November 17

Word Count: 1712

It was slightly chilly when Mitty awoke. She buried her head further into the pillow and pulled the blanket over her head. Just a few more minutes of sleep in her cocoon of warmth was all she needed to face the day. Sure, it delayed the day, but that was a good thing. She could already smell the lye soap waiting for her to scrub the floors and any other surface that looked dirty.

What day was it anyway? Was it laundry day? Or was it dusting day? It was quite sad that her days were delimited to chores that took up most of her time. Would it be the same if she got herself a husband except she no longer fed and cleaned up after her father and brother?

It must be linen day, Mitty decided as the world began to further invade her sleep. Her blankets were beginning to smell enough to make it uncomfortable enough to break out of the cocoon. It stank strangely of burnt hair and sweat. Had she gotten to close to a fire? Her father would be quite angry with her for ruining a dress. Every bolt he bought for her use and not for customers was money out of his pocket.

The sun was creeping in through her small window. Father liked his breakfast served promptly at sunrise. Mitty was late. Panic pumped the adrenaline through her system and she hopped out of bed and opened her closet doors.

Mitty froze. There was something definitely wrong. For one thing, she wasn't wearing a night gown. And for another thing, she suddenly realized she'd fallen asleep in the forest, miles and miles from home. If she hadn't been wearing the remains of the charred servant dress and the dragon cloth pinned about her waist she would have thought it was just some odd dream.

How had she gotten home? The last thing Mitty remembered was a blinding light that had pressed into her like a knife. She remembered thinking for a moment that she would do anything just to be back in her own bed. And here she was. Except she had no idea how. Where were the others? Did the thing work? Was she a Great Mage? She looked at her tattered clothes. She looked like a homeless crazed waif. Too many questions and not enough answers. No answers, actually.

The door to her father's room creaked open. Mitty had no idea how to deal with the who's how's and why's of last night. She knew how to deal with her father; feed him and send him on his way. That, at least she could do.

Mitty quickly pulled off what was left of her clothes. She unpinned the dragon cloth and folded it up into a square. The cloth could wait until later. She folded it over a hanger and placed another skirt on top of it, hiding it away in her closet. With a hasty pass with a wet cloth, she cleaned the dirt and ash off her face and arms. Mitty slipped expertly into a fresh dress. She grabbed her apron off the handle of the closet and tied it around her waist. Mitty still smelled like dragon smoke. It followed her around. Mitty grabbed a lock of her hair and sniffed. Yes, she would definitely have to wash her hair today after her father and brother left for the shop. She grabbed a ribbon and tied back the mess it had become without bothering to brush it. She took a deep breath and headed out into the kitchen.

She froze. It was a sight she'd never seen before. Her father was cutting his own bread. He'd started a fire and was boiling some water. Never in her life, could Mitty remember her father making his own breakfast. He looked up in her direction and froze as well. The surprise registered on his face as he dropped the knife on the edge of the table. It slid off and tumbled to the floor with a clatter. Her father didn't move.

"Good morning, Father." The kettle started to whistle and she went to remove it from the fire. He blocked her path.

"What are you doing here?" His stern voice was strained and angry. Mitty's hands crumpled the material of her apron.

"I'm sorry I overslept. I was going to fix breakfast."

"What are you doing here?" He shouted.

"I'm back?"

"Back?"

"I would have got back a little sooner, but I'm afraid I got a little lost. It's quite a long story if you'd wish to hear it."

"How dare you come back after you stole from me, you rotten little thief." Her father raised his hand and stepped closer to her.

"I didn't steal anything from you." Mitty backed away.

"You thought he'd keep your little secret, did you? You thought I'd believe the story that he wanted you to tell me. What? Did you and your lover have a falling out? Did you think you could just come back here?"

"I don't have any idea what you're talking about! Please…" Mitty pleaded. Her father had to listen to her. In the back of her mind she knew it was probably too late… he'd decided to hate her, and there was nothing she could do about it. Her father was stubborn.

"Think you're clever? Your brother told me all about how you just gave away my private stock to Sir Dunlap," his eyes bulged red. "Then you and your lover went to steal it back for yourselves. Everyone knows it was you. The gardener saw you. The two of you, celebrating your theft."

Her father grabbed Mitty by the front of her dress and lifted her off her feet. She screamed as he pushed her back, pressing her hard against the door. With one hand, he grabbed the latch and with the other, he grabbed the bulk of her hair. Zaugh opened the door and strode purposefully into the middle of the road.

A crowd of early morning market goers eagerly looked on as he half dragged her through the streets by her hair. When he reached the market square, he thrust her away from him. Mitty fell and skidded several feet into the dirt. The sleeve of her dress ripped and the gravel tore into her arm.

"I believe you've been looking for this," he shouted to the magistrate who had been reviewing the fruit stand. Without so much as a glance back at his daughter, the tailor turned and stomped back to his cottage.

Speechless, Mitty remained on the ground until two merchants picked her up. They held her arms as if she were going to try and run. Did they think she was a criminal?

The jail of Toumat was nice as far as jails went. It had two whole cells that were mostly used for sobering up the local folk who got a little too enthusiastic in their drinking. It had been quite a while since there had been a warranted prisoner and the jailer was quite excited. He was a short man, who on the loss of most of his hair, elected to shave the rest. He was actually a very jolly fellow who immediately had a note run to his wife to inform her that the prisoner would need a meal and perhaps a little care for her skinned arm. Frollee wasted no time in appearing at the jail with a full basket of food, and ordering her husband to set up a table and two chairs inside the jail cell.

"I don't get to cook very often. Most of those drunks aren't sober enough to want anything to eat. I've given up on trying, but you poor girl look like you need a bite to eat." Frollee sat in the jail cell with Mitty, cutting up cheeses and buttering breads. "Not that this isn't simple fare… but it was all I could do on such short notice. What would you life for supper?"

"Thank you. I would be pleased with anything you'd like to fix." Mitty said quietly. She thought back to the meal she'd shared with Malek, eating out of the pan with their fingers. He'd been right about going home. Malek would probably show up just to gloat.

"And such a polite young lady she is too. I'll bet you didn't do it, whatever they think you did." Frollee patted Mitty on the arm.

"Of course she did it, my silly wife," the jailer called from behind his desk. "They never issue warrants for innocent people."

"Well perhaps there's just been a misunderstanding, then," Lollee looked hopefully at Mitty.

"Yes. It all really has been a misunderstanding."

"Good. I should hate to have my husband hang such a polite young woman."

"Hang?" Mitty's heart sank in her chest.

"Yes, the last three warranted prisoners he's had to hang. Dreadful people they were though."

"I'm innocent. Well, I was just doing what I thought…" Frollee smiled encouragingly.

"You see, Lord Dunlap took something from my brother and he told me to get it back. So I went to get it back and ran into a thief, and the thief made me go to sleep and I woke up in the forest and he fed me breakfast and left me to go home. But he came back and we met a nobleman dressed as a brother and a brother, and then we were attacked by dragons, oh and I forgot Pylon, he's my green cat. And then we found the old man in the ring in the forest and the huge dragon the size of the house gave him the key and then I became a Great mage and woke up in my bed. So you see, this has all been a great misunderstanding."

"Oh, definitely. I see it quite clearly now," Frollee smiled and stood up, packing her food as she went. She motioned for her husband to let her out, and locked the door behind her.

"Yes," Frollee whispered to her husband on the way out, "I'm glad you won't have to hang her. She's so polite. But they never hang the crazy ones. They just take them down the road." Frollee clucked her tongue. "La, she thinks she's a Great Mage. Perhaps she can magic herself out of her cell."