She must not have had the chance.
After some silence, the other folk at the table turned the conversation to local matters—whose pig had rooted up a neighbor’s garden patch, who else was missing chickens, which young man or woman was driving their parents to drink. Common stuff in small villages, and Arvil hoped they’d not think to bring any of the messes to him.
He scraped his trencher clean, drank the last of his beer, bid his companions a good even, and dropped the crockery off in the tiny scullery before asking the way upstairs.
The way was clear, of course—there was only one staircase, and that in plain view—but it was polite to ask. The young man who looked like Sarry led the way up and took him to a small, dark room under the eves lit by a single lamp. Three large pallets lay in the three corners of the room, the fourth being where the door stood. There were eight children in nightclothes, plus Embry.
A small girl with a tear-streaked face had her arms wrapped around Embry’s neck, hanging on as though she were dangling over a cliff. And come to think of it, she might well have nightmares of falling for some time, poor mite.
He threaded his way through the children, likely Sarry’s. He managed a smile for each of them, although they just stared at him with huge brown eyes.
Arvil lay a hand on Embry’s shoulder, then knelt beside him. “How is she?” he whispered.
“She had a good cry,” Embry whispered back. “Demanded I take her home, to her mam and da, and threw a royal fit when I said I couldn’t. She exhausted herself, I think.”
“The sleep should do her some good,” said Arvil, keeping his voice low. “She’s too young to understand but young enough to recover well.”
Embry shot him a scowl. “She lost her parents and her home and everything she’s ever known, and we’re going to take her away from her village to a big, noisy place full of strangers. She’s not going to just forget so easily.”
“That’s not what I meant, love,” said Arvil. He rubbed Embry’s back, massaging tense muscles. “She won’t forget them soon, and perhaps never at all. But young children are resilient. The Lady protects them from great sorrow if they’re taken care of after. We’ll take fine care of her, and she’ll find her way. She’ll be happy again. Not tomorrow, nor next week, but she’ll find things to smile about again.”
Embry buried his nose in Gilly’s dark curls and huffed out a sigh. “I suppose you would know.”
“I do,” said Arvil. “I’ve held my share of crying children who’ve just lost everything. Gilly is special because she’s yours, and I hope will be ours soon. But she’ll get past this. We’ll see to it.”
Embry nodded, and they sat together for a time. The other children shuffled about, dividing themselves among the pallets. It was crowded, and it was soon clear there’d be barely enough space for Embry to stretch out on the floor with Gilly. Arvil fetched Embry’s bedroll and pack, then said goodnight and took himself back downstairs.
There was no sense trying to sleep until the locals had left, so Arvil got another beer and sat down with a different group of villagers. After greetings and the obligatory retelling of the story of the fire, the locals settled in to discuss whose pigs were the fattest and whose carrots would be the sweetest that year.
Arvil thought he might actually get through a whole evening without having to take on his official persona, but his luck gave out when two men came up behind him. One coughed to announce himself, then said, “Milord Herald? Might we have a word?”
Arvil smothered his sigh and gave them a courteous smile. “Of course.” He got up and followed them to a chilly corner of the room where they had at least the illusion of privacy.
They introduced themselves as Hobbert and Eldric. Both men were pig farmers, which was the common occupation in the area for anyone who didn’t farm wheat or practice a crafting trade. They were both brown skinned—some from the sun and some, like Embry, from birth—and looked to be around Arvil’s age, midthirties.
They gave each other a tense look, then Hobbert said, “We were wonderin’ whether you might’ve heard any word of our children. My daughter, that is, Bayla, and Eldric’s son Mort.”
“Mort said he’d have none o’ pig farming,” said Eldric. “Said he’d go to Haven and join the Guard.”
“And Bayla,” said Hobbert, “she were that sweet on him and determined to marry him an’ none other. She said she’d wait on him, but when he left for Haven, she went too. Likely she knew there’d be a branglin’ about it if she’d been honest.”
“They knew nobody in Haven,” said Eldric, “so Mort, he said he’d find Embry the smith and ask fer some advice, maybe some space on the floor fer a bit, till he could find a place of his own. And he promised he’d write, so we knew he’d landed on his feet.”
“But he never did,” said Hobbert. “Nor did Bayla. We heard nothin’ at all from neither of ’em, these two years now.”
“Two years?” asked Arvil. He felt his spirit sink. After two years, any trail would’ve gone cold.
“Nearly,” said Eldric. “It’ll be two years come harvest.”
“Did they turn up?” asked Hobbert, and both men looked at him, fear and hope in their eyes.
Arvil kept his expression neutral and said, “I haven’t seen them, but I’m away from home much of the time, riding Circuit. I’ll ask Embry whether they turned up. He’s asleep with the children now, but I promise I’ll ask him in the morning.”
The men looked at each other again. Hobbert frowned and looked away, while Eldric said, “Thankee. I ’preciate it.”
“Did you ever send a note to the Guards?” asked Arvil. “Ask whether Mort ever did join up?”
“I did,” said Eldric. “Sent a note with Danil last year. He grows wheat, takes it to Haven to sell himself. Says he gets a better price than selling it to the jobber. He took the note, but we never heard nothin’ back.”
Arvil’s first thought was that the young couple hadn’t made it to Haven. Or had changed their minds and gone somewhere else? But why not let their families know they were well? Unless there was more of an argument before their leaving than their fathers were willing to own.
“I’ll ask Embry in the morning,” he repeated. “And if he heard nothing from them, I’ll inquire with the Guards when we get back to Haven.”
“Thankee,” Eldric said again. Hobbert nodded, and the two men took themselves off. Arvil watched them exchange a few words by the door, then they left the tavern together.
The place emptied out, first slowly and then more quickly. Arvil was the only guest staying the night, aside from Embry, and Sarry said Arvil could have the place before the fire. He thanked her and soon enough was lying snug before a very carefully banked fire.
Something about that bothered him, but he was too tired to ponder it. He set it aside for later and slept.
• • •
Arvil was seated on a hard wooden bench with a mug of tea and a hunk of hot bread and toasted cheese on the table before him when Embry came downstairs carrying Gilly. Embry had pulled on his shirt and trousers, and Gilly wore a loose dress, plain white and about knee length. Both were barefoot, and both sported uncombed hair that stuck out all over, looking exactly as though they’d only just rolled out of bed. Arvil thought it was adorable, but he was smart enough to stifle a grin.
Sarry’s son, who’d introduced himself as Samal when he came to stir up the fire, bade Embry good morning and set about making more toasted cheese.
Embry walked over to stand by Arvil, who stood up and gave a wide-eyed Gilly a smile. “Good morning,” he said. “Did you sleep well?”
Gilly blinked at him, then buried her face in her uncle’s shoulder.
Embry rubbed her back and said, “This is your Uncle Arvil.”
She peeped up at Arvil with one eye, then hid her face again.
“You don’t re
member me,” said Arvil. “But I saw you once before. You were just a tiny baby. You’ve grown into a big girl since then.”
She gave him another suspicious look, then yawned and looked up at Embry. “Cheese?”
“Yes, we’re having cheese for breakfast,” said Embry. “And bread. And maybe some milk?” He looked at Samal, who nodded.
“Good.” Embry sat down next to Arvil with Gilly on his lap. Arvil leaned into him, shoulder to shoulder, and Embry leaned back, then leaned farther and stole a kiss.
“Missed you last night,” he whispered.
“Same,” murmured Arvil.
“I’m sorry.” Embry looked down and bounced Gilly in his lap. “I know this isn’t how you meant to spend your off-Circuit time.”
“No, it’s not,” Arvil admitted. “But family comes first. I’m just glad I was home to come with you, that you didn’t have to come by yourself.”
“I’m glad too.”
Samal came over with Embry’s trencher of bread and cheese, with a bit extra for Gilly, plus a mug of tea and a mug of milk. Arvil was nearly done with his own breakfast, so he watched Embry supervising Gilly, making sure at least part of her breakfast ended up in her mouth rather than slopped down the front of her dress.
What now? Gilly seemed attached to Embry, which was good. Embry’d come visiting without Arvil a time or two, so she knew him, if not well. He was somewhat familiar, though, and he looked a lot like his brother Corden, so she’d have that to hang on to when they left. They should probably give her another day or two to become accustomed, though, before whisking her away.
Whisking her away reminded him of his conversation with Hobbert and Eldric the night before, so he asked, “Embry? Did a young man from the village here, a Mort, visit you in Haven? About two years ago? Or any time since then?”
“Mort?” Embry looked up for a moment. “Eldric’s son? No, I haven’t seen him. I didn’t know he was coming to Haven.”
“His father said he wanted to join the Guards. He meant to contact you, get a leg up. They haven’t heard from him or the young woman who went with him.”
“That’d be Bayla?”
Arvil nodded.
“Aye, they’ve been sweet on each other since they were children. Huh. I wish I could say I’d seen them, but I haven’t. After so long. . . .” He frowned and stared off into space.
“Exactly.” Arvil sighed and finished his tea. “When we get back, I’ll see if he ever enlisted. If they ran into bandits or some such, though, I’m afraid we’ll likely never know what happened, not after all this time.”
Embry shook his head. “I need some good news right now.” He tore off a piece of cheesy bread and held it up for Gilly. “In your mouth, Princess, not on your dress.”
Arvil didn’t have any to give him, which felt like a failure on his part, even though he knew that was unreasonable. He clapped his husband on the shoulder and stood. He took his trencher and mug to the scullery, then went to the stable to wash and dress and tend to Graya.
He cleaned out the two stalls—which were just spaces bounded by strung ropes—and brought their breakfast, adding a scoop of oats to each flake of hay. While working, he told Graya about Mort and Bayla.
“It’s too bad they didn’t raise the alarm sooner,” he said. “But then, they didn’t know anything was wrong until too much time had already passed.”
Graya nodded while munching her hay.
“Something’s bothering me about the fire, but I can’t put my finger on it.” He flopped down next to her and looked up into her big blue eyes. “By the time anyone knew, it’d consumed enough of the building that the ceiling was caving in. That’s very fast. I know fires can spread quickly, especially with a thatch roof, but still . . .”
He stared out into the morning chill. The back door of the tavern gave onto the stable yard. To the left was another building, a bakery. The lane between them was too narrow for him to be able to see the road from where he sat, but he could hear folk walking along, calling good morning to one another. To the right, in the gaps between Graya’s legs, he could see the hard-packed dirt of the yard, then the road. A small river ran by the village, and the road passed over a bridge. Elm trees grew thick along the river, before giving way to the wheat fields he and Embry had ridden past the previous day.
Birds calling, butterflies fluttering, and the scent of baking bread in the cool air all made it feel like morning.
The lean-to stable was open on three sides, and he could see canvas through the gaps in the boards of the roof. It might actually be watertight, although he was glad not to have to worry about that, in midsummer. There was a decent supply of hay, but if they hadn’t brought their own oats, Graya’s diet would’ve been rather boring for a while.
On one of the posts that supported the lean-to’s roof there was a spike meant for a candle. Arvil could care for Graya blindfolded, but not all travelers were so skilled.
Wait, the candle . . .
“Why was everyone so sure the fire caught from the hearth?” he wondered.
Graya snorted and cocked her head at him.
“That’s what they said. Meg said she takes extra care to bank her fire now. And Sarry was especially careful with the fire last night. How did they know it was the fireplace?”
Graya cocked her head in the other direction.
Arvil nodded and rose. “I’ll ask. Maybe they were just assuming. But if not, who would’ve known about the fireplace?”
He went back into the inn to find Sarry, who was in the back room cooking hops for a batch of beer. He asked her, and she turned to frown at him.
“Why, I don’t know. ’Tis just what everyone says. A coal popped out of the hearth and started the fire.”
“How would anyone know?”
“I suppose they wouldn’t, would they? Someone must’ve just assumed.”
“I suppose,” Arvil echoed. “Thank you. I was just curious.”
He left her to her brewing and went to find Meg, who was working in the vegetable patch behind her house. She said the same, that she’d just heard it from someone, but didn’t remember who’d said it first.
“Just a guess, then,” she said. “It seems likely.”
“But it could’ve been a lamp overturned, or a candle too close to the bedclothes?”
“Could’ve been, I suppose.” She shrugged and looked away. “I don’t like thinking about it. We only just kept the fire from spreading here. It makes me shudder to imagine it.”
Arvil apologized and took his leave, but he didn’t go far.
The charred ruin of Corden’s house lay a few steps away. The side of Meg’s house was scorched black, and the earth between them rutted up from being soaked and then trodden by dozens of feet before drying. The smell of burned wood hung in the air even now, more than ten days after the fire.
Arvil circled the ruins, scanning the charred beams and cracked tiles. A huge oven squatted in the center of the wreckage—Corden’s kiln. Made of thick firebrick, it wouldn’t burn, of course.
Before he could go inside to investigate further, he heard Embry calling him from the road.
He jogged around to the front of the ruins and found Embry, holding Gilly, who had her face buried once more in his shoulder.
“Gilly wants some clay to play with. We were going to walk to the river and dig some for her. Would you like to come?” He then lowered his voice, “She needs to get to know you. Come with us?”
Arvil looked over his shoulder at the burned-out building, then nodded and fell into step beside Embry. The ruins weren’t going anywhere, and Embry was right—Gilly needed to get to know him.
“You know where Corden dug his clay?”
Embry nodded. “I helped him haul it back to the shop a time or two.”
“Good,” said Arvil. “It’s a fine morning for a walk.
”
They strolled out of the village toward the river, pointing out trees and flowers to Gilly.
“Listen to the bird singing,” said Arvil. He pointed to a blue and brown bird perched on an elm branch to one side of the path. “Do you know what kind of bird that is, Gilly?”
She craned her neck, staring, then said, “Swooper bird!”
“Really?” said Arvil. “I didn’t know that.”
“Everbody knows!”
“I don’t live here,” said Arvil. “The birds are different where I live. So are the flowers.”
“Nuh-uh!”
“They are too,” he said with a laugh. “We’ll show you when we get there.”
She turned away and waved a hand toward the river. “Wanna dig.”
“We will, Princess,” said Embry. “Almost there.” He picked his way down the bank and along a narrow track, careful of his balance while carrying Gilly.
“Not here!” she said, her little voice dripping scorn. “No clay here. Da said. Used it all up. He digged there!” She pointed farther upstream, leaning as far as she could out of Embry’s grasp and waving both hands.
“Whoa, look out!” Embry laughed and shifted his grip on her. “All right, show us. We’ll follow you.” He put her down, and she dashed off, bare feet nimble on the muddy, pebbly riverbank, both men striding after her.
She led them through thickets and around boulders for a good half-candlemark to another gentle but long curve in the river, where a wide stretch of bank was exposed. There were signs of digging, a shallow trench in the bank revealing fine red clay.
Gilly was already on her knees, digging in with a stick. Arvil looked at Embry, who smiled and shrugged.
“Might as well let her,” Embry said. “She’s already as muddy as a little pig. She’ll need a good wash no matter what, so no harm letting her have fun.”
Arvil read what Embry didn’t say, that the child had had little enough fun recently.
Gilly dug a blob of clay bigger than her two fists, then sat down right on the wet ground to squeeze and knead it. At her urging, Arvil and Embry dug out clay for themselves too, and they all settled in for a morning of making clay bowls, and getting incredibly dirty. Arvil had never worked clay before, and his bowl turned out laughably lopsided, but it was fun, and it made Gilly smile at him.
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