Page 46 of The Starling and the Hatter

Soon enough, the wagon was packed and Hatcher gave me a hand up onto the seat. As Nugget pulled us forward, my mind couldn’t help returning to Robert’s riddle and Robert himself. Where was he now? Was he going straight to Stormbrook, or would he stop at the smaller villages along the way, the ones that didn’t hold festivals? Perhaps he would stay a day in each to give them a little show, earn a few coins and find a bed. It was the most reasonable explanation I’d been able to come up with, and it still didn’t truly make sense.

We traveled the whole day, and I was happy to listen as Marshall and Hatcher kept up a steady stream of conversation.

As the sun was setting, we found a spot to pull off into the trees. Marshall jumped down to unhitch and care for Nugget while Hatcher and I pulled out cookware and bedrolls. There was another wagon of travelers close enough that we could see their camp, but not so close that we would encroach on one another. Even if the people we ended up camping near were friendly, I’d developed the habit of keeping more of a distance than Marshall or Hatcher.

While Marshall walked over to introduce himself and make friends with the other travelers, Hatcher set to work gathering stones to make a fire pit, working steadily and without complaint as usual. I made myself useful by wandering off into the trees to gather wood for the fire. It was late summer, so finding dry wood wasn’t as tough as when we traveled in the spring.

I dropped off one armful of wood. Hatcher gave me an easy smile from where he sat on the ground, digging out a small pit. I returned to the trees, my mind wandering as I made another small pile of wood in my arms. We were still a day out from Dressle, and I looked forward to seeing Dorothy and the others again. I also looked forward to sleeping in a real bed. I loved sharing the loft with Kat, listening to her prattle on about her latest beau. Would she still be smitten with George? Would she be engaged? She was certainly old enough, and a lot could happen in six weeks. The idea made me melancholy. What would it be like to lose Kat in that way? Or Hatcher, for that matter. Surely he’d be looking to marry soon. My stomach dropped. Saints, I dreaded that thought.

I pulled another stick free from the undergrowth and was adding it to my bundle when my arm started to sting. I brushed at it, then looked to see what had jabbed me.

Blast it all. It was a wasp. A quick look around revealed multiple angry wasps.

I dropped my collection and ran just as I felt another sting on my shoulder. I picked up speed, waving my arms over my head, hoping I could fend off any more of the wasps, but felt another stab on my neck and one on my finger.

When I’d run as far as I thought was necessary to escape the evil creatures, I stopped for only a moment to catch my breath before tramping on toward the campsite. As I walked, I could feel that I’d been stung on my shoulder, neck, finger and elbow, all on my right side. I shook my arm, trying to shake the burning pain away, and breathed through my teeth as I neared the wagon.

I didn’t see Marshall around, but Hatcher was kneeling by the ring of stones he was preparing for our fire. “Hatch!” I called out.

Maddox

I looked up at the sound of Elise calling my name. At first I was confused; she’d gone to get more firewood but was coming back empty-handed. Then I noticed her grimace and the way she shook her hand at her side and curled her shoulder in discomfort.

I dropped the rock I’d been holding and ran to her. “What’s wrong?”

“I must have disturbed a wasp nest,” she said, her voice clogged with tears.

“Where were you stung?”

“My arm, my shoulder.” She reached up and touched the back of her shoulder.

“Let me see.” I spun her around and found a wasp still clinging to the back of her dress. I quickly lifted the fabric away from her shoulder, then flicked the pest off. “What can I do? Shall I fetch water? Does mud soothe stings?” I couldn’t remember. Kat had been stung when she was little, but I couldn’t remember how my mother had treated it.

“No, just—” She sucked in a breath through her teeth, and I realized that she was shaking.

“Here, sit down.” I held on to her waist and elbow and lowered her to the ground. I noticed another red welt on her finger. “Did they get your hand?”

She nodded. “And my neck. We need to gather plantain leaves.”

“What?”

“It’s an herb. It’s called broadleaf plantain, and it grows all over this forest floor.” She looked around on the ground, her face a mask of pain. “There,” she said, pointing to a common weed. “That right there. See how it has five veins running up from the center? That’s what you’re looking for. Gather as much as you can find.”

I didn’t question her; I just did it. My eyes scoured the ground, and each time I spotted one of the plants, which clung close to the ground, I’d pluck off every single leaf, though there were usually only eight or ten. Then I’d search for more.

“Once you have a good bundle,” she said, her voice quivering, “you need to put it into a ball on your palm and start rubbing it between your hands.”

I plucked several more leaves and then went to kneel in front of her, smooshing the leaves into a ball and trying to do as she’d instructed. “Like this?”

“Yes. Push hard. You want to generate some heat. Eventually the juice from the leaves will start to come out.”

I had to rub the leaves together quite a bit before it worked, but eventually my hands were smeared with green. I showed her.

“Good. Now put those leaves on the stings.” She held up her arm, showing me the red dots that were already swelling. One on her finger, the other on her elbow.

I pressed bits of mushy leaves onto the spots, and she used her other hand to hold them in place.

“Now my neck,” she said, her voice tense as she continued to shake.