Chapter 14.5- The Prince at the Mill

The first sign something had gone wrong was that Prince Eldric swore. Not loudly. At least, not by mill standards. But loudly enough that the man beside him stopped hauling the rope and looked over. “What?”

Eldric held up the torn edge of the parchment sheet between two fingers. “This is the third one.”

The miller glanced at it, then immediately looked away as though perhaps refusing to acknowledge the problem would cause it to cease existing. “It’s usable.”

“It has a hole in it.”

“A small hole.”

“It’s parchment.”

“Yes.” 

Eldric blinked a few times, wondering if this was not getting through to the old man. “It’s meant to be written on.”

“Yes.”

Eldric stared at him.

The miller sighed. “It’s not usable.”

“Thank you.” Eldric tossed the ruined sheet onto the growing pile beside the table and wiped both hands down the front of his trousers. It did little good. His palms were already stained with gray pulp and black ink, his sleeves rolled past his elbows and damp from where he had leaned too far over one of the vats earlier.

His mother would have hated the state of him. His father probably would have too. Fortunately, neither of them were there. The mill sat several miles below the royal residence, tucked into the side of one of Valdren’s wooded mountains where the river narrowed and ran fast enough to power the enormous waterwheel built along the eastern wall. The wheel turned day and night when the weather allowed, driving a maze of belts, gears and wooden shafts that disappeared through the building and powered nearly everything inside it. The presses, the grinders the beaters; half the noise in the valley. Eldric had loved it since he was a boy.

There was something satisfying about the place. Nothing happened here because someone wished it so. Trees became pulp because men stripped, soaked and pounded them. Linen became paper because women sorted and washed fibers until their fingers cracked in winter. Ink existed because someone ground soot and resin and minerals until their shoulders burned.

Every sheet that left Valdren had passed through dozens of hands and Eldric respected that, which was why he had spent most of the morning being increasingly irritated by the growing stack of ruined ones.

“It started yesterday?” he asked.

“Day before.” the old miller told him.

Eldric ran an ink stained hand through his black hair. “And no one thought to send for me?”

The miller raised an eyebrow. “You’re the prince.”

“Yes.” Eldric nodded sarcastically.

“You’re supposed to be at the castle.”

“I was at the castle.”

“That’s generally where princes belong.”

Eldric looked back toward the machine. “Apparently not.”

The miller snorted. It was one of the reasons Eldric liked coming down there. No one at the mill had enough patience to pretend he was impressive. He stepped around the table and moved closer to the press assembly. The machinery occupied most of the northern side of the building, where thick beams supported a collection of wheels and wooden gears taller than a man. Leather belts rattled overhead. The whole thing shook faintly beneath his boots.

Eldric crouched beside one of the lower gears. “There.”

The miller leaned over him.“Where?”

Eldric pointed. A tooth along the inner cog had split. Not completely, but enough. Every few rotations the damaged tooth caught badly against the next gear, jerking the entire assembly out of alignment. 

The miller muttered something that would have gotten Eldric slapped by his grandmother. “That explains the tearing.”

“It explains some of it.”

“You think there’s more?” the miller looked shocked.

“I think if that tooth goes entirely, we lose the whole assembly.”

The miller’s expression darkened. “And how long do you think we have?”

Eldric watched the gear turn. Once. Twice. On the third rotation it gave a sharp wooden crack. “Less than I’d like.”

Someone behind them groaned. “Korvethis is going to complain.”

Eldric glanced over his shoulder. A young worker named Bram stood several paces away holding a stack of finished parchment against his chest. Bram was twenty, perhaps twenty-one, and possessed the unusual gift of looking guilty even when he had done nothing wrong.

“What does Korvethis have to do with our broken gear?” Eldric asked.

Bram nodded toward the loading tables. “Castle order.”

Eldric followed his gaze. Three bundles of parchment sat tied near the doors, each marked in dark ink with their destination. KORVETHIS CASTLE. Beneath it, in smaller letters: OFFICE OF THE LORD CHAMBERLAIN. JARETH VANNAR.

Eldric stared at the bundles. “How late are they?” No one answered. He looked back, the miller suddenly became deeply interested in the rafters. “How late?”

“Eleven days.” Bram finally spoke.

Eldric closed his bright blue eyes.“Wonderful.”

“They sent another letter this morning.” Bram set down the stack of paper with a grimace. 

“I’m certain they did.”

“Very polite.”

Eldric sighed and put his hands on his hips. “I somehow find that worse.” Bram grinned. Eldric pointed at him. “Do not encourage me.” The grin vanished….mostly.

Eldric turned back to the machinery. “Shut the western line down.”

The miller frowned. “We’ll lose another day.”

Eldric agreed. “We’ll lose considerably more than a day if that gear splits.”

The miller was not happy at the delay. “We can replace it tonight.”

“Then shut it down until tonight.” Eldric combated. A few nearby workers slowed, Eldric noticed. 

The miller noticed too. “If we stop production,” he said more quietly, “the Korvethis order won’t leave until next week.”

“Then it leaves next week.”

“And the Edran order?” The miller asked. 

Eldric shrugged. “After that.”

“And the palace account?”

Eldric gave him a look.

The miller almost smiled. “Yes. I know. The palace can wait.”

“The palace can always wait.” Eldric said, reaching for a handkerchief that he knew would not help wipe away the stains on his hands, but he began wiping anyway. 

“That is not what your father says.”

“My father does not need six hundred sheets of parchment before supper.”

The miller smirked. “He might argue otherwise.”

“He often does.” Eldric said with a grin. 

The miller chuckled and turned toward the workers. “All right! Shut the western line!” The command disappeared into the roar of the mill. Men and women moved toward the machinery, reaching for release ropes and locking bars.

Eldric started toward the main lever. “Bram.”

The young man looked up. “Your Highness?”

“Don’t climb over the press.” Bram blinked.

“I wasn’t going to.”

“You were looking at it.”

“I look at lots of things.”

“You look at that one like a man considering a terrible decision.”

Bram opened his mouth.

“Stay on this side.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Eldric pointed at him again. “I mean it.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

He did not mean it. Eldric knew that almost immediately. About thirty seconds after he knew Bram didn’t listen. The first sound was not a scream. It was a crack. Loud enough to split through every other noise in the building.

Eldric turned. The damaged gear had broken. One of its wooden teeth snapped free and struck the frame beside it. The whole western assembly lurched violently. A belt overhead jumped off its guide. Someone shouted. Then Eldric saw Bram.

The idiot had climbed over the outer rail. For what reason, Eldric could not begin to imagine. Perhaps he had dropped something. Perhaps he had decided twenty years of life was sufficient.

Whatever the reason, when the machinery jerked, Bram lost his footing. He fell sideways. His leg slipped between two support beams as his body crashed hard against the lower platform. The entire room exploded into shouting.

“STOP THE WHEEL!”

“Pull the brake!”

“BRAM!”

A worker seized the emergency lever. It moved halfway. Then jammed. The broken gear had twisted part of the mechanism against it. The waterwheel continued to turn. So did everything attached to it.

Bram screamed. Eldric was already moving, but someone caught his arm. The miller. “No.”

Eldric jerked free. “His leg is caught.”

The miller didn’t take his eyes off him. “I can see that.”

“He’ll be pulled into the gear!” Eldric yelled

“I know.” the miller grimaced.

“Then let go of me.”

The miller grabbed him again. “There’s nothing you can do.”

The words stopped Eldric. Only for a heartbeat. He looked at Bram. The young man had managed to brace both hands against the platform, but the motion of the machinery was dragging his trapped leg closer toward the turning gear beneath him. Too close. Much too close.

Bram looked at Eldric. There was terror in his face. Real terror. Not pain. Not panic. The understanding that everyone around him had already decided what was about to happen.

Eldric looked at the turning gears. The belt. The broken assembly. The distance between the platform and the brake mechanism. He calculated. Once. That was all he had time for.

“There is,” he said.

The miller’s hand tightened. “Eldric.”

It was the first time he had used his name all day. Eldric pulled free. Then he climbed over the rail. Someone shouted behind him. He ignored it.

The wooden platform shuddered beneath his boots as he crossed it. The broken gear kicked every few seconds, jolting the beams hard enough to knock him sideways. Bram screamed again.

“I’m coming!”

“DON’T!” Bram shouted pitifully. 

Eldric almost laughed. Of course Bram would choose now to develop good judgment. “Little late for that.”

He reached the first moving shaft and waited. One rotation. Two. Then jumped. His boot landed on the far beam. The belt above him snapped sideways. Eldric ducked. It missed his head by inches.

People shouted from the floor. He couldn't hear the words anymore. Only noise. Wood. Water. Metal. Bram. He moved closer. The trapped man was only a few feet away now, but the space between them was occupied by a turning gear nearly as high as Eldric’s chest.

Eldric looked down. Bram’s boot had wedged beneath a crossbeam. That was the only thing keeping his leg from sliding farther. It would not hold.

“Can you pull yourself up?”

Bram shook his head. “I tried!”

“Try again.” Eldric said calmer than he imagined he could. 

“I can’t!”

“You can.”

Bram stared at him. Eldric held out his hand. “On three.”

“I’m stuck.”

“I know.”

“It hurts.”

“I know.”

“I think it’s broken.”

“Probably.” Bram looked horrified. Eldric tightened his jaw. “Bram.” The young man focused on him. “On three.” Bram nodded. “One.” The gear turned. “Two.” A crack sounded somewhere beneath them. “Three.”

Bram pulled. Eldric grabbed both of his wrists. For one terrible second nothing happened. Then Bram screamed. His leg came free. The sudden release threw Eldric backward. His shoulder struck the wooden frame. Pain shot down his arm. He nearly lost his grip.

“ELDRIC!” The miller’s voice. Bram slipped.

Eldric caught him by the front of his shirt and hauled him against the beam. “Hold on!”

“I AM!” Bram bellowed. 

“You’re doing a terrible job of it!”

Bram made a sound somewhere between a sob and a laugh. The machine kicked again. The cracked support beneath them split. Eldric looked toward the rail. Too far. Then he saw the loose locking bar hanging beside the upper gear.

He reached for it. Missed. Reached again. His fingers closed around the wood. “Bram.”

“What?”

“When I tell you to move, you move.”

“Where?”

“Anywhere that isn’t here.”

“That’s not helpful.” Bram sobbed. 

Eldric yanked the bar free. “You’re very talkative for a dying man.”

“I’m not dying.”

Eldric smiled. “Excellent. Keep that attitude.” He waited for the gear to rotate. Then drove the locking bar between two teeth. The impact nearly tore it from his hands. The gear slammed into the wood. Stopped.

Every connected wheel shrieked. The bar began to bend. “NOW!” Eldric shoved Bram toward the platform. Hands reached for him. Workers dragged Bram across the rail. The locking bar cracked. Eldric jumped.

It shattered behind him. The gear lurched forward again just as two men caught Eldric beneath the arms and hauled him over the railing. He hit the floor hard. For several seconds no one moved.

Then the entire room erupted. Someone was crying. Someone else was swearing. The miller stood over Eldric looking as though he had aged twenty years in the last minute. Eldric lay on his back staring up at him.

“That,” the miller said, “was the stupidest thing I have ever seen.”

Eldric took a breath. His shoulder hurt. His ribs hurt. His left hand was bleeding. He considered this. “Bram climbed over the press.”

The miller stared at him.

From somewhere nearby came Bram’s weak voice. “I heard that.”

Eldric sat up. “Good.”

Bram was on the floor several feet away surrounded by workers. His trouser leg had been cut open from the knee down. His ankle sat at an angle ankles were not intended to sit.

Bram looked pale. “You’re bleeding.”

“So are you.” Eldric crawled toward him. 

“Your Highness—”

“I told you not to climb over the bloody press.” Eldric hissed. 

Bram closed his eyes. “Yes, Your Highness.”

“Not five minutes ago.”

“I know.”

“Do you?” Eldric spat. 

Bram stayed silent for a few seconds. “Yes.”

“Because I am beginning to suspect you don’t.” Someone nearby covered a laugh with a cough. Eldric looked up. “Is there something amusing?” Every face went blank.

“No, Your Highness.” another worker spoke up. 

“Wonderful.” He looked back at Bram. “Can you feel your toes?”

“Yes.”

“Move them.” Bram did. Eldric exhaled. “All right.”

The miller crouched beside them. “We need a healer.”

“Yes.” Eldric agreed. 

“I’ll send someone.”

“No. Take him.” Eldric ordered the workers around Bram. 

The miller looked at the machinery. “We’ve still got—”

“The mill will survive.” Eldric tried to move his shoulder but only a hiss came out of his mouth. 

“We're already behind.”

Eldric chuckled. “I don't care.” The miller met his eyes. Eldric glanced around at the workers. Half of them were staring at him. He hated when people stared at him. “Take him to the healer,” Eldric said. “And someone go tell his mother before she hears from someone else.”

Bram groaned. “Please don’t.”

Eldric looked at him. “You nearly got yourself ground into parchment.”

“She’ll kill me.”

Eldric shook his head. “You’re saying she’s going to finish the job.?” Bram covered his face. The workers laughed. Even the miller. Eldric stood. His shoulder protested. He ignored it.

The miller noticed. “You’re going too.”

“I’m fine.” Eldric waved away his concern.

“You can barely lift your arm.”

“I have another one.”

The miller huffed. “That is not how arms work.”

“It is precisely how arms work.” Eldric winked, though it was hard to keep the smile on his face. 

“Your mother is going to murder me.” the milled rubbed the top of his balding head. 

Eldric sighed. “My mother is not going to murder you.”

The miller protested. “She will if she finds out I let you climb into moving machinery.”

“You didn’t let me do anything.”

The miller huffed louder. “That distinction will not save me.”

Eldric looked down at himself. One sleeve was torn. There was blood running from his palm to his wrist. A long streak of black ink crossed his shirt from shoulder to hip. He grimaced. “Perhaps we simply don’t tell her.” The entire mill went silent. Eldric looked around. Not one person would meet his eyes. “Cowards.”

The miller stood. “Every one of us.”

Eldric sighed. “Fine.” He knew he was kidding himself, his mother knew everything that happened in their small by mighty country. He turned back toward the western assembly. The gear was still moving. Slower now. The damaged section knocking every rotation.

“What are you doing?” the miller asked. 

Eldric pointed. “Stopping that.”

“Eldric.”

“What?”

“You were nearly killed.”

“Yes.” Eldric started to get annoyed with the miller’s logic. 

“Five seconds ago.”

“It was longer than five seconds.”

The miller stared at him. Eldric lifted his good hand. “I am not climbing back in.”

“That is the first sensible thing you’ve said all morning.”

“I said the parchment was unusable.”

After a few moments of trying to find an argument, the miller only sighed. “The second.” Together they moved toward the main release system. A few workers followed. 

Eldric pointed toward the loading doors as he passed. “And someone send a message to Korvethis.”

A woman near the packing table looked up. “What should it say?”

Eldric glanced at the neatly bound parchment waiting beneath the name Jareth Vannar. He considered several possibilities. None of them particularly diplomatic. “The western mill suffered a mechanical failure.”

The woman waited. “And?”

“And the shipment will be delayed.”

“How long?” the woman asked. 

Eldric looked toward the broken gear. “A week.” The entire room groaned. “Perhaps ten days.” The groaning became louder. Eldric shrugged. “Would you rather I lie to them?”

“No.” came a grumble from the workers who had gathered. 

“Then ten days.” Eldric answered. 

The woman dipped her pen into the ink. “And should I offer an apology?”

Eldric thought about the very polite letters Korvethis had apparently been sending. “Yes.”

She began to write. Eldric took another step, then stopped. “And add that production was suspended due to an injury.”

The pen paused. “To explain the delay?”

“To explain why we didn’t restart immediately.”

She nodded.

“And tell them the worker lived.” The woman looked at him. Something in her expression changed. Softened.Eldric frowned. “What?”

“Nothing, Your Highness.”

“There is very clearly something.”

She smiled down at the letter. “Nothing at all.”

Eldric narrowed his eyes but let it go. Behind him, Bram groaned as the miller and another worker lifted him. Eldric turned. “Bram.” The young man looked over. “If I ever catch you climbing over that press again—”

“I know.”

“No, I don’t think you do.”

Bram managed a weak grin. “What will you do?”

Eldric considered him. “Let your mother handle it.”

Bram’s grin disappeared. “That’s cruel.”

“I’m the prince.” Eldric turned back toward the machinery. “I’m allowed.”

Behind him, laughter rose through the mill. And beyond its walls, the river continued down the mountain, carrying Valdren’s water south through the forest while, on a packing table near the door, three bundles of parchment waited for a castle far away.

By the time the letter reached Korvethis, Lord Chamberlain Jareth Vannar would learn three things. The western mill had broken. His parchment would be late. And the Crown Prince of Valdren had nearly gotten himself killed saving a mill worker who had ignored a direct order.

It would not be the last story he heard about Eldric.