Andrew Birchwood sat nonchalantly astride his horse. In front of him in the saddle sat a very pale and frightened looking Riley Mapleton. “Well, good evening, William.” Birchwood pitched his voice to play to the audience. “I trust you’ll stand your ground there and keep your archer in check?” He smiled. It wasn’t a good look for him.
“Riley? Are you alright?” William ignored Birchwood for the moment.
“I’m fine, Papa. I’m sorry, but—”
Birchwood patted the boy on the shoulder with his left hand. “That’s enough, Riley. You’ll be quite silent now, won’t you? That’s a good lad.” Birchwood flourished the dagger he held in his right and turned back to the father. “Now that I have your attention, there’s the small matter of—how do we phrase this?” He made a show of thinking. “Oh, yes. Insurance. That’s the term.”
William’s face clouded and his fist clenched as he held himself helplessly in check. “Extortion, I think is the term you’re struggling with, Birchwood.”
“Oh, come now, William. Extortion is such a nasty word.” He shrugged. “I’m just a businessman, trying to turn a profit. You’re an honest man trying to protect what’s yours. I can respect that, William. I can.” His voice was oily and ingratiating. He patted Riley on the shoulder once more. “Young Riley, here, for example. It would be tragic should anything happen to him, now wouldn’t it.”
William took a deep breath. “What do you want, Birchwood? State your claim.”
“Oh, I’m not a greedy man, William. I think a nice little operation like this should be able to afford, say, five hundred golds. Insurance, you understand, to make sure that nothing unfortunate happens?”
“Five hundred golds?!” William practically choked. “And you seriously believe we have five hundred golds here!”
Birchwood made a small tsk sound with his lips. “Oh, don’t play coy, William. Of course you have it. I’ve seen the wagon carrying your cargo into town. I’ve seen your storehouse and I’ve seen your silver mine.”
Tanyth saw the look on William’s face go blank for a moment before what Birchwood had said fully registered. “My silver mine?” He paused, staring at the man. “Are you mad? You think we have a silver mine?”
Birchwood shook his head. “Come, come, William. I said, don’t play coy. Lives are at stake here. Young lives.” His left hand rested heavily on the boy’s shoulder.
“It’s a clay quarry, Birchwood. Clay. Like you make bricks from.”
Birchwood shook his head. “I’ve been there. I’ve seen it, William.” His voice wasn’t so pleasant now. “Your men up there, diligently scraping it all up. Putting in barrels. You can’t tell me that you’re all out here grubbing up clay—the same clay you can get from any river bank within ten miles of the city?” He shook his head. “No, William. I’m not that gullible.”
William sat heavily on the grass, his knees up and leaning back on his hands. “You’ve got to be joking, Birchwood. Surely, you can’t be that foolish.” His voice was low but it carried the tone of disbelief clearing through the evening air.
Birchwood’s brow furrowed. “Don’t play that game with me, Mr. Mapleton! Why would anybody come way out here to dig clay! You’re a rich man’s son. All these people here have connections in the city. You expect me to believe that you all came out here to live life close to nature and dig up clay?” He took a deep breath and his countenance returned to the more genial one he rode in with. “Please, William. How can you expect me to believe that?”
William closed his eyes and dropped his head back to stare at the darkening sky. “Because, my fine foppish fool, we’re all the youngest sons and castoffs of the rich and powerful back in the city.” He raised his head and leveled his gaze at the man. “Yes, Mapleton is my father, but I’ve four brother’s who are closer to money than I and you know that to be true as well! You lived in Kleesport long enough to learn that much and as much as you preyed on our people, it must have taught you a thing or two about my father and my family!”
For the first time, Birchwood looked uncertain.
“And we didn’t come out here to dig clay. We came out here to start a new town. A town where we might have some of the opportunities that we’re denied in the city. A place we can call ours and not something cast off or passed down by our parents.” His eyes bored into Birchwood. “The clay is how we raise the cash we need to buy the goods we can’t produce yet. It’s clay. Just clay. It’s a particularly fine clay and someday we’ll have a kiln here perhaps and start some manufacturing with that clay, but by the beard of the All-Father, Birchwood, what we take out of the ground up there is clay.”
“Do you swear on the life of your eldest son, fool?” Birchwood fairly spit the rejoinder. The two men behind him were looking less certain for the first time since they road into town.
“I can only tell you the truth, Birchwood. It’s clay.” He paused. “There’s another small problem with your plan. We don’t keep any cash out here.”
Birchwood frowned. “What do you mean, you don’t keep any cash?”
William sat up and held out his hands to either side. “Do you see any shops? Pubs? Taverns? Any place where having cash would be of any use out here?” He uncoiled from the ground and stood there in front of the horse. “Do you think, perhaps, we’re buyin’ and sellin’ biscuits from each other? That I’m sellin’ the firewood I chop to the highest bidder maybe?”
“Oh, come, come, William. A jest is a jest but I’ve your son here. Are you sure you want to play these games?” Birchwood’s men kept looking back and forth between themselves but Birchwood wasn’t paying attention to them. His attention was focused on the man in front of him.
“Birchwood, I swear to you on the life of my son. We send the wagon in loaded. We sell the clay—and it’s just clay—to the works in Kleesport. We have accountants and factors in town who keep our money, manage our accounts, and pay our bills for us. When the wagon comes back, he’ll have no money—just the goods we’ll need to get through the winter. I could pay you in hundred weights of flour, but I doubt if there’s more than ten silvers cash money here in the village if you were to shake out all the purses and put the money in a pile.” He looked at Birchwood and held out his hands to either side in a gesture of helplessness. “We have no money. We have no need for it out here.”
Birchwood shook his head. “Well, I must say, William. This is a most amusing tale you spin, but I don’t think you realize the gravity. If you have no money, then bad things will happen to you. And to yours. Like this delightful lad here.” He clapped the boy on the shoulder one more time. “The fires you had today are only a sample.” His voice was cold. “I suggest you find some money and find it quickly before somebody you care for gets hurt.”
“You can’t get blood out of a stone, Birchwood.”
“I know that, William.” His genial tone faded. “I get blood out of the people who do not pay. It would behoove you to remember that little fact.” He paused. “I’ll give you a few days to think about it, but I’ll be back, and the next time, you should try to find a better story to tell. One with a little more jingle in it.”
He made a hand signal and his riders turned and rode back to the Pike. Birchwood himself backed his horse slowly away, keeping the boy between Thomas’s arrow and himself.
“My boy, Birchwood! What about my boy?”
Birchwood only smiled and continued to back his mount. Thomas started to follow but Birchwood held the knife to Riley’s neck. “You might consider standing where you are, archer. Arrows make me nervous, and when I get nervous, I get twitchy.” He made a little jump with his face and arm when he said the word twitchy, and the knife at Riley’s throat twitched, too, but didn’t draw blood.
Thomas subsided and released the draw on his bow, pointing the arrow to the ground.
Birchwood smiled and backed his horse to the Pike. When he was out of bow shot, he unceremoniously dumped the boy onto the ground and heeled his horse into a gallop, heading s
outh down the Pike with his two bravos.
Riley scrambled to his feet before his father could reach him, picked up a rock, and threw it after the riders. Boyish rage and frustration were writ large on his face and his aim true, but his power too slight and the stone fell to earth only a few feet away.
William reached the boy at a run and scooped him up in his arms before turning to race back to the safety of the house. Tanyth could see they were both crying and clinging to each other as William passed, heading for home and meeting Amber coming down.
Tanyth closed the door on the reunion, and turned to a wide eyed Megan. “What does it mean, mum?”
Tanyth shook her head. “Our Mr. Birchwood just got a fast introduction to life in our little village of Ravenwood.”
“Yes, but what will he do?”
Tanyth shook her head. “I’m not sure. William had a good idea to keep all your money in town where it can be kept safe and used where it’ll do the most good.” She shook her head. “But I don’t know if Andrew Birchwood believes him.”
They crossed to the hearth and Megan ran a spoon around in the soup hanging over the fire. “Why wouldn’t he believe William, mum? William’s never lied to him.”
Tanyth took her seat beside the fire as the three children crept closer to hear the adults talking about adult things, eyes shining bright in the failing light of evening. “Well, I suspect it’s common for people to claim they have no money. Villages along the Pike like this generally don’t have much in the way of cash income. Just like here, they barter and share. That makes it difficult for people like Birchwood to force them to pay for protection.”
Megan nodded. “Can’t give what you don’t have.”
“Exactly, my dear. So, I suspect that Mr. Birchwood has heard it before and he doesn’t believe it here in particular because he knows William’s father is rich.”
“Did he really think that the clay quarry is a silver mine?”
Tanyth shrugged. “Apparently. He just can’t imagine that a rich man’s son, like William, would be out here in the woods digging up clay.” She paused. “I’m not sure I do, and I’ve been here to see.”
“It’s clay.” Megan made the announcement very clearly. “It’s good clay, but it’s clay.”
“Do you know a lot about clay?”
Megan grinned and giggled a little. “Yes, mum. My da owns the Kleesport Brickworks and my uncle owns Kleesport Pottery. I was throwing pots before I was ten winters old.” She held up her mug. “This is pottery from Uncle Ezra’s factory.” She smiled. “He sells it to us cheap.”
Tanyth blinked in disbelief. “So this really is good clay?”
Megan nodded soberly. “It surely is, mum.” She looked down for a moment and then leaned in to speak quietly. “Pound for pound, it’s worth more than silver ore. At least the ore they get around here.” She grinned at the older woman. “It has trace minerals that give it a nice color and texture.”
Tanyth giggled a little in return. “It’s just clay, but it’s worth more than silver?”
Megan nodded. “Oh, yes, mum, but only to people who know what it is and what to do with it.”
Tanyth shook her head in disbelief. “No wonder William keeps all the money in town. You couldn’t afford a militia big enough to guard it out here.”
Megan smiled happily. “It’s why the whole village is set up the way it is. We don’t have any money here, but we’re slowly getting rich in town. And like William said. There’s no place to spend it out here.”
Tanyth grimaced. “But that still doesn’t answer the question of what to do about Birchwood and his bully boys.” She glanced at Megan. “I don’t suppose we can turn them in to the King’s Own?”
“If we could get their attention, maybe, mum.”
Tanyth sighed. “Yes. I can see where that might be a problem.”
Megan turned to the kids. “Ok, enough entertainment for one night, my wee cabbages. Shall we have some soup and go to bed?”
They lined up politely, got soup and bread and settled down to eat with a minimum of muss and fuss. Tanyth marveled at how well Megan was bearing up under the ordeal of being kidnapped, dragged through the forest, burned out of her home, and then moving her household—what parts of it survived the fire—all in the same day. With dinner over and the children tucked into snug beds beside the hearth, Megan sat by the fire with mending on her lap while the children nodded off in the warm, dimness of the snug cottage. As the last of the little ones drifted off, Tanyth realized that Megan was sitting very still and hadn’t moved needle or thread for several minutes. She glanced over and saw the tears glistening on the young woman’s face in the flickering light of the fire.
“Oh, my poor dear.”
Megan shook once in a muffled sob.
Tanyth crossed to her and cradled her in her arms. “There, there, my dear. There, there.” She held and rocked her as if she were a child herself, letting her sob silently against her and making sure the children didn’t see by keeping her body between mother and children. She held her and stroked her hair until the sobs passed, finally, leaving Megan weak, shaken, and limp in Tanyth’s lap. Tanyth helped the younger woman into her bed and tucked her in before banking the fire and settling on her own bedroll for the night.
25
Last Straw
Tanyth sat on her bedroll, gazing into the golden depths of the banked coals and pondering. The day had been filled with terror. She knew they’d gotten off easily. Birchwood would not stop until he was forced to. Of that, she was certain. She’d seen enough of his type over the course of her life. By rights, it should be a matter of having the King’s Own deal with him, but petty banditry—particularly in the edges of the kingdom—was practically a way of life. By the time the King’s Own could deal with it, the village could be destroyed.
“Mother, what do we do?” The words were a whispered prayer but the only answer was the sound of night winds sighing across the top of the chimney. The sound drew a sigh from Tanyth as she settled into her blankets.
Her rest was fitful, each sound in the night, each shift in the wind half woke her. The dreams, as much as she could remember, were nonsensical—images of bears tearing open logs to eat the larvae within, one long disturbing passage of a tree falling in the forest and rotting away—eaten by bugs, filled with fungus—and others she would never remember at all until just before dawn she dreamed of a single drop of blood. It fell through a crystalline blue sky, a sphere of crimson shimmering in the light, falling, falling, falling, until it splattered into a darkened star burst on a hearthstone. The wet redness faded to black as the stone drank in the moisture, leaving only the star shaped stain on the rock.
A single sharp raven’s caw brought her awake—eyes searching the dimness as the images of her dreams faded in the gray light of morning. The soft sound of sleeping children blended with the sound of the wind in the chimney. Her belt knife dug into her side where her habit placed it in her bedroll each night. She dressed in her bulky trousers and strapped on the knife. It took but a few minutes to stoke up the fire and fill the kettle from the covered bucket. By the time she was done, Megan stirred in her bedroll and blinked slowly up from slumber.
Tanyth smiled and nodded to the younger woman who smiled and gave a small wave in return. Her eyes closed again, and Tanyth watched her drowse off again in the space of three breaths.
She huffed a quiet laugh and went to the door, opening it a crack to peep out. The sun still hid below the tree tops to the east, but lit the sky with a clear, pale light. The gravel path that served the village as road stood whitely against the dark, wet grasses. A skirl of cold, morning air sneaked in through the crack and washed over her face, drying the night’s moisture from her skin. She filled her lungs with the cool freshness of a new day.
She slipped out and walked to the main path, looking for the guard and spotting William and Karl walking between the houses. They saw her and waved. The cool morning air reminded her that she needed
to use the privy and she walked quickly.
She dealt with the privy in short order and met William and Karl on the way back to the house. “Good morning, mum.” William looked haggard and even Karl looked a bit worse for wear.
“Good morning, William. Good morning, Karl. How are you doing this morning?”
Karl smiled wanly. “Morning, mum. I’m ready for my bed, truth be told.”
William shrugged. “I’m ok, mum. How are things in your house? Did the kids settle ok?”
She shrugged in return. “Kids are fine, I think. Megan may take a little longer to recover.”
William grimaced. “I was afraid of that. Any problems over night?”
Tanyth remembered the sobbing, shuddering woman that she’d rocked the night before. “No. No problems. She just needs time.”
Karl spat on the grass. “We need to deal with this guy. We can’t go on like this.”
“Now, Karl, we’ve been talking about this all night long.” William tried to put a halt on the conversation.
Karl shook his head. “Don’t you, ‘Now, Karl,’ me, William Mapleton. You know as well as I do that we just are not set up for this. Towns have walls and guards to guard them. We’re a collection of huts, spread out and open.” He paused for breath before continuing. “You saw that last night. If he can grab Riley…”
William nodded, defeated. “It mighta been any of them. Riley was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and by himself.” William sighed and looked at Tanyth. “They were playing hide and seek before bed. He went to hide and before we knew he was gone. Birchwood brought him back.” He shuddered and closed his eyes. “Anything could have happened.”
“He’s right, you know.” Tanyth’s voice was soft and low and she nodded to Karl.
William nodded without looking up. “I know, but what can we do about it?” His voice sounded ragged and harsh in the quiet morning. He paused and took a deep breath. He looked up and indicated the village around him with a sweep of his head. “We can’t build a wall around this. It’s too spread out. We don’t have the manpower or the money to hire a full-time guard.”
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