365 Days of writing, 2026 – 181

Day 181 – Writing Exercise

How can you trust a person you know is telling you outright lies?

…

There’s nothing worse than being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

I got there by trying to prove myself among a group of four colleagues who had been working together for years.

They clearly didn’t want a fifth wheel.

And they certainly didn’t like the idea of a forcibly retired field agent looking for a quiet berth to see out his service.

The section head in charge told me quite clearly that the department had made a mistake, that his research team did not need another member, and they certainly didn’t want an ex-field agent.

He was miffed because the department head had decided my knowledge and expertise were too valuable to toss on the scrapheap.

No one else in that group had seen field service or understood those who came from it. To them, the information they provided was 100 per cent useful, when in my particular case, it was not.

In that first meeting when I arrived, and listened to the broad outline of what the team provided, I could have categorically proved that information, sometimes poorly researched, had caused actual deaths of top-line agents, and taking into account my last personal experience, it had led to me unwillingly landing on their doorstep.

Such was the arrogance, I wanted to personally throttle two of them, but I decided it was neither the time or the place. It was a matter of head down, minding my own business, and only consulting with the others when necessary.

And then only with extreme reluctance.

Which led to the seminal moment. There was a cafe not far from the office, one I discovered the day I first arrived, where I needed a strong coffee before walking through the door.

The waitress, Angelique, according to her nametag, was bright and cheerful, the exact opposite of what I was feeling. It was hard not to feel her enthusiasm, and it had lightened my mood.

So much so, I preferred to spend my morning and afternoon breaks in the cafe rather than be ignored in the cafeteria.

Sometimes the others, singly or in pairs, never the whole four at once, would come in. I deliberately sat where I could not be seen very clearly and observed them. Those conversations when they sat close enough were priceless.

Angelique brought my coffee and her surprise cake. I always let her decide which cake. Then two of my colleagues came in. They did not look happy.

Nor did they see me, but then they would have to be deliberately looking for me. They sat two tables across on the other side of a dividing hedge.

Angelique went over to them and took their order. Two cappuccinos. Perhaps the automatic coffee machine in the cafeteria had broken down.

“I’m telling you, Sandra, Roger thinks he’s a spy.”

“Roger jumps at shadows. Don’t you think it’s time to cut him loose? He’s never going to leave his wife. She controls the money.”

“He says it’s complicated.”

“All married men say that. As for Stevens, he was a spy, could still be a spy, but the reality is, good spies don’t get sent to our corner of the universe unless they failed badly.”

“You don’t think he’s been sent to see why some of the briefings were not quite up to the mark. I mean that Paris mission…”

My last job. Not up to the mark? It provided out-of-date information, a critical schedule change that was missed.

“Roger approved it. He said he checked it.”

“How, Eva? He was with you?”

“I’m not to blame here. That’s up to him to juggle things. He would have postponed, like he has before, when things get tight.”

“You need to dump him before he takes you down with him, or worse, sets you up to take the fall.”

“He wouldn’t.”

Sandra just shook her head and said nothing. The coffee arrived.

“Anyway,” Sandra said, “it might well be a moot point. Roger has a plan to get rid of him. It worked with the others, and this guy looks about ready to quit anyway.”

“You think so. I wouldn’t underestimate what he’s capable of if he were an agent. I’d like to know just how many people he’s killed.”

“You’re just morbid.”

“No. Practical. Mark my words. There’s more to him than meets the eye.”

…

I was a spy, for want of a better word. It was made very clear when the department head came to visit me before discharge from the hospital that I would not likely be sent back into the field

It was when he pitched the research job.

By then, I needed something, anything to take my mind off the nightmare.

I went to see him a few weeks later, at his request. It was the second time I’d been in his office, all dark wood and leather furniture. The polished almost made my eyes water.

The cigar smoke did.

“That position I was talking about, it has taken on a new aspect. The ops manager has completed his review of your mission and found that the briefing reference material was lacking.”

“Wrong.”

“By and large, it was right, except for several crucial details. The question he raises is whether or not it was deliberate.”

“A traitor?”

“An incompetent fool, more likely. But that’s for you to determine. We’re sending you there. I know the chap who runs it. He’s going to fight this and make your life hell.”

“So another MacCallister then.”

That was a story. The man I had to impress to get into the service. The man who failed 80 per cent of his charges in the first week. He and I were chalk and cheese.

“Worse. MacCallister knows when he’s met a worthy opponent. Roger Ballins doesn’t. He’s broken every new person we’ve sent.”

I shrugged. “He hasn’t had the Berkeley twins find his breaking point then.”

The Berkeley twins were the department’s interrogation team. We all went through what was called the ‘break test’. It was near the end of the training, and the cause of a lot of the remaining candidates failing.

“Not yet. Let’s hope it does not come to that.”

…

So, Roger had a plan. It bothered me that the two of them had no concept of what secrecy was, or had a modicum of training in how to maintain a certain level of anonymity, given the job they were doing.

It raised the question of whether they frequently discussed their research out of the office. I doubted anyone was aware of how bad security was at the section.

Especially when it involved another employee, in this case, me.

If their plan involved overloading me with work, it wasn’t working. Roger had been subtly dumping new requests in my in-tray every morning, and then asking the same afternoon what the status was on them.

The daily meetings each morning saw the others clearing requests while I was not. Roger hadn’t said anything yet, but that might be the next phase of the plan.

My first day, he’d started with the spiel that it was a tight-knit crew who had been working well together for years, and there was no need for another.

For that reason, I just didn’t get to work with any of the others, and any requests I made of them were either ignored or I was given the excuse that they were too busy.

That then led to them spreading niggling half-truths woven into far larger tales of my aloofness, inability to work in a team, confrontational attitude, and lack of interpersonal skills.

Sadly, half of that was true. I didn’t want to work with them, and even less so now after overhearing them. I wished I hadn’t.

I stewed over their comments on the short walk back to the office, and it was no surprise to find Roger waiting for me when I returned.

“Where have you been?” It wasn’t asked in the politest of tones.

I quickly glanced at the others who had their heads down.

“Out for a head-clearing walk. It’s marvellous what the London Transport diesel fumes can do for the mind.”

I couldn’t tell him I was up the road having a coffee break.

“You might think….”

It was as far as he got. The department head chose that exact moment to walk through the door. An unannounced visit.

The four others suddenly looked more alert and on their guard.

He looked at me. “Stevens, you are here. I was told operations sent you to apply your field experience to improving the relevance of the briefing papers.” He swung around and looked at Roger. “I’m sure you’ve been using Stevens as an expert resource to assist the team?”

“I … well.. I was not aware that was the intention.”

He shook his head, then turned back to me. “Just what has he been using you for?”

“Research, which is what I assumed I was here for.”

“God no. Operations assured me they would pass on my request that every briefing now has to pass through you to ensure that it’s relevant and correct from the field agents’ perspective.”

He turned back to Roger, who was almost cowering. “Operations sent me the memo, and your name was on the distribution list. Go and find it and take the time to find an excuse why you haven’t implemented a direct order. I’ll be in the cafeteria. Stevens, you’re with me.”

A last look before I followed him out, it looked like the gang of five just got a very swift kick where it hurt.

Good.

….

“Roger was a washout from the training program about ten years ago, sold operations on the idea that a person who understood the field agents’ perspective would add value to the research process. Trouble is, he was never in the field.”

“Maybe it was more about resenting the fact he was washed out.”

Coffee in the cafeteria had a very distinctive taste, and one I could see wasn’t appreciated. I wondered if that meant he would do something about it.

“Maybe he’s just an incompetent fool. What have you found out?”

“Eva did the Paris report, sent it to Roger. Thing is, they are having an affair, and if I overheard the conversation correctly, he was too busy spending time with her to check the report.”

“Are you listening at keyholes?” He seemed surprised.

I was going to tell him that spies were notorious for listening at keyholes, but thought the better of it.

“There’s a Cafe not far up the road. God knows how many others heard the same conversation. They don’t seem to know much about security.”

The surprise changed to annoyance, but that was the moment Roger came in, saw us, and came over.

He waited until he was told to sit.

“I’m sorry, sir. It was buried in a pile of requests.”

I didn’t believe him. He would have seen it and filed it, hoping no one would ever notice. Especially the department head.

“That’s the first strike, Roger. What were your conclusions in the investigation I asked for on the Paris mission? You’ve had three months.”

“We’ve been busy.”

“You told me categorically that you had sufficient staff to handle the workload. That was obviously a lie. I sent someone down to help, and you still seem to be overwhelmed. That’s the second strike, Roger.”

There was no comeback for that, and it was interesting to see someone else squirm under the intensity of the department head. Rumour had it he was once an excellent interrogator who didn’t need the usual tools of the trade.

“I … we .. “

“Go back to the office, Roger, before you register that fatal third strike. I need a little time to consider what we need to do moving forward. I have to say I’m extremely disappointed. Go.”

I doubted Roger liked the idea of being dismissed, and it was going to make my position less tenable, being present at his dressing down.

“They might all resign,” I said.

“That wouldn’t be the worst outcome. There are at least a dozen other candidates that could instantly fill their shoes.”

“I think the problem is not with the staff, it’s the person in charge.”

“Then you can take over and restore some discipline. Problem solved.”

“Temporarily.” I had no wish to be running a section full of resentful people.

“Fix this for me, and we’ll talk about where you go next.” He took another sip of his coffee and made a face. “This is terrible. We’ll have to do something about this, too.”

…

We went back to the office, and the department head sent Roger off on stress leave, then announced my promotion to acting section head.

No one said a word, but the expressions said more than words could. Each of them blamed me for his removal, and especially Eva.

After the department head left, I called a meeting. I seriously believed they would simply ignore me, but then they shuffled into the room and sat in their usual chairs.

I looked at each one of them and could feel the resentment.

I looked at Eva. “Just so you know, I was sent on that Paris mission. I was lucky, I lived. Just. Three others died, and believe me when I tell you, being there and watching them die because someone didn’t do their job properly, well, you are very fortunate I didn’t throttle you the first day I got here.”

“It was not my fault.” Petulant.

“What do you call fucking your section leader when he should be critiquing your work?”

“How…”

It was said to shock her, and it had the effect I was looking for. She was arrogant, but arrogance only lasts until the reason for it is broken. As long as Roger was there, she felt bulletproof.

Now I just had to dispel the notion I had overheard them earlier. She was clever nonetheless, and I was not going to underestimate her.

“The department carries out periodical checks on staff who are in positions where discretion is paramount. A foreign agent could quite easily use your illicit affair as leverage. You do understand what leverage is, don’t you? The internal report on your report actually suggested that you had been compromised and forced to provide flawed information.”

It was the last nail in the coffin that held her invincibility. I don’t think any of them had been told of the importance of their work.

There was still a little iron in her tone, but the facade was cracking. “I would never do that.”

“You wouldn’t have a choice. The fact that you left yourself open to the possibility is bad enough. The real problem is that your mind wasn’t on the job at hand. The fact that Roger let it happen is even worse.”

She didn’t ask the bigger question: why didn’t she get the sack, which is generally the first option in situations like this? Instead, she went with, “What’s going to happen to him?”

“You should be more worried about yourself,” Sandra said. “I told you the bastard would drag you down with him.”

Her friend was right.

“You are very lucky not to have followed him out the door. Instead, your first job will be to write a report on the complete process beyond the reference paper you wrote for the Paris Mission. I want all the sources annotated. You need to tell the truth, and it’s the only chance you will get to keep your job. Am I understood?”

I saw Sandra squeeze her hand. A tear escaped from watery eyes. The defiance was gone, replaced by recognition that she was in a very bad place.

“Understood.”

“As for the rest of you, next week you will be attending security briefings. From now on, not one word of what you do, where you work, or who you work for is to be repeated outside this office. In a month, we will be changing offices. I assume you’ve told just anyone who would listen all about this place. Now you have to tell them that the unit was disbanded and you’ve been reassigned. Security will also be a lot tighter, and breaches of it will be dealt with summarily. Anyone who does not want to stay under the new conditions can give notice by the end of the week.”

The four were visibly shellshocked.

“Any questions?”

Sandra looked at me with what I would call an unfathomable expression. I’d seen it once before, from a person I misjudged.

“How many people have you killed?”

For some reason, I had been expecting it.

“I’d like to say none, but when you are in a life-or-death moment, you are taught to make an instant decision based on the imminent threat to your life. The simple answer is only when I absolutely had to. It doesn’t pay to have too many ghosts of your enemies haunting your dreams.”

Question time over, I sent them back to work.

…

There’s an old saying, “A leopard cannot change its spots”, and unfortunately, Eva was a prime example.

I had hoped that she understood her situation, certainly she did what I had requested and wrote a report that told me that the section was lacking certain specific resources that a simple check would have uncovered.

It means that the section, when it is relocated, would have a resources manager whose sole job will be to keep everything up to date.

Aside from that, it wasn’t hard to see that she had not broken off the relationship with Roger and was in fact, reporting back to him what was happening.

Roger probably believed that he was coming back at the end of his stress leave, a question I asked the department head. A reply came back to tell me he had been reassigned.

So, he was lying to Eva, but that wasn’t really the issue. She was violating what was now a golden rule. No telling anyone the nature of our work or the existence of the office.

Which, unfortunately, led to a request to come to my office when she arrived. We had just started at the new building, where security was very tight.

She knocked on the door, a half hour after the appointed time. Some of that arrogance had returned, probably fed to her by Roger telling her that I had no real authority.

I did admonish her for lateness. I could overlook a lot of minor indiscretions so long as the work ethic was there.

Operations had received an anonymous letter about certain aspects of the section that apparently were not within the department’s guidelines.

It was supposed to be a reflection on my ineptitude in running what a functioning section was, and had now become a disparate and dysfunctional group without proper leadership.

A list of infractions followed.

As soon as she sat down, I handed her the document.

“Quite a damning expose, don’t you think?”

She glanced at the document and tossed the file back on the desk. “I wouldn’t know, it’s the first time I’ve seen it.”

“But it doesn’t relate to certain events in this office.”

“It appears so.”

“And you had nothing to do with it?”

“No.”

“And you have broken off all relations with Roger?”

A very subtle change in expression. A seasoned interrogator would pick up on it.

“Yes.”

“When was the last time you spoke to him?”

“The day he left the office.”

“You do realise that when you signed your new employment contract recently, you agreed that the department can, at any time, instigate standard personnel checks to determine your security status.”

The eyes changed, just for a second. People needed time to process a question and then work on a suitable and believable response.

“That may also include a lie detector test.”

“Are you deliberately handing me grounds for a harassment case?”

I shrugged, opened the top drawer, pulled out a folder and pushed it across the desk.

“You tell me.”

First reaction, she did not want to reach for it. From the moment she uttered that previous statement until I pulled out the file, she had been smug.

She had also been lying to my face.

I was willing to accept the four of them at face value and treated them all equally and equitably. I hadn’t expected to get that particular letter, but I knew Roger well enough to know he would retaliate in some way, and that he might reach out to Eva.

“Sandra was right, Eva. Roger didn’t care that much about you, so he was willing to take you down with him. I have to say I misjudged you. I’m usually a better judge of character.”

“What’s in the file?”

“Photographs and a transcript of your conversation.”

“How many people know?”

“The Department head, head of operations and me. We were expecting it. You had to know that we would be monitoring you.”

Smug expression gone, but there was still defiance. She sighed. “What happens now?”

“You find another job. You’ve proved that you can’t be trusted, so it cannot be for any government organisation. Unfortunately, when the authorities came to arrest Roger, he decided not to come in quietly. There was an exchange of shots, and he didn’t survive. He left behind a confession that also explains your actions, and that this latest development was your idea for revenge.”

“And now he’s dead, and the lies earlier you will not believe anything I say.” She shook her head. “Am I free to go?”

“As far as I’m concerned, you are.”

“But…”

“When you leave here, you will be met by a woman. I suggest you make the time to hear what she has to say. It may be the only way you will get to see light at the end of a very dark tunnel “

She stood. “You’re scaring me, now.”

“Good, because that same woman told me that fear was going to be my only friend when the chips were down. It’s why I’m still here, and still breathing. Take some advice. Listen to her.

…

365 Days of writing, 2026 – 180

Day 180 – Rest periods for compulsive writers

…

The Inescapable Itch: How Compulsive Writers Finally Unplug (and Why They Dread It)

For the compulsive writer, the blank page isn’t just a workspace; it’s a nervous system. To stop writing is, in many ways, to stop feeling the pulse of the world. But even the most prolific ink-stained wretches occasionally find their pens running dry, or their minds fogging over with the static of over-output.

How does a writer whose baseline is “compulsive” actually step away? And more importantly, is the silence of a break actually a form of creative death?

The Williams Paradigm: The Panic of the Still Moment

If you want a masterclass in the agony of the “break,” look to Tennessee Williams.

Williams was a man possessed. His plays—A Streetcar Named Desire, Cat on a Hot Tin Roof—seemed to bleed out of him in a fit of architectural necessity. He didn’t just write stories; he exorcised ghosts. For Williams, the act of writing was a frantic attempt to outrun his own inner demons.

When Williams wasn’t writing, he wasn’t “relaxing” in the way modern self-help gurus suggest. He wasn’t taking a spa day or practising mindfulness. He was vibrating with a specific, high-frequency anxiety. He famously equated the downtime between creative bursts with a kind of spiritual oblivion.

He didn’t take breaks by choice; he took them when the exhaustion became too heavy to carry. But in those quiet intervals, the “boredom” he felt was actually a confrontation with reality—a reality he found far less interesting and far more terrifying than the worlds he built on paper.

Why the Break Feels Like a Grave

For the compulsive writer, a break feels like “death” for three distinct reasons:

The Loss of Control: When you are writing, you are the god of a small, contained universe. You decide who lives, who dies, and how the dialogue flows. In the real world, you are subject to the messy, boring, and uncontrollable whims of traffic, groceries, and small talk.
The Shadow of the “Interior”: Writers often use work as a distraction from the recursive loops of their own thoughts. When the writing stops, the inner monologue—usually the one questioning your worth or replaying old embarrassments—gets the megaphone.
The Identity Crisis: If you define yourself as a “Writer,” then a day spent not writing is a day you aren’t “being” anything. You feel like a malfunctioning machine.

How to Take a Break Without Losing Your Mind

If you are like Williams—wired to the page—you can’t just stop. You have to “pivot” your compulsion. Here is how the pros handle the hiatus:

Change the Input: If you can’t stop the output, change the channel. Switch to a medium that doesn’t feel like “work.” If you write prose, spend your break painting, gardening, or cooking. You are still creating, but you’ve let the part of your brain that handles syntax rest.
The “Low-Stakes” Journal: Give yourself permission to write in a way that doesn’t count. Take a pocket notebook where you are forbidden from writing anything “publishable.” Write about your lunch, the colour of the sky, or how annoying your neighbour’s dog is. It keeps the muscle moving without the pressure of the performance.
Embrace the “Restless Walk”: Williams often found his best ideas while walking. If you’re bored, don’t sit still. The brain that is compulsive needs movement. A three-mile walk can settle the nervous system while allowing the subconscious to keep filing away plot points.

The Verdict: Is It Boredom or Fuel?

Is it boring? Yes.

But here is the secret that Tennessee Williams eventually realised: Boredom is the soil in which the best ideas take root.

When you are constantly writing, you are mining your storehouse of ideas until you hit bedrock. You are repeating yourself because you haven’t given yourself time to experience anything new. The break, as terrifying as it feels, is the process of refilling the well.

You aren’t dying when you put the pen down. You’re simply waiting for the tide to come back in. And trust me—if you are truly a compulsive writer—the tide always comes back. You’ll be back at the desk before you know it, pen in hand, wondering why you ever missed the silence in the first place.

…

365 Days of writing, 2026 – 180

Day 180 – Rest periods for compulsive writers

…

The Inescapable Itch: How Compulsive Writers Finally Unplug (and Why They Dread It)

How does a writer whose baseline is “compulsive” actually step away? And more importantly, is the silence of a break actually a form of creative death?

The Williams Paradigm: The Panic of the Still Moment

If you want a masterclass in the agony of the “break,” look to Tennessee Williams.

Why the Break Feels Like a Grave

For the compulsive writer, a break feels like “death” for three distinct reasons:

The Loss of Control: When you are writing, you are the god of a small, contained universe. You decide who lives, who dies, and how the dialogue flows. In the real world, you are subject to the messy, boring, and uncontrollable whims of traffic, groceries, and small talk.
The Shadow of the “Interior”: Writers often use work as a distraction from the recursive loops of their own thoughts. When the writing stops, the inner monologue—usually the one questioning your worth or replaying old embarrassments—gets the megaphone.
The Identity Crisis: If you define yourself as a “Writer,” then a day spent not writing is a day you aren’t “being” anything. You feel like a malfunctioning machine.

How to Take a Break Without Losing Your Mind

If you are like Williams—wired to the page—you can’t just stop. You have to “pivot” your compulsion. Here is how the pros handle the hiatus:

Change the Input: If you can’t stop the output, change the channel. Switch to a medium that doesn’t feel like “work.” If you write prose, spend your break painting, gardening, or cooking. You are still creating, but you’ve let the part of your brain that handles syntax rest.
The “Low-Stakes” Journal: Give yourself permission to write in a way that doesn’t count. Take a pocket notebook where you are forbidden from writing anything “publishable.” Write about your lunch, the colour of the sky, or how annoying your neighbour’s dog is. It keeps the muscle moving without the pressure of the performance.
Embrace the “Restless Walk”: Williams often found his best ideas while walking. If you’re bored, don’t sit still. The brain that is compulsive needs movement. A three-mile walk can settle the nervous system while allowing the subconscious to keep filing away plot points.

The Verdict: Is It Boredom or Fuel?

Is it boring? Yes.

But here is the secret that Tennessee Williams eventually realised: Boredom is the soil in which the best ideas take root.

…

365 Days of writing, 2026 – 178/179

Days 178 and 179 – Writing Exercise

The Prince rescuing a damsel needs rescuing himself

…

I was not in the business of saving damsels in distress. In fact, I had not seen a damsel in distress. What I did was live in the shadow of the eldest son and heir to the throne, otherwise known as my brother.

He was the one who would be saving damsels in distress if there were any.

And if he could be bothered.

He had just become a knight after years of training. It was hard, and as the King said, it would make a man of him.

He looked every bit the man his father had expected of him. What bothered me was that our father did not expect it of me, and had rebuffed any and all of my requests to train as a knight.

Instead, I got to dress up as a palace guard, not as a Sergeant at Arms, but just a guard. I had to start at the bottom. In a job that all the other guards thought was a joke.

There were no wars, no battles, no enemy hordes coming up the side of the hill to storm the castle. I didn’t think the drawbridge raised or the main gates closed; it had been so long since they had been used.

No, put simply, my life was hell.

I went out to the stables, put on my guard armour, got on my horse and headed for the main gate. Instead of stopping and reporting for duty, I just kept going. What was the point? Who was I guarding the castle from?

…

It was a long and winding road and a warm day. I was beginning to regret wearing the armour.

I was heading to the next village, half a day’s ride away, and was going to look up Angel, one of the servant girls’ sisters, with whom I had spoken several times. I liked her, but I didn’t think it went both ways.

I may be a prince, but not one worth marrying.

Up ahead, a man was travelling on foot with a woman. In the distance, he looked like he was having trouble with her, so I thought I would be chivalrous and see if she needed help

That became more apparent as I got closer. He was almost dragging her by her hair.

He saw me coming but chose to ignore me. Even in my armour, I was not as impressive a sight as my brother.

I drew alongside. He was not treating her well.

“You will treat this good woman more respectfully, sir.”

They stopped, and he turned. “Who are you, sonny?”

“I am the King’s second son, Richard.”

“Yeah, right, and I’m the King’s brother.”

Insolence. My father rarely tolerated it and had told us it was a problem that had to be handled.

“I am who I say I am.”

“Then prove it.”

I could see he was raring for a fight. I wasn’t. Another adage I was taught was not to get involved in fights that didn’t make sense.

“Give me your word of honour you will treat this woman with the respect she deserves.”

He glared at me. “Respect. I paid good money for this woman, from the owner who said she was nothing but lazy and indolent. I intend to teach her respect.”

“No man can own another person.”

He laughed. “And your King does not own his servants and use them any way he pleases. You are a fool, sonny. Go before I put you to the sword for wasting my time.”

He drew his sword and brandished it in my direction. A direct challenge that could not be ignored.

I slid off my horse, gave him a pat and hoped he would stay put. I walked the ten paces, drawing my sword. I stopped short of the man, now looking slightly more aware.

“What are you doing?” Perhaps he hadn’t expected me to get off my horse.

“You just laid down a challenge. Being a gentleman, I cannot let that pass.”

“You’re going to fight me over this piece of garbage?”

“She is a young lady worthy of your respect, sir. If I have to teach you respect, then I shall.”

He snorted, turned his back, and suddenly came swinging his sword. Unawares, he might have taken my head off.

The girl jumped back out of the way

I was ready, and we exchanged thrusts and parries. His sword was slightly heavier than mine, and the metal clanged at each blow.

I was dressed for a fight. He wasn’t. Nor was he fit, and by the look of him, the worse for wear after many tankards of ale. He didn’t smell very nice.

We exchanged blows until he collapsed. Definitely not fit. I was feeling a little tired too, the exertion under the blue sky making it hot work.

The last thrust had knocked his sword out of his hands, and I pointed the point of mine at his throat.

“I should kill you for being insolent.”

He looked up at me with an odd expression. “Then get on with it. My life isn’t worth living anyway.”

I shrugged and withdrew the sword. “Any other day, maybe. Not today. The truth, how much did you pay for this girl?”

“Five coins,” the girl yelled out. “Don’t let him tell you different.”

“Shut your mouth, wench.”

I dug out 5 coins and put them in his hand. “Get up and leave now before I change my mind.”

He dragged himself to his feet and shook off the dust. Looking at her, he muttered, “Good riddance to bad rubbish. May you never have a day’s luck with her.”

With that, a final glare at her, he walked off.

She sat on the ground and looked at me. “What now?”

“You’re free. You can go anywhere you like.”

“You don’t get it. I’m not free. No matter where I go, someone will own me. I mean, where did you come from? Certainly not around here. No one is free.”

“Well, now you are.”

She shook her head. “I belong to you now. You paid for me. I promise not to be lazy or insolent, not unless you give me reason.”

She stood up and dusted herself off.

“I have no use for you.”

“Where do you live?”

“In Ryebourne Castle.”

“Where the King lives? Are you really a prince?”

“I’m the second son, and of no importance or has any status. I have no need for a servant girl.”

“I can be a companion. You can’t leave me here. Someone just as bad as Harold, or worse, will take me. At least with you I’d be safe.”

“I’m not so sure.”

“Then take me to the castle, and I’ll sort out my problem myself.”

I didn’t need a servant girl, I didn’t want a companion, though I knew what she was referring to; my brother took servant girls, and others, for his amusement, and I didn’t agree that it was his right.

But I couldn’t leave her there with nothing.

“The castle. That’s it. You can get some work there. I assume you have worked before?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

I helped her up on the horse, then sat behind her. It might have been my imagination, but she didn’t smell like a servant, but more like the daughter of one of the noblemen in and around the castle.

…

If I were hoping to get to the stables without any sort of recognition, that was dashed in the last few years.

Normally, I attracted very little attention because I never made a big event of mingling with the ‘peasants’ as my brother called them.

The next King was in training, if he could be called that, with him being seen by the people and being involved in castle matters, was always a big event.

He was the magistrate for minor offences, where the King decided on only serious matters.

He dealt with land matters and the employment of people on the farms and in the castle. He was also the Master at Arms for the castle guard.

When not on duty, he could be found in the tavern with several of the noble families’ sons.

This day, he was near the stables with two friends, making life difficult for two of the servant girls who just wanted to get home.

They both knew what he was capable of and what he could do. So was I, and it wasn’t pleasant, but until the King chastised him, nothing would change.

Then he saw me. They made their escape the moment his focus changed.

“Well, what have we here?”

His two friends stood behind him, blocking the short journey to the stables. The stable hand stopped short, not wanting to get involved.

“Have you lost your memory?” I asked, starting with a polite tone.

“Not you, idiot, the young lady.”

“It’s nothing that concerns you.”

“Everything concerns me. Who is she?”

Good question. Up till now, I hadn’t bothered to ask for her name.

“Still none of your business.”

I slid down off the horse and motioned to the stable hand to collect the horse. He came over and took the reins.

The girl was looking at my brother, and it wasn’t a curious look. Perhaps his reputation preceded him.

“Wait for me in the stable,” I said to her. To the stable hand, “Go.”

My brother went to stop him, but I stood in his way. He went to shove me out of his way, but I shoved him first, sending him backwards into the dirt.

I glared at his two friends. “You’d better leave before it becomes a mess you don’t want to be explaining to the King.”

They didn’t need a second invitation, glancing at my brother, shrugging, then scuttling away. It was not the first time my brother and I scuffled in public. A few of the castle people had gathered in groups to watch.

He dragged himself up from the ground and tried to wipe off the dust and dirt. He was very angry, and the red tinges in his cheeks were the first indication.

“You would have been better off staying on the ground,” I said, with far more bravado than I felt.

“Who is she that you would risk my wrath?” There was almost curiosity in his tone.

“Not someone who needs your attention. I simply brought her here to be safe. Apparently, that isn’t one of your main interests.”

“She’s a disgusting, lowly servant girl. She’s nothing to you.”

“She’s a person who deserves respect. I’m sure that’s not a word in your vocabulary, so you wouldn’t understand. You want a fight, good. You can teach me another lesson in humility.”

“And the winner takes all.”

With that, he came at me. I was used to his tactics, once catching me by surprise. He had no rules, no etiquette, and for a supposed Knight of the Realm, no chivalry, unless among his contemporaries.

I dodged in time as he ran past and had to stop quickly. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the girl standing next to the stable hand in the doorway.

She looked concerned.

He came again, after circling, waiting for that moment when I might be distracted. Normally, I would be thinking how bad a beating this was going to be. This time, I was angry.

Not far from me again, I swayed out of the way of his fist and landed a glancing blow that, combined with his momentum, propelled him face-first into the ground, and it made a smacking sound.

Before he could move, I jumped on him, propelling both knees into his back and hearing a satisfying groan as he felt the full weight.

He could not get up, and he could barely move his arms.

I pushed my knees harder into his back. “Are we done?”

“You’ll regret this.”

“I regret being born second every day of my life. But I’m darned if I’m going to let you take anything else from me. You want war, then you’ve got war.”

I got off him and stood up. Then I dragged him to his feet. Blood was streaming from several cuts to his head.

“Winner takes all,” I said. “You’re lucky you didn’t challenge me to a sword fight.”

His squire suddenly appeared, though I suspect he had been watching from close by. “Come, sir, we need to fix those wounds.”

He glowered at me, said nothing, but allowed the squire to take him away.

I was going to pay dearly for this skirmish.

…

I just stood there watching my brother retreat. He only turned once, looking at me over his shoulder, a look that I’d not seen on his face before.

A boy trying to be a man, and coming off only as a bully, who just took a beating. He was the one who, up to now, had handed out the punishment, the big brother, the one we had to look up to.

Losing had never been factored into who he was to become. The fact that a number of the castle people had seen it wasn’t going to make it go away.

The girl, whoever she was, came over to me.

“No one has ever taken my side in anything. Ever. You didn’t have to do that, not against what I think was your older brother. Eldest son? If you are a prince, that makes him…”

“A very sore lover. Don’t remind me.”

“Why would you do that?”

“I don’t see you as a servant, but just another person trying to get on with your life, and we should respect that.”

“That will never really happen. Kings, Queens, noblemen and women, they believe they have the fundamental right to rule. The rest are there just to serve them. We are taught to take what they give us and be thankful.”

I shrugged. “Don’t include me in that lot. I might as well be a peasant as a prince. I have no say and no life to speak of. Less so, now that I just dented the pride of our next King.”

“Not the forgive and forget type?’

“Cedric? No. You’re free now. If you go to the marketplace, someone there will tell you where there’s some work. It won’t be safe for you in the castle. That’s my fault and I’m sorry. By the way, what is your name?”

She smiled. “Anne. You are?”

“Richard. I’m sorry. Maybe if I’d left you alone things might be better. I fear I’ve just made them worse.”

“No. I’m grateful you rescued me. At least I discovered there is one person in this realm who cares about what happens to me. You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself. Besides, you paid five coins for me, so until you sell me to someone else, I’m yours.”

I gave my severest expression. “Neither I nor anyone else, for that matter, can own another person.”

“Not in your world, maybe, but in my world it’s very, very different. Until I can work out what I’m going to do next, I want to stay with you. I’m still, technically, a damsel in distress.”

I shook my head. I wasn’t going to get rid of her anytime soon.

….

There were several ways to get to my quarters in the castle, mercifully in another wing away from all the others. Cedric was near the King and Queen.

Elizabeth and Mary, my sisters, were in another part, and I was as far away from all of them as possible.

My quarters were made up of half a dozen chambers, which made it easier to house her away from me. I was not like my brother, bringing women to his chamber, conveniently forgetting he was betrothed to a princess from a distant kingdom.

I’d considered more than once to take a ride over there and tell her what her prospective husband was up to. Then, it’s probably what all first sons did.

Bertram, my head servant, was on his way to find me, obviously having heard about the scuffle. He stopped short when he saw the girl.

For some odd reason, I got the impression he knew her.

“We have a guest, Bertram. Get the guest room made up. And find Marion, the young lady, will need some clean clothes, and whatever.”

“Yes, sir.” He followed behind. “His Majesty was looking for you this morning. He seems displeased that I could not tell him where you were.”

“He usually doesn’t care.”

“Master Cedric was also looking for you.”

That explained why he was near the stables. He knew I liked to escape and go for a ride. Sometimes I didn’t come back for days. No one usually missed me

As we entered the main hall of my chambers, my mother was sitting down, flanked by two of her ladies’ maids, looking very regal. I knew this was the mother who had been sent to give me a strong talking to.

Before the yelling and posturing, my father was going to hand out.

Except when she saw Anne, she stood and bowed her head.

Anne stopped and looked straight at her. “Hello, Aunty Morgana.”

My mother bowed to no one other than her contemporaries and curtsied only to other Kings.

“You did not send word that you would be visiting. This is highly irregular.”

“It wouldn’t be if you did not have an ass for a son.”

My mother looked at me. “I’m sorry if Richard has treated you badly…”

I was still catching up with the fact that Anne was not a servant girl but a princess.

Anne glared at her, “You are seriously mistaken. Aunt. It’s Cedric who is the ass. Richard is the only one who defended me.”

“That is not possible.” My mother sounded horrified.

“You would be wise not to add to the bad report I am compiling on this Kingdom. I was told Cedric was a kind and gentle man who had the respect of his people, and he respected them. He just tried to beat the one person who defended me, no questions asked, in Cedric’s own words, a disgusting, dirty servant girl. There was no doubt what he intended to do to me if he won that fight. Now, it’s been an arduous and eventful trip to get here, and I need to clean up. Aunt.” For effect, she curtsied, then joined Marion and went to her room.

My mother was left standing open-mouthed.

To say I was astonished was an understatement.

“Where did you find her?” My mother suddenly found her voice.

“On the road from Oberon, in rather dangerous circumstances. I did not know she was a Princess.”

“No. She was never one to trade on her royal status. Feisty, forthright, and what I had hoped would be an excellent match for Cedric.”

“Well, Cedric burned that bridge completely. She will want nothing to do with him.”

“And you?”

“I do not rate in the eligibility stakes for any Princess. I doubt she would give me a second look, let alone a first. Maybe if she were a servant girl…”

She shook her head. “You are worthy of better than that. We shall speak of that later. Right now, your father is livid.”

“Maybe now he’ll rein in that stupid son and try to turn him into a human being, though I suspect it might be too late.”

“What you did was unforgivable.”

“What I did was finally stop taking his nonsense. He got what he deserved. The people have a very low opinion of him, so good luck trying to salvage his reputation.”

“Explain that to your father. He’s waiting in the throne room.”

…

It was the room where the King handed out punishment. It didn’t matter whether it was the lowliest serf or a prince. We all got the same treatment.

There was usually a panel of nobles and officials.

Cedric would be there. Trying and failing to learn that justice was meant to be fair and equitable and not based on personal feeling.

I changed and went straight there. Best not to keep them waiting.

Oddly, this time it was only the King, sitting on the throne. Usually, his Queen joined him, but she was still in my chambers.

He looked up as I entered the room.

I stopped on the edge of the red carpet and stood silently. Speak only when spoken to. Do not embellish. State facts.

Even if he didn’t want to hear them.

“What have you got to say for yourself?” I wouldn’t say it was the angriest I heard from him, but it was clear he was displeased with me.

“Cedric was being an ass.”

“Cedric is still finding his way.”

Cedric was taught all the wrong lessons when he was too young to know better. The lesson I learned from my parents’ failure was to take an active interest in my children’s education.

“Cedric will never find his way unless someone with a proper sense of duty takes him in hand.”

“He is the future King.”

“Then maybe the gods will have mercy on us.”

“You would be wise to change your own attitude, Richard.”

The snort escaped before I could stop it.

“You think this is a joke?”

“Cedric is rapidly becoming one in the eyes of your subjects. What I think is that you should personally take him down to the dungeons and beat him until he promises to be a better person.”

“The people respect him.”

“The people fear him. And so did I until he finally pushed me too far. Do you not wonder why three eligible princesses have turned down offers of marriage? Obviously not.”

Clearly, he had no knowledge of, or hadn’t been told of, his son’s proclivities. It was not for me to say.

He sighed. “We will speak more on this later.”

“As you wish.” I bowed and left a man deep in thought.

…

When I returned, the Queen had gone.

Marion and her handmaidens were bustling over Anne. I retired to my chamber and lay down for a rest. It had been a busy day.

Several hours later, Bernard woke me. Dinner in the main hall was in an hour, and protocol demanded my presence.

I looked around the room, not for the first time, and wondered why I was there. Most mornings, I woke without a purpose.

This time, it was to see an astonishingly different Anne sitting in the seat beside the bed, just looking at me.

“You talk in your sleep.”

“Do I? Anything interesting?”

“You want to be anywhere but here.”

True. “Why didn’t you tell me who you were?”

“I would not have got a clear picture of who you really are, Richard. Knowing I’m a princess tends to change people in very strange ways. Being a disgusting, dirty servant tends to get people to behave exactly how the are. Your brother and half a dozen others like him treated me like scum, you treated me like a princess, and wanted nothing from me in return. In this place, I’m beginning to see, it’s an impossibility to expect any better.”

“I don’t think it’s like that with everyone.”

“Rot starts at the top, Richard, and evidences itself in the firstborn son. I live in a world ruled by men, men who take us for granted, and treat us according to whim, not respect.”

“You came here to judge us.” What else could I assume as her reason for visiting incognito?

“I have been to six other kingdoms in the last year. Not as dramatic an entrance as with you, but things did go a little sideways before we met.”

“You could have been killed or worse.”

“I put my trust in the Gods, and they didn’t let me down.”

“What are you going to do now?”

“Go to the hastily arranged banquet in my honour, then go home. Aunty Morgana has sent word for an escort. I was hoping you would come with me.”

“Why?”

“I don’t think you’re that silly.”

“I thought my mother wanted you to marry Cedric.”

“No, that was never her intention.”

Then it dawned on me. My mother had known that I was never going to get out from under Cedric’s shadow unless I had a reason to. Anne was that reason.”

“Would you marry to marry a second son?”

“Would you want to marry a girl who’s always getting into trouble because she prefers adventure to needlework?”

“I’ve only known you for a few hours, enough to know you are infuriating.”

“Then life together isn’t going to be dull, is it?”

It was not.