Vern was in the town square when he heard the crier. “The King? What happened?” The murmurs around him only added to his confusion.
Vern soon gave up, heading instead for the baker’s shop to get bread for his mother.
“What news?” he tried.
“You haven’t heard? The king is dead.”
“But he was no old man.”
The baker shrugged. “Sometimes these things happen, you know. Could be his spirit was sickly, though his body was well. Could be a plot. Could be nothing but a bad wind blown in.”
“What will happen?”
Another shrug. “Ah, someone’ll take over, I suspect. Won’t mean much to folk such as us.”
“Suppose that’s right,” Vern said, gathering his bread and heading home.