“Anyone would’ve done the same.”
“I doubt they would’ve been able to. The wind and rain would have flattened anyone else. Morwenna was here for a while. She had to go back downstairs, but I told her I’d keep an eye on you.”
Edwin walked to the window facing the bed and peered out through the shutter slats.
“It’s getting worse out there,” he said.
The rain pounded mercilessly against the window of the little room, and the shutters bashed and groaned as if they were about to be wrenched from the building. The thunder had grown louder and more frequent. Robin listened to the noise as he carefully sat himself up. He rubbed his arm where the rope had been tied. It still throbbed a little. The room was much like the other bedrooms in the tavern—unpainted, with bare floorboards, a tiny wardrobe, and a simple bed. The small fire flickering in the cast-iron grate was enough to warm the room. In front of it, his clothes and a towel were draped over a couple of wicker chairs. His garments had been completely drenched but were drying nicely.
Edwin rubbed his freckled hand over his own short-cropped hair and onto the back of his neck, and walked over to the edge of the bed.
“You look terrible,” Robin observed.
“Thanks a bunch.” Edwin laughed.
“What I mean is—you look tired. And it’s not because of what ’appened to me. You’re runnin’ yourself ragged,” Robin said, his voice husky and dry.
“Leave it, Robin. It’s not me who needs to rest right now. It’s you.” Edwin hesitated and took a deep breath as the thunder boomed overhead. “When you slid down the wall, I thought we’d lost you.”
He paused then, his eyes becoming glassy and red.
“I’ll be fine, Edwin,” Robin said and took his friend by the hand. “Don’t you worry. Take more ’n that to finish me off.” he said, laughing.
Edwin smiled and pointed to a glass of whiskey next to a big brass bell on the bedside table. “Mr. Reed thought you might need something to help get you going,” Edwin said of the drink. “And he thought the bell would be handy if you needed to get attention. Just ring it; I’ll come running.”
“Assumin’ you’ll hear it over the noise of the storm and that lot downstairs!” Robin chortled.
The rabble in the tavern was becoming as clamorous as the storm outside. The people of the village were making the most of their unexpected captivity.
“Don’t worry; I’ll be listening out for it,” Edwin said from the doorway. “I’ll check in on you in a couple of hours.”
“You don’t need to,” Robin said, not wanting to cause a fuss.
“Yes, I do.” Edwin smiled.
Robin watched him leave. He lay there for a time, grateful for the rest. The fire was comforting and the blankets were heavy and warm. He decided to let his clothes dry some more, and as he listened to rain pounding the shutters, he thought about that look in Edwin’s eyes. The relief in them. It cheered him greatly to know his friend cared so deeply for him. As they had grown close in recent years, there were times when Robin wondered if their closeness would blossom into something more, but he knew it couldn’t happen. The risk of ruining what they had—a true friendship, for probably the first time for either of them. Was it really worth the gamble? Besides, Edwin didn’t think of him that way, he reasoned. Robin doubted Edwin thought of anyone that way. As far as he could tell, Edwin spent almost every waking hour either in the bakery or worrying about it, leaving little time for anything else.
Still, Robin closed his eyes, put his hands behind his head, and allowed himself the luxury of musing on what it might be like if Edwin were amenable to a closer relationship. What he might say if he thought Edwin would listen. But there it was again—that old, familiar feeling, the weight on his heart, the knot in his stomach. The knot made of every mistake he’d ever made, every stupid thing he’d ever said, everything he should have done, everything he missed, everything he let go of when he should have fought for it—each one a thread in his knot. He closed his eyes as his blood pounded in his ears, louder even than the storm outside. He hadn’t the strength to force it away this time, to shove it down back into the little black box in his soul where it belonged. There was one thread in this knot far larger than the rest.
Duncan.
Always there when he tried to sleep, always there when he felt weak, when he felt tired. Only at sea did he find respite, only on the waves, only on Bucca’s Call. There was a new thread in his knot now—his boat, his haven, gone. The enormity of it was too much for him to accept. His thoughts drifted back to that morning, meeting Duncan on his way home. The knot tightened sharply and in his weakened state, something inside snapped, something in his mind fractured. His whole body began to shake violently; he felt dizzy, like he might vomit, sweat gathered on his brow as he covered his face with his trembling hands, and he knew then, finally, that he couldn’t ignore it any longer. He could wait no more—he had to speak to Duncan, had to explain himself, explain his actions. Worse—his inactions. He knew then and there that if he didn’t, the knot would never untangle.
He thought also about Edwin and Morwenna sitting at his bedside, watching over him. He thought about Dr. Greenaway tending to him. What if the doctor hadn’t been there? What if he had pushed himself just a little further? Maybe he wouldn’t be lying there, thinking about his mistakes. The thought made his heart pound harder. He thought of all the things he’d left unsaid, all the mistakes that wouldn’t die with him but would live on in the hearts and minds of others, growing and festering, never to be fixed. That thought scared him more than he could ever have expected. And so as he lay there, listening to the hurricane and the music and laughter from the bar below, he resolved to finally, finally take action. First and most importantly, he had to set things right with Duncan. It was the key to everything for him. It might not work—he felt like Duncan would never, could never, forgive him—but he had to at least try. He couldn’t rush this. It would take time to work out what he would say or he could end up hurting Duncan even more. Soon, he drifted into sleep, and as he’d made up his mind to make amends, he felt the knot loosen, just a little.
Edwin began to make his way downstairs but stopped, putting his hand on the rail. He spotted an open door to an empty bedroom and quickly ducked inside, closed the door and rested his back against it. The room had been prepared with fresh bedding, kindling for the fire, and water in a large, ceramic jug.
He began shaking uncontrollably. Wobbling across the room, he sat on the bed, held his sinewy hands up as they quivered, then let out something between a laugh and a sob. All the stress and anxiety of the past few hours—of the past few years, if he was being honest—came pouring out of him. It was as though the floodgates in his mind had opened. He’d buried so much for so long, and now it had all come gushing to the surface. He couldn’t stop himself from thinking about what would have happened if Robin had died. Tears streamed down his face as he gently rocked back and forth where he sat. He covered his mouth to stifle any further outbursts and sat for a while, feeling the most exquisite relief.
When he felt back under control, he poured some water from the jug into a bowl, lifted a cloth, and washed his face. His eyes were still bloodshot, but in the dim lantern light of the inn, he reasoned no one would notice. Or care. He wrung out the cloth, smoothed out the bedsheets, and left the room as he had found it.
Downstairs, Ladies Eva and Iris Wolfe-Chase stood making small-talk by the bar. They were quite the most well-dressed of the village women, always smartly turned out in flowing dresses of vivid hues and the most splendid lace. Eva was statuesque. Carved from ice, she was slim and sharp-featured, with raven hair tied back in a bun. Her wife, Iris, was petite with wide, friendly eyes, a perpetually smiling rosebud mouth, and copper hair that burned in wide, fiery curls as it tumbled about her shoulders.
Eva had been raised in a splendid country house on Blackrabbit Island, which lay north of Merryapple—between it and mainland. Her family was the wealthiest in the ar
ea. After their passionate and torrid courtship—and their whirlwind handfasting—it had taken some convincing for Eva to come live in this sleepy village instead of moving to a large city on the mainland, but this was where Iris had been born and raised, and she simply couldn’t imagine wanting to live anywhere else. The Chase family owned some of the ships that used the cove, and Eva soon found living there made it easier to deal with the captains. She had only moved to the island within the past year, and was still settling in and exploring all the nooks and crannies of village life. She had expected to find the place a trifle stifling, but she had been welcomed with open arms by the community. Iris had always been well-liked, and the whole village rejoiced in her happiness with her new bride. An unexpected benefit of living there meant that through her direct dealings with the various captains employed by the Chase Trading Company, Eva had her pick of the clothing imported from all four corners of the globe, ensuring she was the best dressed woman on any of the islands.
The Wolfe clan weren’t short of a bob or two, either. They had been blacksmiths for generations, but Iris, with her dainty wrists and slim arms, wasn’t exactly suited to carrying on the family business and so she left it to her uncle and his sons, who were camped somewhere on the second floor of the inn, having found a comfortable antechamber buried deep within the arcane architecture of the tavern. Their forge was situated between Anchor Rise and Hill Road, and had been built around the same time as the Moth & Moon. All of the metalwork used there, and in the rest of the village, came from that solitary forge.
Eva noticed Edwin descending the staircase and called him over, presenting him with a tankard of scrumpy.
“Ladies!” Edwin exclaimed. “How lovely. I wasn’t sure if you’d be here. I thought Wolfe-Chase Lodge more than capable of resisting a little rain?”
They were frequent customers at his bakery, usually ordering some outlandish dessert for one of their many dinner parties, several of which he had attended. He bent down to kiss Iris on the cheek, then leaned in to do the same to Eva, for she was as tall as he was. Their house had been in the Wolfe family for generations and was the largest in the village. Anchor Rise had grown up around it, as the homes there were originally built to house the staff members needed to run the residence.
“We wouldn’t dream of missing out on a gathering like this.” Iris smiled.
“Although it’s a shame we couldn’t have gathered somewhere a bit less…fragrant,” Eva said, ostentatiously covering her smile with a delicate handkerchief. She fondled the lapel of Edwin’s borrowed mushroom coat and made a friendly disapproving tut. She was dressed in a stunning purple redingote with teal and gold accents, which tapered in at her waspish waist. Iris was more modestly clad in a sequined and embroidered silk dress, patterned with tiny daisies. Both women went bonnetless.
“Oh stop, it’s not that bad here.” Iris laughed, poking Eva in the ribs.
A small girl ran past, pushing her way between the two women, giggling like a loon. She was followed by two more children, who scampered around them. Eva cocked an eyebrow in Edwin’s direction, who laughed.
Eva had never really liked the Moth & Moon. It was considerably too public for her refined tastes or so she would have everyone believe. Secretly, she enjoyed the chance to eavesdrop on the latest village gossip, though she wished it could be done in a more luxurious locale.
“I’m sure we could find a quieter spot for you both,” Edwin said, but Iris scoffed at the notion.
“Oh no,” she said, “I like it here. Lots to keep one’s mind and eye occupied!”
“How are you, Mr. Farriner?” Eva asked, trying to take her mind off her surroundings. “Are your parents here?”
“They decided to wait the storm out at home…” Edwin began.
“Ah,” Eva interrupted. “Shame.” She shared a sly look with Iris who poked her gently in the ribs once again. Edwin was oblivious to this.
“…but they arrived some time ago. I think they’re out in one of the back rooms somewhere. I suppose the weather got too bad for them to stay at home.”
“Oh. Well. Good.” Eva turned slightly and took a long, empathic sip from her drink.
“We heard the excitement earlier. I trust Mr. Shipp is well?” Iris asked sweetly.
“Yes, yes, as well as can be expected, I suppose. He’s awake and recuperating upstairs.”
“You must have gotten quite a fright, seeing him collapse,” Eva said, watching from behind her handkerchief and studying Edwin’s reaction. She had noticed the redness in his eyes straight away and deduced the reason. Iris shot her another knowing look.
“I did,” he said, taking a swig of cider. “Near stopped my heart, to be honest. I thought I’d…thought we’d lost him.”
Iris stroked his arm. “You poor thing.”
“Seeing him lying there, it just…it brought a lot of memories back.” He frowned.
Eva was surprised by the baker’s candour and cocked a curious eyebrow. Edwin wasn’t secretive by any means, but nor was he usually so forthcoming with his feelings.
“You stayed up there with him, by his bedside, until he woke?” Iris angled.
“Someone had to.” Edwin shrugged, blushing a bit. “I’m sure he’d have preferred if Duncan was there, but wouldn’t be safe leaving him alone. Wouldn’t be right, either—him waking up with no one there.”
“Quite,” Eva and Iris said in unison.
Chapter Nine
A LITTLE WHILE later, Robin dressed, left the room on the upper floor, and carefully picked his way downstairs. His clothes were still warm and toasty from the fire and reminded him of when he was a boy and his father would warm his clothes for him before he got up on cold winter mornings. On his way down the many staircases dotted disjointedly around the structure, he spotted Mr. Reed hanging over the railings on the second-floor gallery, holding a lantern up to the darkest recesses of the timberwork with one hand, and grasping a small stick tipped with a net in the other. The short innkeeper was balanced rather precariously on his little round stomach while a tough, scarred, and tattooed pilchard fisherman named Mr. Penny held him steady by grabbing the belt around his waist. The fisherman laughed with his companions, pretending to let go of the belt on more than one occasion. Robin wondered what could possibly be so important as to require such extraordinary gymnastics.
“I’m sure I saw something here,” Mr. Reed said.
On the ground floor, May Bell saw Robin descend the final staircase and rushed over to him. She gave him a big hug and put his cap back on his head. This, too, had been dried—albeit by the large fireplace on the ground floor—and it was toasty and comforting on his head. He had felt quite naked without it, and with it back in its rightful place, he was whole once again.
Morwenna was still reigning by the fireplace, though she was quieter than normal. She perked up when she spotted Robin lumbering through the crowd, causing more than one spillage from a bumped tankard. Even though he slouched, he was still much taller than most other people in the village.
“Robin!” she called as he stooped down to hug her. She held his big face in her hands for a moment and began to well up. “Edwin should have told me you were awake. I’d have come up to see you, but I thought you’d be resting. Should you be up and about so soon?”
“I’m fine, Morwenner,” he said.
She just smiled and said, “Can we talk later?”
“Later,” Robin nodded. “I promise.”
To his immense surprise, he was being congratulated by almost every one of the elder women forming the knights of Morwenna Whitewater’s round table. Given how this marked a significant change from how they usually reacted to him, he was quite unsure of how to react. He thanked them awkwardly, thrust his hands into the pockets of his breeches, and squeezed his shoulders together, thoroughly uncomfortable with their appreciation, though he tried not to show it. He failed, of course, but he did try really, really hard.
The air had become thick with the acrid s
moke of the many pipes peppering the crowd. Every now and then, a sunset-red haze flared in the little clay pots. He spotted Edwin across the packed room and began to make his way over to him. He was stopped many times by grateful villagers who heard of his brave rescue and took the opportunity to shake his hand and slap him on his back. The handshakes were appreciated, but the back slaps made him wince a little.
At the bar, Eva and Iris Wolfe-Chase greeted him and said how glad they were to see him back on his feet. Mr. Reed, having dismounted from the railings and made his way back behind the bar—through what Robin could only assume was some secret, possibly magical set of stairs—handed over another small glass of whiskey to him.
“For the big hero,” he said.
He actually meant it, but his tone and dour demeanour would suggest otherwise to those who didn’t really know him. George Reed was one of the few people in the village who Robin felt close to. They had spent the occasional evening deep in conversation together, long after the drinkers had left to stagger up the cobbled streets of Blashy Cove, singing at the tops of their voices. He knew Mr. Reed had occasionally stuck up for him when others ran him down, even though he had told him many times there was no need. Robin thanked him for the drink and considered mentioning how he was almost positive he’d snapped a wooden slat in the bed while getting out of it. He was honest to a fault, but he didn’t want to spoil the mood or add to the innkeeper’s worries. Anyway, it was probably fine, he thought.
He slid around the table and into the booth as gently as he could, which meant only knocking over one drink instead of all of them.
“Ladies Wolfe-Chase,” he said, doffing his cap.
“We’re going to be here all night and I can’t be doing with Lady this and Lady that the whole time. I’m Eva, this is Iris. Let’s save the formalities for another day, please.”
“If you insist!” Robin said, laughing.
Once he was settled and relaxed, Eva slipped one slender arm under his beefy, bejumpered bicep.
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