by Aimee Gross
I wanted to ask more, and see if I might have a chance to talk to her friend, but loud male voices sounded from the keeping room. Wieser abandoned her bone at once to come with me and see what the fuss might be.
Four helmeted Keltanese had barged in, and wanted Guthy to give them tankards of ale and a wheel of cheese. “Let’s have a nice loaf of bread, too, eh?” said the tallest. He seemed the only one who spoke Mercedish, the others made rude remarks in Keltanese. I gave no sign of understanding.
Wieser started to growl, but I bumped her with my knee. Guthy gathered the cheese and bread, and Virda drew off the ale from a tun in the corner. The old men glowered but made no move. I hated feeling powerless while people minding their own business were robbed. I stood gritting my teeth, when the tall one pointed his pike at me.
“Come along and carry this for us, boy.”
Virda protested at once, “My nephew isn’t from here, he doesn’t know his way about—”
I took the chance to whisper to Wieser, “Follow after.”
“Shut it, woman,” the man growled. “That way maybe you’ll get him back after.”
I slung the sack with the loaf and cheese over my arm, and took two tankards in each hand. Guthy wrung her hands, and Virda had bitten her lip so hard it bled onto her chin. I followed the soldiers out the door, and went along the cobbles with them. We tramped down the deserted street to the corner, and turned toward the waterfront.
As we walked, the men complained in Keltanese about having to be out in the night patrolling. “It’s not as if this lot of idiots could mount any counter attack.”
“There isn’t a backbone among them. We’re not going to have resistance here. Once the fort is taken, maybe most of us can go home.”
“I hate this damp and fish-stink. Bah, what a place!”
“You have better quarters than me—hardly any rats! The bastards gnaw my toes when I sleep!”
Alongside the main road, a fire burned in a ring of stones. Crates upended next to the fire made seats for them, and they settled there and held their hands out for their food and drink. I’d have liked to fling it in their faces, but that wouldn’t prove wise. After handing it all over, I stood at the edge of the firelight as they tore chunks of bread and passed cheese they hacked off the wheel with long knives.
“Find your way home, if you can,” said the tall one who spoke Mercedish.
“Could I have Guthy’s sack?” I said.
He balled it in his fist and drew back to throw it in the fire, but another snatched it away and tossed it to me. I turned tail and loped back the way I had come. “Hah, coward!” the tall one called after me.
I gave a thought to wandering a little further to see if I could find out more about what happened here at night. If the patrol was sitting by their fire, maybe I would never have a better chance. It could be that there were other patrols, though, and I would be picked up and locked away. What I had learned so far meant nothing if I could not return to Wils and the others to share it.
I turned up Guthy’s street when a heavy hand fell on my shoulder. I was jerked around roughly to face another helmeted soldier; a second stood close aiming his pike at my chest.
“After curfew,” said the one holding me, in a thick accent.
“From Guthy’s. Took food to the patrol.” I gestured down around the corner, and held up the crumpled sack. No light dawned in the man’s eyes. He doesn’t really speak Mercedish, I realized. We had all he knows with his first two words. “I carried food to the patrol on the main road,” I said in Keltanese, which I strove to make sound halting.
“Any left?” said the second soldier, licking his lips.
I showed the empty interior of the bag. “Come with me to Guthy’s. She has more there.” I heard Da’s voice echo in my mind: soldiers are always hungry. I hated to bring more down on Guthy, but I could not be taken to prison. Or knocked in the head and thrown in the harbour, if that was what they did to curfew violators. Who knew?
The two were considering what they could get away with, when a thin voice came out of the darkness. “Please, may I g-guide him home? He does n-n-not know his way.” It was Honni who spoke, she had come out by Wieser’s side even though the dog frightened her so.
Now I had to be sure she got back inside, too. “Come,” I said, in Keltanese, pointing up the street toward Guthy’s. “Ale and meat pies.” This trumped whatever they had been eating, because the first one let go my shoulder and pushed me in the back in the direction of Guthy’s. I walked to Honni and caught her arm. “Just keep quiet now,” I said in her ear. Wieser blessedly walked along with us like a commonplace dog, and did not try to wolf down the two men for the rest of her dinner.
I brought them in by Guthy’s, where the keeping room held crying women and old men still smoking clay pipes and talking about what they would have done about it all when young. Jaws gaped at our appearance, and before Virda and Guthy could fall on us weeping, I said loudly, “Here’s two more, and I promised them ale and meat pies.” Virda and Guthy fairly raced Honni to the kitchen, and turned up panting with five cold pies in a wooden trencher. I meantime took one of the pitchers from the mantel, went to the keg and pulled the tap. I pushed the brimming pitcher into the hand of the nearest soldier.
They grinned wide when I opened the door for them, and swaggered out into the night. I shut the door behind them, leaned my back on it and asked Guthy, “Does this have a lock?” The bar appeared in an instant, and I had to jump out of the way as she slammed it home.
I endured embraces from Virda and Guthy, and claps on the back from the bent old men. How did skin get like the creased brown leather of their faces? I escaped into the kitchen with Wieser, and found Honni standing by her pots shaking head to foot. I sometimes felt the same way after escaping with my life.
“What is this I hear about no meat pies left for tomorrow?” I said.
“Your dog,” she pointed. “S-she waited like you s-s-said, I heard you but they didn’t, and then she started sc-scratching at the door, and they were all talking and carrying on and d-d-didn’t hear her. And she started clawing it and barking. I didn’t know w-what to do! She ran to the b-back door and I let her out. I had to go with her, in c-case you were t-taken …”
“I expect they got even more worked up when they found you were gone, too. Thanks for coming after me. That was brave.”
She waved a hand impatiently. “Those old salts kept talking, but they did-didn’t do anything.”
“They are old, truly. What’s a salt?”
“Old sailor. Too old to sail and usually too stove up to work much. They c-come here to relive old times with the others, and Guthy makes over them. She listens to their tales no matter how many times they’re t-told.”
Honni’s trembling calmed. Her stutter came less often. Wieser licked her hand and got her to smile, before padding over to her abandoned bone to renew her gnawing.
“Do you think I’ve fixed it so the night watch will turn up here to be fed every day?” I asked. That made her smile again.
“We’ll just have to see. I hear there’s been a r-run on meat pies.”
###
In her relief, Guthy shifted me to my own room next to Virda’s, where I was to have an actual bed. My pallet was assigned to Wieser’s use, instead of her having bare floor planks for her bed. I hissed to Virda, “How much is this going to cost?” but she shushed me and said not to worry. Maybe we’ll be gone when Guthy has the watchmen at her door each night, I thought as I settled my head on the goose-down pillow. Guthy might think of charging us then. I fell asleep by my next breath.
CHAPTER 24
Come morning, Honni fed us eggs and sausage until I could not hold another morsel. Even Wieser had eggs for her breakfast. I told her not to get used to it, but she was too busy gulping them and wagging to have heard, I’d wager.
We were alone with Guthy at the big table, and I asked after the six old fellows from last night, thinking they must be sleepin
g in after the excitement. “Do they all board here with you?”
“Half of them shelter with Guthy, the others have rooms nearby. They’re all down at the wharves by dawn each day. They watch what ships come and depart, see the cargo loaded and unloaded. Talk to the crews and their old mates. Keeps them feeling in the sea-going life, somewhat.”
Did they, indeed. That sparked a thought. They wanted to be able to do something about the invasion, but being too old to fight thought they were useless. It could be there was a use for their eyes and ears, yet. They knew what they were seeing on the waterfront better than any.
I reminded Virda that we needed to take the pelts and seek to trade them for tools. My real intent, however, was to be at the doorway midmorning where I might meet up with the young soldier. I had not decided what I might ask of him, and continued to ponder while we made ready to set out.
Honni rushed us at the door, pushed a paper parcel into my hands, blurted, “Molasses cakes,” and fled back to the kitchen, face flaming. I opened my mouth, but she disappeared before I could speak. Virda chuckled as she wound her scarf across her shoulders and tucked it in.
“What has possessed her?” I wondered aloud when we crossed into the bright spring sunshine.
“Why, anyone can see she is sweet on you,” Virda said.
I stopped in my tracks, and was bumped from behind by a lady leading a goat. More of the tide of folk split to go around us, when Virda stopped as well.
“Sweet on me? What can I have done to deserve that?”
“You showed such courage with the soldiers, and you were kind to her when she worried about her da and brothers. And you talked to her about living with Guthy, and all.” Virda probably thought that sounded reasonable, but it didn’t to my ears.
“She’s maybe eight years old, Virda!”
“No, Guthy told me she is nearly your age.”
“What are you and Guthy talking about our ages for?” I said, exasperated. “You might as well say Morie was sweet on Ticker the smithy’s son.”
“No need to make such a to-do. Enjoy your cakes. Let’s press on.”
“It seems to me women run mad about half the time,” I told Wieser, as we fell into step in Virda’s wake.
Virda took us to the fur traders first, as I thought to get money before trying to scare up some woodworking tools. I would be limited to planes and drills small enough to carry home, could such even be found. I chose to barter with the furrier, since Virda could not claim much knowledge of the worth of the pelts. I was out of my depth, too, considering I had never been to market with Wils and Da, but I had not made a habit of letting that stop me.
We found the fur dealer’s storehouse down near the tannery on the edge of town. Gevarr was not exaggerating about the stink. The grizzled, jut-jawed proprietor pawed through my lynx, wolf and hare furs, muttering. He licked a stubby finger and sorted through some papers on his counter.
“Well, son,” he said finally. “They are not too good, are they? And this is hardly the season for folk to be needing furs, you see.”
I did not have time to waste while he tried to swindle me. It took longer to walk to his shop than I thought, and I had my midmorning appointment. “More fool me,” I said. “Collecting pelts in the winter when they’re heaviest. Should I just hang onto them until autumn comes round again?”
“Now, no call to be testy. I can make you an offer, just let me figure a moment.” More muttering and paper rustling. He offered me less than half what I knew they were worth, based on Gevarr’s reckoning.
“Double it and done,” I said.
He made a gagging noise and then began to cough. Virda had to step behind the counter and pound him on the back. When he regained his breath, he squinted at me with watery eyes. “Where’s your da?”
“Prison.”
Virda started to say something, but shut her teeth at my look. The man scratched his nose, then studied his papers. “All right, son, double. Though that will mean I turn very little profit, but you are a nice boy, and we’ll call it my good deed for today.” He counted out my coins slowly, lingering over each one. We would have to run to my meeting. I ground my teeth.
“Thank you, sir, and good day!” I called, stuffing the coins into the pouch around my neck, pushing through his door as fast as I could manage. Virda and Wieser came after.
“Look, Virda, I know the way back to the doorway where he’ll be. Do you feel safe if I leave Wieser with you and run ahead?”
“You take Wieser, and go on. I’ll catch you up. Only please don’t get into trouble and leave me to explain it to Wils. Don’t let the man take you back to the close, it’s too dangerous. Thieves and cutpurses.”
I raised a hand to show I heard her, already sprinting.
No soldiers tried to waylay me, or even wondered why I ran through the streets, as far as I could tell. Surely if I had been a man full grown, it would have drawn their notice. I would be sure to tell Wils about my foot race, in support of my contention that boys are mostly ignored.
I stopped at the corner, to catch my breath and see if he waited across the road. I saw the brown hood of the cloak, and walked past, remaining on the opposite side of the street, to make sure the right man wore it.
The familiar face looked up and down the way. I crossed over and walked past him, and saw him push off from his doorway to follow. So where to lead him? I recalled a public well up the street, and walked there at a purposeful clip with Wieser. He shadowed me.
When we reached the well, I told Wieser, “Watch for Virda, and guide her here.” Wieser padded away into the stream of people. No one else was drawing water, so I sent the bucket down. The soldier came and stood beside me.
“Here.” I handed him my packet of molasses cakes, and his eyes widened in evident delight. I wound the crank to pull up the bucket. “What’s your name?” I asked, for lack of a better next step.
He licked his lips. “I’m Joren Delyth.”
“Are you in contact with any of our soldiers?”
“I’ve just tried to lay low here. I’ve watched for anyone I know, but no luck. I don’t know if I can evade the patrols much longer.” He looked around furtively.
There’s what will get you noticed, I thought. Looking like they ought to check what you’re up to. “Maybe you’d be better off coming back to our place. My brother is home, and trying to get things organized.” Don’t make me be too specific, please.
“Back to the country?” he puzzled.
“You could meet us on the outside of town. We’ll leave early tomorrow, on foot. If you don’t think it safe to travel with us, do you remember your way to our place?”
“How could it be safe to leave town?”
“It’s safer to leave than to stay and be taken prisoner, I reckon. And the Keltanese are more set on keeping folk out of the town than keeping them here. You should see the wall they’re building.” I set the full bucket on the ledge, and a young woman who favored Annora in fair hair and deep-set eyes stepped up with a clay jar to fill. I poured the water for her, while Joren looked thoughtful.
“Why do you want to help me?” He asked when the woman went on her way.
“I was hoping you could put me onto more of our troops. That not being the case, you can be most useful by coming to our place and aiding our cause from there.”
“You are … something different, I’ll say that. I’ll meet you on the road where the way to Roicer Village comes off the main route.”
“There is a shrine to the Earth Goddess under the tallest oak on the north roadside. We’ll look for you there a couple hours after sun up.” Wils might have some remarks about this turn of plans. “Can you drive a cargo wagon?” I asked, inspiration striking.
“Yes, I’ve done it often. Do you have a wagon?”
“Not yet, but we will have need of experienced drivers if all comes aright.”
I left him then, and met Wieser bringing Virda up the street to the well. “Let’s go find the toolma
ker, now. Town life keeps us as busy as farming, I think!”
We came back to Guthy’s in good time, with a pair of planes and a hatchet. I had angled for a drill, but it cost too dear. A hand saw completed my purchases for the day, and Wils would be pleased. I hoped.
My next task I dreaded. I planned to talk again to Honni, and ask if I might meet her friend who worked in the harbourmaster’s house. I thought it could be possible to have her smuggle information out, or help us contact the harbourmaster to aid our espionage.
After what Virda had told me that morning, I was loath to approach Honni. I couldn’t have the girl thinking me anything like sweet on her in return.
Be brave, I told myself, you’re leaving in the morning, and tramped down to the kitchen. Honni sat plucking a chicken on the back steps. More hens clucked and scratched in a crate coop beneath the stairs.
“Thanks for the molasses cakes,” I said. My tongue felt thick of a sudden. “I remember you telling me about your friend who worked for the harbourmaster.”
Honni looked confused by the disconnected comments, but said, “I’m glad y-you like them. What about Orlo? He’s my friend.”
I assumed her friend was another kitchen girl. “What does Orlo do at the house?”
“He blacks the b-boots, and cleans the fireplaces, goes to market for cook, all s-such like errands. His mum keeps the nursery for the little grandson. Well, not now, since the boy was t-taken away by the soldiers.”
“Do you think I could talk to Orlo? I’m trying to find out all the news I can to carry home to the country.”
She paused plucking and looked me in the eye. “You can’t get him into trouble and then g-go away home.”
“No, I wouldn’t. I’m looking for a way to help all of us,” I protested.
Honni pursed her lips. “You c-come with me in an hour. I’m going to the fishmonger for m-mistress Guthy. We’ll see Orlo then.”
I didn’t think Honni acted as strange as she had in the morning. Maybe she just needed to be kept occupied.
