Devilʼs Brew: The Janna Chronicles 5

by Felicity Pulman

“No need for that!” Janna said quickly, anxious to salvage something of her conscience. Not for anything would she have Wat out of work because of her, not unless she could prove her suspicions. “He’s doing well enough for the present.” Should she mention the mustard seeds? Better not, she decided. Not yet, anyway.

  “But it’s time I came downstairs to see for myself what’s going on.” Sybil thrust herself upright and stood swaying, blinking against a sudden dizziness.

  Janna grabbed her, her spirits spiraling downward at the realization that Sybil still didn’t trust her. “You’re not well enough,” she said firmly.

  Sybil took a breath. Her face had blanched pale as whey; she closed her eyes. “I think you have the truth of it,” she said faintly, and sagged back down onto the bed.

  “You’ll just have to trust me.” Janna couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her tone.

  “I do.” Sybil reached up and caught hold of her hand. “Believe me, Janna, I do. But I’m used to being in charge, ordering things to my own satisfaction. I feel so…so useless lying here!”

  Janna nodded, feeling slightly mollified. This, she could understand. “It won’t be for too much longer,” she promised, and whisked out of Sybil’s room and down the stairs.

  “I have another task for you,” she said apologetically to Ulf, when she spied him later that evening.

  “Let me guess. I’m going to Hell?”

  Janna grinned. “More than that. I want you to make up to Ebba. Flatter her. Promise her whatever she asks. I want you to try to find out, if you can, who her protector is now.”

  “What if she doesn’t have one?” Ulf looked thoroughly alarmed. “I’ll look right daft if she takes me at my word.”

  “She won’t.” Janna told him of the girl’s unexpected appearance in all her finery, and her relationship to Wat. “Ebba’s got someone,” she said, “and I want to know who.”

  “I doubt it’s Alan. He’s still playing the big man, but he’s not looking quite so flash these days. Besides, he mostly seems to frequent Paradise, or Heaven.”

  “If not Alan, then it’s someone else. I want to find out who’s behind what’s been going on around here. I want to know if she’s working with someone, or if this is all her own idea.” Janna went on to tell Ulf her suspicions about the tainted ale and the mouse pie. “She was snooping around here today, and I want to know why,” she concluded.

  “You could be reading far too much into all of this. Maybe Ebba just came to see her brother.”

  Janna needed to convince Ulf that she was right, but it would mean betraying a confidence. On the other hand, she was sending him into what could become a dangerous situation. That thought helped her make up her mind. She related to him what Elfric had told her about Sybil and Alan, and how their relationship had ended after they’d quarreled over ownership of the tavern. She told him too how the merchant hadn’t hesitated to shame Sybil and taunt her in front of his friends.

  “I might be wrong about Alan, but I’m almost sure Ebba and her protector are in this together. Her brother too. Please see what you can find out for me, Ulf. After all, our reputation is at stake here, as well as Sybil’s safety.”

  The relic seller nodded and stood up. He hefted his pack onto his shoulders and walked out of the tavern. Janna watched him go. She felt restless, on edge. Something else was being planned, she felt sure of it. Unable to quieten her fears, she took off her apron and rushed to the kitchen to fetch her cloak. The tavern wasn’t too busy at present. She would leave Ossie in charge while she was gone.

  On her way out, she checked with him that he could manage. “I’ll watch out for the customers,” he assured her, and picked up a pitcher of ale to show he was willing.

  “Get Wat to help with the food orders,” Janna told him, thinking that her mission was more important that a few disgruntled customers if things did go wrong in her absence. But she knew that the ale was sweet, and Elfric was checking the food. And she wouldn’t be gone for long. “I’ll be back soon,” she promised. Drawing her cloak around her, and taking care that her face was so shrouded as to be unrecognizable inside her hood, she stepped out into the night.

  She wished now that she’d asked Ulf to stay and walk with her. Every shadow turned into Mus; every movement set her heart racing. Rats and cats disturbed rubbish, made scrabbling noises, turned into ghosts and assassins as she walked along the high street. There were plenty of people in the town, preparing for the fair. Merchants and traders alike were keen to make up for sales lost the previous year, and visitors were also flocking in, ready to pay their dues and stake their claim. With so many strangers about, Janna felt increasingly anxious. What if Mus had given up and gone back to Robert? What if Robert had set someone else after her instead, someone she didn’t know, someone who could take her by surprise?

  Thoroughly alarmed by this new thought, Janna scooted along as fast as if the devil was on her heels, desperately keen to reach the relative safety of the alehouses. She was shaking with fright by the time she came to Hell, and had to fight the temptation to go inside and ask Ulf to escort her to the next alehouse. But she forced herself onward, to Paradise. Ulf had told her that this was where he usually saw Alan. While Ulf was busy finding out what he could from Ebba, she would spy on Alan. And if he wasn’t in Paradise, she would try Heaven instead.

  Once inside, she looked around with interest, for she hadn’t been into the alehouse before. It was busy enough; there were far more people drinking here than in the Bell and Bush, for it was near all the shops in the high street. Drawing the hood close and keeping her head down, Janna walked among the patrons. She assessed the crowd with quick sideways glances as she went, looking out for Mus as well as the merchant. While there was no sign of the former, Alan was there and surrounded by his usual hangers-on. Janna sidled closer, testing and discarding various strategies as she went.

  “…no doubt in my mind that this is the finest alehouse in Winchestre.” The merchant rose to his feet. Janna jerked back with alarm, not wanting to be seen.

  “You don’t have to leave so early,” one of his companions pointed out. “You said yourself that your leman’s busy elsewhere!”

  “Busy doing what?” asked someone else, a smirk belying the seeming innocence of the remark. But the man quickly sobered as the merchant angrily swiped the mug out of his hand.

  “Watch your mouth,” he snarled, and spat into the rushes.

  “Come on, Master Alan, she’s friendly with everyone, you know that.” Another man at the table laid his hand on the merchant’s arm in a vain effort to keep the peace.

  “You’ll speak of her with respect or you’ll answer to me!” The merchant jerked his arm free and strode off. Janna shrank behind a crowded table, analyzing what she’d just heard. That his companions sought to detain the merchant probably meant nothing other than they were hoping for free ale. But she’d found out part of the confirmation she’d sought: the merchant had a leman. If his mistress wasn’t free to come to his bed just yet, it might mean that she was engaged elsewhere. In Hell? Or in some other man’s bed? Judging from his appearance, the merchant appeared less prosperous than when she’d first encountered him. Was Ebba earning their keep now?

  Janna stayed hidden, curious to find out what Alan would do next. She watched as he moved toward several men drinking steadily in the corner, watched as he beckoned to a passing serving maid.

  “Another jug of your fine ale for me and my friends here,” he said, his loud voice attracting the attention of the drinkers nearby. “I swear ’tis the best brew in all Winchestre, wouldn’t you agree?” He looked about the table for confirmation. Several men nodded, but one or two looked somewhat dubious.

  “They do a good brew at the Bell and Bush,” one said, and slapped his mug down on the table. “Better than here, I reckon.”

  “The Bell and Bush?” Alan said incredulously. “The Bell and Bush?” He clapped his palm against his forehead in disbelief. “Why, I was there only last
night. It’s common talk the tavern’s about to close. The taverner lies near death, ’tis said, and the brew tastes like slops because of it. No, you can forget about the Bell and Bush.” He leaned on the table, pushing his face close to the one man who had dared to disagree with him. “Let me refill your mug, my friend. There’s nothing to touch this brew, I tell you. Nothing.” He seized the new jug as soon as it was brought to the table and made good his offer, sloshing its contents into all the mugs that were eagerly pushed toward him.

  Seething, Janna had to make a huge effort to restrain herself from flying at the merchant’s throat and choking him for his lying words. And yet she was glad to have heard them, for they confirmed her suspicions. Ebba was spreading poison in Hell on behalf of the merchant, while he busied himself likewise in the other two taverns. The two must be working together with Wat. It was the only explanation. The merchant had lied about being in the Bell and Bush, yet he knew all about the attack on Sybil and knew also that she was still alive.

  Perhaps it was never meant to go this far. But when the tainted ale and the mouse pie hadn’t succeeded in driving customers away, the attack had followed. With Sybil out of the way, they must have reasoned that the tavern would surely close, leaving the way open for Alan to claim it as he’d always wanted, while giving him a new and desirable source of income. His words indicated that Sybil had indeed been the intended target, not Janna. She felt the great weight of guilt lift from her heart.

  But why had Ebba visited Wat? Janna felt a frisson of alarm run down her back as suspicion returned in full force. Now that the pair hadn’t succeeded in removing Sybil, they would surely try again. And if so, what would they do next?

  Chapter 13

  Janna wasn’t left long to wonder what had been planned, for on her return to the tavern she found the door closed tight against her. She could hear Ossie snoring inside. At once she hastened around to the back lane. The gate was still unlocked, and a faint light from the kitchen indicated there’d be someone awake to tell her what was going on. Once inside, she encountered a reproachful Elfric tidying up before going home.

  “There’s no ale to serve the customers. Why didn’t you make sure the bungs were tight in the barrels?” he accused her, when she demanded to know why the tavern had closed so early.

  “What?” Janna turned on her heel and rushed off to the brew house, closely followed by Elfric and also Wat, who’d been lurking about, cadging scraps. As she entered the brew house, her worst fears were confirmed. The hard-packed earth floor was now a pool of reeking mud. Horrified, she checked the barrels: all of them were empty.

  “This is no accident, nor carelessness either. This has been done deliberately,” she told Elfric as she tested the last barrel. “And I intend to find out who is responsible.”

  Distraught and angry, she straightened, just in time to catch a fleeting smirk cross Wat’s face. The hot blood of anger pulsed through Janna’s veins as she lunged at him, pushing Elfric out of the way to grab tight hold of his ear.

  “You!” she shrieked, holding on and shaking him hard. “You sniveling toad! Your sister put you up to this, didn’t she!”

  “Did not.” Wat struggled to break free. “You was the last person in the brew house. I saw you come out. Don’t think to blame me, it’s your fault.”

  “What are you suggesting, Janna?” Elfric put out a hand to save Wat from Janna’s fury, but she gripped harder and gave the boy an extra shake. She was ready to rattle his brains, she was so angry.

  “I’m suggesting that Wat was responsible for draining all this ale onto the floor, just as he once put mustard seeds and salt into the ale, and a mouse into your pie!” Janna spat out the words, hardly able to contain her fury.

  “But…but why?” Elfric moved then to protect the cowering boy from Janna. “Why would he do such a thing?”

  “Ask him!” Janna let go of Wat’s ear. She stuck her hands on her hips and glared at him instead.

  He stared back at her, sullen and silent. Janna felt a momentary qualm as she remembered how he’d rushed to her aid, his elation at having got the better of Mus, his assurance that she could call on him whenever she needed help. But things had gone too far now for sentiment to get in the way of the truth. Somehow, she had to get him to confess.

  “If he won’t answer, perhaps you should ask his sister and her lover!” she spat. “I know they’re not responsible for this, because I’ve just seen them with my own eyes in the alehouses up the high street, spreading lies and slander about the Bell and Bush, how Sybil lies near death’s door, how the ale tastes like slops and the tavern is about to close. They’re trying to put us out of business, and you’ve been helping them all along, haven’t you, Wat, with all your little tricks and games? You might have thought it was fun, but if Sybil had died I’d have seen you hang for it, Wat.”

  “I never done that, you know I never!”

  “But you did the other things, didn’t you?” Janna said softly. “Didn’t you, Wat?”

  “But…” Elfric looked from one to the other. “I don’t understand.”

  “It’s all down to that merchant, isn’t it, Wat?” Janna hoped that by suggesting someone else was to blame, the boy might be encouraged to tell what he knew. “Alan. You know he wanted the tavern for himself, and this was his way of getting it, wasn’t it? He persuaded you to make things go wrong, to drive the customers away. And when that didn’t work, he told you to kill the taverner.”

  “No!” The potboy’s eyes were wide with fright. “No, he didn’t! I never! That was nothin’ to do with me. You know that right well, Janna. It was meant to be you with your head bashed in, not Mistress Sybil.”

  “Me?” It hadn’t occurred to Janna that Wat might also have misread the situation.

  “Like what happened before, only this time that man attacked the wrong ’un!”

  Janna was silenced, but not for long, for she was almost sure now that Sybil had indeed been the intended target. “No, Wat, he wasn’t behind this,” she said, hoping she might still get a confession out of him. “The attack was aimed at Mistress Sybil, you know that right enough. When your tricks to close the tavern didn’t work, Alan had to find a way to remove the taverner instead. So who was responsible if not you, Wat? Think carefully, because trying to kill someone is a very serious offense. You don’t want to be blamed for something you didn’t do.”

  “It weren’t me, I swear it!”

  “Was it your sister, then? Or Alan?”

  “I know nothin’ ’bout the attack on Sybil. Nothin’! I swear it! I thought the man that was after you hit her by mistake.” Wat looked frightened to death. It seemed he hadn’t thought through the possible consequences of his actions until now. Janna wondered if he’d been threatened into silence by Alan. Now that the full extent of the plan to take over the tavern had been revealed, the boy seemed terrified. And no wonder, if he’d thought it was just about playing a few tricks.

  “I’m quite sure Mistress Sybil was the intended victim,” Janna stated, reading from Elfric’s expression that he shared Wat’s suspicions about the attack. “And I’ll prove it to you,” she added fiercely, even though she wasn’t sure how to go about it. Wat’s denial had shaken her belief that she’d read the situation right. For all their sakes, she needed to find out the truth as soon as possible.

  “But I don’t understand why you would play these tricks on us, Wat,” Elfric said. “You’ve got a home here, and employment. Mistress Sybil looked after you through the siege when everyone else had closed their doors. She gave you food and shelter all through the hard winter when so many others were homeless and starving. Could you really wish to cause so much trouble for us?”

  Wat sniffed, and wiped his nose on the back of his hand. “Ebba told me I had to,” he admitted. “She told me Alan was gunna take over the Bell and Bush, and that she’d become the taverner here. She promised she’d take care of me. She said we’d live like kings.” He sniffed again. “It was just fun, like wi
th the mustard seeds and that. But they didn’t hurt Mistress Sybil. You’re wrong about that, Janna.”

  Janna wondered if she’d misread the situation after all. She really needed to prove it one way or the other – but at least Wat had admitted to his role in the plot to close the tavern. “So what do we do with you now, Wat?” she asked. She couldn’t forgive him for what he’d done, nor did she want him at the tavern any longer. He’d betrayed them all. They couldn’t trust him.

  “I think you’d better go,” she said. She looked at Elfric, and was encouraged when he nodded in agreement. “You can tell your sister and her lover that they won’t get their hands on the Bell and Bush no matter what they try.” She thought for a moment. “Maybe your sister can get you a job where she works? Hell’s the best place for both of you.”

  She turned on her heel and walked out of the sodden brew house. She would have to start another brew just as soon as Ossie could bring fresh water, and she would have to double the quantity. It meant the tavern would again be without ale for a few days, but at least a new shipment of wine had come in. Hopefully enough wealthy merchants had come to town for the fair and would be willing to pay the price.

  Angry and upset, she lay awake on her pallet beside the fireplace a long time that night. To her dismay, she found that she missed the presence of Wat in the alcove on the other side. He was company; he was also a measure of safety. But he’d packed up his few belongings under the stern eye of Elfric, who had then escorted him to the gate in the yard and made a big show of locking it behind them both before he left. And now Janna lay alone, mulling over what had happened and worrying how she might prove who was behind the attack on Sybil.

  Ebba? It seemed less likely now. Wat would surely have known if his sister was responsible.

  Mus? She shuddered, and edged closer to the banked-down fire.

  The merchant? Sybil had told her that she’d heard something, a sound she recognized. Not footsteps. Not any sort of smell either – which must surely eliminate Mus. Janna turned her thoughts to Alan. He wanted to destroy the tavern’s reputation and take it over – that much was obvious. So he had a motive; he was also well able to carry out the attack. She began to replay all she’d seen and heard that night, and an idea came into her mind. It was a very long chance indeed – but there was nothing else she could think of that might prove her suspicions either way.