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The new theme for this week is, "Hope is a a brandished shield, but the loss of hope is a knife to the heart."

Timotay in Trouble.

Gods, it was tough being apprenticed to such a sour, moth-eaten, old-curmudgeon! Timotay was apprenticed to "Brixis & Mordir-Ring: Printers."

"More like 'Brixis is murdering printers,' " thought Timotay, wending his way through the crowds, every single furrson of them busy on their way to work.

Master Brixis had likely never murdered anyone, except through overworking them til they died.

Now Master Mordir-Ring, on the other hand, was a great Master to apprentice to, especially for a dragon. He had an even temper, didn't play favorites, and was sometimes very generous. Not often, for sure, but when he was generous it was very good for all the workers.

Sure and Now, Timotay was apprenticed to the othr Master. Mordir-Ring's partner, Great Print-Master Brixis, that was a hardship that must be borne with fortitude. Fortitude and hope were all he had at the moment. This was what Timotay had brought to bear against Mr. Brixis, this was the shining adamant Aegis shielding his heart from "That mangy, flea-bitten, pervy, old-curmudgeon," Timotay thought to himself, "Why is Master Brixis such a creepy old pervert?"

The "It was tough being apprenticed," was a bit of an understatement, but Timotay was in a good mood and he felt up to even being generous. He knew that good things would happen, maybe soon! Well, he hoped so, either way he did have it figured out. He'd just wait and give a little nudge -- the pieces would fall into place. His hope was adamant against any problems, his position was secure, firm, and rising.

Mr. Brixis was muttering about a new shipment of parchment and maybe some paper from France,... that is what had been overheard. And that meant that there was a firm and sure contract for a special printing, and who but Timotay could do the best job for such a valuable contract? Of all the apprentices none were good enough to compete against him for that honor.

The immediate future was looking like an exciting job and maybe better pay. And in his mind that raised questions, like; "How many pages would the book have? Hmmmm, maybe they would want multiple copies? Oh! And what kind of binding would it get?" His hopes got him more excited!

If the cover got leaf gold, Mr. Brixis said that Tim could watch the journeymen get their instruction in the application of gold. Sure, he would be allowed to make notes and to look down on the instruction from up in the gallery that ran around the building, watch from high above the work-floor. He would be able to hear everything! But there was a problem, he would not be able to see everything from the gallery. Being nearsighted meant that he could get the registration spot on every time, but it also meant that watching from the gallery, some small things would be a bit blurry. Sure, but still - he'd be able to see most of what was done, and being able to hear everything was going to be a great leg up toward, ... Toward what?

Why, toward being a Journeyman! And at that, the hope that rose his heart, rose further again, things were going very well! "Mr. Brixis was almost ready to make him a Journeyman," he concluded, and that made the young fox smile. He was, it was true, he was Lead Apprentice, and as such probably next to be elevated to Journeyman, ... at least this hope was what made the job good. Maybe he was not Mr. Brixis' favorite, but he certainly was the best type-setter of all the apprentices; that was clear and generally acknowledged. Timotay having acquitted himself so spectacularly on the last print-job it surely meant that this special printing would involve himself! He smiled and put some bounce in his step. Today was starting off very well.

Hmmmm. Hmmmm. Tim rubbed his chin absently, trying to figure the political angles while bouncing up the steps to the workshop. Someone was going to make money and Tim was making his plans to get his share of it. "Ooops! Sorry, I beg your pardon, Good Gentle," Tim said nearly colliding with a patron coming out of the door. He stepped backwards and bowed low, allowing a handsome lion to pass by, saying, "Sorry," again.

Tim could not help notice how the lion was dressed. Dear Greenman! That outfit must cost more than two years salary, ...maybe three! Such boots! That shiny fabric must be what silk is. Tim had never seen silk, but what else might shine like that in the morning sun! Silk! Who could afford that? How odd! The printers couldn't have customers, yet, he hadn't yet heard the Third Bells ring. He couldn't be late, not yet. Oh! If he was early maybe the door would still be locked, catch it quick! He leapt to the top step in a single bound and caught the closing door just before the latch caught. Quick as a fox he slipped in, closing the door gently behind him. Perhaps he'd just seen an early appointment. Hmmmm.... Maybe the new contract! He smiled again, pleased.

The next day, again he tried to be early, and again was rewarded by catching the door as the rich lion came out of the door before the start of commerce. He moved quickly to the first rack on the workroom floor and started sorting type; minding the Ps and Bs from the Ds and Qs in the case. Hearing the boards above him creak, he ventured a, 'hallo?' upwards.

"Ah, ah! Hallo, young Timotay," shouted Mr. Mordir-Ring. Tim scanned the gallery and saw Mr. Mordir-Ring holding a large sheaf of papers, peering over the gallery railing at him. "You are here earlier than just prompt, again! So! Well, good, good! Good morning and well met to you. Hard at work already!" Mordir-Ring grinned and sketched a wave 'Bye' in the air, then went back to, going wherever he was going before being interrupted.

Tim looked back at the pile of type to be sorted, and noticed a half empty type stick, clearly someone had been interrupted while breaking down a block of type, or setting up a block of type, because as he read the type backwards, it was clearly two lines of --wo- woah, ... two lines of a highly pornographic passage.

Printing pornography was a quick death sentence! What with books so very expensive and the penalties for porn so very severe, no printer in his right mind would Dare to print a book with a passage like that in it. Quickly pouring the type out, scrambling the letters, making the sentences illegible, he continued sorting the spilled type. No sooner had he turned back to the task, than the bells rang "Third" and the others came in, Journeymen and then apprentices all in a clump, all fighting to be in place first. Tim had beaten them all. He felt quite smug. His heart at peace.

Except for those two lines of type, which seemed seared into his mind, and suggesting such rude and randy ideas, ideas he'd never heard of, never even dared thought of; he was often forced to adjust his britches during the day.

Being naturally an early riser has many perks; early to the bakery means that you get your pick, and nothing is sold out, yet. The bosses see you are eager, and you look good to prospective employers. It was not a seven-day later that Tim, being early, caught sight of a lion -well dressed- coming out of the printer's. Again he caught the door, and slipped inside, almost certainly the first at work. Someone had left their finished printing unshelved. There, on the front work bench was a stack of books, already wrapped in their sacks and sealed, and being early to work, he carried the stack up to the gallery and started shelving them with others sealed with the same colored tags. Hearing voices, then the slam of the front door alerted Tim that others had arrived.

He was about to 'Hallo' but stopped when he heard one of the Journeymen say, "With the key, you idiot, ... And if you blab, I -Will Kill- You. You know why I have no choice, in that! Right?" Tim sidled silently and peered over the railing. It was the two Journeymen, the huge tiger, Bragge, and the stout badger, Stolle, the lordling wannabes. Like Tim, they also were from poor backgrounds, but they had huge aspirations far above their stations, so that of anyone, that they were involved in mischief was no surprise.

There was some indistinct muttering, and then; "O.K., then look at this plate. There was a silence, then, "And if that doesn't get you hard, check this plate."

"Greenman's Hairy Balls, you guys are skirting the death penalty," Stolle muttered, "Goddess protect us, Green Man preserve us, is that? ... is that? ... unnnh, That is totally kinky. Damn, I'd love to do that and --_ Cern's shiny antlers_, I've never seen anything that hot in my LIFE!! Can I hold it?"

"Sshhhhhh! Shut up! What if that fox is here, already," said Bragge?

Stolle countered, "Oh, Tim? He can keep a secret."

"With your life?

"Oh, shit, this really is death penalty stuff, sure to get us hung. Yeah, you're right. I wouldn't look any better with my neck stretched out like a goose, would I," chuckled Stolle?

It's nothing to joke about, you idiot, it's your LIFE!"

"Yeah, okay, okay, you are not exaggerating. They'd kill us, sure."

"Well, Brixis probably would, the King would for a certainty. If you still want in, I'll show you the text later, I bound them into their covers last night, they should be, uhn, right, .. here."

At this point Tim pulled back. He couldn't move now. He had to wait. HAD to wait, until others arrived. He certainly couldn't go downstairs yet, couldn't let them know he was up in the gallery, that he had heard them, had seen the plates. Couldn't let on he knew. He'd just pretend that he was a late arrival, and hope and pray they fell for that. And a mere five minutes later the bells rang, and in came the others.

At home that night, Tim started to calm down. He sat on his bed and thought about the day's events. He was scared, but not as panicked now that he reviewed the day, and saw that he had almost surely gotten away without Bragge or Stolle suspecting that they had been observed.

The very next morning as Tim was about to test the shop's door for locked or unlocked, it swung open and he fell over backwards, bowled over by the huge lion coming out of the shop. Tim fell down the steps, but scrambled back up on his feet, checking himself for injury. The lion leapt down the stairs, grabbed Timotay by the coat collar and dragged him up the steps like a doll, and into the workshop. Pushing Tim before him he strode up to Mordir-Ring and shoved Tim roughly to the floor. "You! Deal with this! This's the third time he's seen me leaving. Deal with him!"

Mordir-Ring stood over Tim, cowering on the floor. "Oh, I will have him taken care of, Laird Albert." Tim watched as Albert turned on his boot's heel and strode out the door, letting it slam behind him with a bang!

"Well, Fox Timotay," began Mordir-Ring, gently, 'You have finally come to the attention of 'A Personage.' His Lordship will certainly be interested in you now, but I will intervene and save you! Both because I like you and you are the best Apprentice. We can't let him hurt you. He owes me a favor, I'll secure your pardon tomorrow. The safest place for you right now is out of sight, no? Hmmmm, would you be agreeable to hiding in the basement? Just till the cover of night?" Tim's mind was spinning, he had no idea what was going on. He took the offer, nodding his assent. The Master started shuffling toward the offices, with Tim following in his wake. Taking a tall fat candle and lighting it, the Master moved to the side wall of the office. With a blank section of paneling in front of him, Mordir-Ring stopped to pull a ring of keys out of his waistcoat pocket. Selecting a small one he stuck it into a tiny unnoticed hole, and with the squeal of rusty metal the panel squeaked open on its hinges and opened up the stairway down.

At the bottom, Mordir-Ring stepped up to a post and put the candle into a holder with a dusty reflector. "Well, it's not as comfortable as an inn, but for you it just might be an out. Just stay here for couple of hours, hhmmm? I'll be back for you shortly after closing. -- Hmmm, and I'll have some lunch sent down."

Tim stepped up, bowed low and thanked the Master. He turned to look around to start surveying his surroundings. Lots of cobwebs, a few barrels of ink, bolts of cloth, and some old small presses, slathered in grease gone black with age, wedged into corners, awaiting their need.

There was a sudden sharp pain in his head, and the world abandoned his senses.

Tim awoke in total pain... a ringing pain in his head, throbbing pain in his hands and feet, and aching pain in his shoulders, jaws, knees, elbows, and hips. Trying to move informed him greatly as to his situation. He couldn't move his limbs. Sure he could wiggle his fingers and toes, tongue, but that was all that would move. It wasn't pitch black, a few holes in the wall? The ceiling? Something let in a little light so that he could see shapes, but there was almost nothing he could see to inform him of his location. He could be in a basement or an attic. Certainly he was bound and gagged, tied so tightly he couldn't move, or even shift around. He was bound kneeling, with his back against some huge beam or post, with his arms pulled behind the post and tied together. That's why his shoulders hurt so badly. He tried to cry out, but his mouth was too dry and the gag so tight that he could only make a weak, "hunh, hunh," as a call for help. The pain wasn't so bad if he could get his shoulders to shift a little, but raising and lowering them was all the movement he could make. And there he knelt. With these thoughts, Tim realized that his situation was hopeless. And it was like a knife stabbing his heart; the Master wasn't going to save him, but he used Tim's good nature as a lure, Tim was well and truly trapped. And he stayed trapped, and the hours stretched on, and the bells in the City Hall sounded, twelve, then three, then five and six, nine, then twelve again. It was only bearable because he could do nothing but bear it. His throat so dry he coughed, his joints complained when he wasn't sleeping, his pants had dried where he had peed. He needed a bathroom break, soon, or he would shit himself, and thinking of it in this way he chuckled at the graveyard bitterness of it. What did it matter, now? He mumbled a prayer to Cern, then a little later one to the Greenman. One to Pan, and then one to the goddess. He was almost timeless, in the dark, and his time was getting darker.

A loud click sounded, alerting Tim. It was still pitch dark, and with no bells sounding for a long time, it must be very late-- maybe two, or three, maybe later. That must have been the door lock, for someone was shuffling about, coming up a stairwell with a light. Tim just cowered back as far as he could, within the ropes. It might be one of the Masters, a Journeyman; it might be Stolle or worse, Bragge, it could be soldiers. There was no way of guessing and the shutters on the lamp made it impossible to see who might be behind the lamp. The voice gave it away: "Well, young Timotay, we have ourselves quite a problem, don't we?"

Brixis glided over to him and looked down, moving the lantern about, looking at the ropes holding Tim. Then looming over Tim and setting the lamp down, he straightened, pulling out a huge belt knife. Tim let out a rough cry of fear, and started squirming in his bonds and gibbering nonsense into the gag.

"Oh, do shut up, Fox! Be you still! I'm not here to finish you, I'm here to save my business from those morons. You, I'm setting you, free." Shifting his grip on the knife and bending down over Tim, Brixis started making short work of the ropes. Clearly the knife was sharper than any Tim had ever seen, the ropes just fell away freeing his hands and chest first. Tim pulled his hands around in front, and instantly regretted moving them so suddenly. There was no feeling in his hands yet, but his shoulders let him know he had been bound too tightly for too long.

"Your feet should be free now, don't move them quickly, let the blood get to them. When you are sure and steady on your feet, make your way to the office, I'll meet you there. Don't go out onto the street, it's too dangerous. Don't dawdle, there's not time for that, either."

Before long Tim still ached and still felt the pins and needles in his hands and feet, but he was steady enough to navigate the stairs. His paws made their way down the familiar stairs from the gallery, with sure steps. Yes, he wanted so badly to bolt, but only the owners knew how to operate the back door onto the alley, and the front door was surely the most dangerous. The lantern's light grew stronger as he approached the office area. The vault doors were opened wide and at a drafting table set horizontal, sat Master Brixis with an open strong box - counting out stacks of gold and silver coins.

"Come over here, Timotay," began Brixis, "You know that I have always been partial to you, ... Please come here, I want to give you something." Tim knew no such thing but he did slowly step over to stand next to Mr. Brixis.

Great Master-Printer Brixis did not look at Tim, but at the piles of coins. "You work for your whole life, you find good people, talented people," he paused, drew in a huge breath and bit his lip. The way Brixis' face wrinkled up, Tim thought he might burst into rage or maybe burst into tears, but Brixis didn't. He took another deep breath only to sigh sadly and push a stack of silver discs at Tim.

"You build a reputation, your own small empire, only to loose it to those you trusted. Don't trust anyone too much, keep your own close at hand. Here is one hundred, small, in silver. Put it into your pockets -- pay off your debts as you leave." He smiled sadly, "You have worked very hard for me, and, and, ... this," he said, smiling sadly at Tim, "This you earned. This is for you. This is four hundred, in gold and silver: some in small so you can buy food without drawing attention, some in large for bigger purchases, ... or if needed for a bribe," Brixis said, pushing a larger pile of coins to Tim's place at the table. You are the only apprentice that came under suspicion, but I know you, as I know of your innocence. I know those who did this to me. And they will HANG FOR IT!" He banged his enormous fist on the table, rattling the coins and lantern. Then looked sheepish. "Sorry! Here, use this purse. Take it and leave town. I don't care where you go, but you must disappear before tomorrow when the Bells ring Start of Commerce ... I've heard they need printers in Good Honnef, and in Harmsmuth, in almost every profession. Go somewhere and settle in. Use your earnings to buy some new clothes, anything you need. The Greenman Himself, knows a fox so handsome as you will have no trouble finding work, but please find some honest clean work. But be you gone, and tonight, because by the morning's fourth bells, they'll all be in cells, if not already hung or beheaded. The Royals have knowledge of who is behind this, and they believe me innocent. Know that this is not a game, Fox, for you have offended a Prince, know we are in earnest. Tonight. Or..."

"Or what?" Started Tim.

"Or if you'll spend the night with me, I'll take you in my private coach, first light of the morning, ...We could be in Harmsmuth by noon, ..." the Master offered.

"No, thank you. I'll leave tonight, in the dark-- it will be better for me."

You are right there, you handsome young fox, but traveling on paws is hard and dangerous! ... Or, for a night with me, it could be fun, and you could ride to Good Honnef in my coach. It's your choice. Oh, and I'd wait three months before contacting anyone, or telling your parents and family where you are, or they could catch some share of this trouble. I hope this goes only as far as it needs to, for only Mordir-Ring and the journeymen were involved, and only at his urging. As if they needed any prodding." Master Brixis produced another sack and scraped all the rest of the coins into it.

"My carriage is ready, out the back door. Come, it is done, if you won't overnight with me I'll have the driver take you to your quarters after he drops me off, we both have packing to do." Tim wasn't sure about getting into the coach with the Master.

But cimbing into the carriage with half a meg of earnings in his hands, for the first time since being thrown to the floor, his heart was shielded against the pain, he was feeling it -- in his heart.

Feeling the shield of Hope strengthening in his heart...