Boots in a Flowerbed

6. Invitation

On one side of the hedge, afternoon traffic is swarming past. Countless pairs of feet, carriages rumbling, iron-shod hooves, squeaking wheels, pattering, rolling, snorting, talking, breathing. The capitol is a busy city.

On the other side, just a couple feet from the crowded sidewalk, a deep concentrated peace reigns. The casual glances of passers-by don't distract a dark-haired boy in his slightly soiled uniform of a pleasant, earthly green, cuffs and collar trimmed with black. He's absorbed in his task, trying to decide whether or not he should shave off just a little bit more from the inside of the hedge. He doesn't even see the flow of the traffic. Or so he would claim.

But when a flash of something that looks like a storm cloud touches the corners of his vision, his feet start walking before any conscious thought crosses his mind. His heart begins to beat faster and he rushes, almost runs to the gate. He opens it and steps onto the street, eyes eagerly searching, one hand still on the gate. And when the horse trots smartly from around the slight bend towards him, he smiles.

This is not the same horse, though, that he can see at once. This is a mare, a little daintier in build, its legs and chiseled head slightly lighter in color than he remembers, her body of the same magical foggy blue. His gaze follows her fluid movement, and only when the horse pulls to the side of the street and stops, neck arching, only then does he realize what he's done. His face flushes hot, but he can't run away any more. He's standing on the sidewalk as if waiting.

"Good afternoon!" The man, flashy this time in a deep blue jacket and blindingly white slacks, leans on one elbow on the side of his polished cabriolet and smiles.

He mumbles something, cheeks burning. The man's eyes glitter, their corners crease.

"This is another of my Royal Blues. Pretty, isn't she?"

He has to agree, she truly is pretty. He steps shyly closer and strokes the mare's neck, breathes in the warm scent. She nibbles the hem of his jacket with her velvety lips, then shoves him in protest when no treats are forthcoming. He laughs at her and hears a chuckle from the man.

"You love horses."

He closes his eyes and nods.

"Well, you're a 'Demieni, so I guess you would... Say, would you like to go for a drive with me, one of these days?"

He looks sharply up, suspicious, and his throat goes dry at the mere thought. Such an enticing suggestion... A drive? Alone? Where to?

"We could even go with a twosome," the man says. "Take a picnic hamper and drive somewhere out of the city. What do you say?"

He knows it's madness. What does the man have in mind? He hasn't been around the city much, and its surroundings are as unknown to him as any wilderness of the north. A few minutes' drive, and he wouldn't probably even find his way back home alone. To go alone with the man who's been stalking him, who's a lot bigger than he, albeit that his body is work-hardened and stronger than it looks. Saying yes would be courting big trouble. He resolutely lifts his chin and looks into warm brown eyes.

"I'd love to." All right, it's madness, but the thought of driving along sandy roads lined by tall trees, looking at the steady sway of such horses' backs in front of him, it has a lure that he cannot resist.

The uncertainty and hopeful resignation on the man's face morphs into a smile. "Agreed, then? When could you go, on Sunday perhaps?"

He nods, so eagerly that it makes him blush again in shame.

"One o'clock, is that all right?"

"Yes," he whispers. "One o'clock is fine."

"Where shall we meet?" The man cocks his head. "I'll pick you up anywhere, just name the place."

"Next to Council Park?" he suggests cautiously, and the man nods.

"Council park, next Sunday at one P.M..." The man winks and salutes playfully with the handle of his driving whip. "It's a deal. I'll bring the hamper!"

The boy blinks as he looks after the cabriolet, finally becoming conscious of curious eyes. Hurriedly he retreats back into park, behind the sturdy hedge, and tries to slow down his breathing.

Sunday is four days away. He doesn't want to think how many people have passed them by, how many people have seen a park service worker pet the neck of a rich man's horse with his scratched hands and agree to go on a drive with the man on Sunday.

Four days. He clenches his jaws together to stop his teeth from chattering despite the warm sunshine. It's all right, he decides. He can just choose not to go there on Sunday, and that will be it. The man doesn't know where he lives, and when he's working there are always loads of people around. He's safe.

He is also thrilled.