Our house is located on the edge of the village. Tavenport is a coastal town, surrounded on three sides by forested mountains and a sea on the fourth. That makes our backyard essentially an endless playground for exploration, which I spend a good deal of my free time doing.

The town hall is located about a mile away, in the center of the village. Following the coastline is the quickest way there, and it is by this route that I’m skipping along, humming a tune whose name I’ve long since forgotten. To my right, I can see the sun rising over the horizon.

As I pass by the port, several of the fisherman call out to me.

“Sammy, hard at work already I see!” one of them yells. I recognize it as Roger, a gruff man in his forties. He teaches me curses when he thinks no one’s looking. His daughter, Becka, plays on the makeshift soccer team I organized. She has a mean push kick.

I wave back. “Good shit, Roger!”

“Attaboy!” Roger laughs, and I see him slap his knee.

Past the port, and I’m into the core of the village. You can think of it as the “downtown”. It’s where all the shops and smitheries are located. Rows of tall wooden buildings line streets of cobble, reminiscent of medieval Europe. Some of the stores are just starting to open, their keepers rushing about to prepare for the day. One of them pauses long enough to greet me. It’s Wendy, the owner of the local bakery. She gives me a wave, gesturing me over.

“Ho, young Becker, on a quest are ye?” she asks. Becker is my father’s surname, hence why she calls me “young Becker”.

I nod, holding up the package for her to see. “For Daddy.”

“Yer a good lad,” Wendy says, “Hold here, stay a bit.” I see her disappear into the store, returning a minute later with something in her hand. It’s cornbread, fresh and still warm. She hands one piece to me, then tucks the other into the box I’m carrying. “Fer yer father. Tell Mister Becker he works too hard, ho ho! Now, on yer way. I best be getting busy too!”

I nod with a smile, then skip along the cobblestone road down Main Street. I get about halfway to my destination before I’m again stopped, this time by a group of old ladies. They usher me over to their table, upon which I see a game of cards being played, similar to dominos. “Sammy, come join us for a bit,” one of the grannies calls. Agnes, I think her name was.

I shake my head, raising the box in my hands. “I’m on a quest,” I reply, swinging my free arm around like a sword. This draws a laugh from the crowd.

“Look at ‘im, just like his father! I remember when Tommy first set out from the village, said he was going to be an adventurer. Came back not a week later, covered in mud, flat broke, tail between his legs. His father gave him a stern talking to, he did, made him clean the stables for a month straight.”

“Ha! I remember that well! But look at the youngster now! Thanks to our village, he’s grown to be strong enough to serve the king himself! Brought home a beauty too!”

“Bit odd she is though. Don’t give me that look, Phillis, when I know you think the same.”

“Bet she’s from overseas. Aint no girl from these parts like that, I reckon.”

“You’re right, Betty. Now that I think on it, Tommy’s never told, has he? Where the lass be from?”

“Peculiar, indeed. We’ll just have to-”

“Nevermind that, you lot. I’m more concerned that he do something about these fishing laws. You know Roger, from the docks? Well, he tells me-”

“Good lord, there you go again about those fishing laws, Agnes. You ain’t even got a fishing pole. What you care about how fishing lots are drawn?”

“All I’m saying is that Tommy should use his relationship with the king to beseech on behalf of the village. After all, we practically raised him. He owes us that gratitude. Isn’t that how these things work? You’ll tell him, right, Sammy? You’ll tell your father for us?”

“Oh, good lord, Agnes. Leave the poor boy alone. Now, there, there, Sammy, off on your way you be! Say hello to your father for us.”

I give a polite nod, then set off once more. This time, I manage to reach the town hall without any further delays. The building itself stands alone in a large plaza. Up the stone steps, past the double wooden doors, and I find myself in a large foyer. There are several people scattered around, going about various clerical duties. One of them looks up when he hears me enter.

“Ah, Samuel, looking for your father, I presume?” the bespectacled, bald man asks. His name is Norman, an accountant in charge of the food stockpiles. When he sees me nod, he points a finger to the eastern hallway. “He’s in the mayoral study. Up the stairs, second door on the right. I trust you can find your way?”

I nod, following the directions to a long hallway on the second floor. As I approach the indicated room, I find that the door is ajar. I push through, entering the study. “Daddy?” I call out. A quick scan around, however, shows that the place is empty. I must have just missed him. Deciding to wait, I set about exploring the room. On the left hand side is an oak desk, upon which sits stacks and stacks of papers. They appear to be requests from the townsfolk on various projects, waiting for approval or rejection. Front and center is a large window. When I peer out, I can see the plaza below. Finally is the right side, and this is where my attention is drawn, for all along the wall are rows of bookshelves, filled with leatherbound titles of various lengths. It is a rare sight to see because most commoners are illiterate, hence they have no use for books. For myself, I only have a basic grasp of the language, which I suppose suits my age. After all, a fully eloquent, literate five-year-old might seem… odd, to some.

I approach the nearest bookshelf, scanning the titles. One in particular catches my eye. It’s a fat one, with red leather, sitting on the fourth shelf from the bottom. When I go to reach for it though, I find my fingers only just barely skim the spine. I try jumping, once, twice. On the third attempt, I manage to pull it loose, along with a bunch of other ones as well. A dozen or so books fall on me, knocking me to the ground with a thud.

“Ow! Ow!” I cry out, more from surprise than pain, as I rub the top of my head. Then scanning the pile of fallen books, I find the one I’m looking for. The title reads, “An Introduction to Magic.”