“I want you to watch my stand from further down the market,” he told the boy. “Somewhere I can see you clearly from. If you see me hand someone a pouch, whisper in their ear, and point at you, start watching them instead.

“Keep your distance, but don’t try to hide. It’s okay if they see you. Don’t let them get too close to you though.”

“Mhm,” the boy nodded his head.

“When they leave town, watch them from the edge of the village until you can’t see them anymore. After that, I want you to come to me and tell me which way that they went. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir.”

— — — — — — — —

With the minstrel’s confirmation, the part of the crowd that had kidnapped me cheered.

“And not just any Jack,” the minstrel added, “But the king himself!”

“Woo!” The whole crowd joined in to cheer for that one.

“Now, I knew I’d found the right people for the job when I picked this crowd, but I didn’t know you’d all be this good. But hold on…” he gave me a quick look up and down. “He’s looking a bit young.” He walked around me in a funny way, then held up my sleeve. “Looks a bit slim too.” That got a couple laughs from the crowd.

“Yeah, definitely a bit too slim,” the minstrel said with a scrunched up face. “But have no fear folks, we’ll be turning this commoner to king in no time with these—” he paused. With a flick of his wrist at his waist, he made a pouch appear within his hand. “Magic beans!”

He received a few oohs and aahs along with the crowd’s applause for that magic trick. Magic actually existed in this world, so I wouldn’t be surprised if quite a few of them mistook his sleight of hand for the actual thing.

“Here you are. Magic beans for your cow,” he said, placing the beans in my hand. “Grow ‘em. Don’t eat ‘em.”

I let him take the cow’s rope from me so that I wouldn’t cause a scene.

“I’m sure we’ll be seeing a giant beanstalk out of you in no time,” he said, stepping to the side.

“Well, now that you’ve all found yourselves a Jack, I guess I should get to doing my job then too, huh?” The minstrel darted his head back and forth with a sneaking pose like he was looking for something. “Here, hold this.” He handed the cow’s rope back to me before it could get in the way, then walked around the cow while he crouched. “Now if I could only find my Jack…”

As he said that, two men emerged from the crowd. The first was a man wearing a wooden dog mask while the second was some good looking guy they had probably chosen from the crowd. I guessed as much since that awkward smile of his wasn’t exactly giving off the air of a veteran performer.

The minstrel poked his head out from behind the cow, pointed his finger towards the two men, and said, “Aha! Get out here you!”

The men stepped forward and the minstrel met them on the other side of the cow. “And what do we have here?” the minstrel said, looking at the man in a dog mask.

“Bark.”

“That’s a pretty big dog you’ve got there,” the minstrel said. “If I were to judge by that, I’d say you’re the Duke of Hounds. Is that right?”

“Yeah, that’s me,” the young man said.

“Duke of Hounds, I’ve heard of the many wonderful deeds you’ve done, riding into battle against the giants on the backs of your three great dogs.”

“Bark,” the dog man flexed his muscles.

“Can you show us all what it looks like when you ride on the back of one of your dogs?” The minstrel gestured for the crowd to egg the young man on and they were more than happy to oblige.

“Uh, sure,” the young man said and the crowd cheered.

“Wonderful, wonderful. Now if your dog could just get on all fours.” The masked man did as the minstrel said and the minstrel took out a stick. “Now, it just so happens, Duke of Hounds, that I’ve been saving a stick for just this sort of occasion. So here’s what I want you to do. I want you to get on top of your dog—”

“Bark.”

“Hound. I want you to get on top of him, give ‘em a nice smack on the bum, and ride him around the circle a couple times. You got it?”

“Yeah.”

“Perfect. Now if you could just get yourself mounted.”

The young man sat on the dog masked man.

“And here’s your stick.”

The young man took the stick.

“Give him a smack.”

The young man smacked the masked man with the stick. The masked man shouted, “Yeow!” threw the young man off of his back, and then went running into the crowd.

That got most of the crowd laughing, including the guy who just got knocked down.

“Your Majesty,” the minstrel addressed me with his face held in his palm, “Can you please help him up?”

I followed his request and gave a hand to our Duke of Hounds. Once he was up, the minstrel grabbed us both by the wrist and raised our hands up. “And there we have it folks, Duke Hounding, Lord Finedhur, and the King himself, all standing in front of you. I’d say, you couldn’t find a show better than this.”

He let our wrists go and gave his lute a quick strum. “I’m sure you’ve all heard of our great deeds as they are told on this side of Arland, but they tell the stories a bit differently east past the mountains. Let me tell you.”

At this point, the minstrel began playing his lute and singing his comedic ballad, so I think this is as good a place as any to explain who exactly these characters are. Jack Finedhur, Lord Finedhur, or Count Finedhur, whichever you prefer, and the Duke of Hounds are two Jacks that ended up joining the king’s army a year into the war when the king declared his decree which was about two and a half years ago.

While Duke Hounding was drafted as a normal recruit, Count Finedhur managed to secure himself a position as a recruiter. As the minstrel told in his performance, Count Finedhur has an exceptional ability for finding talented people and Duke Hounding managed to find and gain control over three huge dogs. The two of them, along with the other prominent Jacks of the war, had become folk heroes around the kingdom with the Jack of Hounds being the most beloved.

As for King Jack himself, he was just as popular if not more popular as a folk hero before he took the throne. Hearing his story didn’t only end up making me more confident in this whole magic bean thing, it made the whole kingdom more confident.

It’s why buying beans from strangers has become associated with gambling. You pay someone way more than you ought to for a handful of beans and hope for the best when you plant them. The more valuable what you trade for the beans is, the more likely they’ll turn out magic. Being a Jack or having a Jack plant them is supposed to increase your chances too.

“Let me tell you folks, they call me Jack Finedhur, but even I couldn’t find a show better than this,” the minstrel said, having finally finished his ballad. “And let me tell you, I couldn’t have asked for a better crowd.” The crowd cheered and he picked up his donation bucket with his free hand. “If you could all spare me a fraction of your kindness and put it in this bucket, I’d really appreciate—”

“There they are, inquisitor!” The man wearing the wooden dog mask made his triumphant return. “Jack, Jack, and Jack,” he pointed at the minstrel, the young man, and I all in turn, “Just like I said. I’ll be taking that reward fit for three widows now, Sir,” he said, then held out his hand.

“Get back, Your Majesty and Milord,” the minstrel said, throwing up his arms in front of the Duke and I as the inquisitor walked into the circle. “I’ll protect you.”

The inquisitor just walked up to us and placed the minstrel’s hands behind his back.

“Hey, what’s going on?” the minstrel said. “I’ve done my proper service for this country, why am I the only one being taken away?”

“Yes, you should be admired for your service, Milord,” the inquisitor said, “But let me ask you a question.”

“What?”

“Have you paid your taxes?”

“Oh boy…”

“Woo!” The dog masked man finally took his mask off, revealing a sweat covered face. “Now, all jokes aside folks, this has turned into a very serious situation.”

“You’re the one who made it serious!” the minstrel said, jumping up and down as the inquisitor led him away.

“Lord Finedhur is going to need your help paying his taxes or he’s going to be spending a very long time in a dungeon,” the sweaty man said. “Anything you can spare goes a long way towards sparing him and feeding me,” he rubbed his belly, “So we’d very much appreciate anything you can give to show your appreciation of the show.”

The performer held out his wooden mask for people to put donations in, then walked around the circle collecting them from the crowd while thanking them. After everything had been collected and most of the crowd had dispersed, the minstrel came back to us with a big smile.

“Good work, everyone,” the minstrel said, “And especially good work to you, Jack.” Whether he meant the other young man or me, he made no attempt to clarify. “For your help, Jack, you can keep the beans and Jack, you can keep that stick.” He turned to the unmasked dog man. “How are we doing on the donations, George?”

“Did good for a village,” George said. He pulled out four coins from his mask and handed them to his partner.

“Then here’s a bonus.” The minstrel split the coins between Jack Hounding and me. “Oh, and don’t forget to take your cow,” he handed me my cow’s lead rope. We both thanked him and with that, our business with him was done.

The little girl who got me roped into all stuck around with her parents to ask if she could get a hug. I wasn’t that upset about her almost giving me a heartache, so I obliged and her parents had the decency to apologize for pulling me away from my business.

After the girl’s family left me, I continued down the road and opened the bag of beans the minstrel had given me. They were all carved from wood and wrapped with dyed yarn. They’d make a nice gift for a kid, but I didn’t think planting them would do me any good.

“If you want the real thing, you’ll have to buy it from me, Jack,” a disinterested voice called out as I left the village square. I turned to the direction of its source and saw a merchant sitting atop his patterned carpet in front of his horse carriage and taking a tally of his inventory. His inventory which consisted only of beans.

“Were you talking to me?” I asked.

“Is there anyone else named Jack here?” the merchant responded. He poured some beans from a large pot onto a cloth and began counting them.

“My name’s Jacob, actually.”

“You should quit with the lies while you’re talking to me,” he said, “It’ll make things much easier.”

“If I’m lying, then what’s the truth?”

“Your name is Jack and you came here to trade your cow for some magic beans,” he said. He picked up the cloth holding the now tallied beans and poured its contents into a mug sized pot.

“The only problem is that my name is Jacob and I came here to sell my cow for coin.”

“Look,” he said, having not looked up at me once so far, “Even if you’ve convinced yourself of a lie, it still doesn’t make it the truth. Telling yourself that you’d actually trade your cow for money was the excuse you gave yourself so that you could come and trade it for my beans.”

Well, with an answer like that, he wasn’t reading my mind. He’d probably bring something up about the Transferred Soul thing if he actually could. Him having the power to read emotions or something like that was still possible, though. His interpretation of things was close enough for it on that spectrum at least. “And what makes you think that I want your beans?” I asked.

He finally looked up from work just to give me a look like I was an idiot. “Have you seen them?”

Of course I saw them. How could I not? If you could call a bean beautiful, then I’d say they were the most beautiful beans I’d ever seen. I might have even mistaken them for jewels if I was standing far enough away.

Beans of light green, sky blue, pale yellow, and dark red sat in his pots, shining, polished, and sparkling. The red ones in particular were in a league of their own. Crimson flashes danced upon their darkened surfaces as if powered by some hidden energy within.

“Yes,” I said. “They stand out.” And they weren’t the only thing standing out. The clothes he wore, from head to toe were patterned with charms. I could tell that they were charms because Mr. Edward had shown me a similar looking charm before that was used to keep the fey away. His carpet had them too.

East or west of the fey border, patterned clothes and carpets like his were expensive. The difference was that such things were necessary for safe travel through the forest covered kingdoms of the east, but not here in the west. In other words, a merchant having such garments in the west meant one of three things: he was from the east, he had done business in the east, or he was rich. Whichever case it was, that meant there was a high likelihood they had encountered magic.

The bean merchant smiled. “So are you just going to stare at them or are you going to buy some?”

“How much?”

“My prices adjust based on what my customers can afford,” he said, returning to his tallying. “What do you have to offer?”

“This bag of magic beans,” I held up the bag the minstrel had gifted me.

The merchant didn’t look up. “How about that cow?”

“I thought you said it was supposed to be based on what you can afford?”

“You can’t afford to give up a cow for magic beans?”

“Fine. How many beans for my cow?”

“Handful of the green ones.”

“Can I get some of the red ones instead?” I’d have traded four or five of the green ones for a red one.

The merchant shook his head. “Too dangerous.”

“Too dangerous? I thought these things were supposed to be growing a giant beanstalk.”

“If that’s what you want.”

“If that’s what I want?”

“Do you want the beans or not?”

Honestly, for a second, I hesitated. Actually giving up a cow for a handful of beans in real life felt insanely dumb. Did the king of this country actually do something that felt this stupid?

“Well?”

“I’ll take them..” I said.

The bean merchant stood up and took out a pouch from his pocket. He untied it, then showed me the shining green beans sitting inside. “Looks good?” he asked. I nodded. Without a word, he got out a rope from his cart, untied my rope from the cow, and handed it to me.

“Hold out your hand,” he said, after taking out one of the beans from the pouch. I held out my freehand and he placed the bean on my palm.

Immediately, I felt the desire to eat it. It wasn’t something so strong that I had to try hard to resist it, but the desire was there.

“You hear the bean’s whisperer?” he asked me.

“Yeah, I think.”

“Don’t listen to it and don't eat them unless you want your cow to have gone to waste. ” He took the bean, put it back in the pouch, then tied the pouch back up.

“Take it,” he said, holding up the bean pouch, then pulled me in as I grabbed it.

“Now, Jack,” he said.

“Jacob.”

“Shut up.” He pulled me in closer and started whispering in my ear. “Now I’m going to need you to listen to me. Whatever you do, don’t, plant, a giant, beanstalk. You’ll die if you do.”