Tasha smiled. “If the anecdotes I’ve heard are to be believed, men, oroqs, and ice are about all the Four Watches have to offer.”
“You look tired. Why don’t you close up and get some sleep?”
Shaking her head, Tasha turned again to her apothecary cabinet. “No, no. I have to finish this translation before Darrock Granitebinder returns. The caravans haven’t arrived yet, have they?”
“No, but I’m expecting them any day now.”
“All the more reason to finish as soon as possible.”
“I’ll leave you to it, then. Sorry, Tasha.”
With her back toward Aveline, the sorceress waved as the knight-captain exited her shop. She discovered a packet of herbs she often sold to customers who complained of fatigue. After brewing them into a tea, she consumed the drink while it was still hot. She hoped to complete this translation today; it taught her more about dwarven trade agreements than she ever wanted to know.
* * *
Watching one of the constables carry a bucket of water to the cellblock, Aveline applied a coat of oil to the steel shaft of her mace. Most of the drunks had awakened with headaches, albeit sober, shortly before dawn, so she let them leave. Aerik and Therkla remained the jail’s only residents.
As a new shift arrived to assume their duties at the Citadel, she sent Lieutenant Valon home to sleep. Reports from most of the guards in the city came in after the lieutenant left—no sign of the girl anywhere in town. Although Aveline developed a plan to search the fields around Curton, her confidence they would find Innya waned. Many hours had passed between when she left home and when she was declared missing. The abductors likely moved her many leagues away from town in that time.
Aveline entered the cellblock just as a constable chucked a full water bucket onto the hefty man snoring fitfully on the cell floor.
“Arrrrgggh!” Aerik coughed and sputtered. Aveline watched the oroq, with a sour expression on her tusked face, roll off her cot. As far as Aveline could tell, Aerik weathered his drunken evening without incident, although, at the moment, he resembled a wild man in from the wilderness for the first time in decades.
“Fiery demon balls, boy!” Helping Aerik to his feet, Therkla glared at the officer. Water streamed from the man’s beard and hair.
“Where in the hells—” Aerik’s body wracked as he coughed. “Where in the hells am I?” He shook his head like a soggy dog as his eyes darted around the prison. Aveline barely understood the words through his thick southern accent.
Sheathing her sword, Aveline approached the cell. “The citadel, Curton’s jail.”
“What the hell for?”
“Disturbing the peace. Public drunkenness. I’m sure we can think of a few other things, but mostly because your friend there bit a mudder’s ear off.”
Aerik rubbed his face, squinting at Therkla.
Shrugging, she grinned, her pointed teeth glistening. “The one who threw his drink in our face, remember?”
Shaking his head, Aerik wrung the water from his beard and approached the bar separating him from Aveline. “How long must we stay here?”
Aveline jingled the keys in her hand before unlocking the cell. “The mudder hasn’t come forward yet. I doubt he will, and, even if he does, it sounds like you were provoked. Lieutenant Valon confirmed with the barkeep that you two had not caused any trouble before the incident.”
The two exited the cell. Aveline directed them to the rack to claim their weapons. “A hint of advice—find a nicer place to stay. The mudders are the lifeblood of Curton, but they’re rough-and-tumble folk. Stay out of trouble.”
Aerik nodded as he belted his sheathed sword around his waist. “Glory can be found at the bottom of the deepest cave or in the depths of the murkiest swamp. There is no glory to be found at the bottom of a mug.”
Chuckling, the oroq woman picked up her axe. “Oh, like the cave near Haefstaad? The one—”
“We agreed to never speak of that!”
Grinning, Therkla bared her tusks. “My apologies.” She bowed. “You are right. There are fine things to be found at the bottom of a mug, but glory is not one of them. I had an idea, Aerik, while you were sleeping. Let’s find something to eat, and I’ll tell you about it.”
Aerik bowed his head as he passed Aveline. She watched them leave before turning to the constable. “I’m off to do my rounds. If anyone returns with news about the missing girl, send them to see Tasha at the apothecary. She can get word to me more quickly than anyone wandering around to find me.”
Lieutenant Valon saluted.
The magic Tasha used to send messages fascinated Aveline. While that type of spell was technically outside the sorceress’s area of expertise, she explained it proved too useful to fall by the wayside. Useful enough, in fact, that when she gave herself over to the study of Gaia and mysticism, she continued to hone her skill using magical messengers. Aveline often ordered her constables to go to Tasha when they needed to contact her with immediate concerns, and she trusted her friend not to contact her frivolously.
Before slipping her mace through the ring on her belt, Aveline checked the straps on her armor. She then stepped out into the cool morning air. A fine mist hung low over the streets. She heard the creaking of wheels and clanking of crude bells as farmers and merchants wheeled carts laden with their wares into place.
Market day. She shook her head. Unbidden, she felt a pang in her conscience. It took the abduction of an affluent citizen’s child to spur me into real action. The other missing folk were no less deserving of my attention. Yet, because of their chosen profession, I did not give them the treatment they deserved. Pushing through the gathering crowds of shoppers, she proceeded toward Cybele’s Church. Inside, Mother Anya swept the floor in front of the altar. The matron glanced up as Aveline strode down the aisle.
“Two days in a row, Lady Constable? To what do I owe this pleasure?”
“I feel I have been negligent of late. I have placed the value of one life over another’s based on social status.” Aveline approached the front row of benches and sat. The wood creaked in protest under the weight of her armor.
“Why do so many wait until they feel the burden of guilt before they seek me out?”
Aveline rubbed the bridge of her nose. She did not intend to enter a religious debate with Mother Anya. Aveline was not a devout follower of Cybele, but she appreciated the sense of community the followers of the goddess of harvest brought to the town. “I came here seeking your advice because I know you have sense, Mother Anya. That is all. I do not wish to convert. I will never be a farmer, not a good one, anyway.”
“You would probably do better speaking to one of the priests of Hon… or perhaps Adranus. It’s unfortunate there’s no Temple of Anetha here. Perhaps you could rebuild the shrine to her in the citadel. It is a house of justice, after all.” Mother Anya handed her broom to Aveline. Using one of the cloths from her apron, she dusted the statue of Cybele that stood on the altar.
Aveline sighed. She’d once tried to engage the priests of Adranus, god of smiths, and Hon, god of the hearth and family. “They still view me as an outsider, I think. They’re less than welcoming toward me, or maybe they’re just grumpy bastards. Besides, I wouldn’t know where to begin rebuilding the shrine. I don’t even know what room it was in. I guess I could have one of the craftsfolk sculpt me an owl for Anetha.” None of the gods were as favored in Curton as Cybele these days.
“You are an outsider. It is why you are as popular with the common folk as their constable.” Mother Anya chuckled, stuffing her dust rag into her apron before retrieving her broom and sitting beside Aveline. “When you do something unpopular, they can blame the untrustworthy outsider.”
“But I was raised here.”
Mother Anya nodded. “And when you do something they like, they can praise you as one of their own. The masses are nothing if not fickle.”
“Well, I’m not here to be popular, but I am here to see that the laws are follow
ed and justice is served. They’re good people, for the most part, but I sometimes have difficulty remembering those with whom I do not agree have the same rights and deserve the same justice as everyone else.”
The priestess patted Aveline’s knee. “It is a struggle we all have, child.”
Chapter 5
Tasha sprinkled sand over the parchment to dry the ink. Completing the translation of the final Dwarvish scroll lifted a weight from her shoulders. She straightened, stretching her arms over her head. The townsfolk who were not crafters had little to trade with the dwarves, and, indeed, never saw them. However, because dwarves were rare visitors to Curton since the mines closed, mudders gossiped about their arrival.
She brushed the sand off the page before flipping through the codex. There are still a few blank pages. I suppose there’s room for more. After latching the cover, she carried the book into her front room to wrap it in paper. When she finished, she sighed and placed it under the counter. Her sleeve snagged on a splinter, ripping the fabric as she pulled her arm away.
“Damn!”
Tasha clenched her jaw, examining her torn sleeve. Why do these things always happen when Aveline needs me to make public appearances with her? The constable returned earlier to tell Tasha of the dwarves’ impending arrival and to invite her along to the tavern later to drink and swap stories with them. Tasha stepped into her workroom, then rummaged through a box until she found a planer.
Running her hand along the edge of the counter, she felt a few more rough spots. She ran the planer over it, scraping away burrs and splinters. Is this what my life is going to be now? Selling herbs, scraping wood, and dealing with busybody matchmakers and lecherous men? The bell above her door jingled. She glanced, recognizing the big man, whose tousled, mousy-brown hair poked out underneath his pointed, fur-trimmed hat. Flour dusted his clothes and apron. Smiling, he bowed his head at Tasha.
“Good day, m’lady.”
“What can I do for you, Bolek?”
“Master Jaromil sent me to see Natalia, but you’re closer and pret—” He blushed. “I need, um, that lady herb, and um…” He withdrew a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket. Flattening it on the counter, he squinted at it, as though willing it to reveal its secrets.
“Lady herb?” Tasha giggled. “Rosemary?”
“Yeah. I always forget.” He pushed the paper toward her.
Tasha took the list. “Rosemary. Poppy seeds. Rose petals. Sweetleaf. Dried fireberries. Butter. Cream.” Nodding, she turned to her apothecary cabinet. Scanning the labels, she opened each drawer to find what she needed, then retrieved several bowls from beneath the counter.
“Um, salt. He said he needed salt too. Twice as much as everything else.”
Tasha spooned poppy seeds into a bowl, careful not to spill any. She still remembered when she first started selling herbs. She’d accidentally pulled the drawer out too far, spilling her entire stock of poppy seeds all over the floor. Even years later, she still found poppy seeds between the floorboards and ground into the planks. “I have a little, but if he needs that much, you might need to go to the market.”
“Butter and cream too. We’re baking.”
“I see that.” Placing the bowl of poppy seeds on the counter, she smiled at the man. “I love your breads. I may stop by later today to buy some.”
She finished pulling together Bolek’s order, then tallied the purchases. “Rosemary, poppy seeds, rose petals, sweetleaf, and dried fireberries. That comes to a half-talon and two pennies.”
Bolek reached into his pocket. After withdrawing a fistful of change, he picked through the coins. He placed a talon—silver coins of the realm minted with a deep score down the middle—and two pennies on the counter. Tasha snapped the talon in half before returning a piece to Bolek. He stuffed it into his pocket before gathering the bundles Tasha had prepared. He thanked her as he stumbled out the door.
Entering the back room, she loosened her robes, pulling her arm out of the sleeve to examine it more closely. Her shopkeeper’s bell jingled again. With an exasperated sigh, Tasha dressed herself and straightened her robes before returning to the front of the store. A dark-haired man wearing a worn leather jack with no sleeves stood at the counter. A round shield slung over his shoulder, he carried a brace of axes on his belt as well as a heavy-looking sword and a fancy dagger that appeared more ornamental than functional. His clothing and manner identified him as one of the Watchfolk. She noticed bandages wrapped around his right arm, covering it from wrist to just above the elbow.
He cleared his throat. “Ah, you are the alchemist, yes?”
“This is Tasha’s apothecary.” Tasha bowed her head. “Herbs, alchemy, teas… what malady do you have?”
He held out his bandaged arm. “I was forging in the forest west of here. I”—he chuckled—“took a spill into a bramble patch, cut my arm up. There was some sort of plant there. It caused a rash that itches like fire. I wrapped it because I know scratching will make it spread.”
“Let me see.” Tasha took the man’s hand, unwrapping his bandage. Deep scratches covered the skin underneath with patches of raised red blotches. She could not determine if the swelling originated from the scratches, the rash, or both.
“Do you know what the plant looked like? Was it an ivy? A nettle?”
The man shook his head. “No, sorry. I leapt up quickly, and I was too busy nursing my arm to pay attention.”
Tasha patted his hand. “I have something that will help. Go ahead and cover it up.”
As he did so, she turned to her cabinet. She located a bunch of jewelweed leaves and dumped them into her biggest mortar, then pulped them with the pestle.
“You’re from the Four Watches?” She glanced over her shoulder at him as she worked.
“Haefstaad, originally. Well, a village in that hold, near Haefstaad.” He wound the bandages around his arm.
“You’re a long way from home. What brings you north?”
“Spent a few years in Muncifer. Things didn’t work out, so I headed back this way.” He secured the bandage, then rested his hands on the counter as he waited. “Still not sure if I’m going to head to Cliffport and take a ship somewhere or go back across the mountains. Neither is particularly appealing right now.”
“No family to go home to?”
“None to speak of. Cousins, but I hardly know them.”
Tasha finished, scraping the paste onto a sheet of waxed paper. She then tied the package into a bundle.
“After you bathe, take about a fourth of this, mix it with some mud, and spread it over the affected area. Then wrap it.” She passed the packet across the counter. “It should alleviate the itching and reduce the rash. I recommend reapplying it daily.”
“Mud?” He peered at the packet.
“The mudders will be happy to part with it. Any potter in town will have some as well, though they’ll charge you more.”
“Very well.” He took the packet. “How much?”
“Two talons.” His malady required a sizable quantity of her jewelweed, so it demanded a high price. She had no more if someone else needed it.
He fished two silver coins out of his pouch, handed them over, and bowed. “Thank you.”
Tasha watched him leave before returning to the back room. She rummaged in a trunk for needle and thread to repair her sleeve. She found a needle, but the spool of thread had barely a finger’s length remaining. Tasha sighed. I guess I need to change clothes.
* * *
By the time Aveline’s morning rounds brought her to Miners’ Gate, she noticed the dwarf caravan had already arrived. Guards stationed at the gate progressed down the line of donkeys and oxen, nodding as they verified the dwarves’ goods.
Assuming this visit resembled past ones, Aveline guessed at their cargo: metals to be worked in Curton’s forges in trade for textiles and what grains Curton could spare. They would probably leave with some new pottery too. Clay mud was one resource Curton possessed in abundance.<
br />
Aveline searched the assembled dwarves for a familiar face. Passing through the city gate, she returned the guard’s salute. Near the end of the line she located the dwarf she sought. Grey streaked his black beard, and travel rendered the elaborate braid work in his beard unkempt. His cheeks seemed even rosier than the previous year, although Aveline could not tell if age, drink, or exposure affected his complexion. Frowning, he crossed his arms, watching closely as Curton’s guards inspected his caravan.
“Hail, Mighty Caravan Master. Welcome back to Curton, Kingdom of Mud and Pots.” With one hand on the head of her mace and the other crossing her chest, Aveline bowed deeply.
The dwarf squinted, his green eyes flashing, before roaring a great laugh from his belly. “Lass, I was hoping you’d greet us!” He clapped her on the shoulder.
Aveline smiled. “It is good to see you again, Dwennon.” Standing straight, Aveline towered over the dwarf. She always slouched a bit in his presence so he did not have to crane his neck to meet her eye. “I’ve been looking forward to your visit.”
He waved at his caravan and to the guards inspecting it. “Yet, not enough to let us pass without this harassment, eh?”
“The Lord Mayor must collect his taxes.”
“I’ll bet he takes them coming and going.”
Nodding, Aveline accompanied Dwennon toward the end of the caravan. “I’m certain he does. Were these men knights or soldiers of the realm, I would enact some changes. But they are the city’s garrison, and my ability to countermand the Lord Mayor is somewhat limited where tax collection is concerned.”
“Bah, I wasn’t blaming you, lass.” Dwennon sighed. “It was a long journey is all.”
Aveline looked toward the southern mountains. Dark clouds obscured the tallest peaks, and it appeared as though rain clouds were blowing inland from the eastern shore. Over Curton, however, the cool morning mist gave way to clear blue skies broken only by a few lonely, puffy clouds. “Bad weather or dangers on the road?”
Summer of Crows Page 4
