With every mile, the oaks and beeches gave way to thinner-skinned trees like rowans, silver birches, and hornbarks. The latter picked up what little sunlight was left and exuded a warm glow that helped light Tildi’s way. She had bathed in and drunk from miniature waterfalls that flowed down along both sides of the ridge protecting the Quarters from the rest of the continent, and eked out her food supply with spring berries and a fish or two caught in the mountain brooks. She had slept in fox dens and the hollow places underneath the roots of enormous trees. Dreams of thraiks and fire-demons had disturbed her sleep, waking her in the night, though neither had appeared in truth. She had been desperate to reach the edge of civilization. She had had no real idea how far it was from smallfolk habitations to the first human village. Gosto’s tales had always skipped over the details of how long and how far. He preferred to tell humorous stories of drinking or trading or dancing.
Once over the forked granite pass, she had noticed how differently everything had smelled. Unfamiliar plants grew along the roadside, and straggly cone trees clung to the mountainside. The slope on the eastern side of the mountains was much gentler than on the west. She was glad of it because the pack’s weight tended to nudge her forward with each downward step, putting strain on her knees. Shallow steps had been cut into the spaces in between the loops in order for travelers unencumbered by carts or animals to travel. She could tell by the height of each stair that smallfolk had built them. The humans who had visited the Quarters could take these two or three at a pace. She kept an eye out for thraiks, but they never passed overhead again.
The rutted road that led her northward had been flanked on one side by the rocky escarpment that hid her old home from her. On the other side, it was a steep drop into the life’s blood of the continent of Niombra, the river Arown. It was larger and more impressive than she had imagined from her geography lessons. From one horizon to the other the Arown looked like a broad field of dark blue-green glass. Its surface rippled like hard muscles under smooth skin. Here and there a rock interrupted the flow, sending arrow-shaped waves downstream to rebound against the banks and back again, overlapping themselves like warp meeting weft in a loom. The river, too, had its rune, a gigantic image that appeared to float just beneath the surface. Tildi sensed power in it, like lightning made liquid.
The runes now were very distinct in all things, much more so than she had noticed west of the mountains. They almost glistened in their intensity. Tildi shook her head in wonder. Magic was everywhere she turned. Were the Quarters themselves under a spell to shut out the magic of the outside world? It would not surprise her a bit.
The cliff edging the river path had receded steadily beside her until she was walking out in the open beside green fields bounded by low hedges, stone walls, and split-rail fences. The fence posts were much higher here than at home. If she bent at the waist she could walk underneath the lower rail, and it would take a boost up for her to climb over it. The upper rail was just out of her reach.
The animals, too, were in proportion to the fences. What she thought had been a sheep, newly sheared for spring, had bleated at her through the rails. When she had tried to feed it a handful of grass, a woolly behemoth fully the size of a Quarters’ cart horse, had trotted up to glare at her. The lamb, for so it was, had abandoned her and gone to stick its head under her flanks to nurse. Tildi gawked at them. It had never occurred to Tildi that the animals humans kept would be in proportion to them. It seemed unnatural. True, she’d seen humans’ enormous horses, when peddlers and musicians had come through the Quarters, but she had never really thought about other animals. In fact, here came a black-and-white sheepdog to round up the two stragglers and bring them back to the fold. Its head was as high as her own. She literally did not fit into this world.
Tildi clicked her tongue at herself. She knew there was no going back, and no use in worrying about the fact that everyone and every thing was taller than she was. Spirit was needed to rise above such petty things as physical appearance. I am a man now, she thought boldly, a man making his place in the world. No one would know about the quailing little girl underneath. With that attitude she marched on toward the chimney pots that were in sight among the trees.
The light was almost gone by the time she reached the picket wall surrounding the town. A big man wearing a brown tunic half-buttoned over a not-too-white shirt and a pair of dun-colored breeches was heaving the gate shut. Alarmed, Tildi hurried forward and she slipped in under his elbow.
“Hey, now!” the man said in surprise, and looked around. “Who’s there?”
“Down here,” she said. Her voice squeaked. She lowered it. “Er, down here.”
The puzzlement cleared from the man’s face, and he smiled. “Ah, smallfolk. Come in! Well, you’re already in. I was about to lock up for the night. There’s thraik abroad.”
“I know. They flew overhead two nights ago.”
“Ah,” the man said, nodding. “They’re out your way, too, eh? It’s dangerous times for all of us. Welcome to you to Rushet.”
“Thank you,” Tildi said.
“Best get about it, then,” the man said. He pushed the gate the rest of the way and snapped down a catch, then lowered a heavy bar on a hinge to a set of four brackets that spanned both of the doors. “There, now.”
It seemed to Tildi a mighty flimsy barrier to protect against thraik, or against human robbers, for that matter, being made only of wood. But even as the thought went through her mind, she was overwhelmed by a strong feeling that she need have no intentions of attacking this town. She couldn’t possibly succeed.
Now, why would she think that, she wondered, then enlightenment dawned. There must have been a magical compulsion laid upon the picket wall to protect the little town from thieves and other threats once the gate was closed and the circle completed. She shook her head. What would the elders think if anyone told them to use magic to guard the village? But why not? Such threats were undoubtedly commonplace on a main road like this one.
The gatekeeper dusted his hands together. “Good night to you, then. Fair journeying, eh?”
“Good night,” Tildi replied. She opened her mouth to ask the way to the inn, then realized she was looking at it. It was the next building after a large stable yard where ostlers were walking horses and backing coaches off the road.
Rushet was not a large place. The main road was paved with cobbles. Besides the inn and the stable, she saw a smithy, and beyond that a covered marketplace. On the other side were permanent shops, by their signs a tailor, a baker, and a grocer, all with residences above the premises. The pickets marched around behind the buildings, giving her a measure of comfort. The fence couldn’t keep thraiks out, of course, but she would be among other people again, and that gave her confidence.
Though the size of everything continued to amaze her, she was pleased to see how little a human town differed from those belonging to smallfolk. One could tell who was house-proud and took care of their property, and who wasn’t; who was popular, to judge from the wearing away of the graveled path to each door, and who seldom had visitors. The baker did a good trade, even at this late hour. People were still passing in and out of the shop with covered baskets. Indeed, the smell of good bread wafting on the evening breeze only reminded her of how hungry she was, and how tired she was of eating stale food out of her pack. She hurried toward the inn.
That establishment was freshly whitewashed and painted with murals of contented-looking farm animals, its wooden beams were sound and well varnished, and its sign was welcoming and cheerful. It wasn’t subtle in its approach, either: the place was called the Groaning Table. The sign showed a huge table beginning to bow in the middle from the platters of food and jugs of wine heaped high upon it, with fruit and loaves of bread all but spilling over the edges. The inn was spruced up with big pots of flowers along the street side, and was brightly lit both inside and out. Polished brass lanterns hung on either side of the door, which stood hospitably ajar. Tild
i squared her shoulders and marched inside.
Tildi blinked at the sudden brightness. Two huge brass lamps with eight jets apiece hung from the beamed ceiling, spreading pools of light over two long tables, and more lamps were set in sconces against the plastered walls. A dozen or more customers sat on benches flanking the heavy, aged wooden tables. They all glanced her way as she came through the door. A few registered surprise, but that must be, Tildi realized, looking around, because she was the only smallfolk in the room. A dog as large as a Quarters pony came up to sniff her, nose to nose, until its master gruffly called it back.
“Welcome, lad,” a plump young woman wearing a broad white apron said, leaning down to smile at her as she passed by carrying a tray full of empty tankards. Tildi stepped back. She’d never seen a female fully twice her own height before, nor one who wore such immodest clothing. The girl’s neckline was cut down to … well, you could see quite a lot of her chemise and the lushly feminine form beneath it. Her head was uncovered, and her hair, wavy brown and streaked with sunlight, spilled over her shoulders. Unable to point with her hands full, she aimed her nose toward the counter. “That’s Wim behind the bar. I’ll be by in a moment to serve you.”
Better to take control of the situation at once, Tildi thought. I’m a boy! Steeling herself, she marched up to the counter where a plump man with greasy skin and fluffy red hair clinging to the sides of his bald head peered down at her with cheerful curiosity.
“Greetings!” she boomed, making her voice as low as she could muster. “Can you give a fellow a room for the night?”
“Ah, is that the way of it, young man?” the innkeeper asked, putting down the beer he was pulling and leaning forward with both hands planted on the board. “Of course we can find you a place. Can’t we, Danyn?”
“Sure as sunrise,” the young woman said, sweeping back again to pick up the filled glasses. She plunked them on her tray, slopping a little of the foam. “Comfy and cozy, as good as if you was in your own home. S’pose you might be wanting a bath, too?”
“Oh, yes!” Tildi said fervently, already feeling the blessed embrace of hot, soapy water. “I mean, that I would.”
“I’ll make sure the boiler’s full, then,” the girl said. “Nice hot water.” She sashayed around Tildi, sweeping the tray up to miss her head, and vanished into the back room.
The innkeeper grinned down at Tildi. “There, you see? Now, I’m Wim Cake. Never could find a woman to marry named Ale, so I had to make do the best I could with a Miss Pound. Good enough, eh? What do we call you then, my lad?”
“Ti-Teldo Summerbee,” Tildi stammered, aware that the roomful of patrons had turned to look at her. She wished he didn’t talk so loudly. She didn’t want anyone taking too close a look at her. So far, she had fooled the innkeeper and his barmaid, but what if any of the customers had keener eyes? “I’ve come all the way from the waterfall today. I’m on my way to Overhill to become an apprentice. I have my papers right here.” She patted the side of her pack with a nervous hand. Why am I talking so much? she thought desperately, and bit the tip of her tongue between her teeth.
“Ah! A grand profession. Well, settle in and have your supper. You’ll not find finer food on this road from Tillerton to Overhill!”
“True, true,” the patrons said.
“Nor pay so much for it,” one tawny-skinned man said, with a humorous look toward his fellows. “He’s got a captive market, here. Charges just what he likes.”
“What a liar,” Wim Cake said, flicking the end of a drying cloth in the man’s direction. “We’ll not cheat you here, young gentleman.”
“That’s good,” Tildi said, and felt she must say something else. “We smallfolk like a fair deal.”
“And who doesn’t?”
“Now, wait just a moment,” said the man at the bar. “It wasn’t three months ago that a smallfolk fellow, not that high”—he gestured two and a half feet off the floor—“but with a square chin like a mattock, came here and bargained me for a packet of embroideries not half the size of my hand. You can’t say that was fair, now, can you?”
“Did you buy it?”
“Well, the quality was mighty good … .”
The other patrons laughed.
“Then stop laying your tongue to slander,” Wim Cake said mildly. “He was a good trader, and you accepted the bargain at the time. You only recall now that it’s more than you wanted to pay. If he managed to talk you around, then he’s smarter than you were. A good fellow, comes through now and again,” Wim added, as an aside to Tildi.
Gosto! Tildi thought fondly. It had to be. And that packet could have contained some of her own work, along with that of half the village matrons.
“What’ll it be then?”
“A half of your best beer,” Tildi ordered, bringing out a silver coin. “And perhaps one for my friend, to show that smallfolks are honest. And one for you, Mr. Cake?”
“Thanks, little one,” the man at the bar said, a sheepish expression on his wry face. “Maybe I was hasty talking down your kinsman.”
“No offense taken,” Tildi assured him.
“Well, thank you, young sir,” the innkeeper said, pushing a few bronze coins over for change. “Sit down and enjoy the beer. My wife’s brewing is too good to drink standing up.”
Tildi started to turn, and found herself wedged between benches, thanks to the bulk of her pack. Wim pointed to the wall, where a few other rucksacks and bags had been stowed beneath the window. She backed carefully away from the bar and shucked off her burden. What a relief it was to be rid of the weight! She felt at least three inches taller.
A couple of humans made room for her between them at the table on the bench facing the counter. She sat down on the base of her spine, sticking out her belly and throwing out her knees like Gosto did when he was making himself comfortable.
Danyn, the barmaid, set down a foaming mug before her with a clunk. Tildi thanked her, then regarded the metal cup with dismay. This was a half? It looked like the two-pint pots that the granddads used during outdoor festivals so they wouldn’t have to go back to the kegs as often! With both hands she hoisted the cup and took a deep swig. She set it down carefully and wiped the froth off her lips with the back of her hand.
“Ah!” she breathed out gustily, in imitation of Pierin after a long day at work. “Good brew. Couldn’t have done better myself.”
“Do much brewing yourself?” the barmaid asked curiously. The other patrons glanced at her, too. Tildi quailed internally. Girls must do the brewing in human families, too. She wished she didn’t have to pretend she was a boy. It was so easy to make mistakes! She forced a grin to her lips.
“Er, a bit. My mother thou—thinks we should all know how to do all the tasks on the farm. I sew and weave, too. We all do.”
“Ah, you’re a farmer, are you?” Danyn asked.
“No, I’m a scholar!” Tildi insisted. “I’m going to take up my apprenticeship in Overhill. My eldest brother’s the farmer.”
“Oh, fine,” Danyn said, with an outrageous wink at the other patrons. “Well, then, I should ask for my tip in advance. You scholars are notoriously cheap.”
The customers roared with laughter. Red-faced, Tildi felt in her purse and handed over a silver penny. Danyn shook her head over it.
“You’re generous. Must be the farmer blood in you. But you’ll need your money for books, my dear.” She handed it back. “Copper will do for now. If you ever write scholarly books and you make your fortune in gold from a king, come on back and buy us all a round.” She reached down and pinched Tildi’s cheek.
“Ah, she likes you,” said one of the dark-skinned men, who were all sailors from Tillerton.
“She’s nice,” Tildi said sheepishly, feeling her face burn. The men nudged one another and chuckled.
Humans were kindly, she thought, as she drank her beer. Not at all what she had feared of such gigantic beings, though their regard wasn’t without its dangers. The drunken fellow
on her right, with a pale belly peeking out between the buttons of his soiled blue tunic, kept slapping her companionably on the back while he talked. His blows were enough to bounce her off the table edge.
The tall, skinny man at the end of the table went on with the story he’d been telling when Tildi had come in.
“And my captain said there must be sea serpents out there,” he said, holding out his raw-skinned hands as far as they would stretch. “What else could bite a halibut right in half like that? Dead afore it hit the nets!”
“Did you ask the mermaids?” asked a woman alone at a table in the corner. Tildi glanced at her over the top of her mug. Her long dark hair was unbound, and she had golden skin, but what set her apart from the rest of the company were her ears. Between the silky tresses of hair, pointed tips swept gracefully at a backward angle. She was an elf! Teldo and the others said they had met some in the human kingdoms. She didn’t look that much different from humans … but there was a quality about her, something elusive that Tildi couldn’t put her finger on.
“My captain don’t like to talk to them mermaids,” the skinny man said, shaking his head. “We after the same catch, you know.”
The elf caught Tildi staring at her and fixed large, dark eyes upon her. Tildi blushed and bent her attention to her drink.
“I heard the big fish are like their sheep,” Wim Cake said, from behind the bar. “To them, you’re rustling!”
The skinny man signaled for a refill. “And what have you got on the stove, eh?”
“Mutton stew, boiled chicken, some ham,” Danyn said, coming over to replace the fisherman’s empty mug with a full one. “No fish.” Skillfully, she avoided his grab at her skirts, and turned to Tildi. “You will be wanting to eat some supper, too, Teldo Summerbee,” she said, then clicked her tongue. “And what happened to your shirt, little one? It’s all burned on the shoulders. Drying your washing too close to your campfire?”
An Unexpected Apprentice Page 8
