by J. C.
The distance to the town closed quickly, until Magiere felt as if she had stepped across an unseen boundary to enter its domain.
People bustled around the main street where it opened into a small marketplace at the near end of town. Smells of warm milk, horse manure and sweat and, most of all, fish assaulted her as she passed the first cluster of hawkers' shacks and tents. A candle maker measured out dye into a pot of melted wax. Nearby, a clothier emptied a cart and hung up multipatterned cloth that would give a harlequin fits. From beyond the buildings and toward the docks came a shrill whistle and the sound of a taskmaster's voice cracking dockworkers into motion to empty the belly of some barge just into port. And, of course, there were the fishmongers, each trying to out shout the other for their fresh, dried, cured, or smoked catch for sale. This was not an outback village of superstitious peasants but a thriving community.
"Not bad." Leesil smiled, watching a wagon rock by toward a small warehouse, its back filled with wooden wine barrels. "I could grow accustomed to this."
They passed a small tavern on the right where a stout woman swept last night's dirt and leavings out the door. By its look and place in the town, Magiere knew it wasn't the one she'd bought, but she had a moment's hesitation, wondering if she'd need to jerk Leesil back before he slipped through the open door.
Even in the mill of activity, heads turned toward them. Magiere kept her back straight and her pace even. Newcomers would be common in a port town. However, only one or two other people openly carried any weapon, and she now wished she'd stowed her falchion in the cart. Hopefully, there would be no need of it here.
The scent of fresh bread caught her attention, and her gaze wandered about until she spotted the aroma's origin.
She walked up to a table in front of a small cottage. Through one shutterless window she saw the clay ovens and realized it was an actual bakery.
"A loaf of black forest and a loaf of rye," she said to a balding, plump man in an apron.
The man hesitated, and Magiere felt immediately conscious of the way she must look, armored and armed. There was an awkward silence.
"Do you have any sweet rolls?" Leesil grinned at the baker, stepping up to the table and examining everything. "I'm hungry enough to clean you out."
The man's eyes widened a bit at Leesil's high eyebrows and blunt-point ears peeking through sliver-yellow hair, but Leesil's smile inevitably proved infectious. He could come across as the most carefree, harmless creature. Magiere knew better. She also knew when not to disturb Leesil's influence on people.
"I have some cream pastries inside," the man suggested.
"Cream pastries?" Leesil let out an ecstatic gasp. "Fetch me three before I drop right here at your feet!"
The baker both scowled and smiled at Leesil's dramatics and disappeared through the bakery door with a throaty chuckle.
"You'd be lost without me," Leesil whispered to his partner, clearly pleased with himself.
"You just keep on believing that," Magiere muttered, but she was secretly relieved.
Upon the baker's return, Leesil fussed sufficiently over the pastries and then tossed one to Chap, who swallowed it whole with hardly a snap of his jaws. When the baker's face went flat with indignant shock, Leesil realized his mistake and covered it with a politely dismissive manner.
"Oh, he's one of the family. Loves cream, and"—Leesil gave the baker a quick conspiratorial wink—"I only give him the best. Say, do you know where we could find Constable Ellinwood, the town bailiff?"
"Constable Ellinwood?" the man asked, wiping his hands on his apron with an expression of worry. "Is there trouble?"
"Trouble?" Leesil pitched his voice to sound surprised. "No, we've purchased a tavern here in town, down near the docks. We just need to present the deed and find our property."
"A tavern… by the docks? Oh, you bought the old Dunction place. Why didn't you say so?" The plump baker called out to a clean-faced boy chopping wood at the bakery's far corner. "Geoffry, run and fetch the constable. He'll be eating his midday meal with Martha about now. Tell him the folks who bought the Dunction place are here." Then he turned back to Leesil. "Come, come," he motioned with one thick hand. "I'm Karlin. I've some tables around the side, so you can sit and finish your pastries. The constable will be right along."
Feeling simultaneously embarrassed and relieved at how well Leesil was managing, Magiere followed along silently. She would rather have gone to find the tavern herself and looked it over in private before tending to formalities, but things were proceeding smoothly enough. And she found herself hungrier than expected when faced with fresh bread—and something more comfortable to sit on than dirt. Moments later, she sat with Leesil, tearing off hunks of rye bread to dip in a bowl of honey the baker had brought, and waiting for the proper authorities to come directly to her. Apprehension faded just a little, now that they were out of the main street and away from so many curious eyes.
"I don't think this town sees many strangers come in by the road," she commented.
Leesil nodded. "You should have stowed that falchion."
Magiere glared back at him but said nothing. He was probably armed to the teeth with his little knives, which were easier to conceal in his clothing.
Despite her nervousness, Magiere did like the look of constant business around her. These people seemed to live with more purpose than guarding against their own superstitions. They had affairs to tend to, with family and friends around them who didn't watch each other with a suspicious eye, waiting for some curse to pop up from their own imaginations. She might not get to know any of them, but they would be her customers, and she was determined not to despise them.
That determination wavered when young Geoffry, the baker's son, came running back, followed by a behemoth of a man, who strode among the townspeople as if each was his personal servant. At the sight of him, distaste settled in Magiere's stomach. She put down the pinch of bread she was about to dip in the honey. She'd seen his kind before.
Dressed in a purple brocade tunic and forest-green sash, he'd garnished his matching purple cap with a white feather. Although his attire must have cost what Magiere earned in three village jobs, the sash only accented the size of his protruding belly rather than helping him appear distinguished. He looked like a grape ripened too long on the vine. His face was filled with the overly forced sternness common to those who took their position—but not their duties—too seriously. This would be Constable Ellinwood.
Karlin the baker respectfully ushered the constable to her table, and Magiere's distaste grew. Constable Ellinwood possessed a dour, fleshy countenance, and small, piglike eyes that suggested he thought daily free tankards of ale and fleecing the townsfolk at every opportunity were his rightful due. She doubted he had bought that expensive double-felt tunic with his own wages, from what Magiere knew of the pay for such positions.
Inwardly, she realized the hypocrisy of her contempt. But although she and Leesil had probably done worse in their time, at least they struck a village once and moved on immediately. They didn't remain to drain the townspeople like some bloated leech.
Karlin, on the other hand, seemed pleased with the constable's presence and began introductions.
"These are the folks," Karlin said, and Magiere noticed how the baker's skin glowed with health next to the pasty rolls of Ellinwood's flesh.
"You bought the Dunction place?" Ellinwood asked Leesil, repeating what he'd been told.
"I don't know who owned it previously," Magiere interrupted. "But I have a deed for a tavern near the docks." She unfolded a worn sheet of paper.
Leesil leaned back quietly, comfortable enough with the change of roles now that he was stuffing himself and washing mouthfuls down with an occasional sip from his wine sack. Turning his attention to Magiere, Constable Ellinwood's fingers reached down to grip the deed, exposing two heavy, etched-gold rings on his fingers.
"I'll show you where the place is," he said, after a cursory read, "but I can
't stay to get you settled." Even his voice sounded thick and sluggish to Magiere. He puffed up importantly. "One of the local girls was found dead this morning, and I'm beginning an investigation."
"Who?" Karlin gasped.
"Young Eliza, Brenden's sister. Found in her own yard."
"Oh no, not another…" Karlin trailed off as he glanced toward Leesil and Magiere.
"Not another what?" Magiere asked, looking not at Karlin but at the constable.
"Nothing to concern yourself about," Ellinwood said, puffing up even more. "Now, if you want to see the tavern, follow me."
Magiere withheld any further comment. If Ellinwood really considered the dead girl none of their business, he wouldn't have announced it so blatantly. And Karlin knew the victim, though that was not a great surprise. Miiska was a healthy-size town, but not so big that most people wouldn't know each other, at least casually. Magiere's mild distaste for the constable turned to revulsion.
* * * *
Down near the docks, the ocean scent blew stronger, filling Magiere's lungs with salt-laden comfort. The view of the ocean's horizon with its thin trailing clouds was breathtaking. A small, treed peninsula shot out south of the town, and to the north the shoreline hooked seaward briefly before heading up the coast. The dark blue of the water in the small bay told her the drop-off was steep and a perfect place for a small port town to crop up, offering commerce and a safe stopover for barges and smaller ships traversing the coastline.
The tavern, on the other hand, was not all she had hoped. When they passed down to the far end of town, they found a small two-story building tucked back against a few trees toward the base of the short peninsula.
Dingy, weatherworn, and possibly in need of a new roof, the sight made Magiere hesitant to step inside. The outer walls looked old and hadn't been re-stained in years, turning mottled brown and gray from years of weather wear in salt air. At least the shutters were still intact. One of them banged softly against a window in the light breeze. Leesil stepped forward and touched the wood next to the entrance.
"It's quite solid," he said excitedly. "Wonderful. A bit of stain, a few shingles…"
"What did the previous owner call it?" Magiere asked Ellinwood.
"I don't think he ever gave it a name. Folks just called it Dunction's."
"Why did he sell it?"
The constable puckered his lips. "Sell it? He didn't sell it. He just ran off and left it one night when no one was watching. I suppose he didn't own it outright, because I received formal notice from a bank in Bela that they'd reassumed possession. It was all in order."
"The owner ran off?" Magiere asked. "Was business that bad?"
"No, this place was filled to the brim every night. The dockworkers and bargemen have missed it fierce. So have I, to be honest." He rapped his knuckles once on the door before opening it. "Caleb?" he called. "You home? New owners are here."
Ellinwood didn't wait for an answer and opened the door to step inside, waving Magiere and Leesil after him. Chap slipped in last before the door could shut. With pleasant surprise, Magiere found the inside much better cared for than the outside. The wood floor was swept and clean, if a little worn. To the right in the main area, respectable-looking tables were positioned to fit as many as possible, with room enough for the passage of serving staff handing out tankards and bottles. A huge stone fireplace, large enough to crouch in, dominated the end of the room beyond the tables, offering warmth and a welcome.
The bar on the left was long and made of stout oak turned dark and shiny from years of polishing and the oil of patrons' hands as they leaned their way through the evenings. Behind its far end was a curtained doorway that probably led to the household kitchen or stockroom, and beside it was a stairway leading up to the second floor where the living quarters would be.
Overall, the inside was far better than Magiere had hoped. As little as she had paid for it, she'd wondered some nights what she could expect sight unseen. And for some reason she couldn't explain, the hearth was more important to her than anything else. It was sound and looked strong.
"This is perfect," Leesil said, as if he didn't quite believe it. He moved past her, turning around in amazement, running his slim hand over a table as he walked through the room right up to the hearth Magiere was still eyeing. "I'll set up the faro game by the front window nearest the fire. We might have to sacrifice a table or two to make room."
She suddenly noted he had not directed one word or acknowledgment in Ellinwood's direction.
Hearing footsteps, she turned toward the staircase. Descending slowly were an old, stooped man, an old woman, and a little blond girl about five or six years old.
"Oh, there you are, Caleb," Ellinwood said, rubbing his hands, apparently deciding his business here was finished. "These are the new owners. I must get back to work."
He bid Magiere a good day, ignored Leesil, and left.
Uncertain of exactly what was going on, Magiere turned back to the old couple and child. The old man was half a head taller than her, with straight ashen hair pulled back at his neck. His face was wrinkled but smooth of expression, his eyes dark brown and steady. He wore a plain muslin shirt that matched his wife's tan skirt, both clean as the well-swept floor. The old woman was tiny as a sparrow, her hair pulled up in a neat bun.
"We're the caretakers," Caleb said upon seeing Magiere's bewilderment. "This is my wife, Beth-rae, and my granddaughter, Rose."
Chap trotted over to the old lady, who pulled the little girl out of the way. The dog's ears popped up straight as he looked at tiny Rose, his nose reaching out little by little, sniffing, until the child held out a tentative hand.
As a rule, Chap didn't like being petted by anyone but Leesil, and Magiere tensed, ready to reach out and jerk the dog back by the scruff if he growled. But Chap licked at the small fingers and the child giggled as his tail began to switch. Magiere experienced a wave of instant good will toward these three that washed away the bad taste Ellinwood had left.
"Oh, look, Caleb." Beth-rae brushed back a loose strand of gray hair. "They have a dog. Isn't he beautiful?" She leaned down and scratched Chap gently behind the ear. Chap whined with pleasure and pushed his great head into her side.
"He's a dear thing, but fierce, too. I can tell," Beth-rae said. "It will be good to have him standing guard."
Little Rose thumped both her hands across Chap's back and laughed.
"His name's Chap," Leesil said, also puzzled by the dog's unusual friendliness with strangers.
"Come to the kitchen, Chap," Beth-rae said. "We'll find you some cold mutton. But don't get too accustomed. It's fish for us most days."
As Beth-rae and Rose and Chap left the room, Magiere again looked at Caleb as if to question his presence.
"We're the caretakers," he repeated, meeting her gaze. "When Master Dunction disappeared, the constable commissioned the bank in Bela to keep us on until the place could be sold."
While wondering about Caleb's use of the term "disappeared," Magiere turned her attention to a new dilemma.
"Do all three of you live here?"
Leesil came over to join her. "Of course, they live here. Who do you think has been keeping the place up?"
Magiere crossed her arms, shifting from one foot to the other. Taking on a tavern was one thing; supporting a family of three she'd just met was another. Leesil must have read the expression on her face, for he cut in before she could speak.
"We're going to need help anyway," he said. "If you're running the bar and I'm running the games, who's going to serve and cook and keep the place up?"
He had a point. Magiere hadn't given much thought to food, but most patrons coming in for ale would probably want to eat as well.
"What did Dunction serve?" she asked Caleb.
"Simple fare. When the place was still open, Beth-rae baked bread all morning, then cooked different types of stew or fish chowder. She's good with herbs and spices." He paused. "Come upstairs, and I'll show you the l
iving quarters."
Although his tone remained casual, Magiere sensed a cautious tension in the old caretaker, as if there was more going on here than he indicated.
"How long have you been here?" she asked, following him up the staircase.
"Nine years," he answered. "Rose has been with us since my daughter… left us."
"Left you?" Leesil asked. Then he muttered under his breath, "Seems like people keep leaving this place."
Caleb didn't respond. Magiere held her tongue as well. The old man's affairs were none of her business.
The upper floor was as well tended as the lower. The top of the stairs emptied into the center of a short, narrow hallway. First Caleb showed her a large bedroom at the left end of the hall, somewhere above the common room downstairs, and proclaimed it to be hers. There was another room for Leesil at the midpoint of the hall, just across from the stairs, and a third small room at the right end of the hall. The last had likely been used for storage or other purposes. There was a sagging bed tucked into the corner, two pillows at its head, and a little mat on the floor.
"This is where we stay, Miss," Caleb said. "We don't take up much space."
For the second time that day, Magiere sighed in resignation. Leesil was right; they couldn't manage everything by themselves. Besides, she had no idea how to make spiced fish chowder and no time for tasks like cleaning the hearth if she was to learn how to run this place.
"What arrangement did you have with the bank?" she asked.
"Arrangement?" Caleb's brows gathered.
"What does the bank pay you?"
"Pay us? We've just been living here, tending the place, and were careful not to use up all the stores before the new owner arrived."
Magiere didn't know whom she despised more at that moment, the very poor or the very rich. The bank was able to arrange free caretakers, taking advantage of two people suddenly left without an employer.