Table of Contents

Introduction

Home - 1

ME ME ME ME ME! - 29

Leaders Lead and Losers Bleed - 55

Truthy True or Actual True? - 82

The King's Purple 'Pry-thon' - 93

The Wall the King Didn't Build - 137

KKKOOOOONNNNN!! - 154

The King's Stoned Trio - 163

Light and Illumination - 192

Queen Bee - 191

RRRUUUUNNNN!!! - 204

Epilogue - 217

Acknowledgements

About the Author

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Introduction

Everyone who attended school knows the story of how Justice came at last to the kingdom of King Gorge in 1124, unless you slept through those classes (we saw you, Simon Coddledmuch). Teachers have enthusiastically told the tale in schools for centuries. But what Simon Coddledmuch and the generations following him could not know is that the story of Justice would save another kingdom from a man who would be, desperately desired to be, but did not deserve to be, King, President, Prime Minister, Chancellor, Chief and The Boss of Everything.

Note: This will be the last mention of Simon Coddledmuch because Simon Coddledmuch did not amount to much because his parents coddled him much too much, leaving him with his one and only skill set: Lazy Git, PIH (Pint in Hand)

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Home

On his second last day in the valley, Justice told himself, 'I am so lucky.' This he told himself every morning while going about his chores on his family’s Humble Haven Farm. ‘Lucky, lucky, lucky.’

Inside the barn, as he walked toward the big door, one of their Holstein dairy cows gave him a gentle nudge on the shoulder. He turned to find Single Spot there.

He rubbed her forehead. “Aren’t we lucky, Single Spot?” He removed his hand, and she pushed her face under his hand. ‘More please.’ He rubbed her forehead again, then slid his hand down her neck, across her ribs, to her belly and udder.

Single Spot had been off her feed for a few days and Justice was relieved to find her belly softened and showing none of the signs of mastitis his mother told him about.

“Okay, girl, let’s go.” He grabbed the handle of the heavy wooden barn door, leaned back and walked it backwards to open it to the sunshine outside. The cows rushed out into the morning light, bucking and snorting with pleasure through the dewy grass, along with their calves.

They did not separate the dairy cows of Gorge Valley from their calves. Justice did not believe in such cruelty. His parents did not believe in such cruelty. The villagers did not believe in such cruelty.

Every year, Gorge Valley held a loud music festival to drown out the continuous wailing of the cows of Fairlifeshire, the next ridge over, when they took the calves away from their mothers. The festival lasted three days and nights. Three days and nights of the plaintive cries of the mothers whose calves would never answer. Three days and nights. Sometimes four.

He was glad to live in such a kind village. They could not get as much milk from their cows as in Fairlifeshire, but everyone felt it was a small price to pay for healthier milk from happy cows.

The calves played on the small hill he’d built for them in the middle of the pasture. It made Justice laugh to watch them chase each other. And there were always those calves who stood statue still for long minutes and in the next second ran like maniacs round and round the pasture, their tails little flicking flags.

In the afternoons, the calves would snooze in the sun or the shade. One or two cows would babysit while all the other mothers had their fill of grass. Single Spot always took first rotation in the baby-sitting.

Justice laughed, watching them this morning, and then heard a creaking squeal above. He looked at weathervane at the top of the barn. The galloping iron horse with its mane and tail flying was turning.

‘Good.’ Justice thought. They could use more rain. He leaned against the barn, enjoying the light breeze and the warmth of the sun on his face.

He swept his brown curls out of his eyes. The smell of bacon, eggs and coffee came to him then. He looked over at the thatched roof house. His stomach gave an anticipatory growl and his mouth watered. There was something deeply satisfying about getting your morning chores done and then going for breakfast. It was one of the deep pleasures of farm life. Nothing tasted like those bacon and eggs; except the homemade bread, freshly churned butter, and raspberry preserve made from the raspberries they had picked.

He heard hoofbeats then and looked down the gently curving road that bisected the farm. The rider wasn’t visible yet, but Justice knew it was his mother, Jill, returning from an early morning veterinarian call. He hoped everything had gone well. The Saunders’s colt, Shiny Bright, injured his left hind leg somehow.

He watched down the curving farm road. The tall, gently swaying poplars lining the road always reminded him of sentinels guarding the farm. He pushed himself away from the barn and walked out of the pasture. The wind picked up,and the stand of aspens bordering the farm with their shiny trunks and shimmering shushing leaves sent the earthen fragrance of the forest to him.

Now the light wind brought lavender, lilac, and wild rose to his nostrils, ‘Lucky, lucky, lucky.’

“Breakfast” his father Bobor called from the front porch of the house. Jill rode into the far m Florpy, their dog, on the horses’ heels. Florpy had been a handful in the beginning, but she was getting a little better.

“Good timing.” Jill said, as she dismounted, sniffing the air. She patted Blue’s neck. “Smoothest gait in the shire.”

“How did Florpy do?”

Jill made a face. “Bit of a relapse today.” She bent down to pet Florpy who began bouncing. “You know it’s really hard to pet you when you’re hopping like a rabbit.” She and Justice chuckled as Justice took Blue’s reins.

“How was Shiny Bright?”

“He’s going to be fine, thank goodness. Kicked the trough and cut his fetlock. Missed all his tendons. Ned didn’t realize there was a jagged piece on the trough. Filing it down as I left.”

As Justice took Blue’s reins, Jill stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“The King’s Royal Messenger will arrive in a few hours.”

‘Shit.’ Justice thought, but said, “Maybe it’s something else we can ignore.”

“Not this time.” Jill patted his shoulder and turned away.

“What do-” but she was already gone. Justice watched her until she entered the house, her ominous answer echoing in his mind. ‘Not this time.’

Jill and Bobor were much more concerned with the politics of the Royal Court than Justice. As he walked Blue toward the barn, he thought it was because he hadn’t faced any challenges as difficult as his parents had before they built Humble Haven Farm. It was humble. It was a farm. And, most certainly, it was his haven.

Justice was born and had grown up here. He wanted ‘here’ to remain as it had always been. He had banked on the fact it was on the far edges of the Kingdom and King Gorge had bothered little with it for all of Justice’s nineteen years. And so it remained the same. Same was good. Same was safe. Same was the same as happy.

Every afternoon, as he walked the rolling green hills toward the tiny colourful village of Gorge Valley, Florpy bouncing at his side, he breathed the fresh air, listened to the birdsong, and sighed, “Lucky, lucky, lucky, Florpy, we’re so lucky.”

But, on this day, he slowed as he approached the top of Home Hill because Florpy growled. He climbed the rest of the way to the crest slowly. Looking down from the top, he saw the largest crowd he’d ever seen gathered on Only Street. Florpy growled again. He patted her wavy brown hair that matched his own. “It’s okay. It’s okay, girl.” She continued growling. “It’s okay, girl. Come on.”

He headed down the hill, unsure what caused Florpy’s agitation. She’d seen crowds in the village before for festivals and celebrations.

As he walked onto Only Street, he thought it was the prettiest street in the world, not that he'd seen any other street.  On Only Street, every storefront was a different bright colour, with contrasting shutters and window flower boxes. Pretty benches lined the street. At Only Cafe, townsfolk chatted at the outdoor tables, and happy shopkeepers waved at Justice as he strode past every afternoon. Today, they were all in the street.

As Justice made his way through the crowd, he heard a lot of grumbling: ‘What do they want now?’ ‘Why can’t they just leave us alone?’ ‘Do you think it’s true?’ Rumours had been flying for months around the valley about some outrageous new tax levied, as always, only on ‘Ordinaries’ as the King called anyone not High Born. They couldn’t do anything about the tax, but the village had a gesture in place if it turned out to be true.

Justice looked for Cobbler Joe and Cobbler Jane. He spotted them easily by their bright red hair.

“Heaps o’ goody good there, young Justice.” Cobbler Joe greeted him.

“And Heaps o’ goody-gooder there, Cobbler Joe.” Justice replied, tipping his felt hat.

Cobbler Jane looked past him, “Where are Jill and Bobor?”

“One of our cows is sick. They sent me to see what the messenger has to say.” He hated lying. He especially hated lying to people he liked so much.

“Wondering for a favour there, young Just.”

“Yes?”

Cobbler Joe described an onerous task Justice did not want to do. So of course, Justice said, “Yes, of course.”

He said, 'yes’ to all the onerous tasks the towns-folk requested. Did it make them respect him anymore? As much as Light?

The sound of hoofbeats on the cobblestones silenced the crowd. The King’s Royal Messenger rode in, impressive in his red and gold caped uniform atop his beautiful palomino steed. He pulled a scroll out of the saddlebag and unrolled it. His voice boomed out, “Subjects of King Gorge pay heed now to Your Lord God King God King Gorge’s very own words this day.”

The Messenger cleared his throat and concentrated on the scroll. “‘My loyal subjects who be subjected to your Lord God King God King Gorge’s beautiful and historical best-est leader-ing in historical histories, I, me, your Lord God King God in infinite wisdom-ness and smarty smart-ness, decrees, decries and declaims that each subject of the Kingdom of King Gorge be assessed a piddle poo tax calculated thusly: three pee pees and one poo poo per day at a cost of six gorges per pee pee or poo poo. This tax applies to Ordinaries and Lowly-Lows only. Royals and High Borns are exempt-ed-ered from such taxes. Your Lord God King God King Gorge loves all his loyal subjects. Except, of course, the Cheaps. Long Live Your Lord God King God, ME!’” The Messenger looked at the crowd. “That is all!” He spurred his horse and galloped off.

Cobbler Joe said, “I’ve never seen a Lowly-Low or a Cheap.” as the crowd grumbled amongst themselves.

Justice said, “What a thing to call people. But I’ve heard they only live in the Capitol.”

Cobbler Joe shook his head, “No, young Just. My in-laws live in Fairlifeshire. There are some over there and in Smithshire and yes, they do all the work in the Capitol. Poor sods.”

“Poor souls.” Cobbler Jane said, then turned to Justice and smiled. “Young Justice, have the boots I made for you yet trod beyond this valley?”

Justice sighed inside. Always the same question. “Uhm…not yet.”

“But soon? Yes?” She put her hand on his shoulder. “What about adventure? Adventure is for the young. And for all the young souls.”

“I read about adventure. Lots of adventures. I read about all the adventures in all the books.”

Jane leaned against Joe, gave him a peck on the cheek, laid her head on his shoulder. “What about romance? Companionship? It too is for the young. And young souls. Everyone.”

‘I’m nineteen not ninety.’ Justice wanted to say. ‘There’s time. There’s lots of time.’

Hoofbeats. They all looked toward the sound. The King’s Royal Messenger stopped his horse in the village square.

He leaned down and looked at Justice. “What village is this?”

“Gorge Valley”

The messenger straightened and barked out, “People of Gorge Valley. The King has a further message for you.” He cleared his throat. “Subjects of King Gorge pay heed now to Your Lord God King God King Gorge’s very own words this day.” He pulled another scroll from his satchel, unrolled it. “‘Your Lord God King God King Gorge announcer-ates that Gorge Valley is to be honoured by your Lord God King God with its choice as the site of your Lord God King God’s most exciting-est project ever in the historicals of histories, the most beautiful sight your ordinary eyes will have ever behold-ed. Long Live the King forever and ever and ever. ME!’” The messenger shoved the scroll away. “That is all.” He reined his palomino in a tight turn, spurred him on and galloped away.

Cobbler Jane frowned, “That is all? All what? More King’s…” she looked around at the crowd. Justice knew she wanted to say it was more of the King’s gibberish but was afraid, so she said instead, “I didn’t understand what he said.”

But murmurs arose within the crowd: ‘What does that mean?’ ‘Chosen?’ ‘What project?’ ‘What’s he going to do now?’

They grumbled and muttered as they went back to their shops: the butcher, dry goods, produce shops; the cafe, livery stable and tack shop; the haber-dasher, bakery and library. As Justice watched them reopen their doors, he wondered again why anyone would ever want to leave this place. It had everything anyone could ever want or need.

As Justice, Cobbler Joe and Cobbler Jane watched, the shop owners unfurled new signs over the old ‘Gorge Valley’ signs. Now they were: Piddleshitshire Butchers, Piddleshitshire Produce, Piddleshitshire Fabrics, Piddleshitshire Haberdasher. The citizens had been awaiting this day for several months because of the rumours of the new tax and swore they would rename the town and village. Although still technically loyal to the King, they did not want to carry the name of King Gorge any longer. They had thought of Piddlepooshire, but it didn’t have the same zing.

Cobbler Joe turned to Justice and grimaced. “Young Justice, you’re still a growing boy. You need to eat. Ignore the tax.”

Justice looked back at Cobbler Joe with dismay. He was nineteen, hardly a boy anymore. More dismay came from feeling the ever-tightening waist on his trousers digging into him. Justice threw his wavy brown bangs out of his eyes and sighed. “I’m hoping these daily walks help my trousers fit better.”

Cobbler Jane smiled at him, laid her hand on his shoulder. “All of your walking is even more reason not to restrict your food or water intake, Just.”

‘Just.’ How he hated that nickname. He knew Piddleshitshire Villagers used it with affection. But it reminded him of how he felt compared to his golden brother, Light. What had his parents been thinking? Justice and Light? Who names their kids Justice and Light? Bobor and Jill Fairchild, that’s who. And, while Light had been the light of his parents' eyes and the golden child of the village, Justice was…Just.

Cobbler Joe slapped Justice’s shoulder. “We’ll go unfurl our new sign. Felicitations to Jill and Bobor.” He took Cobbler Jane’s hand, and they headed to their shop.

Justice looked down at Florpy. “What do you think, Florpy? Time to go see Kendria?” She sat down, staring up at him intensely, every muscle in her body tensed and frozen except for the tip of her quivering tail. “Squiggles?” Florpy jumped up and let loose with the squiggles, her body whipping side to side. Justice clapped his hands. “Let’s go!”

As he walked on toward his usual rendezvous with Kendria, he laughed at Florpy’s enthusiastic bouncing beside him. But, as they went on, he thought back to the favour Cobbler Joe had asked of him and muttered, “Damnit.”

He said, 'Yes' to all the lousy tasks the townsfolk were 'Wondering for a favour there, young Just.' Did it make them respect him anymore? As much as Light? The ‘Just’ echoed in his head again. Justice was just shorter than most, just softer than most, and his brown eyes were larger and waterier than most. Prone to hiccups, tics and fainting, he was the op-posite of Light, the tall, strong, fast, smart Golden Boy who had passed into near mythical status. An early death will do that for a person.

A pang of guilt stabbed Justice. His eyes stung. He blinked rapidly. He missed his older brother desperately. ‘Sorry, Light.’ He thought and turned his attention to Florpy to distract himself. He slapped his thigh. “Come on, girl. Come on.” She bounced happily at his side as they made their way down into the valley below the ridge holding the new Village of Piddleshitshire.

They always took the same path. Every after-noon, the same path. And why not? It led straight down to Kendria.

Her name meant 'Wise Protector'. Justice found solace, relief, and protection with her. Kendria was a weeping willow, the largest and oldest in the valley. Beneath her tendrils, Justice and Florpy would flop down onto the soft earth and sigh out loud with relief. They were here at last.

Here in the dappled light winking through Ken-dria's leaves, here where Kendria sighed as the breeze swept her branches to and fro, here where the scent of leaf and earth calmed his busy mind. Here where there was only 'here right now'.

Justice ran his hand through the soft green leaves of Kendria's longest tendril. The scent of earth and leaves sent a wave of joy and melancholy through him. "Good afternoon, Kendria."

“Good afternoon, Justice.” He whirled at the voice, blinked at The Old Lady stood behind him, her raven, Companion, perched on her shoulder.

Florpy ran to her and calmed as The Old Lady first petted under the dog’s chin and then rested her hand on Florpy’s head. She looked into Florpy’s eyes. “Sweet girl. Do you hear me? Okay, good. Under-stand this one thing; you are safe. Now and forever. You can relax.” The Old Lady stood, and Justice watched as Florpy walked a few feet, laid down in the grass, and put her head on her paws. She let her eyes fall shut as a long sigh left her.

A shock ran through Justice. Bouncing Florpy had come from a terrible situation in another shire. Beaten, malnourished and left outside on a chain for two years. In the rain and snow. In the heat and dust. In the misery of those two years, no one had ever looked after her coat and it became a tangle of painful matts that pulled at her skin and hurt her all day, every day. She suffered alone until some neighbours snuck onto the property and stole her in the middle of the night.

They had spirited her to Gorge Valley and delivered her at four o’clock in the morning to Humble Haven Farm, where Jill gently attended to her. Jill bonded with the sweet-natured girl who was so afraid but still so willing to give humans another chance. The first time Florpy licked her hand as Jill worked to cut the matts out of her coat was the mo-ment Jill knew this little dog was home.

But, Justice wondered, how did The Old Lady know that? Or did she even know? She was not a close friend of the family. She was a respected ac-quaintance. Had she guessed Florpy’s painful past? It seemed like more than a guess considering the effect she had on the hyperactive Florpy. And her words: ‘You are safe. Now and forever.’

The Old Lady was the oldest person in Piddleshitshire. She was so old that none of her generation remained alive, nor the next three generations behind her. The tiny body which contained her intense power only made her force more focused. Her deep blue eyes, set off by her flowing silver hair, were near buried inside the folds of her face, but no one who looked into those eyes ever forgot the feeling of knowing they must listen to her, of knowing that listening to her was the most important thing on earth at that moment.

She had read every book in Piddleshitshire and all the sur-rounding Shires. She knew everyone in the village and valley of the new Piddleshitshire and the Shires many ridges over because she walked all the valleys nearby and not so nearby. No one re-membered her name because she had stopped telling it decades earlier. It was a silly name given to her by her parents. A delicate flower of a name which she had spent her life contradicting.

She enjoyed being called THE Old Lady. She had earned it a thousand times over, surviving bliz-zard, fire, flood.

The Old Lady turned to Companion. “Fly.” The black bird took off then. She turned her gaze to the sky, following Companion up and up. “What a wonder. To fly.”

She turned her gaze on Justice now. “Justice.”  

He waited for her to say more and when she did not, he simply asked, "Yes?”

“Do you love this place?”

Justice’s blood turned cold. Why would she ask him such a question? “Uhm...I…I…ye…yes.”

She smiled at him. Whatever her face expressed seemed magnified a thousand times compared to other people. Her smile thawed his blood. It surged through his body and warmed his heart.

She was sunshine when she smiled.

He cleared his throat, straightened his shoulders. “Yes.”

“Would you leave it?”

A jolt went through him. His mind spun a dozen questions in seconds: why, what for, to go where, to do what, how far, forever? Never to come back? What about his mother and father, who would look after the farm? Why? WHY? He shook his head.

Her smile faded, but her face still held kindness. “Would you leave it to save it?”

“L…leave...it to...save...save it from what?”

She turned away then and looked down the long, lush valley. A sigh escaped her. “I don’t know…yet.”

He wanted to snort with derision, but you did not snort with derision at The Old Lady. He wished it were someone else delivering this question with no explanation.

He swallowed and said, “Uhm…Old Lady, I do not know how to answer this question. I do not know why you ask me this question.”

She turned back to him. “Something wicked is on our horizon.”

He smiled. “More wicked than the King?”

She looked far into the distance. “It is already on the wind. It is already on its way to us. On its way and…” She closed her eyes; a sudden brisk gust of wind moved the long waves of her silver hair. “And more behind it.” She opened her eyes and turned her gaze on him. As always, he felt exposed inside the power of her bright eyes. “We need to know what is happening inside the castle.”

He tried to swallow the saliva in his mouth, but his throat seemed paralyzed. Finally, he managed a gulp and said, “And?”

“And the King’s Groom of the Royal Stool is retiring. You could get closer to the King and his minions. The information you could learn would be invaluable.”

Justice stepped back, shaking his head. What came out was a squeak. “Me?”

“You.”

“Me?” he squeaked again.

“You. Your name is Justice.”

“Everybody calls me, Just.”

“Everybody is wrong.”

“You’ve mistaken me for my brother.”

“I have not. I am sorry you lost your brother. How I hate to see the young lose their lives.”

“I’m young.”

“You are indeed. And, this job suits you perfectly.”

“Why?”

“You have the cleanest cows in Gor- Piddleshitshire.”

“Are you comparing the King to a-.”

“Cow? No. To a cow’s ass.”

Justice laughed.

“So, you’ll do it. The Old Groom will train you.”

Justice shook his head. “That’s a High Born job.”

“The King does not trust the High Borns anymore.”

“How do you know this?”

“I have someone inside the Royal Court.”

“Well then! You don’t need me.”

“I do.”

“Why?”

“This ally is not near the King all the time, unlike the Groom of the Royal Stool. We need to know what he is planning. He wants to leave a legacy. Those who want to leave a legacy are often the most dangerous. We need to know what he is planning. Not just for us, but for the Kingdom.” She snorted. “As if he hasn’t done enough damage already, malevolent fool.”

“I..I…can’t.”

“You can.”

“This job is not for me.”

“This valley, this place is for you, and this job is for you. It is your destiny.”

His jaw dropped, his eyes big. Some believed The Old Lady had certain ‘powers’. But he never believed it, never believed it until he saw her calm Florpy, never believed it until she stood in front of him, telling him his destiny. Never believed it until he knew somewhere deep inside him, she was right.

“It is?”

“It is.”

He stepped toward her again. He steadied his breathing, hoping his voice would follow. “Old Lady. My destiny is to live out my life in peace right here.”

“Here. Where you are always safe?”

“Yes.”

“And not ‘Out There’. Where Light died.”

Before he could answer, The Old Lady sighed and put her hand on his shoulder. "Then here you shall stay. Until you know it is your turn to go. I will see you again then.” She put her arm up, and in moments, Companion landed and walked up to his perch upon her shoulder. She turned and walked away.

He watched her, shocked at how she was so small in stature, but so large in life. “I’m sorry,” he called after her. Without turning, she waved a hand.

He sighed and looked down at Florpy. “You sleeping, Florpy?” Instead of waking straight into her usual string of bounces, she stretched languorously, enjoying a long yawn. “Well, this is new.” She sat up and looked at him in anticipation, but with no sign of impending squiggles.

He looked down the valley for The Old Lady, and could just make her out, a tiny speck on the horizon that loomed large in his mind now. How could she think Justice…Just…was in any way suited to infiltrate the Royal Court, to be a part of what …subterfuge... sabotage? What did she want of him?

They moved under Kendria’s green umbrella. He sat on the grass and opened his leather Cobbler Jane satchel. Wherever he went, he carried with him twelve letters, unopened.

The letters from Light arrived after word of his death reached them via a messenger with a fast horse. The slow Royal Post brought them from the far corners of the kingdom one by one. Seeing his handwriting on each envelope was like shards of glass scraping through the family's open wounds.

His parents could not bear to read them. Still, they came. During golden autumn, a crisp white winter, budding spring and the flowering summer. Each bore the colourful stamp of a different county from farther and farther away. And then the farthest; King's County. That last arrived during the warmest September Justice could remember. One year since Light had left on his travels.

Jill couldn't tolerate the letters in the house, so he kept them in the barn. As he touched the stack of bound letters inside the satchel, Justice's heart ached. He saw again his mother sink to the floor on that day the messenger came. He saw her press her face into the planks there, drag her fingernails across the wood until they bled. Heard again that wail that echoed through his nightmares still.

When he asked his mother if he could please read them, she said, "There are no answers there."

The messenger’s note told them all. Light had been in the Capitol, Gorgetown, in King Gorge Square and had turned red in the face. His tongue swelled. He couldn't breathe. Many tried to help him, but he was gone in minutes. ‘I am so terribly sorry for your unfathomable loss. I pray your memories bring you comfort. He was a lovely young man…Irene Stone.’

All Justice knew was that Light had died Out There. And back here in Piddleshitshire one day not long ago his mother had thrown her arms around him and said, "My son."

She did not say, "don't leave me." But that was all Justice heard.

He moved his fingers away from the letters and their difficult memories and gripped the book Light had sent him early on the journey Out There. The title of the book was The Golden Ass.

Inside Light had inscribed it, 'Does this remind you of someone?' Of course, it reminded Justice of King Gorge.

The Golden Ass of the book wanted to be a bird, so he tried to learn magic. But his stupidity failed him, and he turned himself into a donkey, 'The Golden Ass.’

Justice fell asleep soon after he started re-reading the book. He had read it three times. It was as ridiculous as the man Justice thought of while reading. Florpy nudged him as the sun sank, as she always did. They headed home. Happy. ‘I’m happy.’ Justice thought again and again on the walk. ‘I’m lucky, and I’m happy. And I’m staying right here being lucky and happy.’

Near midnight Justice got out of bed and checked on Single Spot. The girls did not startle when he opened the smaller barn door because he started singing 'The Moon is Blue' as he walked to the barn. Singing was the only thing Justice could do better than Light. But it wasn't much of an accomplishment because Light's singing caused birds to flee, livestock to stampede and people to smile politely through clenched jaws. Because they all loved Light, they did not disabuse him of the idea he could sing. The only 'abuse' was to everyone's eardrums.

Justice rubbed Single Spot's forehead and offered her a handful of grass, which she took eagerly. He felt her belly as his mother had taught him. In her youth, Jill had trained for several years with one of the most respected animal healers in the Kingdom. Citizens consulted her regularly when they had an ailing animal.

Feeling around Single Spot’s belly, he smiled. “That’s my girl.” Her belly was softer, not as distended as before, and she did not flinch when he pressed harder in the places his mother had showed him. He looked at her udders, no sign of mastitis still, but then his cows did not get mastitis as often as cows did when they lost their calves. Her eyes were clear, her disposition good. Happy she was on the mend, he left her.

As he walked across the pasture followed by Missy and Sissy, two of the orange tabby barn cats, he glanced up at the full blue moon. He stopped and took in a deep breath. He let it out slowly as his eyes took in the most beautiful sight in the world to him. Humble Haven Farm was magically azure tonight. But he needed sleep.

With a last long look out on Humble Haven Farm, he closed the front door of the house. That sound of the door latching always meant one word to him. Home.

As he slept peacefully in his bed, out there, on top of the barn, the iron horse spun round and round and finally shuddered to a stop a hundred and eighty degrees from the previous. Heavenly blue faded to slate grey.

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