. They’ll have a time getting a bunch of pieces up the hill, I can tell ye!”

“Is that legal?” I ask.

“Oh, aye, just as long as we don’t steal any of the pieces.”

“How can ye be sure that the other teams will help ye with this?” says Mahtan.

“Well, it’s not like we won’t go back to beatin’ on each other once we’re done with Ward Two! Everyone just wants to get those rotters out of the way. So, are ye in?”

“Thank ye for letting us in on this, Soronto,” says Ararast, nodding. “We’re just as keen to defeat Ward Two as the rest of ye are, I can tell ye!”

Soronto grins even wider. “I thought ye’d help. After all, after last year…well, never mind that. One of us’ll whistle when we spot ‘em; just follow that.” With that, he turns around and disappears into the darkness.

“Yer an honest bastard, I’ll give ye that,” says Marnil to Ararast. “Never could lie to someone’s face, could ye?”

“It’s the tender heart of me,” says Ararast mournfully. “Anyway, let’s keep goin’ straight. Hopefully we’ll avoid everyone else that way.”

Almost as soon as he says this, a shrill whistle pierces the silence, followed by a few yells and the sound of running footsteps. I can feel people go whooshing by me as the other teams race to the source of the sound. It looks like Soronto was right…everyone does want to beat Ward Two.

“So where is Ward Two right now?” asks Angaring.

“I think they’re about thirty feet to the right of us,” I say, pointing. “Judging from how much cursing is coming from over there.” As I say this, I can hear someone yelling “Back off, ye bastards!” Definitely Ward Two.

“Damn!” says Lomelind. “How are we going to sneak away from this? We’re in plain sight!”

“It’s night in the woods, Lomelind,” says Mahtan. “No one’s in plain sight of anyone. Come on.” We begin to tiptoe up the hill, whatever noise our feet are making covered up by the sound of wood smashing (and more cursing).

“Shit!” hisses Marnil. “Looks like Ward Six’s gotten wise to us.” I glance over my shoulder and can barely make out Ward Six’s blue-and-white wagon rapidly catching up to us.

“How far do we have until we get to the top?” I ask.

“It can’t be far now,” whispers Ararast. “I think I’m seein’ some light up ahead. Just keep going!”

Still trying to keep as quiet as we can (although I don’t see what good it’ll do; Ward Six obviously sees us) we pick up speed, jogging towards the sliver of light that keeps getting wider…

…and suddenly we’re out of the trees and ten feet away from the largest bonfire I’ve ever seen, surrounded by the village’s women and children (many of whom start cheering as soon as they see us). Ward Six bursts out of the woods a split second after we do. We both pause briefly and stare at each other.

“Go!” screams Angaring.

With an insane roar, our entire team grabs hold of the cart and gives it one shove into the fire. And at almost the exact same time, Ward Six does the same.

There’s a deafening silence, during which Regiel carefully eyes the fire (obviously trying to figure out which cart went in first), and a couple of the other teams come out of the woods and shove their own carts into the fire. Ward Two, I notice, is not among them.

“All right, ladies and gents,” Regiel says finally. “This here’s one hell of a close finish. But I’m going to say, just goin’ from me own judgment and woman’s intuition here, that the team that got their cart in the fire maybe half a second earlier was…” She pauses dramatically. “Ward Seven!”

She barely finishes talking before we all start screaming. Harma runs out of the crowd and kisses Mahtan, Angaring and Lomelind hug each other and jump up and down, and I swear I see tears in Ararast’s eyes. Me, I just shake my head and smile. I knew this would work.

“Congratulations to Ward Seven!” cries Regiel. “Bad luck to the other lads. Cheer up—there’s plenty of beer for ye; ye’ll just have to pay for it!”

The defeated wards manage a chuckle at that one, although they’re looking more than a little put out. With all of us champions still in extremely high spirits, we start to head back down the hill (picking up Ward Two on the way, the members of which are still staring at the pieces of their smashed cart and shaking their heads sorrowfully. That ought to teach them).

Back down in the square, they’ve set up tables outside the Sheep and Fiddle and the free beer starts flowing as soon as we get there. We settle into a table (the very best one, in view of everyone, of course) and get celebrating.

“Gentlemen!” cries Marnil, jumping up onto the table. “I just want to say: We are, without a doubt, the greatest ward this town has ever seen!” We all roar in agreement. “And of course we owe more than a little thanks to our brilliant craftsman Mahtan, and to our clever young Ernil for comin’ up with our strategy this year!” There’s more roaring, and everyone who’s near enough to reach slaps me on the back (or, I assume accidentally, on the head).

“Aye, Ernil’s been the best apprentice a man could hope for,” says Mahtan. “To Ernil, gents: the newest member of me family!”

“Newest member of yer family, is he?” says Angaring (who, I might add, is already pretty drunk). “What’d he do, marry Nerdanel? Ye poor lad, I’m not wantin’ to be in yer shoes if ye did.”

That reminds me, I haven’t seen Nerdanel for a while. I glance around and pick her out on the steps of Ararast’s shop, talking with a group of girls—and Bril, of course, hanging around the edge as usual. As I watch, she laughs and tosses her head, the lamplight turning her hair bright red and making her green eyes sparkle. And in spite of myself, I smile.

“Would you lads excuse me?” I say. “You just reminded me that I have some business to take care of.” Ignoring the rude jokes (and there are plenty of those, I can assure you), I stand up and walk over to where Nerdanel is sitting.

“Hullo, Nerdanel,” I say.

She looks up, nods briefly, and goes back to talking to the girl next to her.

“Nerdanel, I want to talk to you.”

She doesn’t even acknowledge that I’ve spoken this time. Screw it, it’s time to bring out the princely demeanor.

“Nerdanel, I’ve got something to say to you, damn it! So stop ignoring me and let me say it!”

That gets her attention. “What?” she snaps, her face livid (I can’t help but notice how pretty she looks when she’s angry). “Why should I let ye say anything to me?”

“Oh, let him speak, Nerdanel,” says one of the girls. “What harm will it do?”

“Knowing him, plenty,” Nerdanel mutters.

“Please, Nerdanel, just give me two minutes,” I say. “I’ll try not to say anything offensive.”

“Fine. Ye’ve got two minutes. Go.”

“All right, listen. I know you hate me right now and we’ve got some kind of idiotic feud going because we were both immature and acted stupidly and I think it’s time for that to end. I’m sorry I’m an arrogant ass and I’ll try to stop, and if you’re sorry for calling me names I’ll forgive you for that. And I do wish that you wouldn’t give up on your dreams so easily, but that’s your choice to make and I won’t pressure you about it. And right now I think you need to come dance with me and we can start acting like friends again. Because I actually like you, Nerdanel. I really do.”

There’s a pause. The girls are giving Nerdanel encouraging looks, whereas Brils’ expression is clearly saying, You’re not actually listening to this maniac, are you? I can only hope she is.

Finally she stands up.

“Very well, I will,” she says. “But no funny business or I’ll have ye turned into mincemeat.”

“Don’t worry about it. Didn’t I promise your father I’d keep my hands off you?” I take her hand and lead her to where the other couples are dancing. “I just hope he doesn’t kick me out of the house for this.”

“I don’t think dancing counts,” Nerdanel assures me with the first smile she’s given me in almost two weeks. “Besides, Da and Mam have been telling me for days that I ought to make up with ye. So, I may as well try. I suppose we were both right.”

“You know,” I say, putting my hand on her waist, “I never did thank you properly for my haircut. I’m planning on keeping it this way.”

“Even when ye go back to Tirion?”

I laugh and shake my head. “Who says I’m going back?”

She laughs too, and puts her hand on my shoulder. “Aye, who says?”

Amid the whoops coming from Ward Seven’s table, we dance. Lords, how we dance.

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For Love or Money by Lady MSM

Ward Seven Heads Off to the Races