by Wade Adrian
She slid closer on the bench and slipped her arm around his.
For the first time in a long time, everything seemed right with the world. Warm, safe, good company… and yet he found himself struggling to stay awake. He leaned forward a bit before jerking his head back up and shaking it.
Mary stood up and pointed at the bedroom.
He shook his head. “Ah, no. I couldn’t mess that up. It’s all neat and tidy. I haven’t had a bath in… a long time.”
Her stance change a bit, her feet planted, her head tilted, her left hand in a fist on her hip, and the right pointing at the bedroom again. Wasn’t hard to read her.
He stood up, his feet a bit shaky. “Fine, fine. But I need to make sure the place is closed up first.” He spoke through a yawn on the last bit. “Fires going and stuff.”
She shook her head and pointed at herself. She could handle it. Her posture hadn’t lightened in the least.
He smiled a bit. “Okay. You clearly know how to see to it. I’ll leave you to it. Thanks again, for everything.”
She nodded, and pointed at the bedroom again.
He held his hands up in mock defeat before wandering into the back room. He kicked off his shoes and sat on the edge of the bed, pondering the wood burning stove. Should he put it out? Nah. It would burn itself out. He shut the door to the front of it, and made sure the vent was open before he sat back down, stifling a yawn.
He hoped Mary made it home alright, the thought was murky and lost in his slipping mind. He had trouble keeping his eyes open… and couldn’t imagine why he should bother trying.
The goddamn birds were right on cue. Ugh. So much for being farther from the coop. Maybe the damned things were free range.
Smith sat up, sleep still holding onto the back of his mind. He felt groggy and rather irritated. Chicken sounded like a great idea for breakfast.
It took him a few moments to realize he had been lying in the bed properly, instead of at the end with his feet on the floor, like he had been when he fell asleep. And his feet were bare.
And Mary was lying in the bed, a pillow and her arm keeping the noise at bay.
Huh. Maybe she wouldn’t argue with a chicken breakfast.
He wiggled his feet out of the bed as he turned, the rug awaiting them was a blessing, but the cold air was noticeable as soon as his bare feet were free of the blankets.
Mary didn’t seem to be in any hurry to get up, though the birds probably weren’t done with their noise either way.
The wood burning stove was down to embers. He got it going again. A small pile of wood was waiting beside the thing. He hadn’t noticed it the night before. He hadn’t noticed there were thick curtains either, but they were hard to miss with tiny bits of daylight hitting them through the closed shutter.
It really did seem quite… homey. It hadn’t sunk in that it was his. He understood it was supposed to be his, but it seemed too nice. Besides, given the extra pairs of shoes lying about and a rod with clothing hanging neatly on it… it seemed more like this was Mary’s place.
He picked up his boots and his socks before he wandered out into the sitting room, carefully shutting the door behind him. It would stay warmer that way, and Mary didn’t seem inclined to get up just yet. He stopped at the bench for a moment, but shook his head and but lurched onward, going down the stairs. His boots would have clunked on the wooden floor and all the way down, so he had carried them and sat on the last step to put them on. The dirt down here wouldn’t make much noise.
There was a walled off room under the bedroom down here. He was pretty sure it was a washroom. He recalled mentioning one. It only took cracking the door to confirm. Mirror, tub, and all. Huh.
Of course, once he was down and had his boots on, he recalled he was supposed to meet up with Timms in the morning. The squirrelly guy had spent a night alone, maybe bugging Morei on his shift, which was most certainly over by now. Best to make sure everything was fine.
He sat on the bottom of the stairs again, took his boots off, wandered up to grab his jacket, and then down to put his boots back on.
Not exactly the best guy at planning so early in the day.
If only coffee was still around.
38
Getting the door to open and close again was a chore. It seemed snow had followed them in last night. He was glad he had shut the bedroom door upstairs.
Trudging to town was simple enough in the daylight, his feet crunching snow beneath all the while. There wasn’t enough snow to hide the worst of the ruts, and his blessed boots kept his ankles in shape even through a few missteps.
Lights were on in the kitchen, but the square was deserted. The fresh sheet of snow only betrayed a few people passing recently.
The guard post atop the gate had a canopy he had never seen before. It must be closed most of the time. He didn’t recognize the people up there, though it was easy enough to pick out their scout uniforms. Most likely some that came in with them.
Lights were not on in the inn, but the door was unlocked. The front desk was abandoned in a very unprofessional way. Smith was tempted to ring the little bell… but he settled for wandering through.
He wasn’t sure what room Timms had ended up in. He hadn’t exactly been at his best the night before. It had been a long trip.
The long hallway lead straight to the washroom, as ever. The fires were out when he opened the door. Clearly the young lady didn’t have the work ethic of her father. He got the fire going and turned on the lamps. While waiting on the water, it occurred to him that maybe the stuff was off for a reason. Enough sick people and it was possible no one was going to come by, or at least not enough people to justify firing everything up.
Well, too late now.
Besides, the place was lousy with scouts and hunters now. Their infrequent trips to town probably put bathing near the top of their to do lists. At least, it would for Smith.
If Timms was anything like him, he would come here. But Timms wasn’t all that much like Smith, so he was probably going to stay in his room as long as possible.
Eh… the lady working here would be up and about sooner or later, and she would know where Timms was. Just a matter of time.
He almost nodded off a few times as he sat waiting. He sighed and stood up, stretching his back and shoulders. For this he had left his new warm bed?
Wilson might have something unkind to say about his daughter living there… but all the stuff in the room made it appear as though that wasn’t exactly her first time crashing there. Hell, it was more her place than his.
And yet the whole ledger and arrange union thing still seemed… strange to him. He didn’t dislike her, in fact he rather enjoyed her company. Maybe he was old fashioned or clinging to the past, but it seemed like there needed to be more to it than that.
Well, sleeping under the same roof, and in the same bed no less, might take care of that sooner rather than later. That or they’d drive each other insane in short order. Trial by fire.
The fire he had built up here looked a little too tall under the water reservoir. He poked at it a bit to spread the wood around.
“Can’t leave well enough alone, can you?”
He glanced back over his shoulder to see the young lady that worked here holding the door open. She was dressed in an ill fitting robe and flannel pajamas. Her hair was a mess. “ ‘Can’t leave well enough alone’ is my middle name.”
“Really? What’s your first name?”
“…Smith.”
“Smith can’t leave well enough alone Smith, hmm?” She rolled her eyes. “Guess I’ll see to my other chores then. You may let yourself out.”
Well, her disposition hadn’t really improved. “If you don’t mind, what room did you put Timms in?”
She stared at him a moment with bleary eyes. Clearly not a morning person.
“The gentleman I brought in last night.”
“Room twelve.” She didn’t wait for another word, shutting the door behind her.
She was gone by the time he had crossed the room and opened the door again.
Room twelve was easy enough to find, but before his knuckles hit he door he heard a soft sound. Snoring.
Huh. Well, the guy had earned his sleep. Especially if he could ignore roosters. He’d find his way out later.
Smith’s eyes turned back to the washroom. No reason to let his efforts go to waste.
He set up in the last tub, as always. The warm water was practically a dream after so long. Pity he didn’t have anything cleaner to change into. Maybe back at the shop. It took a few minutes to dry his hair. It was long overdue for a trim. Hell, at this point it needed a lot more than that. His beard was out of hand, too. Getting a mustache hair between his teeth when he was eating was something he had never enjoyed.
No scissors or combs presented themselves. Something else the innkeeper had laid out, then. He checked through a few drawers before he found a brush. It would do.
Hopefully the rest of the place was operating a bit closer to normal, illness or no. He sort of doubted it, though.
Smith was tying up his boots when he heard voices in the hall beyond. No attempt at quiet or subterfuge. They were… laughing? The door burst open and a group of scouts piled in, Morei at the front. “Hey, Smith! Look at you, up and about. Everyone else is down for the count.”
He shrugged. “Someone has to keep the place running.”
“That’s what we’re for.” Morei stood taller. The other scouts had already dispersed into the room, filling tubs from the heating cauldron. “Sally said you had all this running. Thanks.”
“No problem. Make yourselves at home.”
Morei raised an eyebrow. “Looks like we already did.”
Smith stood up, clacking his boots against the floor to make sure they were on tight enough. “You know anything more than I do?”
Morei blinked. “Absolutely.” His eyes cut back and forth a few times. “Anything… more specific, maybe?”
Smith sighed. “About what’s happening here. Who is down, who isn’t. Is Bishop up and about? I haven’t seen anyone today but you and Sally.”
Morei nodded. “Right, right. Bishop is ill, but on the mend. He might be up at this hour, but if he isn’t, expect his wife to be cross with you for asking. Baron is presently running the place to the best of his ability, though that’s going to rub people here the wrong way before long. We outside types are a bit more accustomed to… discipline.”
Smith nodded. He’d seen it first hand. “Understood. Ross doing any better?”
“Last I heard he’ll be fine. Down for awhile. Probably more than long enough to piss him off, but Rawlins says none of it looks permanent. Most likely back to his usual joyful self in a week or two.”
So he could go bug Bishop, but that might not end well. Better to let Bishop send someone to find him when he was ready to see him. Baron wouldn’t have a hard time running the place, everyone already knew their jobs, unless they were subbing like Sally… but Morei was right, Baron probably wouldn’t think to give anyone slack when he knew they were perfectly capable.
“Right. Guess I’ll check on Timms again, and see if he kitchen is open yet.”
“Take your time with Timms, then.” Morei sloughed out of his coat and scout cloak, leaving them on the floor like a child. “Kitchen told us it would be awhile.”
“Great.” Smith wandered out into the hall, shutting the door behind him. Not that they seemed overly concerned with privacy, it was simply polite. Of course they didn’t seem overly concerned with that, either.
A light was on under the door to room twelve now. Smith knocked gently. “Timms? It’s Smith.”
The response took a few moments. “Umm… give me a minute.”
Smith nodded… at the door. Still not fully awake, it seemed. “I’ll be in the lobby, take your time.”
There was no response, so he wandered that way. He thought he heard furniture scraping across the floor.
Timms had never exactly been the earliest riser, and it may well have been fear or anticipation that got him this far. Safe and sound in a room he had apparently blockaded, he might have finally had a chance to sleep like a normal person, instead of with one eye and ear open.
But then, Smith’s first night hadn’t been easy. Some things just took time. Maybe Timms was easier going, though.
The lobby was still abandoned, but there were a few candles and a little wood stove burning now. Smith warmed his hands and glanced out the window set into the closed door. It lead out into the center of town.
Still pretty quiet… but he could see people moving about now. The kitchen’s doors were shut and he wasn’t sure how they did food on a day like this. It had been fall when he left. Everyone just ate outside like it was some endless festival.
The sun was starting to peek in through trees and clouds. It was faint, but it was there. Perhaps the snow wouldn’t hold sway for long. That would be nice.
“Smith.”
He turned to find Timms dressed in his same old attire, holding out Smith’s kukri by the handle. Smith had no real room to comment, as he was dressed the same, too. “Morning. Afraid you’re not seeing us at our best.” He took the knife and slipped it back into its scabbard.
Strange… he hadn’t quite felt at home here before, even if he had wanted to. But referring to himself as a local had slipped out without a moments hesitation.
Timms shrugged. “Sickness happens. This is still a paradise next to the trip it took to get here.”
Smith nodded. “Got that right.” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder at the door. “Breakfast?”
“I’m not sure I’m prepared for three actual meals a day.”
“You’ll get used to it.” Smith opened the door and waved for Timms to follow.
The sun might have come out, but the wind hadn’t taken the hint. It cut into him even as he pulled his coat tighter. “Yeesh.”
Timm’s coat was buttoned up to the the high collar, his mess of hair flailing about at the wind’s discretion. “Might I suggest a delivery service?”
Smith chuckled as he wandered across to the kitchens. The door was shut, but he could see people moving inside the windows, and the place was lit up brighter than any other building.
He knocked… and then tried the door. It was unlocked. He shuffled Timms in and followed before snapping the door shut against the wind.
A pair or rather irritated faces stared at him with narrowed eyes.
He waved. “Morning.”
A young woman with smudges of flower on her face brandished a wooden spoon at him like she was declaring war on his ancestral line. “I told you dolts, we’ll ring the bell when it’s ready!”
Timms made for the door, but Smith turned him back around. “This gentlemen is newly arrived, and we’re trying to make a good impression here. Surely there’s something ready.”
The other woman went back to work, but the spoon warrior sighed and shook her head. “Look, Mr…”
“Smith.”
“Mr. Smith, like I keep saying, we’re overworked and understaffed here, and people barging in demanding food isn't help…” She blinked. “Smith? Like, division head Smith?”
He nodded. It hadn’t occurred to him to mention it. Bishop had said it would take time to become a division head, but apparently word had gotten out in his absence. Time had passed, after all. “That’s right, for whatever it’s worth. Rather small division, really.”
She snapped around to the counter and returned a moment later with two large steaming mugs. “I’m afraid we only have stew. Good for sick people, warm, easy to swallow. We’re waiting on bread to ring the bell, but this is hot now.”
Smith smiled. “Sounds delightful.”
39
“Did you pull rank back there?” Timms was holding his cup of stew in both hands. It was too hot to eat. Or drink, as the case may have been.
Smith shrugged. They were seated back inside the lobby of the inn. The ta
bles outside weren’t exactly fit for eating at the moment. “Sort of? I honestly forgot about it. I have one, count them, one person under my command. And I don’t think she’d just do whatever I said blindly anyway.”
Timms tilted his head a bit. “But why you? And what does being a division head entail?”
“So far? I have no idea on the second point. It has only meant I was consulted on taking the trip out, but that might have been… something else.” According to Morei it had been a test. And it felt a bit like one, too, after all that had happened. “It more or less means I do something no one else does, so I’m in charge of seeing that it’s done. I’m a smith. I make things. Wilson is in charge of the farming, Baron is in charge of the hunters, Ross is in charge of the scouts, Rawlins is the medic but I don’t think he has underlings. Somebody is in charge of the ranch, but I haven’t crossed paths with them yet. Bishop is sort of the top of the chain, with each division head answering to him. But he’s not like a king or whatever.” Smith shrugged. “At least, not that I’ve seen. He keeps an eye on things, more… the person who is organizing it all. Making all the pieces work together. Like a symphony conductor.”
Timms nodded a bit. “Well, it’s nice to hear there’s some organization going on. How are the divisions broken down?”
Smith scoffed. “Got me. You’ll need to ask someone with a real division about that. Probably open to each division head, given what I’ve seen.”
“Mmm.” He took a sip. “Where would I fit in?”
“Don’t know.” Smith shrugged. “But given you do something no one else does, you’ll probably find yourself in my shoes.”
Timms blinked a few times. “I don’t have any sort of seniority around here though.”
“And I do?” Smith set his mug down. It was practically burning his fingers. “I was only here a few days before I spent a month or more on the road. Honestly, I don’t even know what day it is anymore.”
“It’s Saturday.”
“Huh. You’ve kept track of that?”
“Of course.” Timms looked mildly insulted.
