“I need to serve drinks to make money,” Geda said, getting up. “Excuse me while I go back to the bar,” he said, wishing his wife would stop haranguing him when he was only trying to earn a living.
“By the way,” Habala asked before he could make his escape, “why did you have Basha and Oaka perform tonight? After the fire magic yesterday, Nisa said people have been complaining. And Basha, in particular, isn’t himself this evening, and for good reason considering what happened yesterday, both at the practice field and with Jawen. You had to have noticed how quiet he’s been all day.”
“Habala!”
“They’re distracted.”
“It shouldn’t matter to them,” Geda said. “A professional soldier, musician, or innkeeper doesn’t let anything distract him from his duties, even if it’s unrequited love. Basha and Oaka should be more professional in their lives, if they are going to pursue any of those careers.”
“Geda, they’re still just boys, and—”
“I only told them to perform two songs.” He didn’t want to be too demanding of them, as they did deserve some time to themselves after the prior day’s events. But he knew that they had to toughen up, especially Basha, if they were going to survive on their own in this harsh world. “They’ll get off the stage, and then the storyteller will be on so they can enjoy the rest of the evening off.”
“Oh, good,” Habala said, sighing.
Now I’m going back to work,” Geda said, already on his way to the bar.
The people at the bar hushed up a bit when Geda arrived, and he glanced over at them, wondering what they had been talking about. He’d missed the militia tryouts yesterday, but he still found it hard to believe Oaka possessed fire magic; if such a thing were possible in his family he’d know about it…wouldn’t he? He sighed and shook his head, filling up drinks and serving them as he listened to Basha and Oaka perform in near perfect harmony.
Sir Nickleby arrived, and people avoided him like the plague as they whispered to each other about what had happened yesterday afternoon at the militia tryouts, and what had happened, or what they guessed had happened, several months ago when part of the forest had burned. Had Oaka been responsible for that as well, and had Sir Nickleby covered it up? The innkeeper refused to believe that kind of unfair conjecture. Besides, the knight had shown nothing but kindness to him and his family for many years now. He’d been a good friend and a good customer, and he just couldn’t believe anything so ill of the knight—much less Oaka. His behavior during the militia tryouts had to be exaggerated.
“How are you doing, Sir Nickleby?” Geda asked, approaching the knight who was walking up to the bar.
“Fine, thank you, although I’ve been better,” Sir Nickleby said, staring morosely down at the bar without looking up at the innkeeper.
Geda had faced such consternation and censure from his fellow townspeople in the past, and knew how fast rumor could ruin a man, his reputation, and his business. Geda had recovered from his own smear campaigns when he and Habala had adopted Basha and when Lapo had had him arrested. Fortunately, much of his business came from the usual lushes bellying up to the bar and visitors just passing through. Sir Nickleby’s business, however, was based on trust and honor, and now that was gone.
“I’m sorry for what happened to you yesterday afternoon, but I’m glad you were there,” Geda said. “If you hadn’t intervened, who knows what would’ve happened to Oaka and Basha. I’m so sorry.”
“I can’t teach forever, Geda; you know that. I might as well retire now,” Sir Nickleby said, smiling sadly.
“Still, you’re a good man and have given much to the people of Coe Baba. You should be honored at the end of your tenure, not discredited.”
“Thank you for the compliment, but please don’t thank me.”
“Habala and I thank you, nonetheless. Frankly, I don’t see why Hastin’s got such a grudge against my boys. Well, I might know why, but it’s still not a good enough excuse.”
“Hastin believes he deserves to be at the head of the line for everything, whether he’s earned it or not. No good will come of that boy; mark my words,” he said, finishing his ale and sliding the empty glass across the bar to Geda.
“Another?” Geda asked.
“No, thank you.” He waved off Geda’s offer. “I’m calling it a day.” He got up and went to toss his coin down on the bar.
Geda shoved his hand away. “Keep your money, my friend. The least we owe you is a free ale now and then.”
“I only did what I had to do, Geda. Remind your boys I won’t always be around to protect them. Tell them to defend themselves honorably,” he added with a wink before leaving.
Habala came to stand by him. “Oh, Geda,” she said, leaning into him. She rested her hand on his arm and peered up at him. “Do you think the boys will be all right?”
“We’ve nothing to fear, Habala. Nothing,” Geda said, wrapping his arm around her. Silently, he had little hope he was right. Hastin was unpredictable at best, and Sir Nickleby was right. The boy had a penchant for trouble.
Smidge came by and glared after the knight. “What was he doing here?”
“He was just talking, Smidge. Go away,” Geda muttered, waving away his younger brother.
“That Sir Nickleby can’t be trusted,” Smidge told him as he left.
“I don’t know why I put up with him,” Geda said as Habala kissed him.
* * * *
“We should have launched straight into the opening number, and you should’ve kept your mouth shut. Not caution everyone not to drink too much.”
“I’m sorry, Oaka, all right?” Basha said, sighing as he walked offstage behind his brother. “I didn’t think about what sort of a reaction it would garner. I just thought it would be nice, that’s all, to give them a word of caution not to drink too much.”
“A word of caution? We depend on them to drink as much as they want. What were you thinking?”
“I don’t know. I just thought it would be nice for once to think about their safety more than their coin.”
“It’s not about that!” Oaka interrupted. “The inn isn’t going to be around forever, you know, especially if you start discouraging people to put money in our pockets.”
Oaka stormed off before Basha could reply. Basha shook his head. He hadn’t thought about taking money out of their pockets. Plus, he’d embarrassed himself tonight with the way he’d acted. He’d angered Oaka and probably his father too, but that was the least of his current problems. Oaka had been avoiding him since the militia tryouts. Oaka had been avoiding everybody, for that matter. There were whispers and suspicious looks from others obviously due to Oaka’s fire starting at the militia tryouts. Everyone believed Oaka had used fire magic to defeat Hastin. Basha had no idea whether or not it was true, but he feared it might be. What will happen to Oaka, he wondered, if people started fearing his magical powers? And without Sir Nickleby, who would train and lead the town militia?
Things were definitely going downhill.
* * * *
“Stay away from me, Morton,” Nisa said as she went out the side door beside the bar, a notepad stuck in her apron pocket and a piece of paper clutched in her right hand. He trailed after her; she couldn’t get rid of him.
It was a cool evening, close to freezing and she shivered as she headed toward the kitchen, just on the other side of the alleyway. The sun had just set twenty minutes ago, and the shadows were already deep enough to hide hazards in her path. Hidden behind the hem of her skirt, her old leather boots sloshed through the scummy snow left behind by the last storm and whatever bodily fluids a wayward drunkard might have left behind. She had to hold her breath sometimes to block out the horrible smells.
“I don’t understand; what’s the matter with you?” Morton asked, tucking his horn into his armpit. “You’ve only got a couple more years before—”
“Before what, Morton?” Nisa asked, turning around to face him at the kitchen doorway with her e
yebrows raised. She was twenty-six—almost twenty-seven—and she’d never been married or engaged to anybody. For the past year Morton had been trying to propose to her, but she’d either dismissed him as a drunk or a jokester. Usually, she tried to ignore him, change the subject midsentence, or run off before he could finish. Once or twice he’d finally gotten up enough nerve to finish his proposal, but she’d said no.
She’d dated a few men before, including Smidge, but she’d never seriously considered hooking up with any of them. She’d been busy, trying to provide for herself and her mother, working alongside her father, and she’d little time to consider marriage.
“I mean, you’re…we’re not getting any younger.”
“Speak for yourself, Morton,” Nisa rolled her gray eyes before she entered the kitchen. How dare he? He was almost twenty years older than her; she couldn’t even consider him. “You might want to find someone to spend the last few years of your life with, but I still have a lot of time to find my soul mate, and you’re not that,” she said, going through the workspace, nodding her blonde head at the six other women and men chopping vegetables, stirring soup, roasting meat, and baking bread for the night’s event. A large crowd had gathered inside the inn, and she had to serve them, as did the other people inside this kitchen.
“What about children?” Morton asked, trying to avoid getting trampled or getting in other people’s way as he followed in her footsteps.
“Children—haven’t thought much about them,” Nisa said, turning to him as she placed her piece of paper down in front of one of the cooks. “The way I see it, children are a nuisance. You might want them to continue your legacy, but I don’t.” She turned back to the cook and told him, “Make sure to put a rush on that beef, and don’t forget to add the mint. Lumberjacks,” she added and the cook nodded.
“What about your maternal instinct?” Morton asked her. “What about love, and—”
“Morton, you’re just not the man I want to marry. Besides, I haven’t got time to consider marriage and a family.” Nisa said, turning to him and crossing her arms. “Look, you want more out of me than I can give you. You’d be happier raising a family with a different girl. I’m just not for you, Morton.” She paused, glancing over his shoulder. “What is that man doing here?” she wondered. “Hey you!” she cried, pushing Morton aside as the stranger poured a vial of liquid into the soup boiling on the stove. “Stop!” she cried, pushing Morton aside and chasing after the man as he rushed out of the kitchen.
“Nisa, wait!” Morton cried.
“Dump that soup out!” she cried, ignoring Morton as she reached down to grab the knife from her hidden anklet sheath and ran out into the night. She looked in the stable yard first before she took off down the alleyway toward the street. There he was, huffing and puffing down the street, but he hadn’t made it very far. Nisa quickly caught up to him and tackled him, taking him to the ground. She slashed at his throat, but he blocked her blade and drew one of his own. He was too strong for her, his muscles indicating he was either a farmer or a lumberjack. Nisa had no choice. She sprang away to avoid his knife, and then feinted an attack as they circled around each other, gauging each other’s strengths and weaknesses.
“Who are you?” she managed to ask.
He laughed maliciously. “I’ve heard of you, you know. I thought you and your father were just a legend, but here you are. Perhaps I should kill you here and now.”
“Here I am,” she said, inviting the stranger with a come hither motion of her free hand.
The stranger smiled and charged her, just what Nisa wanted. He left himself open enough for Nisa to take advantage of her training. As they grappled for the advantage, she drove her blade deep into the man’s side. He gasped and went stone still as the blade slipped between his ribs and into a lung. Their faces just inches apart, she looked him straight in the eye and twisted the knife as she shoved it deeper into his flesh.
He gasped, but stood defiant. “I will not be the last,” he proclaimed, and then he gasped as blood trickled from his mouth. He gave a deathly gurgle and then drew his last breath, sliding to the ground at her feet. In moments he lay dead on the ground.
Nisa grimaced, wondering what to do with the remains, when her father suddenly appeared. “Do you need my help?” he asked.
“Yes, thanks,” she said. “I’m glad you showed up.”
“I sensed your need,” he said as they each grasped an arm and dragged the dead man down an alley into the forest far from any of the well-traveled trails. There, wild animals would devour the evidence of Nisa’s crime.
“Are you okay?” Nisa’s father asked, while she cleaned herself off as well as she could with snowmelt and her apron.
“I’m fine for now,” she said, suppressing her trembling.
“Good. I’ll see you later; we’ll talk more then,” he said, slipping away.
Nisa took some deep breaths to calm herself before returning to the inn’s kitchen.
* * * *
Nisa was on her way to deliver an order to a table of intoxicated lumberjacks. They were loud and obnoxious, shouting sexual innuendoes at her as she delivered a plate to each man. When one of them pinched her bottom, she fumbled the plate and dropped it on the floor. “I’m sorry. I’ll get you more,” she said, her hands shaking as she bent down to pick up the food and the shattered plate, piling it all back onto her serving tray. She was cracking. She thought she could handle the pressure of her duties, but she was faltering. She hated the thought of losing control.
“Do you need some help?” she heard a voice say, and looked up at Basha, who’d arrived with a damp towel in hand.
“Thanks, I could use some,” Nisa said as he bent down to help her gather the last of the food and broken shards.
“Please don’t be upset.” He smiled at Nisa. “No one’s going to yell at you or charge your wages for the broken plate and wasted food. Accidents happen.”
“You’re being awfully nice to me.”
“And why shouldn’t I be?”
“I’m just an employee. Nobody really.”
“Everybody is somebody, Nisa.” Basha picked up the last piece of shattered crockery and laid it beside the slices of soiled meat she’d just put back on her tray.
“Are you going to ask for anyone tonight?” she asked, knowing it was something she shouldn’t be asking.
Basha stopped, hesitating. “I’m going to try,” he said.
“Jawen, right?”
He hesitated again. “Yes,” he whispered so low no one else could hear him.
“Well, good luck with that,” she said, standing up with her tray full. “Would you like me to bring you out something to eat?” she asked him.
“Uh…no, thank you,” he said, standing up. “I had pork with radishes and cucumber earlier this evening.”
“It must be a little strange ordering food at your own home,” she remarked, standing up.
“Well, you know, I have to work here too.”
The lumberjack waiting for his evening meal chose that moment to rudely interrupt them. “Hey, girlie, you two gonna jaw all night or you gonna get me another plate of food?” he said, glowering up at her.
“Yes, sir. Directly,” Nisa curtsied and hurried back to the kitchen for another plate of food while Basha used the damp towel to clean the last of the food’s residue from the floor. He stood and bowed his head politely before he addressed the lumberjack. “Rest assured, sir, you’ll not be charged for your meal tonight, courtesy of the house.”
“Well now…” The lumberjack smiled up at Basha, looking much happier. “That’s the right way to do business.”
“Yes, sir. We try to treat our customers right, as we appreciate your business and hope you’ll come back again.”
“Oh, I will indeed.”
Basha nodded and hurried after Nisa, reaching her as she was about to push through the swinging door to the kitchen, He beat her to it and held it open for her.
“Thank you
.” She smiled up him and started to go through it before Basha stopped her with a hand on her arm.
“You know, Nisa, if you have any more trouble with customers like that harassing you, just come to me and I’ll handle that particular table.”
“Oh, Basha, that’s very nice of you. You must’ve seen what he did to me.”
“Yes, and while you’ve got to be ready to take care of your guests, you have to take care of your employees as well. We have to handle all sorts of little emergencies like that,” he said, looking at her. “It bites to be nice to some guests, but sometimes you’ve got to smile and bear it. By the way, there’s no charge tonight for that man’s meal. We want even the likes of him to come back again.”
Nisa nodded. “Well, I better go throw this trash out on the midden and get back out there before that man starts eating the table,” she quipped, turning away from him.
“Sorry if I was carrying on too much,” Basha told her before she left.
You weren’t, Nisa wanted to say. Instead, she curtsied and practically ran for the midden. She knew she couldn’t get involved in a friendship with Basha when she had her obligation to remain detached and separate from him. Her mission, one she’d been involved in for a very long time, required her to be secretive and discreet. Frankly, she was tiring of it and wished it were over, but it really hadn’t even begun yet.
Chapter 7
History and Legend
“The tales we tell ourselves are the ones
That stay with us. They have no end or
Beginning, they just continue on and grow
In complexity and mystery until we depart.”
—The Storyteller’s Lament
“There are worlds upon worlds.” Old Man began his story the same way he always did, with a prelude. “The worlds of the living, where we reside, include so many far off and different times and places that we can’t possibly count them all.” He smiled as he said, “Yet all of them are inhabited by people or beings who live and breathe just as we do, people who need as much as we do, in terms of love, security, and compassion.”
The Smiling Stallion Inn Page 8
