The Brave Apprentice Read Free

came down the street to the little tailor’s shop. They would ask questions, and Patch would answer honestly. Everyone went away impressed with the tailor’s apprentice, who insisted that it was not really such a heroic thing after all; in fact, he had been very lucky. But the visitors would think about that skeleton, stretched out nearly ten feet long, and they knew that this apprentice was simply being modest, as a good hero should be.
    What was it about tailors, anyway? They would ask their friends when they retold the story. Because wasn’t it just fifty years ago that another brave tailor had won his fame by killing a giant?
    Patch snipped off the loose end of the thread on the last of the buttons and held the dress up for his master to inspect. “Have you ever seen better work?” he said.
    But John had stepped away from the fire to peer out the window. “Hold on, Patch. Never seen these gents before. And look—that’s the kings banner, ain’t it? They came all that way in weather like this?”
    The strangers were riding from the south in a horseback procession, dark shapes on a snowy road. They wore heavy cloaks and hoods against the cold. The horses, steaming in the cold air, slowed as the party entered the village. The first rider carried the emblem of the king on a flag that hung from his lance. After him came a severe-looking man who pushed his hood back and surveyed the village. He had a narrow face with a hooked nose, and dark eyes that simmered under a heavy brow. His long hair and sharp beard were the color of rust. For a moment his glance lingered on the sign above the door of the tailor’s shop.
    After this man came a mounted servant, leading two horses with no riders. Then another servant, driving a light wagon pulled by a pair of horses. And finally, two more important-looking men, with swords by their sides.
    People stepped out of their homes and shops to seethe visitors. The blacksmith bowed respectfully, and while his head was bent he secretly inspected the shoes of the horses, hoping there might be some business for him down there. The baker came out holding a tray with an assortment of his goods.
    Patch heard John whistle in appreciation, and he knew that the tailor was admiring the fine clothing that was parading by. “Oh. That trim on the cape, very nice. Lined with fur, too—rabbit, I’ll wager. And look at the tall one with the coppery hair, Patchy—that purple tunic you can see under his cloak? That’s the kings shade of purple, no one else is supposed to wear it unless they’re on his business. And all that gold piping and the gold belt—that’s a lord, or some other nobleman for sure.”
    The potter’s wife, Cordelia, was returning from the village well with a bucket of water in each hand. Never a shy one, she stopped to offer a cup to the tall lord with the dark eyes. Cordelia blushed as the man spoke to her—Patch could not hear what he said—and she responded by pointing down the road toward the inn.
    “Maybe they’ll stay at Bernard’s for a few days,” said John.
    “If they can stand Bernard’s company that long,” Patch replied.
    “Ha! Well said. You know, though, there might be some work for us in it. Wouldn’t that be an honor? Never sewed anything for a genuine noble before.”
    As the party approached the inn, the door burst openand Bernard rushed out to welcome them. Even at a distance, Patch and John could hear his flustered, booming voice.
    “I most humbly and properly welcome you, my sirs … sires … graces … uh, worships?” Bernard blathered, grinning up at the mounted men with a look of growing panic. He seized the tall lord’s hand and pulled it toward his lips, trying to kiss the glove. “Please enter my domain and rest your weary … er … nobleness …,” he fumbled on. The glove slipped off the lord’s resisting hand, and Bernard stared at it blankly. Then startling everyone, he bellowed over his shoulder, “Boy! Stable boy! Come get