Fearsome Journeys (The New Solaris Book of Fantasy)

by Jonathan Strahan

  From the summit, the land spread out before him, vast grazing plains mottled by rocky outcrops. The once-green fields had been parched to pale straw, the streams mere trickles. Late in the afternoon on the second day of his travels, saddle-sore and weary, he was glad to see a thin plume of smoke on the horizon. Fossepuante.

  He rode for another hour and was close enough to see the outlines of low stone buildings when the smell hit him. The putrid emanations made his eyes water and his gorge rise, filling his throat with the sour remnants of his midday meal.

  What foul protection had the wizard devised to guard his treasure? Natto touched the amulet on the collar of his rough wool coat and muttered an oath under his breath. He yanked on the reins and forced his horse to advance in the direction of the village.

  The stench grew stronger with every step. Natto pulled his neckerchief up over his nose, the odors of tobacco and wine and sweat masking, for the moment, all other smells. That moment did not last long.

  By the time he reached the first outbuilding, the horse was flagging and Natto imagined that his own face was the tint of a greenish putty. His stomach roiled, and for the first time he could remember, even the idea of ale was repellent.

  Fossepuante consisted of a single muddy street bordered by a handful of stone buildings, half-timbered and thatched. The sign on the two-storey inn said ‘The Pond and Clootie’ in faded gold letters. Next to it was a stable. The horse whinnied at the oddly welcome odor of manure.

  At a distance of some hundred yards was a large barn surrounded by wooden fencing. Scores of animals lay in heaps amid swarms of flies; above them hung a dreadful cloud of grayish vapor.

  The wizard was clever, Natto thought. Unless one knew, this would seem an unlikely hiding place for a valuable jewel.

  He dismounted and thought for a moment. He had no plan but to rely on the fortunate opportunities upon which thieves thrive. He would arrange a bed for the night, and a meal, then insinuate himself among the locals. The pearl was bound to be a topic of conversation, and when ale loosened some tongues, information would be revealed.

  He tied his horse and entered the inn.

  The interior was close and dim, but the air smelled more of spice and ale and smoky peat than it did a charnel house, for which Natto was grateful. He lowered his neckerchief and breathed deeply.

  To his right, a narrow staircase rose up into silent darkness. Three wooden tables sat to his left, each with an unlit candle. They formed a half-circle in front of a soot-stained hearth, coals glowing. Before him lay a long counter topped with varnished wood; behind it shelves held an array of tankards and pottery mugs and a few cork-stoppered bottles.

  At the far end, an open doorway admitted the sounds of clanking pots and the sizzle of meat. He waited for a minute, then two, and finally rapped his knuckles on the countertop.

  “Just a tick,” said a woman’s voice. “I’ll get this off the fire and be right there.”

  He heard another sizzle, then a loud hiss and watched a wisp of fragrant steam wander out and disappear among the rafters.

  A moment later a red-haired, red-faced young woman filled the doorway, wiping her hands on an apron. She wore a blue smock and a pair of heavy woolen trousers, her hair tied back in a kerchief. She was, to put it politely, a sturdy lass, fully as tall as Natto himself, and half again as broad.

  “I’m afraid you’ll have to wait till morning to unload your wagon,” she said, shaking her head, but smiling. “My Da’s just now banked down the fires.”

  Natto inclined his head in what might, in such a rustic place, pass for a bow. “That would be unwelcome news indeed, if I had a wagon.”

  The woman’s smile faltered. “Everyone comes here has a wagon or a cart. How else would you carry your stock?”

  “A horse with saddlebags is quite enough for me.”

  “In your saddlebags?” She wrinkled her nose. “First I’ve heard of that. What parts are you selling, then?”

  Parts? Natto was unsure how to answer. “Depends on what parts you’re buying.” He smiled, his most unctuous and charming smile, reserved for the ladies.

  “Whatever doesn’t go into the pot.” She stared at him. “You’re not in the trade, are you?”

  “What trade is that?”

  She nodded, as if she had been given the answer to a question Natto had not heard asked. “Ah, you poor man. No wagon and no nose?” She pointed to the outer door. “Most can smell the plant from miles away.”

  “Oh,” Natto said. “That. Yes, I did notice a change in the—air—as I rode in.” He touched his neckerchief. “What is it?”

  “Da’s the renderer. Boils down what’s left after the butcher’s taken his cuts. Bones, skin, gristle, fat.” She put her hands on her hips. “Any of that in your saddlebags?”

  “No, I’m not in that line of work.”

  “I see. And what is your line?”

  “Tax collector.” It was the first thing that came to mind. A traveler’s occupation, and it should put an end to any further inquiries, tax collectors not being the most popular fellows. “I’m on my way back to the capital. I saw your sign, and hoped you’d have a room for the night.”

  “Fancy that. And where might you be coming from, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “I set out this morning from—” and here Natto stopped, because he had very little knowledge of the provinces.

  She looked at him for a moment, then said, as if it were amusing, “Maulde?”

  “Yes,” Natto said quickly. “Maulde. Charming place.”

  The girl’s mouth twitched in what Natto thought was a most unbecoming way. “Isn’t it just,” she said.

  “Do you have a room?” he asked after a moment of awkward silence.

  “I will in about half an hour. I’ll need to go up and change the linens.” She pointed to one of the tables. “Sit there and have a pint while I tidy up. Ale and supper’s included with the tariff. May I ask your name, sir?”

  Natto thought as quickly as he was able. “George,” he said. “George, uh, Petin!” There. Now if any trouble followed him to the capital, Petin would be the one pursued.

  “Very good, Mr. Petin. I have a nice front room.” She named a price that was, nearly to the copper, what his purse contained. It was not a princely sum—he’d paid more for a single meal, when he was flush—but his circumstances had been drastically reduced by the purchase of the map.

  He nodded, laying his coins on the counter as she drew a pint from the barrel and set it on the nearest table. She put the coins in a wooden box.

  “What’s on offer tonight?” he asked.

  “I’ve got a lovely pud coming off the hob in about two hours. Pearl barley, mutton, and mince.”

  Natto’s mouth watered.

  SPONDA RAPPED ON the outbuilding door. “It’s me.”

  “Come in.” Anna wiped her hands on a stained towel. She saw Sponda’s face and frowned. “What’s wrong?”

  “Another stranger. Says he’s a tax collector, too, just like the first.”

  “Did he say anything else suspicious?”

  “No, but when I asked where he’d ridden from, he didn’t seem to know. I suggested Maulde and he was quick to agree.”

  “Maulde? That’s two hundred leagues from here!”

  “I know,” Sponda said. “Once he failed that first test, I did what you said, if another came. I told him there’d be pearl barley in the pud, and I saw his eyes go wide for just a moment.”

  “If he startles at the word pearl, he could be from Mége-Mouriés laboratory, snooping around to see if I’ve made any progress.”

  “He doesn’t really look the chemist type, but I think you’re right. It’s been an age since we’ve had two guests in a week, and neither one of them a rag and bone man with reason to stop here.”

  “True. But that may be good news.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, if the prize had been claimed, there’d be no need to send spies around to snoop, wo
uld there?”

  “I suppose not. I gave the one we have a pint of ale and told him I needed to make the bed, then took the back stairs here. Thought you ought to know.”

  Anna sighed. “Take the rosehips.” She pulled the jar from the shelf.

  Sponda nodded. “Should I set a place for you at supper?”

  “No. Save me a slice. I’ll eat it cold later. I think it’s best that this stranger doesn’t meet me yet. But listen closely to what he says. See if you can find out what he’s up to.”

  “I will. I told him ale comes with the room, so I’ll make sure he gets full value.” Sponda slipped the jar into her apron. “What if he keeps on, though?”

  Anna looked around the room and laughed. “I’m a trained apothecary. And I had three brothers. I’m a wizard at concocting any number of unpleasant surprises.” Her face took on a curious look. “And I just had an idea.”

  “What?”

  “I’ll tell you later, once I work it out. We’re too close to claiming the prize for anything to get in our way.”

  THE SMALL UPSTAIRS room faced the road. It had a washstand with a pitcher and a chamber pot, and a narrow bed covered in a quilt that smelled like roses. Natto combed the road dust out of his beard and put on his other shirt, to make a good impression with the locals. He descended the stairs at dusk. The air now smelled of spiced meat and tobacco, and at one of the tables sat a large, ruddy man with a pipe in his mouth and his ham of a fist wrapped around a tankard.

  He looked up at the sound of footsteps. “Hello, hello!” he called. “I’m Ian Cubbins. You must be the tax-man.” He indicated the chair across from his with a wave of his pipestem. He called to the kitchen, “Sponda! Ale for our guest!”

  The red-haired woman came out and drew a pint for Natto. “The room to your liking, Mr. Petin?”

  “It’s fine.”

  “Supper in an hour.” She put his ale down and returned to the kitchen.

  The man puffed on his pipe. “Do you like steamed pudding?”

  “I do. It’s a favorite of mine,” Natto said, telling the truth for once.

  “Then you’re in for a treat. My daughter’s won ribbons at the fair for her puddings.” He lowered his voice. “It’s the suet that does it. Fresh from the plant, every day.”

  “I see.” Natto’s ale caught in his throat. He liked a good suet pudding as much as any man, but until now had not really considered its origins. “You make a lot of it?”

  “Aye. Hoof disease hasn’t hurt my business none.” He smiled, showing a few more teeth than Natto had expected. “You know what they say, ‘all’s not butter that comes from the cow.’”

  “Um. Yes. You’ve been doing this a long time?”

  “Since I was a lad. Learned from my Da, and he from his on back to—” he waggled his pipe at the uncountable years. “Yourself?”

  “I’m in—revenue,” Natto said. Another semblance of truth. He took money in, but not for the benefit of the government.

  “Never was much with figures, me. My Sponda keeps track of the accounts, since her Ma passed.” He ducked his head in a moment of remembrance then took a long and hearty swig of ale. “Ready for another?” he asked.

  “Can’t say that I’d mind.” Natto drained his mug.

  Ian was a friendly host, although his conversation ran mostly to the weather and odd facts about cattle, neither of which interested Natto. But the ruddy man saw to it that their mugs stayed full. Natto felt a familiar and pleasant glow by the time Sponda brought out their supper.

  “Here you go,” she said, setting the platter down. It held a golden-brown mound nearly the size of a man’s head, giving off a wonderful savory steam.

  Ian cut into the crust, and the gravied meat and grain spilled out, redolent of onions. He placed a generous portion onto Natto’s plate. “There now. Tell me if that isn’t the finest pudding you’ve ever had.”

  Natto would have replied, but his mouth was already full. He nodded enthusiastically, and a few minutes later, asked for another helping of both pudding and ale.

  When he was sated, Natto sat back in his chair. Sponda cleared the table, refilling his ale once again.

  “Da?” she asked.

  “No more for me,” her father said. “I’m off to bed. Dawn comes early.” He patted her cheek and went upstairs.

  Sponda filled a mug for herself. “You liked the pudding, then?”

  “It was magnificent. What’s your secret?”

  “Well, suet and tallow are our bread and butter,” she answered. “Though I suppose few in the capital have had butter since the troubles began.”

  “True enough. It’s gotten too dear for the likes of me.”

  “We get a bit, now and then, from farmers who still have herds, but even here it’s become scarce.” She looked thoughtfully at him, then nodded to herself. “Da says he doesn’t miss it much,” she continued. “Says he’s more of a greaves and drippings man.”

  “They have their place,” Natto agreed. He took another pull on his ale. “You should move to the capital. A cook like you would be in high demand.”

  “Perhaps I will, some day,” she said with a hint of a smile. “Now, tell me about your journeys. We don’t get many visitors, and it must be so interesting, traveling all over, in search of—” She paused to wipe an errant crumb from the table. “I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten what it is you said you’re after.”

  Natto’s ale-fuzzed brain almost blurted, “The French Pearl.” He stopped himself, but could think of nothing else and “Hidden treasure,” was what came out of his mouth.

  “Treasure? Really?”

  “Well, in a manner of speaking.” He tried to recover. “That is to say, assets that have not been properly reported, or—” He gathered what were left of his wits. “—uncollected revenues. Very important, especially in times like these.”

  “Silly me,” Sponda shook her head. “Here I was thinking you meant chests full of pearls and jewels and gold coins.”

  Natto almost spilled his ale. Was this the opportunity he had been waiting for? “Those would certainly be of interest to—to my superiors. As an innkeeper, you must hear all sorts of stories. If they turn out to be of use, there might be a generous reward.”

  “I see.” She stood still for a moment, then smiled as if she had just remembered something. “You know, there is an odd fellow on the outskirts of town, and there are rumors—”

  “Yes, yes. What sort of rumors?” Natto sat up eagerly.

  “Well, I don’t like to gossip,” she said. “But he’s rather secretive about what he does in his cottage. Strange lights and eerie noises, all times of the day and night.” She leaned toward him and lowered her voice. “Some say he’s a wizard.”

  “Really?”

  “Some say.”

  “Where is this cottage?”

  “I’ll show you, after breakfast.” Sponda looked back at the kitchen. “But now, I’m afraid, I’ve got the washing up to do and a few things to prepare before morning.”

  “Then I will say goodnight,” Natto drained his ale and stood on his second attempt.

  “I hope you sleep well,” Sponda said, and again her mouth twitched. It was most unbecoming.

  ANNA CAME INTO the kitchen as Sponda was drying the last of the plates. She put her arms around the innkeeper and kissed the back of her neck. “How was supper?”

  “The pud came out well. Yours is on the table, under the cloth.”

  “And the stranger?” She sat down and picked up a fork.

  Sponda made a face. “He’s not a spy. Just a common thief.”

  Anna raised an eyebrow, her mouth full.

  “While I was out talking to you he opened the cash box. Nicked back what he’d paid me, and three coppers besides.”

  “Ah.” She swallowed. “I’m a little relieved, though. Why do you think he’s here?”

  “It wasn’t just chance. He’s looking for something. Every time I said the word pearl, he jumped out of his britche
s.”

  “Really.” Anna sat quiet for a minute, then smiled. “In that case, I think we ought to give him one.”

  NATTO SPENT A restless night. He was up several times to relieve himself, not uncommon after an evening of drinking, and every time he crawled back into bed, his bare legs itched like the devil. Chafed from two days of riding? He was miserable, and thoughts of the mysterious wizard flittered through his head as he tossed and turned.

  At first light he heard the father rise and lumber down the stairs in his hobnailed boots. Natto buried his pounding head in the pillow and tried vainly to fall asleep, but gave up after another hour. He used the chamber pot again—it had become rather full—and put on his trousers. Downstairs, breakfast was laid out on the counter: tea and oatcakes with jam. They were plain fare, hearty and filling, and he had two helpings.

  He hadn’t seen the red-haired woman, so when he’d finished, he picked up his plate and cup and took them to the doorway. “Lady?” he called.

  He heard the noise of a door shutting at the back of the kitchen, and a moment later she appeared, pulling off a heavy cloak. “Sorry,” she said. “I was out back, um, checking to see if the hen was laying.” She saw the dishes in his hands. “Here, let me take those for you.”

  “Can you show me the odd fellow’s house?”

  “What? Oh, yes, him.” She glanced toward the back door, then hung her cloak on a hook. “Give me fifteen minutes to put away the breakfast things.” She gestured to a skillet and a mixing bowl. “Did you pass a pleasant night?”

  “Not really,” Natto said. “A lot on my mind, I guess. My duties and all.”

  “Sorry to hear that. Care for a fresh cup of tea?”

  “Thank you, no.” He rubbed his temples, which throbbed from lack of sleep and what his acquaintances called ale-head. Perhaps a hair of the dog that bit him? It was still part of the tariff, even if the coins hadn’t stayed in the till. Stupid cow hadn’t noticed. “I don’t suppose it’s too early for a pint?”