by C. J. Archer
"Nothing like that," I said. "I wanted to speak to the sheriff about something that just occurred to me. You should listen too."
"Go on," the sheriff said.
"Do you know how the fire started?"
He looked to Dane and folded his arms. "That's confidential information, Josie."
"I'm going to assume that means you think it wasn't started by accident."
His arms fell to his sides. "I never said that."
"Sheriff, if this fire was started deliberately, I need to know."
"Like I said, it's confidential. I can't discuss it with you."
"Why?" Dane asked me. "Do you know something?"
"I might," I said. "I'm not sure. The governor spoke at the burial just now, and something he said got me thinking."
The men looked at one another. I had the distinct impression they'd just been discussing the same thing.
"He made it sound like the fire was a benefit to the village," I went on. "It cleared away the slum, which is exactly what the council and the Deerhorns wanted, yet they get none of the blame. The villagers were angry with them after the meeting when the idea was first mentioned. They shelved their plans, but what if they started the fire so that they can go ahead after all?"
Dane checked the vicinity but no one stood close enough to eavesdrop. He stepped toward me and lowered his voice. "Do not say that to anyone else. Do you understand, Josie? It's dangerous to even think it."
"I think you should investigate, Sheriff."
The sheriff rubbed his jaw. "It just so happens that I was telling the captain my own suspicions. Captain Hammer suggested the possibility that this is the work of the Deerhorns to me yesterday. I refused to believe it. But after listening to the governor just now, I think it's worth looking into."
"I've already started," Dane said. "The greatest concentration of burned material is in the middle of what was The Row. We recovered most of the bodies from there too."
"So the fire started there," the sheriff said.
"I found witnesses who were in that area before the fire broke out," Dane went on, "and two have reported seeing someone pouring out the contents of a barrel alongside several houses. One thought it was ale, but another claimed it was thicker."
The sheriff groaned and turned tired eyes to the sky. "Pitch," he muttered.
I felt sick. Pitch was abundantly available in Mull. Ship builders used it to seal hulls. When it was wet it performed its task admirably. When it was dry, it was flammable.
But that wasn't what troubled me. "I saw Ned Perkin offloading barrels the day before the fire broke out."
The sheriff went still. "Are you sure it was him?"
"Yes."
"Where?"
I told him the street and which door. "It's a small storage facility."
"Did he see you?" Dane asked.
I nodded.
"Then we have to tread carefully. I've seen Perkin since the fire. He's helping clean away the rubble. He doesn't know someone was seen spreading pitch in The Row, so he thinks he's safe. As long as he thinks he's safe, he won't worry that Josie saw him offloading the barrels."
"But as soon as he knows we suspect him of starting the fire, he'll come for her to keep her quiet," Sheriff Neerim added. "I'll look through the storeroom to see if there's any evidence he stored pitch there."
"I'll do it," Dane said. "You're too conspicuous."
"As are you."
"I'll go," Dane insisted.
"Very well. I have another idea, anyway." The sheriff walked off without telling us what he meant.
Dane and I returned to the feeding station together. He began to warn me to be careful, but he was interrupted by villagers who wanted to thank him or shake his hand.
"You're a hero," I said, nudging him with my elbow.
He merely grunted.
We were met at the feeding station by one of his guards dressed in a clean uniform and mounted on a palace horse. "Balthazar wants you back at the palace, Captain."
"Is something wrong?" Dane asked.
"He didn't say."
"Does it seem as though something is wrong?" Dane pressed.
"No. The lords are all meeting behind closed doors. More leave the palace every day. There ain't much to do."
Dane dismissed him and watched him ride away, his brow furrowed.
"You'd better see what Balthazar wants," I said.
"I know what he wants." He helped himself to the bread and jam one of the women offered him. "He wants me to rest."
"You make it sound like a bad thing."
"There's too much to do here."
"Have you considered that you'll get more done if you're refreshed?"
He picked up a cup of ale. "Is this the point where I have to worry about you slipping something into my drink to make me sleepy?"
"This isn't a joke. Go back to the palace and get some rest. The men can work in shifts without you for a few hours."
"You're bossy."
"I wouldn't have to be if you weren't stubborn."
He drained the cup and set it down again. "And what about you? Will you go home and rest?"
"I'm fine."
"And you call me stubborn."
I didn't have an opportunity to give him the full force of my withering glare because two women dressed in low-cut gowns came up to him and planted kisses on his cheeks.
"Seems we've got you to thank for putting out the fire," one cooed.
Her friend draped herself over Dane's shoulder, trapping his arm. "We're so grateful. You saved the whole village."
"That deserves another kiss," said the first. She cupped his cheek and turned his face towards her. She planted a kiss on his jaw as he jerked his head away.
"You'd think he did it alone," grumbled a man watching on.
I tried not to smile as Dane attempted to politely extricate himself from the two women. We both failed. The women stuck to him like leeches, and his hapless effort was the funniest thing I'd seen in days.
"Better be careful or you'll find you owe them an ell," Max said, chuckling.
I giggled behind my hand. Dane shot me a glare and became more insistent with the women. They finally backed away. One trotted off, blowing him a kiss over her shoulder.
"Shame on them," Deeta said, setting down a tray of clean cups. "They shouldn't be soliciting out here."
"I don't think they were," I said.
"Where can they solicit now?" asked Oona Dwyer. "Their homes are gone and the streets where they worked, too. Sheriff won't let them ply their trade at the dock."
Arrabette Fydler smacked one of the cups down on the table, hard. "They shouldn't be soliciting anywhere. Disgusting whores. They ought to be rounded up and put in prison."
"And then what?" Oona asked. "They can't afford to pay a fine and they can't be kept in prison forever. When they get out, they'll just do it again. What else can they do when there aren't enough honest jobs for women in the village?"
Arrabette sniffed. "Begging is better than whoring, surely."
"Not to everyone," I said.
Arrabette screwed up her nose. "You say the oddest things sometimes, Josie. One would think you were considering taking up the profession."
"I don't have to. I have friends in the village and a skill I can sell. Those women have no one and no skill. I'm lucky, as are you, Arrabette. You have a family and a husband with work."
"Not many friends though," Oona muttered as she passed me.
Arrabette turned away, also muttering, but not loud enough for me to hear what she said. I stormed off, only to be joined by Dane.
"If you let her rattle you, she wins," he said.
"Thank you for your wise counsel, oh hero of the village." I regretted my sarcasm the moment it was out. "Sorry, that was horrible of me."
"It's all right. The way they're treating me makes me want to be sarcastic too. It's as if I had no help. All I did was suggest the buildings be torn down to create a fire break. It's not even
that clever an idea."
"No one else came up with it."
"If I'd fetched the gem—"
"Don't say it. Don't even think it. You know Brant wouldn't have agreed to use a wish."
His lips twisted to the side. "Are you going home?"
"Yes. Are you?"
"Balthazar won't let up unless I do. Allow me to escort you first."
"I'll do it," Max piped up. "I'll see she gets safely to the Divers' house, then come back here."
"I will take her," Erik said, standing behind Max. I hadn't seen him arrive. He was covered in dirt and sweat and held a cup of ale in each hand. "I wish to see the pretty girl, Meg."
"I said I will escort her," Max ground out. He grabbed my arm and marched me off.
I waved at Dane. He stood there, an amused look on his face.
Erik caught up to us. "I will come too." He offered a cup to Max. "Drink?"
Max focused forward and didn't respond. Erik shrugged and drained the cup then placed it atop a bollard as he passed.
"You are jealous of me," he said to Max. "That is not necessary. We can share her."
Max and I both stopped and stared at him.
"You do not like to share?" Erik asked.
"No!" Max cried.
"You are like Hammer. He does not like to share either. Me, I am happy to share with good men. I am not selfish." After a few more steps, he added, "It must be because I am from the Margin and that is what we do there. Share."
"It's not a Margin thing, it's an uncivilized thing," Max growled.
"You do not know this." Erik threw his arm around Max's shoulders and hugged him.
Max's face ended up near Erik's armpit. He shoved Erik away. "Get off, you big peacock."
"If you do not want to share, we must decide who gets her," Erik said. "We will fight. The prize is Meg."
Max made a sound of disgust. "I like you, Erik, but you're a barbarian, sometimes."
It was time to end their spat before Erik decided to fight Max anyway. "Meg is not interested in you, Erik. Sorry, but she only has eyes for—" I cut myself short as we rounded the corner and I almost smacked into Mistress Ashmole walking briskly in the opposite direction.
She stiffened, which was quite a feat since her back was already straight as a pole. "I've been looking for you," she said. "Mistress Diver said you were out."
"Good day to you, Mistress Ashmole." I refused to sink to her level. My mother would always want me to be civil, even to the likes of the Ashmoles. "What did you want to speak to me about?" I asked, already knowing the answer.
"Did you take in patients on the night of the fire?"
"That would be illegal."
"Did you take in patients or not?"
"She didn't," Max said.
Mistress Ashmole turned her icy stare onto him. "Of course you would say that. She's having a liaison with your captain."
Erik bent forward so that his face was level with hers. Mistress Ashmole stepped back and clutched her basket in front of her with both hands. "She is not," Erik said. "And Josie does not fix patients now. If you think I lie, tell your warrior to meet me at the garrison with his weapon."
"My what?"
"A warrior to fight for your honor. I will fight for mine. It is a good way to decide an argument, yes?"
"I—I have no warrior." She gave him a wide berth and hurried on her way.
"She has a husband, yes?" Erik asked me.
"Yes," I said. "But he's not a fighter. He's the new doctor."
"Pity."
Max slapped Erik's shoulder. "She won't worry Josie again."
I doubted Mistress Ashmole would be warned off so easily. Next time she confronted me, she'd make sure I was alone.
Erik and Max both left the house disappointed. Meg wasn't at home. I made sure to tell her they'd both called on her when she returned, however.
"They almost came to blows over you," I said.
She laughed. "They did not, Josie. Don't tease me."
"It's true. Erik was very keen."
She winced. "Did you tell him I'm not interested in him? He's very…er…intriguing, but I find him rather frightening."
"Erik isn't at all frightening when you get to know him. He's sweet, in his way."
"But did you tell him?"
"I did. We didn't get a chance to discuss it further, though. We came upon Mistress Ashmole, and Erik challenged her warrior to a fight."
She laughed until I explained why he'd challenged her. Her laughter quickly dwindled. "Merdu. She knows what you did."
"She doesn't know, she suspects. There's nothing she can do about suspicions without proof. Besides, even if she does tell Sheriff Neerim, he'll disregard it. He's a sensible man."
We women dined frugally on weak soup and bread that night. Mr. Diver and Lyle returned after we'd finished. They washed up in a pail of water outside but were still filthy when they came in.
"Sit, eat," Mistress Diver said, setting bowls in front of them. "Meg, slice some bread. Josie, pass the cheese."
"There isn't any," I said, checking the larder.
"You gave the last of it away at the feeding station, Mama," Meg said. "I'll get some tomorrow at the market." She opened the earthen jar on the shelf where they kept spare coins only to sigh and close it again. "We'll have to wait until after you're paid, Pa."
"Never mind," he said cheerfully. "There's bread enough to fill our bellies."
Lyle plunged his spoon into the soup bowl with more vigor than required. "Might not even have bread soon. The bakers say they've cooked up almost all the grain they had and gave the bread away at the feeding station. The council promised to compensate them, but they say it won't matter if they can't get hold of more grain."
"That's good of the council to offer compensation," Mistress Diver said.
"If they didn't, the bakers couldn't afford to give it away," her husband told her.
"And the villagers would blame the council, not the bakers," Lyle added. "The governor had to pay up or there'd be a riot."
Meg surveyed the meager fare on the table with a sad shake of her head. "Can we not get more grain?"
"It's coming," her father told her, "but it won't get here for a week, maybe more. Depends on the weather."
Lyle ripped his slice of bread in two and pointed one half at his father. "You heard what I heard today. There is more and it can be here within the day, only it's going to cost us."
"Where is it coming from?" Mistress Diver asked.
"The Deerhorns. They store some for lean times."
"Which this is," Meg said. "Are you telling us they won't donate it to the village?"
"I am."
She threw her hands in the air. "I don't believe it! That family are cruel beyond words. Did the council tell them where to shove their grain?"
"Meg," her mother scolded.
"Calm yourself," Mr. Diver snapped at his daughter.
Meg sat with a huff and slumped into the chair, her arms over her chest.
"The council claim it is negotiating to buy the grain but won't reveal the cost," Lyle said. "No doubt it's another debt the village owes the Deerhorns."
"A debt that will only grow bigger once the houses are rebuilt," Meg said. "Houses regular people can't afford to rent."
Her father shook his head but didn't scold her again.
Meg and I ventured into the market for gossip instead of supplies in the morning. We'd just arrived when Bridie Sellen parted the candles hanging by their uncut wicks above her head and beckoned us to her cart. "Did you hear about the thefts?"
"What thefts?" I asked.
"Someone broke into Penny's shop overnight and took some knives and cups." She nodded across the way at the cheese seller's stall where three members of the Fallon family worked. "The Fallons' stall was also broken into and most of the cheeses they were going to sell today were stolen. They're lucky their aging room is at the farm or they could have lost everything. The sheriff has already asked around b
ut no one saw anything."
"Who would do such a thing?" Meg asked.
"People from The Row," Bridie said.
"We don't know that."
"Who else would it be? They're sleeping in the streets at night, and temptation's right in front of their noses." She indicated the market with its dozens of stalls, many of which were permanent fixtures. Their owners locked them up overnight, but the locks couldn't keep out a determined thief. "I see them in the mornings when I come here." She tapped one of the hanging candles, sending it swinging. "I'm just lucky they don't need what my Pa makes."
"I thought villagers took in those whose homes had burned down," I said.
"Only for a night. No one wants strangers in their house longer than that, Josie."
"They should be housed in the temple or the hall," Meg said. "Until proper shelter can be built."
"Tell that to the governor and priests. Are you two going to buy something?"
"Not today."
Bridie began her story all over again as a new customer arrived. Meg and I joined some friends who'd stopped to gossip. They already knew about the thefts. Like Bridie, they blamed the displaced people from The Row.
"The whores are working in these very streets," said one. "My husband passes them on his way home, and the children can see them. It's disgusting."
"My daughter asked me just this morning why people are sleeping in doorways," said another. "It's not right."
"We can't build new homes overnight," Meg said. "They have to sleep somewhere."
"Imagine what it'll be like when the weather turns," said Yolanda. "The council's got to do something for them before winter."
"The council don't care," Meg said. "It'll solve their problems if the people from The Row die from the cold."
Meg and I moved on, listening in to snippets of conversations. All focused on the fire and its aftermath, and what needed to be done for the village to recover. The tension around the market felt as dense as the smoke on the night of the fire, with everyone grumbling about the council's decisions—or lack thereof.
After the king's death, talk had been about Glancia's future. It had not been as earnest as this. That had been politics and wars, something for the lords to worry about, and a distant threat. This directly affected ordinary Mullians, and it affected us now.