After crossing the bridge onto the island, Owen bent his way toward the main gates. Sure enough, there were feckless men loitering there. Owen mustered his courage and walked through the gates, feeling a jolt of relief once he had passed them. No man could force him from these grounds. Not even the king.
None of the fountain-men, who were muttering among themselves, paid him any mind. Owen gazed at the tall posts with lamps dangling from hooks high above. There were families walking the inner parks and his heart grew sore at the sight of them. He hungered to see his family again, even from afar, and to calm himself, he reflected on where he would hide first when he returned to his estate.
There was a large reflection pool before the steps leading up to the sanctuary doors, which were open, revealing a sunlit entryway. He stopped at the pool, staring into the placid depths, and saw coins gleaming in the bottom. A fat man sat on the edge of the pool, beefy arms folded. He was tossing crumbs to pigeons pecking near his shoes. Owen watched with fascination as the man deftly sprinkled the crumbs, sometimes this way, sometimes that, and the crowd of feathers moved in response, making clucking and cooing noises all the while. The fat man smiled at their squabbling.
Then suddenly the man lurched to his feet and stomped, causing the birds to flap and flee in a cloud of exploding gray plumage. The sudden motion shocked Owen and his heart hammered frightfully in his chest. The fat man laughed boisterously, clutching his girth as he sat back down. He wiped his eyes a moment, still chuckling to himself, and then dug into a pocket for more crumbs and began sprinkling them again on the paving stones.
Sure enough, pigeons began to return a few moments later, flapping down from the trees where they’d fled. They approached cautiously, heads bobbing, and then the braver ones began to peck at the crumbs. Once they did, the others deemed it safe enough and soon the entire area was thick with fowl again.
The fat man had scraggly brown whiskers along his jowls. His hair was thick and wavy, cropped close to his ears, and he had a sad smile, as if he were bored beyond his wits and tormenting the birds was his only way of entertaining himself.
“They keep coming back,” the fat man said with a tired sigh. He had not looked at Owen, but his voice was pitched just enough to reach the boy’s ears. He had the accent of a foreigner, but his voice was pleasant and he spoke the tongue of the kingdom well. “I can frighten them off a hundred times a day, but they keep coming back for crumbs.” He sighed, resting his bread-throwing hand on his paunch. “They cannot resist their need to eat. And I suppose neither can I. It’s a sad truth. If I were not so lazy, I would walk over to the muffin vendor and get a tasty morsel. Those would provide tantalizing crumbs indeed! But when you haul around this much baggage, lad, even a little walk is a burden.”
Owen stared at the man’s mouth as he talked, watching the way he formed his words. He had a gentle, coaxing voice. Then he glanced at Owen and smiled in a friendly way.
“Here to make a wish, lad?” he asked.
Owen blinked, realizing he was formally being addressed. He nodded sheepishly.
The man pitched his voice lower. “They say that side of the pool brings better luck.” He pointed to the other side of the reflecting pool from where he sat. “But if you really want a wish granted, you must toss a crown into the wisdom fountain inside. The statue of the woman with the spear is the true Lady of the Fountain. She’ll grant your wish. If you have a whole crown.”
“I don’t have a crown,” Owen said.
The man pursed his lips. “Well . . . that can’t be. A lad with such a noble look . . . I thought you’d have a whole bag of crowns. ’Tis a pity. But if your wish is important, that’s where you must make it. Here, I’ll lend you a crown.” He dug through another pouch, humming a little to himself, and pulled out a fat crown. He put it under his thumb and flicked it, sending the coin spinning in the air toward Owen, who caught it without dropping it.
“Well done, lad, well done!” the fat man said.
Owen stared at the crown and saw it was not from Ceredigion. A different language was scrawled on it and it looked nothing like the coins from his realm. He rubbed his fingers over the letters and spelling he couldn’t decipher.
“Can you read it?” the fat man asked, chuckling.
Owen shook his head, turning the coin over in his hand.
“Not many from these parts can. That is called a florin. It’s about the same weight as a crown. I’m Genevese—the lake kingdom. Do you know where that is, lad?”
Owen stared at the man. He had never met a foreigner before. “I’ve seen maps,” he said shyly.