Taming the Rider (3/4)
While Max and Pascal stay back away from inquisitive eyes, Blondie and I make our way back to the town center. The stores are busy now and the sorry people who actually have to work today are diligently working on their trade. We peak through the blacksmith’s window and watch the burly man beat a piece of steel into submission.
“He’s so strong!” Blondie gasps as his hammer swings down to hit the glowing steel.
I make a subtle attempt to bring my rather manly bicep into her view by placing my hand upon the glass. I give her my best Flynn Rider look and ask nonchalantly, “Is he?” I flex slightly.
Before she can get distracted by my undeniable strength, Mr. Muscles starts pounding on the window. “No touching the glass!” he bellows.
Well, there goes that idea. I grudgingly remove my arm from its position and move away from the “strong” man’s shop.
We meander through the streets, weaving between all the hustle and bustle of the town during midday. The celebration is in full-swing now; vendors are hawking their products at everyone walking by their stands, people are carrying around miniature versions of the kingdom’s flag, and the topic of conversation around us is whether or not this will be the year when the lost princess returns.
I’m starting to get concerned about Blondie. It has been nearly five minutes and I haven’t heard her spout any “oohs” and “aahs” at the sights around us. I wish her frog was here; maybe he’d be able to give me some kind of clue as to what she’s thinking.
Suddenly, she gives me a sideways glance before stopping completely in the middle of the street. She raises her gaze to me and declares, “I’m not going back. To Mother.”
She’s not?
“You’re not?”
She shakes her head defiantly and crosses her arms. “No. I’m not.”
On one hand, I’m proud of Blondie. A person like her shouldn’t be locked away in a tower. On the other hand, I wonder how I’m going to get my satchel back.
What can I say? Flynn Rider habits die hard.
“What are you going to do then?” I ask, half-hoping and half-dreading that her plans include me.
She shrugs as we turn a corner. Apparently, the excitement of the morning has slowed down her pace. She seems content to read every sign we pass and look through each window we walk by. “I could live here, couldn’t I? I know how to paint and play guitar and bake and sew-”
Frowning, I realize she could move here. The town was friendly and kind, much like Blondie herself. There would no doubt someone would take her in until she was able to support herself.
It would be good for her. It would be good for her frog.
Then why wasn’t I happy for her?
I must have my very un-Flynn-Rider look of panic on my face behind she gently places her other hand on my arm. “You could stay with us, Eugene. You could-”
“Sorry, Blondie,” I reply, pulling my arm away. “The castle gates is not the place for a wanted criminal to live.”
I watch her pretty -where did that word come from? -mouth turn downward for a second. Then, as quick as it came, the frown vanishes and is replaced with a wide grin. “I know! I could cook at The Snuggly Ducking! Then Hookhand could have time to practice playing the piano so he can live out his dream.”
She looks at me hopefully. She actually thinks her plan is feasible. “You could stay there, couldn’t you? It’s not in the castle gates and the other ruffians would hide you if the royal guards did come looking for you.”
I shake my head. Didn’t she realize that Flynn Rider didn’t settle anywhere with anyone? “I don’t think it would work like that, Blondie. Besides, it doesn’t exactly fit into my gallivanting through the forest way of life,” I answer, desperate for a change of subjects. My voice is firm, but my resolve is weak. If Blondie asks me directly to stay with her, I would find some way to do it, I realize with a wave of panic.
I’m starting to realize there is something magical about Blondie and it has absolutely nothing to do with that hair of hers.
“Then, I could come with you on your adventures,” she offers. “I wouldn’t be a bother. In fact, I could help you! My hair seemed to be useful in escaping the guards yesterday.”
An unexpected surge of anger runs through me. Had that “mother” convinced her that the only value she had was in her hair? That without it she had no real value? Because that wasn’t farther from the truth.
Whoa, slow down there, Eugene, I tell myself as I feel my blood pressure rise. We’re getting awfully defensive about Blondie, aren’t we?
“Let’s talk about it later,” I suggest as I finally see a useful distraction at the end of the street. We make our way to where a dozen or so kids are drawing on the ground.
Blondie puts a hand on my chest, preventing us from moving forward. “What are they using to draw?”
Now I might have been in a daze up in that tower of hers, but I didn’t miss all the drawings that covered practically every inch of the walls. But, apparently, she has never been introduced to anything outside of paint. “It’s called chalk. Rather messy if you ask me. Gets on her hands and arms--”
“Can you get me some?”
This is the first request she has specifically made for me to actually get her something. It is clear that whatever else she may be--reptile communicator, horse negotiator, thief reformer--she is an artist at heart. I look for some kind of shop that sells supplies, but I come up with nothing. Hiding my disappointment (something which I didn’t want to acknowledge even to myself), I shrug. “You caught me on an off-day, Blondie. I’m fresh out of chalk.”
Just then, a little girl who had no doubt been listening to our exchange, walks up to Blondie and tugs on her hand. “I have some extra. Wanna draw with me?”
“Oh of course!” The two of them scamper several feet away. The child’s mother smiles at me. I return the gesture with some sort of odd mixture of a grimace and a grin. Feeling people’s kindness is something I am not accustomed to.
Blondie kneels next to the girl who is talking animatedly about her drawing which is some kind of rainbow bunny that she claims is her pet . Blondie tells her how Pascal can change his colors which delights the child to no end.
Seriously, this kingdom is made for Blondie. The townspeople’s kindness and friendliness permeates the air. Flynn Rider so does not belong here.
But, I admit with much reluctance, Eugene Fitzherbert could fit in. Even come to enjoy it here in Corona.
I am considering --just considering, mind you-- the idea that somehow I would be able to join Blondie and her frog in their ideal life in the city when Blondie suddenly holds out the flag for me to grab. I take it from her, wondering what she has planned.
“Can you hold this out so I can see it as I draw?” she requests.
I do as she asks without any retort; I’m still not quite ready to abandon my un-Flynn-like daydream of domesticated bliss.
As I hold the flag taut, I let my mind wander. We wouldn’t be able to live in the main city, of course. But there has to be a cabin in the forest that we can stay at. Blondie could travel into town to do whatever she wants.
Me?
I’ll probably have to babysit the frog.
I’m pretty sure Rapunzel could convince Maximus not to turn me into the authorities, especially if she bribes him with a steady supply of apples.
Before I can continue my daydream, a sick feeling seeps into my stomach as I realize what I just did.
I called her Rapunzel.
This is not good.
As if she has some sense tied to my well-being, she glances from her position and looks at me, concerned. “Is everything alright?”
“I’m fine, Blondie. Really.” I flash a Flynn Rider smile in for good measure.
She doesn’t seem entirely convinced, but she goes back to drawing. Almost immediately, I am distracted by her artistic skills. With broad strokes, she draws the outline of the sun. When I lift my gaze, I notice she has an attentive audience.
She, however, seems unaware of the attention she is receiving. Probably because she has never had that happen before, living in a tower and everything. She continues sketching the enormous shape, stopping every couple of minutes to make sure everything is in proportion.
Once she is finished with the sun (which takes a while as my tired arms can attest to), she asks the little girl if she can borrow the purple chalks. Of course, in this kingdom of near-perfect people, the little girl doesn’t hesitate in giving Blondie nearly a half-dozen options for her to choose from.
I watch as Blondie’s gaze roams around. Within seconds, she finds what she is looking for. A couple who is sitting rather close to each other is kneeling by the fountain. As they lean it for a kiss, I turn back to Blondie. She blinks slowly, taking in their actions.
I swear she casts a glance briefly in my direction.
Then, she starts drawing.
I’m pretty sure she has some kind of magical ability to remember everything exactly the way it looks because when she finishes the drawing, it looks exactly like the lovebirds we saw earlier. Well, if they were purple, anyway.
She does this three more times: examines the crowd for inspiration, makes a mental picture and then draws it out for the kingdom to see. Her subjects are as varied as a the kingdom: a group of children are in one frame, a mother with a stroller dragging along a child in another, and an elderly couple looking in happy in love occupied yet another.
She looks at a young family --a woman with her husband and their new little ones -- curiously. Her head cocks to the side and she just watches them. This is different than the other time she studies her subjects. She moves to stand next to me and stands on her toes, bringing her lips close to my ear.
I would like to say that I heard every word she said, but the only thing I managed to focus on was the feel of her warm breath tickling my ear.
“Eugene?”
“Er, sorry, Blondie,” I say, clearing my throat. “I didn’t catch what you said.”
“I asked why that man was with the mother and her children.”
“He probably got off work early to celebrate the festival with his family,” I answer.
“But who is he?”
Suddenly Blondie’s question makes sense to me. Her father must have died when she was young. “He is their father.”
She blinks.
“You know, like a mother, but just in male form.”
“Oh! A father!” Her eyes light up at the idea. Then she goes back to drawing.
She draws the family in detail and finds another one to sketch. Just when I think she’s done, Blondie surprises me by drawing this loopy, flowery sun shape that frames her entire creation. By now, her arms are entire covered in chalk, but I know she doesn’t mind. She makes one last final arch and pulls herself back so she can look at what she has created.
She stands up and does her best to push the hair out of her eyes without getting chalk on her face. I look at her masterpiece with a mixture of pride and admiration.
It is amazing.
I raised my eyebrow slightly as she steps back towards me. The little flag that starting the whole thing is still in my hand.
“Well, Blondie, I know now who painted all those pictures in that tower,” I say.
She turns to me and smiles. “Do you like it?”
When she reached up to move her hair, she must have accidentally touched her face because there is a smear of purple on the side of her nose. I reach out and dust off the chalk from her face. “I think it’s great.”
She gives me a look that causes my heart to beat wildly. If I didn’t know any better, I would think that I am becoming quite smitten with Blondie. “Thank you.”
I clear my throat, suddenly uncomfortable with the intense look she is giving me. “We should, um, probably get you washed up,” I say, nodding towards her chalk-covered hands.
She looks at them, almost surprised at their appearance. “Of course!” Before we leave, she finds her three-foot friend and embraces her carefully. “Thank you so much!”
She straightens up and follows me as I look for somewhere where Blondie can clean her hands. Maybe Max would offer to help. The idea of his pristine white coat being tarnished with bright purple chalk amuses me to no end.
Blondie picks up on my evil grin and gives me a suspicious look. “Eugene?”
I wave off her question as a woman approaches us. “Here, my dear.” She holds out a small piece cloth for Blondie to use.
With a grateful smile and a sincere thanks, Blondie takes the small tea towel and attempts to clean her hands.
“Your drawing is quite amazing,” the woman praises.
Blondie blushes slightly. It seems as though her mother isn’t too heavy handed in the flattery department. She gives a sheepish shrug. “I just drew what I saw.”
“You have a wonderful talent,” the woman assures her as Blondie hands back her rag. She looks at me. “Doesn’t she?”
Suddenly, both of them are looking at me. The stranger has an encouraging smile on her face and Rapunzel is giving me that big, hopeful look like she did at the campfire last night. Unlike then, I find myself with nowhere to escape, quite the embarrassment for a seasoned thief let me tell you.
“You did an amazing job, Blondie. Really.”
Blondie’s entire face brightens at my complement. “Thank you, Eugene!” She flings her arms around me and I find myself encircling her without thinking.
The woman gives me a knowing wink and walks away. I just wish I knew what she thought she knew. Right now, I’m feeling rather confused about the entire subject of Blondie myself.
Blondie pulls away first --I am too dumbfounded by her open display of gratitude to do anything other than stand there with my moth agape-- and asks, “What are we going to do next?”
I pull my thoughts together. There will be time to think about just how good she felt later. Much later. I nod towards the area of the kingdom we went to in the morning. “Everyone deserves a special treat to eat on their birthday.”
She turns her head slightly in confusion, but she follows my lead as I walk down the road. “Is this place like the Snuggly Duckling?”
“This place is nothing like there, I promise.”
She surprises me by seeming to be almost disappointed at that revelation.
No, there were no ruffians or thugs at this place. Just mouth-watering pastries and coffee. Oh yeah, I could definitely handle a cup of java after the past twenty-four hours. Though the idea of Blondie having caffeine is enough to make me nervous. She seems to have enough energy for the entire village. Maybe I’ll introduce her to coffee another day.
We walk to the area where the little girls had braided her hair. Instead of going to the right as we had earlier, I steer her to the left. A large building with delicious smells is before us: Gusto’s Bakery. I gesture for her to walk inside the shop.
She doesn’t even take two steps inside before spinning around with a stunned look on her face. Somehow I knew she would have a sweet tooth. “Eugene,” she whispers excitedly, “look at all of this!”
Dozens of pastries, cupcakes and pies are on the shelves behind the large counter where a plump man is working. I smile at her. “Everything here is good.” I raise my voice slightly. “Isn’t it, Gusto?”
He looks up from his work and scowls. Well, it’s nice to know that his feelings for me haven’t changed since I last saw him. “Flynn Rider.” His greeting is accompanied by a stern look. “I hear you’re in trouble with the guards again.”
He doesn’t seem too impressed with the rumors that are circulating around Corona. That’s too bad really. Some of them are really quite entertaining.
Before he starts telling me what he really thinks about me and my illegal activities, he notices Blondie standing there with her amazed look on her face. All traces of anger vanish from his face and he gives her a wide, friendly smile. “But, where are my manners? Welcome to Gusto’s Bakery, my dear. This man isn’t giving you any trouble, is he?”
I tense for a second, imagining Blondie in all of her wide-eyed innocence telling Gusto that “Eugene” is a perfect gentleman and she is perfectly safe in his company.
I shudder at the thought.
My fear, however, is unwarranted.
“Who? Flynn?” Though it seems strange for her to use my alias, I relax as I realize that she’s willing to keep my fake reputation in place. She shakes her head. “You don’t have to worry about me. I’ve got a frying pan nearby to keep him in line.”
Though Gusto has no idea what she’s talking about, he seems amused that Flynn Rider has apparently found his match. He laughs heartily. “I like her already, Rider. What can I get the two of you?”
“I don’t know,” Blondie says, looking worried. “There are so many thing to choose from. Mother and I don’t have much in the--”
This is really not the place to be discussing her place of exile. “House,” I quickly interrupt.
Her eyes widen as she realizes her near-slip. “Oh, right! The house.”
“About a couple of cupcakes?” I suggest. “Perfect for celebrating a birthday.”
She nods as Gusto brings out a tray of the sugary sweets. Cupcakes covered in blue, green, pink and white icing are presented before us. Blondie picks out a pink one for herself and I choose the cupcake with the vanilla frosting.
“That will be twenty-two duits,” Gusto says after he comes back from replacing the tray.
I cough and sputter. Twenty-two duits? They should buy me the entire tray of cupcakes! “Did you say twenty-two duits?”
Gusto crosses his arms. He is absolutely serious. “That’s to make up for the muffins you stole from me the last time. Plus interest!”
“Oh come on!” I grumble. “I was hungry! You don’t want a poor kid to go hungry, do you?”
He is unmoved by my attempt to guilt him into changing his mind. “That might have worked when you were a lad, but you are a grown man now! Thieving is unacceptable.” He shoots a look at Blondie. “You don’t want your lady friend to get into trouble because of your unsavory habit, do you?”
I glower at him. That was low to pull Blondie into the conversation, even for him. I pull out the proper amount of coins. “Twenty-two duits.”
A smug, satisfied smile spreads over his lips. “Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Rider.” I always knew Gusto was a talented baker, I just never knew he made such a crafty businessman as well.
Less than a minute later, our hands are full of cupcake goodness as Gusto reminds Blondie not to go far from her frying pan.
As we walk outside to the high-back chairs and small tables, I glance back inside where Gusto is animatedly talking to his wife. Probably about Blondie and her unique method to “keep me in line” and the fact he pushed me to pay that ridiculous amount for two cupcakes.
I set down my cupcake on the table furthest from the window. I’m not planning on giving Gusto any more ammunition.
“Is everyone here so nice?” she asks.
Is she kidding me? She thinks Gusto is nice. Well, I guess he was kind to her. “Sure, as long as you’re not a wanted criminal,” I respond dryly.
“Did you really steal from him?” she asks quietly. “He seems so friendly!”
I shrug, not really wanting to talk about it. “I was hungry.” The truth was, I wasn’t. It had just been a few days since I had the opportunity to...acquire something that wasn’t my own and the muffins called to me as I was evading Corona’s finest. But, I don’t think Blondie would appreciate what really happened.
“That’s terrible, Eugene! Why didn’t--”
To my shock and horror, two royal guards suddenly turn the corner. Without thinking, I grab Blondie and pull her under the table, hiding us behind the cloth. “What are you doing?” she hisses.
“Unless you want to be watching the lanterns from a jail cell, don’t say a word! There are two guards that are coming this way,” I whisper.
Her eyes widen in horror at the thought. She clamps her hands over her mouth for good measure.
All right, Rider, how do you get out of this mess?
I can see the guards’ boots from the sliver of ground I can see from under the tablecloth. They are close. Too close. I subconsciously hold my breath as they take a step in our direction.
“If they find me, you need to run,” I instruct, my voice barely audible. “They won’t follow you.”
She shakes her head and removes her hand from her mouth. “I’m not leaving you, Eugene,” she whispers. Tears are starting to form in her eyes.
I knew she was going to say that. “Listen, Blondie, you’re going to have to trust me. Go and find Max. He’ll be able to take you somewhere safe. I should be able to lose the guards.”
I hope.
She swallows thickly as they guards take another step towards us. “I can’t,” she admits brokenly. “I can’t leave you.” She draws herself up slightly. “I won’t.”
The entire situation is quite endearing when I think about it: a wanted criminal urges the only person in the world who likes him for who he really is to flee from the law but she refuses to leave his side.
“All right,” I acquiesce. “If they find us, we’ll go back to the sea wall where we had lunch. We should be safe there.”
She nods, looking far more braver than I feel.
Just as I am accepting my fate of making Blondie a fugitive, an unexpected savior speaks.
Gusto.
“Alder! Hans! Got stuck with doing patrol today, eh?”
To my astonishment, their booted feet start moving away from our hiding spot towards the front door of the bakery. Oh, those twnety-two duits were well-spent, I think.
Now that they are distracted, I tilt my head sideways, silently telling Blondie to follow me. She carefully grabs our cupcakes --which somehow survived our quick dash under the table--and we sneak from under the table to the intersection down the main road.
I know we’re not in the clear; Gusto won’t be able to distract them for long. I scan the area for somewhere we can hide until the soldiers pass by.
There!
On the corner of one of the smaller side streets, I see a small archway that will allow us to tuck away, out of sight from the guards. “This way.” I guide her through the throngs of people, hoping we don’t seem too suspicious. She follows me without hesitation and we step into the arch not a moment too soon.
“Here,” she says, handing me my cupcake.
The unmistakable sound of the soldiers’ boots booming off the cobblestone is approaching us. But, as I expected, they make a left turn towards the city center and away from us.
We did it. We managed to elude the guards.
I let out a sigh of relief and give Blondie a sincere smile. She grins back at me.
“Come on,” I say, stepping out of the shadows. “Let’s find some place to go eat these.”
We decide the safest place to devour out treats is back where we came, knowing the guards were unlikely to return to the bakery. I don’t even have a chance to sit down before Gusto comes out wearing a rather pleased look on his face.
“Do you have something you want to say to me?”
Look, I know he just helped us from escaping a potentially bad situation, but I find myself having trouble forming the words of thanks. Flynn Rider doesn’t need people to help him flee from the law.
Or, at least he didn’t. Not before yesterday.
“Thank you,” I mutter.
“What was that?” He holds his hand up to his ear. He is enjoying this far too much.
“You heard me.”
He lets out a loud belly-laugh. I swear, if he hadn’t just helped us, I would have some choice words for him. Instead I roll my eyes. “Are you done yet?”
He nods and I feel myself relax. “Though I make no promises if they come back.” Gusto studies me for a second. “I don’t know what you did, Rider, but you’ve gotten them pretty upset.”
“It’s part of my charm.” I lean back in the chair and cross my arms.
This time it’s his time to roll his eyes. “You know, you didn’t have to go down this path. Your apprenticeship with Mr. Popper was all but certain.”
I notice Blondie watching our exchange with unconcealed interest. She already knows too much of my back story for my liking.
I shrug. “This seems like the better option.”
Gusto looks pointedly at Blondie for a second. “Are you still sure about that?”
I don’t have an answer for him.
Finally, he turns to Blondie. “I apologize for my lack of manners, my dear. I’ll let you enjoy your dessert with your friend.” He walks back inside the bakery.
She’s about the open her mouth, not doubt full of questions about what Gusto just said when I cut her off. “No more back story. Let’s just enjoy the cupcake.”
Maybe she knows how Gusto’s comments bothered me because she doesn’t press the issue. Instead she starts carefully unwrapping the paper from around the bottom of the cake. “It looks delicious!” As if she is unsure about the icing, she carefully sticks her tongue out and tastes the sugary coating.
“It tastes even better!”
As if by magic, all gloom that threatened to overtake me by thoughts of my past fades away. If I had taken that apprenticeship then there is no way I would have ever stumbled onto Blondie’s tower. So, I have to say, I’m pretty happy with the decisions that I have made in my life so far.
“Yeah, Gusto is the best baker for a hundred miles.” I take a bite out of the spongy cake.
“Yum!” she squeals before taking a bite of her own cupcake.
Let me just tell you, Blondie is a very enthusiastic eater when it comes to sweets. I’m pretty sure I enjoyed watching her eat the cupcake as she did tasting it.
“Do you think he’ll give me the recipe? I’m a pretty good baker.”
Despite my improved mood, I’m not ready from anymore time with Gusto. “We’ll come back later.” Well, if later means never, anyway.
“All right,” she agrees.
Part 4
“He’s so strong!” Blondie gasps as his hammer swings down to hit the glowing steel.
I make a subtle attempt to bring my rather manly bicep into her view by placing my hand upon the glass. I give her my best Flynn Rider look and ask nonchalantly, “Is he?” I flex slightly.
Before she can get distracted by my undeniable strength, Mr. Muscles starts pounding on the window. “No touching the glass!” he bellows.
Well, there goes that idea. I grudgingly remove my arm from its position and move away from the “strong” man’s shop.
We meander through the streets, weaving between all the hustle and bustle of the town during midday. The celebration is in full-swing now; vendors are hawking their products at everyone walking by their stands, people are carrying around miniature versions of the kingdom’s flag, and the topic of conversation around us is whether or not this will be the year when the lost princess returns.
I’m starting to get concerned about Blondie. It has been nearly five minutes and I haven’t heard her spout any “oohs” and “aahs” at the sights around us. I wish her frog was here; maybe he’d be able to give me some kind of clue as to what she’s thinking.
Suddenly, she gives me a sideways glance before stopping completely in the middle of the street. She raises her gaze to me and declares, “I’m not going back. To Mother.”
She’s not?
“You’re not?”
She shakes her head defiantly and crosses her arms. “No. I’m not.”
On one hand, I’m proud of Blondie. A person like her shouldn’t be locked away in a tower. On the other hand, I wonder how I’m going to get my satchel back.
What can I say? Flynn Rider habits die hard.
“What are you going to do then?” I ask, half-hoping and half-dreading that her plans include me.
She shrugs as we turn a corner. Apparently, the excitement of the morning has slowed down her pace. She seems content to read every sign we pass and look through each window we walk by. “I could live here, couldn’t I? I know how to paint and play guitar and bake and sew-”
Frowning, I realize she could move here. The town was friendly and kind, much like Blondie herself. There would no doubt someone would take her in until she was able to support herself.
It would be good for her. It would be good for her frog.
Then why wasn’t I happy for her?
I must have my very un-Flynn-Rider look of panic on my face behind she gently places her other hand on my arm. “You could stay with us, Eugene. You could-”
“Sorry, Blondie,” I reply, pulling my arm away. “The castle gates is not the place for a wanted criminal to live.”
I watch her pretty -where did that word come from? -mouth turn downward for a second. Then, as quick as it came, the frown vanishes and is replaced with a wide grin. “I know! I could cook at The Snuggly Ducking! Then Hookhand could have time to practice playing the piano so he can live out his dream.”
She looks at me hopefully. She actually thinks her plan is feasible. “You could stay there, couldn’t you? It’s not in the castle gates and the other ruffians would hide you if the royal guards did come looking for you.”
I shake my head. Didn’t she realize that Flynn Rider didn’t settle anywhere with anyone? “I don’t think it would work like that, Blondie. Besides, it doesn’t exactly fit into my gallivanting through the forest way of life,” I answer, desperate for a change of subjects. My voice is firm, but my resolve is weak. If Blondie asks me directly to stay with her, I would find some way to do it, I realize with a wave of panic.
I’m starting to realize there is something magical about Blondie and it has absolutely nothing to do with that hair of hers.
“Then, I could come with you on your adventures,” she offers. “I wouldn’t be a bother. In fact, I could help you! My hair seemed to be useful in escaping the guards yesterday.”
An unexpected surge of anger runs through me. Had that “mother” convinced her that the only value she had was in her hair? That without it she had no real value? Because that wasn’t farther from the truth.
Whoa, slow down there, Eugene, I tell myself as I feel my blood pressure rise. We’re getting awfully defensive about Blondie, aren’t we?
“Let’s talk about it later,” I suggest as I finally see a useful distraction at the end of the street. We make our way to where a dozen or so kids are drawing on the ground.
Blondie puts a hand on my chest, preventing us from moving forward. “What are they using to draw?”
Now I might have been in a daze up in that tower of hers, but I didn’t miss all the drawings that covered practically every inch of the walls. But, apparently, she has never been introduced to anything outside of paint. “It’s called chalk. Rather messy if you ask me. Gets on her hands and arms--”
“Can you get me some?”
This is the first request she has specifically made for me to actually get her something. It is clear that whatever else she may be--reptile communicator, horse negotiator, thief reformer--she is an artist at heart. I look for some kind of shop that sells supplies, but I come up with nothing. Hiding my disappointment (something which I didn’t want to acknowledge even to myself), I shrug. “You caught me on an off-day, Blondie. I’m fresh out of chalk.”
Just then, a little girl who had no doubt been listening to our exchange, walks up to Blondie and tugs on her hand. “I have some extra. Wanna draw with me?”
“Oh of course!” The two of them scamper several feet away. The child’s mother smiles at me. I return the gesture with some sort of odd mixture of a grimace and a grin. Feeling people’s kindness is something I am not accustomed to.
Blondie kneels next to the girl who is talking animatedly about her drawing which is some kind of rainbow bunny that she claims is her pet . Blondie tells her how Pascal can change his colors which delights the child to no end.
Seriously, this kingdom is made for Blondie. The townspeople’s kindness and friendliness permeates the air. Flynn Rider so does not belong here.
But, I admit with much reluctance, Eugene Fitzherbert could fit in. Even come to enjoy it here in Corona.
I am considering --just considering, mind you-- the idea that somehow I would be able to join Blondie and her frog in their ideal life in the city when Blondie suddenly holds out the flag for me to grab. I take it from her, wondering what she has planned.
“Can you hold this out so I can see it as I draw?” she requests.
I do as she asks without any retort; I’m still not quite ready to abandon my un-Flynn-like daydream of domesticated bliss.
As I hold the flag taut, I let my mind wander. We wouldn’t be able to live in the main city, of course. But there has to be a cabin in the forest that we can stay at. Blondie could travel into town to do whatever she wants.
Me?
I’ll probably have to babysit the frog.
I’m pretty sure Rapunzel could convince Maximus not to turn me into the authorities, especially if she bribes him with a steady supply of apples.
Before I can continue my daydream, a sick feeling seeps into my stomach as I realize what I just did.
I called her Rapunzel.
This is not good.
As if she has some sense tied to my well-being, she glances from her position and looks at me, concerned. “Is everything alright?”
“I’m fine, Blondie. Really.” I flash a Flynn Rider smile in for good measure.
She doesn’t seem entirely convinced, but she goes back to drawing. Almost immediately, I am distracted by her artistic skills. With broad strokes, she draws the outline of the sun. When I lift my gaze, I notice she has an attentive audience.
She, however, seems unaware of the attention she is receiving. Probably because she has never had that happen before, living in a tower and everything. She continues sketching the enormous shape, stopping every couple of minutes to make sure everything is in proportion.
Once she is finished with the sun (which takes a while as my tired arms can attest to), she asks the little girl if she can borrow the purple chalks. Of course, in this kingdom of near-perfect people, the little girl doesn’t hesitate in giving Blondie nearly a half-dozen options for her to choose from.
I watch as Blondie’s gaze roams around. Within seconds, she finds what she is looking for. A couple who is sitting rather close to each other is kneeling by the fountain. As they lean it for a kiss, I turn back to Blondie. She blinks slowly, taking in their actions.
I swear she casts a glance briefly in my direction.
Then, she starts drawing.
I’m pretty sure she has some kind of magical ability to remember everything exactly the way it looks because when she finishes the drawing, it looks exactly like the lovebirds we saw earlier. Well, if they were purple, anyway.
She does this three more times: examines the crowd for inspiration, makes a mental picture and then draws it out for the kingdom to see. Her subjects are as varied as a the kingdom: a group of children are in one frame, a mother with a stroller dragging along a child in another, and an elderly couple looking in happy in love occupied yet another.
She looks at a young family --a woman with her husband and their new little ones -- curiously. Her head cocks to the side and she just watches them. This is different than the other time she studies her subjects. She moves to stand next to me and stands on her toes, bringing her lips close to my ear.
I would like to say that I heard every word she said, but the only thing I managed to focus on was the feel of her warm breath tickling my ear.
“Eugene?”
“Er, sorry, Blondie,” I say, clearing my throat. “I didn’t catch what you said.”
“I asked why that man was with the mother and her children.”
“He probably got off work early to celebrate the festival with his family,” I answer.
“But who is he?”
Suddenly Blondie’s question makes sense to me. Her father must have died when she was young. “He is their father.”
She blinks.
“You know, like a mother, but just in male form.”
“Oh! A father!” Her eyes light up at the idea. Then she goes back to drawing.
She draws the family in detail and finds another one to sketch. Just when I think she’s done, Blondie surprises me by drawing this loopy, flowery sun shape that frames her entire creation. By now, her arms are entire covered in chalk, but I know she doesn’t mind. She makes one last final arch and pulls herself back so she can look at what she has created.
She stands up and does her best to push the hair out of her eyes without getting chalk on her face. I look at her masterpiece with a mixture of pride and admiration.
It is amazing.
I raised my eyebrow slightly as she steps back towards me. The little flag that starting the whole thing is still in my hand.
“Well, Blondie, I know now who painted all those pictures in that tower,” I say.
She turns to me and smiles. “Do you like it?”
When she reached up to move her hair, she must have accidentally touched her face because there is a smear of purple on the side of her nose. I reach out and dust off the chalk from her face. “I think it’s great.”
She gives me a look that causes my heart to beat wildly. If I didn’t know any better, I would think that I am becoming quite smitten with Blondie. “Thank you.”
I clear my throat, suddenly uncomfortable with the intense look she is giving me. “We should, um, probably get you washed up,” I say, nodding towards her chalk-covered hands.
She looks at them, almost surprised at their appearance. “Of course!” Before we leave, she finds her three-foot friend and embraces her carefully. “Thank you so much!”
She straightens up and follows me as I look for somewhere where Blondie can clean her hands. Maybe Max would offer to help. The idea of his pristine white coat being tarnished with bright purple chalk amuses me to no end.
Blondie picks up on my evil grin and gives me a suspicious look. “Eugene?”
I wave off her question as a woman approaches us. “Here, my dear.” She holds out a small piece cloth for Blondie to use.
With a grateful smile and a sincere thanks, Blondie takes the small tea towel and attempts to clean her hands.
“Your drawing is quite amazing,” the woman praises.
Blondie blushes slightly. It seems as though her mother isn’t too heavy handed in the flattery department. She gives a sheepish shrug. “I just drew what I saw.”
“You have a wonderful talent,” the woman assures her as Blondie hands back her rag. She looks at me. “Doesn’t she?”
Suddenly, both of them are looking at me. The stranger has an encouraging smile on her face and Rapunzel is giving me that big, hopeful look like she did at the campfire last night. Unlike then, I find myself with nowhere to escape, quite the embarrassment for a seasoned thief let me tell you.
“You did an amazing job, Blondie. Really.”
Blondie’s entire face brightens at my complement. “Thank you, Eugene!” She flings her arms around me and I find myself encircling her without thinking.
The woman gives me a knowing wink and walks away. I just wish I knew what she thought she knew. Right now, I’m feeling rather confused about the entire subject of Blondie myself.
Blondie pulls away first --I am too dumbfounded by her open display of gratitude to do anything other than stand there with my moth agape-- and asks, “What are we going to do next?”
I pull my thoughts together. There will be time to think about just how good she felt later. Much later. I nod towards the area of the kingdom we went to in the morning. “Everyone deserves a special treat to eat on their birthday.”
She turns her head slightly in confusion, but she follows my lead as I walk down the road. “Is this place like the Snuggly Duckling?”
“This place is nothing like there, I promise.”
She surprises me by seeming to be almost disappointed at that revelation.
No, there were no ruffians or thugs at this place. Just mouth-watering pastries and coffee. Oh yeah, I could definitely handle a cup of java after the past twenty-four hours. Though the idea of Blondie having caffeine is enough to make me nervous. She seems to have enough energy for the entire village. Maybe I’ll introduce her to coffee another day.
We walk to the area where the little girls had braided her hair. Instead of going to the right as we had earlier, I steer her to the left. A large building with delicious smells is before us: Gusto’s Bakery. I gesture for her to walk inside the shop.
She doesn’t even take two steps inside before spinning around with a stunned look on her face. Somehow I knew she would have a sweet tooth. “Eugene,” she whispers excitedly, “look at all of this!”
Dozens of pastries, cupcakes and pies are on the shelves behind the large counter where a plump man is working. I smile at her. “Everything here is good.” I raise my voice slightly. “Isn’t it, Gusto?”
He looks up from his work and scowls. Well, it’s nice to know that his feelings for me haven’t changed since I last saw him. “Flynn Rider.” His greeting is accompanied by a stern look. “I hear you’re in trouble with the guards again.”
He doesn’t seem too impressed with the rumors that are circulating around Corona. That’s too bad really. Some of them are really quite entertaining.
Before he starts telling me what he really thinks about me and my illegal activities, he notices Blondie standing there with her amazed look on her face. All traces of anger vanish from his face and he gives her a wide, friendly smile. “But, where are my manners? Welcome to Gusto’s Bakery, my dear. This man isn’t giving you any trouble, is he?”
I tense for a second, imagining Blondie in all of her wide-eyed innocence telling Gusto that “Eugene” is a perfect gentleman and she is perfectly safe in his company.
I shudder at the thought.
My fear, however, is unwarranted.
“Who? Flynn?” Though it seems strange for her to use my alias, I relax as I realize that she’s willing to keep my fake reputation in place. She shakes her head. “You don’t have to worry about me. I’ve got a frying pan nearby to keep him in line.”
Though Gusto has no idea what she’s talking about, he seems amused that Flynn Rider has apparently found his match. He laughs heartily. “I like her already, Rider. What can I get the two of you?”
“I don’t know,” Blondie says, looking worried. “There are so many thing to choose from. Mother and I don’t have much in the--”
This is really not the place to be discussing her place of exile. “House,” I quickly interrupt.
Her eyes widen as she realizes her near-slip. “Oh, right! The house.”
“About a couple of cupcakes?” I suggest. “Perfect for celebrating a birthday.”
She nods as Gusto brings out a tray of the sugary sweets. Cupcakes covered in blue, green, pink and white icing are presented before us. Blondie picks out a pink one for herself and I choose the cupcake with the vanilla frosting.
“That will be twenty-two duits,” Gusto says after he comes back from replacing the tray.
I cough and sputter. Twenty-two duits? They should buy me the entire tray of cupcakes! “Did you say twenty-two duits?”
Gusto crosses his arms. He is absolutely serious. “That’s to make up for the muffins you stole from me the last time. Plus interest!”
“Oh come on!” I grumble. “I was hungry! You don’t want a poor kid to go hungry, do you?”
He is unmoved by my attempt to guilt him into changing his mind. “That might have worked when you were a lad, but you are a grown man now! Thieving is unacceptable.” He shoots a look at Blondie. “You don’t want your lady friend to get into trouble because of your unsavory habit, do you?”
I glower at him. That was low to pull Blondie into the conversation, even for him. I pull out the proper amount of coins. “Twenty-two duits.”
A smug, satisfied smile spreads over his lips. “Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Rider.” I always knew Gusto was a talented baker, I just never knew he made such a crafty businessman as well.
Less than a minute later, our hands are full of cupcake goodness as Gusto reminds Blondie not to go far from her frying pan.
As we walk outside to the high-back chairs and small tables, I glance back inside where Gusto is animatedly talking to his wife. Probably about Blondie and her unique method to “keep me in line” and the fact he pushed me to pay that ridiculous amount for two cupcakes.
I set down my cupcake on the table furthest from the window. I’m not planning on giving Gusto any more ammunition.
“Is everyone here so nice?” she asks.
Is she kidding me? She thinks Gusto is nice. Well, I guess he was kind to her. “Sure, as long as you’re not a wanted criminal,” I respond dryly.
“Did you really steal from him?” she asks quietly. “He seems so friendly!”
I shrug, not really wanting to talk about it. “I was hungry.” The truth was, I wasn’t. It had just been a few days since I had the opportunity to...acquire something that wasn’t my own and the muffins called to me as I was evading Corona’s finest. But, I don’t think Blondie would appreciate what really happened.
“That’s terrible, Eugene! Why didn’t--”
To my shock and horror, two royal guards suddenly turn the corner. Without thinking, I grab Blondie and pull her under the table, hiding us behind the cloth. “What are you doing?” she hisses.
“Unless you want to be watching the lanterns from a jail cell, don’t say a word! There are two guards that are coming this way,” I whisper.
Her eyes widen in horror at the thought. She clamps her hands over her mouth for good measure.
All right, Rider, how do you get out of this mess?
I can see the guards’ boots from the sliver of ground I can see from under the tablecloth. They are close. Too close. I subconsciously hold my breath as they take a step in our direction.
“If they find me, you need to run,” I instruct, my voice barely audible. “They won’t follow you.”
She shakes her head and removes her hand from her mouth. “I’m not leaving you, Eugene,” she whispers. Tears are starting to form in her eyes.
I knew she was going to say that. “Listen, Blondie, you’re going to have to trust me. Go and find Max. He’ll be able to take you somewhere safe. I should be able to lose the guards.”
I hope.
She swallows thickly as they guards take another step towards us. “I can’t,” she admits brokenly. “I can’t leave you.” She draws herself up slightly. “I won’t.”
The entire situation is quite endearing when I think about it: a wanted criminal urges the only person in the world who likes him for who he really is to flee from the law but she refuses to leave his side.
“All right,” I acquiesce. “If they find us, we’ll go back to the sea wall where we had lunch. We should be safe there.”
She nods, looking far more braver than I feel.
Just as I am accepting my fate of making Blondie a fugitive, an unexpected savior speaks.
Gusto.
“Alder! Hans! Got stuck with doing patrol today, eh?”
To my astonishment, their booted feet start moving away from our hiding spot towards the front door of the bakery. Oh, those twnety-two duits were well-spent, I think.
Now that they are distracted, I tilt my head sideways, silently telling Blondie to follow me. She carefully grabs our cupcakes --which somehow survived our quick dash under the table--and we sneak from under the table to the intersection down the main road.
I know we’re not in the clear; Gusto won’t be able to distract them for long. I scan the area for somewhere we can hide until the soldiers pass by.
There!
On the corner of one of the smaller side streets, I see a small archway that will allow us to tuck away, out of sight from the guards. “This way.” I guide her through the throngs of people, hoping we don’t seem too suspicious. She follows me without hesitation and we step into the arch not a moment too soon.
“Here,” she says, handing me my cupcake.
The unmistakable sound of the soldiers’ boots booming off the cobblestone is approaching us. But, as I expected, they make a left turn towards the city center and away from us.
We did it. We managed to elude the guards.
I let out a sigh of relief and give Blondie a sincere smile. She grins back at me.
“Come on,” I say, stepping out of the shadows. “Let’s find some place to go eat these.”
We decide the safest place to devour out treats is back where we came, knowing the guards were unlikely to return to the bakery. I don’t even have a chance to sit down before Gusto comes out wearing a rather pleased look on his face.
“Do you have something you want to say to me?”
Look, I know he just helped us from escaping a potentially bad situation, but I find myself having trouble forming the words of thanks. Flynn Rider doesn’t need people to help him flee from the law.
Or, at least he didn’t. Not before yesterday.
“Thank you,” I mutter.
“What was that?” He holds his hand up to his ear. He is enjoying this far too much.
“You heard me.”
He lets out a loud belly-laugh. I swear, if he hadn’t just helped us, I would have some choice words for him. Instead I roll my eyes. “Are you done yet?”
He nods and I feel myself relax. “Though I make no promises if they come back.” Gusto studies me for a second. “I don’t know what you did, Rider, but you’ve gotten them pretty upset.”
“It’s part of my charm.” I lean back in the chair and cross my arms.
This time it’s his time to roll his eyes. “You know, you didn’t have to go down this path. Your apprenticeship with Mr. Popper was all but certain.”
I notice Blondie watching our exchange with unconcealed interest. She already knows too much of my back story for my liking.
I shrug. “This seems like the better option.”
Gusto looks pointedly at Blondie for a second. “Are you still sure about that?”
I don’t have an answer for him.
Finally, he turns to Blondie. “I apologize for my lack of manners, my dear. I’ll let you enjoy your dessert with your friend.” He walks back inside the bakery.
She’s about the open her mouth, not doubt full of questions about what Gusto just said when I cut her off. “No more back story. Let’s just enjoy the cupcake.”
Maybe she knows how Gusto’s comments bothered me because she doesn’t press the issue. Instead she starts carefully unwrapping the paper from around the bottom of the cake. “It looks delicious!” As if she is unsure about the icing, she carefully sticks her tongue out and tastes the sugary coating.
“It tastes even better!”
As if by magic, all gloom that threatened to overtake me by thoughts of my past fades away. If I had taken that apprenticeship then there is no way I would have ever stumbled onto Blondie’s tower. So, I have to say, I’m pretty happy with the decisions that I have made in my life so far.
“Yeah, Gusto is the best baker for a hundred miles.” I take a bite out of the spongy cake.
“Yum!” she squeals before taking a bite of her own cupcake.
Let me just tell you, Blondie is a very enthusiastic eater when it comes to sweets. I’m pretty sure I enjoyed watching her eat the cupcake as she did tasting it.
“Do you think he’ll give me the recipe? I’m a pretty good baker.”
Despite my improved mood, I’m not ready from anymore time with Gusto. “We’ll come back later.” Well, if later means never, anyway.
“All right,” she agrees.
Part 4