Trouble At The Scholar's Inn

by J. E. Sandoval

  * * * * * * *

  Two hours crawled by, each second seeming like an eternity as the four sat on wooden stools pondering their fate. They had heard some muffled conversation on the other side of the door, but no one had checked on them.

  A slew of ideas had been running through Janelle’s mind. There was no way she and Holle could take on ten men and live. Her brother’s advice came to mind. They would have to isolate them and take them out one at a time, hide the bodies, and then create some form of distraction before the final assault.

  The door opened and the leader of the group came in. “Innkeeper, my men are thirsty. Bring out ten tankards and three pitchers of your lightest ale.”

  “Sir, may I help him? That is a lot to carry, Mr…” Janelle said.

  “Morgan. Yes, you can help, but try any funny business and we’ll pass you around like a bottle of cheap whiskey.” He kept his eye on Will, making sure he didn’t add anything to the pitchers.

  Holle motioned with her head towards the leader and looked at Janelle quizzically.

  Janelle subtly shook her head no. Now wasn’t the time. She needed to gather some information first.

  “You,” Morgan said, pointing to Kat. “It is getting chilly out there. Build a fire.”

  Kat got up and walked over to a counter. Morgan slightly unsheathed his blade as she reached under it. He placed it back in the scabbard when Kat pulled out a tinderbox. She walked out into the common room.

  Janelle placed ten tankards on a serving tray and carried them outside, following Kat.

  “About bloody time,” one of the men said.

  Janelle glanced about the room. There were only four men in here. She guessed the other five were wandering around the inn, probably pocketing anything of value. Saunders wasn’t here.

  “Get your ass back in the kitchen,” Morgan said.

  Janelle did as she was told.

  A few seconds later, Will followed her.

  They all waited in silence until Kat got the fire roaring. She hurried back into the kitchen.

  Morgan closed the door.

  “Have you two come up with any ideas yet?” Will asked.

  “Kat, do ye be makin’ yer own soap?” Holle asked.

  “Yes, why?”

  “Where do ye keep yer caustic soda?”

  “In the storage room. Oh dear. Are you thinking what I think you’re thinking?” Kat nervously bit her lip.

  “Aye. We mix it up with a little water, then when one o’ them bastards come in, splash ‘im in the face!”

  “Oh, that will be the perfect distraction before the final fight!” Janelle said. “Good thinking, Holle. Boost me up and I’ll go see if I can fetch it.”

  Holle cupped her hand. Janelle once again stepped, was pushed up, and grabbed the rafter. She hauled herself up. Crawling towards the common room, she saw two of the men pouring themselves tankards of ale. The leader and two others were drinking theirs by the fire.

  “What do you think Delaney will do to us for botching the job?” one of the men asked.

  “It’s the royal bank, for God’s sake! Sending us out on our first heist to a fortress like that? Even Delaney had to know there was a good chance for failure! Morgan is the only one who has any experience in this sort of thing! Anyway, Heaton was the one who was seen by the guards. Since he’s dead, I say we just blame it all on him.” They went to join the others by the fire.

  Janelle turned to her right and scooted along the rafter until she was able to see into a storage room. Saunders was in there, sitting on a bench, with one of the pitchers. He poured the remaining ale into the tankard and finished it off.

  “Damn it to hell!” he said, standing up.

  Janelle quickly crawled back to the kitchen, as she was sure he was going to get more ale. She lowered herself and landed softly on the ground.

  “Did ye get it?” Holle asked.

  “No. I think someone is coming.”

  The door opened and Saunders slipped inside. He glanced out and quietly shut the door.

  “Innkeeper, refill,” he said quietly.

  So he doesn’t want his boss to know he is having seconds, Janelle thought. Maybe she could use that later.

  Will took the pitcher and began to refill it.

  Saunders leered at Holle. “So is it true that Caledonian women don’t wear no smalls beneath their kilts?”

  Holle rubbed her chin and looked at him seductively, firelight flickering off of her yellow and black tartan. “That there is information one dunna find out by askin’” she said.

  “I heard redheads are good in bed,” he said walking over to her. “How about a quick tumble?”

  “Wha’ will yer boss be sayin?”

  “He doesn’t have to know. We could go down in the larder.” He put his hands on her waist and pulled her closer.

  Holle brought her knee up and hit him solidly in the groin. As Saunders doubled over, she grabbed him by his shirt and pushed him head first into the cauldron of hot lard. The man went wild as his skin and hair began to hiss and crackle.

  Janelle was at her side in an instant, holding the struggling man in place.

  Saunders’ wild thrashing didn’t last long, and his body quickly went limp.

  “Oh, dear God! Dear God! What are we going to do now?” Kat asked, starting to panic as the smell of burnt flesh began to fill the room.

  “Good work, Holle. Will, open the larder,” Janelle said. “We are committed now. Kat, help Will take the body down and bring up our weapons and a steak!” She pulled the man’s charred head out of the oil. The smell was awful.

  Kat and Will took the man by the shoulder and hauled him down the stairs into the darkness.

  “Holle, we made a mess. Get a rag and clean up that spilled lard!”

  The redhead nodded and quickly grabbed a towel.

  Janelle went to the door, opened it slightly, and peeked outside. They were all still drinking, warming their hands by the fire. She quietly closed the door.

  Kat emerged from the darkness, holding a steak and Janelle’s weapons. She handed her the quarterstaff and dagger. “What did you want with the meat?”

  “Dip it in the batter and throw it in the lard and let it burn. If anyone comes back and asks what the smell is, we’ll tell them the meat was bad and we burnt it.”

  Kat looked at her skeptically. “I don’t think that is going to work.”

  “Do you have any better idea?” Janelle asked, strapping on her dagger belt.

  She frowned and looked down.

  “It’s okay. Hopefully the smell will be sucked through the vents.” She tied her quarterstaff belt across her waist.

  Will came up carrying Holle’s weapons.

  She finished cleaning up the spilled oil, stood, and took them.

  “Holle, before you put those on?” She motioned upwards.

  Holle nodded, cupped her hand, and boosted Janelle up into the rafters.

  She crawled over to look into the common room. The men had taken a seat at her and Holle’s usual table. She pulled her quarterstaff out and set it down. It would be easier to move around without it. She turned to the right and crawled over to the storage room. It was now empty. Quietly, she lowered herself down.

  Crates of dry goods and barrels lined the shelves. Fortunately, Eleenia had taught her how to read. She scanned the various labels. Walking over to a shelf with towels and scented oils, she found what she was looking for. She grabbed the small, tightly knotted pouch of caustic soda and tied it to her belt. Climbing on top of a couple of stacked crates, she jumped up, caught the rafter, and heaved herself up. She quietly scooted back over to the kitchen.

  “Psst!” she whispered, untying the pouch from her belt.

  Holle looked up.

  Janelle lowered the pouch into her friend’s outstretched hands. For an instant, she lost her balance and almost fell, but managed to steady herself.


  “I’m going to look around, and see what else I can find,” Janelle whispered.

  Holle nodded.

  Janelle turned around and crawled back over to the storage room where she had found the caustic soda. She lifted up a silent prayer that no one would come in to check on Saunders. Quietly, she lowered herself down in the room.

  She wouldn’t be able to carry much, so she opted to only take a spool of thread, which she put into her coin purse, and about eight legs of rope, which she slung over her shoulder.

  Once again, she climbed up on the crate and boosted herself up into the rafters. It was time to look around. She crawled across the beam to the other storage room. Another man was in there, sipping at his ale. The room was filled with linens, towels, pillows, and other items used for the guest rooms. A large chest was stored up in the rafters, resting on the wide main support beam. Janelle scooted over to it. It was locked. She would have to ask Will about its contents. She continued to crawl, passing over the privies. Next was the men’s bath. Another man was walking around playing with the cool water in the tubs.

  A second man entered the room. “Mitchell, boss wants to talk to you.”

  Janelle held her breath as Mitchell passed under her. He exited the room and closed the door behind him.

  Exhaling, she continued on. The women’s bath was empty. She turned around and made her way back to the kitchens. Glancing over to her right, she noticed Morgan handing Mitchell two empty pitchers. Janelle’s heart began to race as she fought back the panic. She quickened her pace and crawled as quickly as she could.

  Arriving at the kitchen, she removed her knife belt and sat it next to her quarterstaff. She also removed the rope. Swinging her legs over, she fell, hanging onto the beam. She let go, and landed softly.

  “Holle, hide your weapons. Someone is coming.”

  The young redhead removed her weapons and tucked them under the counter. All four quickly took seats on the stools, just as the door opened.

  “Innkeeper, refills!” Mitchell demanded.

  Will nodded and took the pitchers from him.

  Mitchell wrinkled his nose. “What is that smell?”

  “Oh, dear! I’ve burnt the steak,” Kat said. She got up and grabbed a pair of tongs. She pulled the charred meat out of the lard cauldron. A smell similar to burning flesh began to fill the kitchen.

  “Oh, God! Throw that down in the larder and shut the damn door,” Mitchell ordered.

  Kat nodded and did as she was told.

  “Here you are, Sir,” Will said, handing the two pitchers to Mitchell.

  He took them without a word, walked out of the kitchen, and closed the door behind them.

  “Will, what is in the trunk over the second storage room?” Janelle asked.

  “Iron rods. I use them for support under the guest beds.”

  “How much does it weight?”

  Will rubbed his chin. “Probably 18 to 20 stones.”

  “Perfect! Did you manage to spike the ale?”

  “Yes, I did. Every tankard they drink will be like they drank two and a half. It is the strongest I could make it without it being noticeable.”

  Janelle smiled. “Good. Holle, where is the caustic soda mixture?”

  “Ah put it down in the larder. Dinna want them ta find it afore it be time ta use it.”

  “Excellent work. Now listen, if you hear a loud bang, don’t worry. It will most likely mean I got one of them,” Janelle said.

  “You could muffle it with some towels and linens,” Kat suggested.

  “Good idea. Okay, Holle. Get me up there.”

  Holle once again boosted Janelle up into the rafters. Upon grabbing her knife and the rope, she made her way over to the linen storage. She removed the rope, found one end, and tied it to the lock catch. She measured out some rope, cut it, and then fashioned the other end into a hangman’s noose. Gingerly, she jumped down. Grabbing an armful of towels and linens, she placed them on the ground under the main support beam. Climbing onto a crate, she climbed back up into the rafters. She checked the weight of the trunk. Doubt crossed her mind about moving it in time. She braced herself, and as quietly as possible, Janelle edged the trunk so it was almost teetering on the beam.

  Now, all she had to do was to wait.