He raised his eyebrows in mock shock. “Practice?”
“You’re almost competent as a lover but your technique needs work,” she said, turning her back and disappearing into the kitchen before he could respond.
Chuckling to himself, Hatu climbed back up the ladder. This roof would be finished before the evening meal. Then all that was left was to hang the sign above the door. He returned to where he had been, knelt and picked up a shingle, hammer, and nails, and resumed his labor.
Molly finished sharing what she and Hava had seen with Declan, who silently listened. For a long moment he considered what she had told him and then said, “That does sound like something to fret over.”
Molly nodded. “They weren’t ordinary soldiers. They were guardsmen or something like that.”
Declan nodded. He had seen enough men-at-arms pass through Oncon, the village where he had been raised, to appreciate what Molly meant. Household, honor guards, castellans—all tended to be the most accomplished of soldiers, and to see a company of such dispatched on an escort mission indicated that the person they escorted was of some consequence.
“Where can I get a glimpse of these fellows?”
“I think Jacob’s barn is where the one fellow who was here slept, or maybe one of the other inns? Though Hava’s inn is supposed to open again tomorrow. Maybe there?”
“I’ll ask Gwen. She’s over there now inspecting the place for Hatu and Hava . . .” He let the words trail off. Staring out the large open door of his blacksmith shop, he finally said, “She’s still in mourning. She holds it in well, maybe too well. The tears were there at first, but . . .” He looked concerned. “I think perhaps she’s trying too hard to be strong, you know?”
“I know,” said Molly. Though she was usually a woman of few words, she added, “Once you get her with child, things will change.”
Declan fought against smiling at the thought of children but couldn’t help it. His life had taken some unexpected turns since his own childhood and he wondered how he had been so fortunate.
“If you find those men let me know,” Molly said. “I’m curious.” Without another word, she left the forge, leaving Declan alone with his thoughts.
Since returning from a visit with Baron Dumarch, Declan had informed everyone in town that he was authorized to organize a militia. Over the weeks since then, the able-bodied men of Beran’s Hill had organized a bit of training here and there. Some grudgingly, some enthusiastically, but all understanding that since the raid on the town by a mercenary named Tyree and his band, who had burned the Inn of the Three Stars, killed Gwen’s father, and abducted two women, it was necessary—and each man serving who didn’t miss training received a few coins, which tipped the balance.
As a result, Declan found himself more and more inclined to think of himself as the party responsible for town defense, even though the baron’s authorization of a militia was vague in terms of organization and mandate. The arrival of this mysterious man, escorted by elite troops, fully reinforced that sense of responsibility. It made him curious as to who the two men were and what they were about.
Hatu felt refreshed after bathing. His hair was still damp—and he had used the hair dye he had bought in Marquenet to keep the bright red toned down to a brownish red that was almost as dark as Hava’s. Given his upbringing, regular bathing never occurred to him, but as he had a proper bathhouse just outside the rear entrance to the inn, he planned on using it regularly—once a week, perhaps more often.
Gwen’s father had owned the Inn of the Three Stars, and she had literally been born here. Hatu and Hava stood quietly waiting for Gwen’s judgment.
Gwen surveyed the common room and nodded. Her eyes had a slight sheen to them, but no tears. Softly she said, “Better than new. Da had some fixin’ he never quite got around to, and the old bar was roughly used.” She nodded toward the highly polished, massive oak bar. “Splinters, stains from spills, cracks here and there. This one’s . . . beautiful.”
Hatu smiled. The two women stood in stark contrast to each other, Gwen voluptuous, not quite stocky, with her pale skin and dark brown hair, and Hava with her slender, not quite boyish figure, her dark brown hair with a hint of red, her dark eyes. He recognized that most men would find Gwen more attractive, yet to him, Hava was the most perfect beauty he’d ever seen.
“Before I began traveling with Hava and her father, I was apprenticed for a time to a boatbuilder. He showed me how to seal wood and put a finish on it,” Hatu said to Gwen, who let out a long sigh.
After a short pause, Gwen asked, “You two ready?”
“Not really,” said Hatu jokingly.
Hava said, “We’d be helpless without you, Gwen. When we agreed to buy the inn and repair it . . . let’s say there’s a lot more to running an inn than either of us imagined. How to stock the supplies, and what keeps and what doesn’t, which ale to buy . . .” She fell silent a moment, then added, “Just so much.”
Hatu nodded in agreement. “Had I known, I might have changed my mind.” He kept his tone light.
Gwen appeared to him to be on the verge of tears, but she took a deep breath, slowly let it out, and smiled. “No use pretending things aren’t as they are.” She crossed her arms and looked at Hava. “Whatever you need to know, ask. Da was a good man in many ways, but in truth he could be lax when it came to keeping the cold cellar stocked or ensuring fresh vegetables. We had our share of nights serving meats that hadn’t quite turned, hard cheese, boiled potatoes, and day-old bread.” She took another long look around the room, slowly turning as she added, “Some things you can buy easily, but others . . .” She again let out a sigh. “You’ll manage as long as you don’t run out of ale, wine, and whisky, but a well-stocked larder and clean beds will have the regular travelers always stopping here.” She smiled. “Adding those two new rooms upstairs was . . . Da talked of more rooms for travelers, but never quite got around to it. Too much interest in finding the perfect whisky.”
Hatu nodded. “That whisky takes a bit of getting used to.”
Gwen laughed for the first time since Hava and Hatu had met her. “Did Declan give you that first taste?”
Hatu nodded, and tears gathered in Gwen’s eyes. Then she laughed again, squeezing her eyes so the tears fell—but they were those of joy. “My father did that to him, leaving him to swallow that first taste without warning. The coughing and watery eyes, red face, and the rest seems an odd rite of passage, but there it is.” She took another deep breath and said, “Now you have a legacy to carry on, Hatu.” Then she turned and left. Hatu thought it was before he saw her weep in earnest.
“I’ll do my best,” Hatu said softly.
After she left, Hava said, “I find it strange.”
“What?”
“Having feelings . . . for a place.” She shrugged. “I don’t think I understand.”
“It’s all she knows. Her parents both died here.” Hatu reflected for a second that he had never known his parents, so he could barely imagine what it must feel like to have such bonds of affection. “I guess that leaves . . . memories? It seems important to her that this inn returns to what it was.”
“Which is a good thing for us,” admitted Hava. Looking around the empty common room, she added, “There are too many things we know nothing about . . .” She chuckled. “More things we never could have foreseen.”
“Bedding,” said Hatu, and Hava broke out laughing. “Wouldn’t it have been wonderful to welcome our first traveler and have no place for him to sleep?”
“Well,” said Hava, “what about . . . ?” She left the question unspoken, knowing he’d understand.
“Let’s see what they do in the next few days. I can always claim to need something down in Marquenet.”
She nodded in agreement, and the two of them set to work on those tiny details neither had anticipated. After the sun set, Hatu spent a quiet evening with Hava talking about mostly unimportant things—not having to constantly confront life-and-death
issues was welcome—before she fell asleep in his arms.
Hatu had never been one to chase every girl he saw, unlike his friend Donte, and it had been Donte who had paid a whore to initiate Hatu into sex. Since being with Hava, he had felt no desire for other women; he could admire them, admit they were attractive, even have a passing thought that he might have been interested had Hava not existed, but Hava was his world.
It was a love he could hardly understand, let alone explain. He knew she cared for him, too, but he had lingering doubts that she was able to feel for him what he felt for her. One moment it was because he felt unworthy of her, and the next it was because of how she had been trained to deal with men. And still other times he had no idea how she felt. Neither of them was prone to speaking of feelings, as it was not the way of Coaltachin. He had been taught that feelings could interfere with duty, and as a result, he had rarely mentioned to the woman he loved—who now lay tightly against him, slowly breathing as she slept—how he felt; not since his first protestation of love. And she had spoken of feelings even less than he.
Was he still serving the Kingdom of Night and didn’t know it, or was he to be a simple innkeeper until fate demanded otherwise of him? Or was he a prince of a fallen kingdom with duties and obligations to that heritage he couldn’t remember, let alone understand? As sleep began to overtake him, he wondered which part of his life now was an act and which was real.
Questions without answers swirled around his head as he finally drifted off to sleep.
The next day saw the hanging of the repaired and repainted sign, a circle of black edged with white, with three golden stars set at the top and lower left and right.
Gwen nodded her approval. “I wasn’t going to say anything, but I was worried you might wish to change the name.”
Hava put her arms around Gwen’s shoulders and squeezed. She felt no genuine urge to comfort the daughter of the former owner, but she knew it was the sort of gesture people in this part of the world expected.
“There was no good reason to change it, Gwen,” said Hatu. “It’s a familiar name, with a good reputation built by your father.” A slight nod of approval from Hava led him to add, “Now all we have to do is live up to it.”
Gwen smiled. “Thank you.”
“Bring Declan by this evening and the first meal is on us.”
Gwen grinned and headed back to the house behind the forge where Declan was working.
Hava said, “Well, we are now innkeepers.”
“Given some of the places you and I have slept, this is a palace.”
“Never seen a palace,” replied Hava, “but I agree it’s better than most of the inns we’ve seen.”
They went back inside. “I guess now we just need some customers,” Hatu said.
“I’ve made a list of a few things,” said Hava, holding out her hand.
Hatu removed the coin purse from his belt and handed it to her. “Such as . . . ?”
“A loaf of bread, and some of those beef sausages Parter the butcher sells.”
“We already—” Hatu interrupted himself. “Ah, yes, of course.” He knew she was going out to sniff around about the man who’d arrived yesterday with the escort of soldiers. The baker they used was close, but the butcher she mentioned was on the other side of town. As she was the “new woman” in town, the other women were interested enough in Hava to want to stop her and “gossip.” Hatu wasn’t sure what the difference was between gossip and rumors, but he assumed it was something the women of this barony did, or just another word for the same thing. Either way, it was useful for gathering intelligence on odd comings and goings.
Hava left, and Hatu suddenly felt abandoned. He found that very odd, then realized that it wasn’t so much abandonment, but that with Hava here he had someone to talk to, something to do. Now he found himself presented with two choices: either sit and do nothing while waiting for a customer or repeat every inventory check, room inspection, and other task he had seen to repeatedly over the last two days. For the first time in his memory, Hatu found himself wide-awake with nothing obviously needing to be done. He found the situation wryly amusing. Most of his life had consisted of studying, working, or trying to sleep. He moved behind the newly restored bar and once again familiarized himself with his array of bottles and kegs. In coming to learn the innkeeper’s trade, he realized that the previous owner, Leon, had stocked a wider variety of wine, spirits, and ale than most tavern keepers. It had not occurred to him to ask Gwen about that, and his best surmise was that it would attract travelers with varying tastes.
Well, he thought, best take advantage of the opportunity to rest. Hatu moved to a chair at the table closest to the open end of the bar and sat down. After a moment, he reached forward, pulled another chair out, and put his feet on it.
Hatu was dozing when Hava returned. He sat up and pushed away the chair on which he had placed his feet. “Sleeping?” she said, obviously amused.
“No,” he said. “Just resting my eyes a little.” Coming to full alertness as she put the bread and large sausage on the bar, he asked, “Discover anything?”
“Nothing important, though we seem to be the subject of some speculation, as we appear exotic to our neighbors.”
“Well,” said Hatu, “we are from about as far away from Marquensas as anyone is likely to be. I’ve seen a few travelers pass through here that are darker skinned than you, but no one who lives here.”
“They’re a fair-skinned lot around here, aren’t they?” Hava sat in the chair opposite Hatu. “There is some talk that the number of travelers has gone up recently. Just a sense there’s something going on that is causing more travelers than usual to pass through town.”
“Business?” asked Hatu.
“The merchants are happy: they’re selling more. Declan’s busy repairing gear and horseshoes and the like.” She fell silent a moment, considering. “It’s the . . . type of people who are passing I . . . I think we need mention to . . .” Reflexively, she glanced around to make sure no one could overhear, but of course the only two people in the building were Hatu and herself. “When we send that message, we should make it clear that bands of armed men seem to be moving toward Port Colos. And some of the trade goods . . . Barons Dumarch and Bavangine aren’t the only ones having weapons made. Armor, swords, and who knows what else in those tarp-covered wagons.”
Hatu nodded. “If you care to make notes, I’ll memorize them and pass them along.”
“When are you going to Marquenet?”
“Next week or the week after, I’m thinking.” He stood up. “If we don’t have a customer soon, I think I’ll . . .” He shrugged. “I don’t know what I’ll do.”
“You have never known how to simply sit and . . . just be!”
He was forced to return her laugh. “I suppose so. Donte always knew how to find something fun to do, didn’t he?”
She lost her smile at the mention of their friend’s name. The last they had seen of him, he had been hanging from chains in a cave beneath the waves, a prisoner of a coven of witches called the Sisters of the Deep. “He did, didn’t he?” Looking at Hatu, she said, “I know one thing you can do.”
“What?”
“Run upstairs and open those little windows at each end of the landing. Now that the roof is done, it’s getting hot up there. Get a breeze going through and we’ll shut them at sunset.”
He laughed. “That will certainly keep me busy for a few minutes.”
He went upstairs and moved to the window at the far end of the landing. He had made some improvements at the suggestion of the carpenter Declan had hired to start the repairs—Hatu had enough carpentry experience to see the man knew his trade. He’d added two new rooms overlooking the rear of the inn, which would increase profits once the inn filled up, and these windows, which created a breeze through the upper floor to help keep the rooms from getting too hot in summer, which was now quickly approaching. He swung the hinged window inward, four panes cleverly separated
by a wooden grille that could be removed should the glass break, allowing him to slip unbroken glass into the grooves set into the larger frame. The configuration would keep costs down, as only a broken piece of glass would need to be replaced, rather than the entire window.
He also judged that should the weather turn cold, he might need to put heavy shutters on the outside. He’d wait until he saw what winters were like, assuming he was still here then. Every plan was plagued by unknowns, something that had bothered him since childhood.
He opened the window at the opposite end of the landing and was heading back down the stairs when he heard a voice. A man said, “. . . heard you’d reopened, so we hurried over. Sleeping in a barn is . . .” The man stopped speaking as Hatu came into view and nodded a greeting. Returning his gaze to Hava, he said, “So if you have a room and a bath, it would be welcome.”
Hava seemed slightly wooden in her posture to Hatu, but the two men seemed unaware of it. Hatu required all his self-control to maintain his easy manner. The first man was the one who had been seen around town for the last few days, the one Hava was seeking information about, which meant the other man had to be the one who arrived with the armed escort the day before.
What caused Hatu’s chest to tighten was that he recognized the second man. He was the man Hatu had spied while investigating the cathedral in Sandura, the one who had been speaking to the assassins known as Azhante, dangerous men somehow related to the sicari of Coaltachin.
Hava said, “This is my husband, Hatu.”
Both men nodded, and Hatu said, “We have a bathing room out back. I’ll heat up some water while my wife shows you to your room.”
“Two rooms,” said the second man.
Hatu nodded.
After a few minutes of hauling water from the well to an iron kettle and starting a small fire beneath it, Hatu heard Hava enter the bathhouse. She held some folded cotton towels and hung them over a wooden bar next to the tub. “Well,” she said, “I guess we’ll find out what those two are up to.”
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