To Tell A Lie: Hua Mulan Retold (ONC 2020)

Prologue

3200 A.Y.

A carriage wobbled slightly as it made its way down the winding path. It was not raining now, but it had been earlier. The grass lining the well-worn road glistened with tiny water droplets. The coachman flicked the reins. Two black shires quickened their paces in front of the carriage. Their footfalls were the only sound to be heard in the clearing.

Glancing towards the nearby forest, the coachman took both reins in one hand. His free hand reached into the pocket of his cloak. He withdrew a pewter pocket watch. The coachman spared only a second to check the time. He grimaced and put the device away. The sun would set soon. His master would not like that. A letter had come a week prior demanding his master return to the capital. The matter must have been quite urgent; his master insisted on leaving the very night the letter had arrived. They were still eight days away now, but only a few hours from an inn where they hoped to lodge for the night. Neither was looking forward to another night on the ground. Well, he would be on the ground; his master would sleep on the carriage seat. As usual.

A twig snapped. The coachman's eyes darted towards the wood. It was not night yet, but he could not make out any shapes or figures among the dark trees. He swallowed. According to his master, rebels patrolled the roads surrounding the nearby village of Gaida. The revolutionaries had grown in numbers and daring since the Kingslayer movement two years before. Townspeople thought they could overthrow the queen, kill her, maybe. It was always the same. They were dissatisfied with their lives and blamed the monarchs for it. The coachman knew the matter was not quite that simple. Some people had legitimate complaints for the royals, but he also knew the kingdom would be in a worse state without them.

He nearly forgot about the strange sound in the following minutes. Nothing more happened, so they continued on their way. Still, he kept the horses at a quick trot. Any faster and his master would be in for an uncomfortable ride. That would simply not do.

The coachman groaned as something snapped beneath the carriage body. He gave the reins a hard tug, forcing the horses to slow. When they stopped, he leapt to the ground and kneeled so he could see beneath the carriage. A few choice words escaped him at the sight of the axel. It had snapped. The coachman massaged his temple. His master would not be pleased. This must have been the crack he had heard earlier. The axel could have cracked a little, then fully once they went over a rock.

Regardless of the cause, he knew he had to explain the matter to his master. His lordship likely wondered what had caused their halting.

Readying his explanation, the coachman grasped the door handle. He yanked it open. It took him a moment to realize the carriage was empty. There was no sign of his master within. The coachman stared, eyes wide. His lordship had been inside an hour before. His master told him to take a particular turn. Then he had retreated back into the carriage. The coachman had no need to check on him. He would have noticed immediately if anyone tried to exit the carriage. He would have heard the door open. He hadn't, though. Somehow, his master was gone.

He stepped inside. Perhaps there was something he had missed. He must be certain before he flew into a panic. If there were anything suspect, if someone thought he was responsible, he might be hung. What could he do to prove his innocence?

The carriage, he found, was not entirely empty. His master's brown leather bag lay against the wall. A gold pocket watch was discarded on the seat. It was open, its time prominently displayed. The coachman ventured further to retrieve the timepiece. As he reached for it, he noticed something on the window. Body trembling, he peered down at the three drops of liquid by the glass. Blood. It was blood.