Red Rowan: Book 2: All Gone, the Gods

by Helen Gosney

  For a moment, when he’d looked into the tall stranger’s eyes, Donnie had almost thought… but no, the man hadn’t tried anything with the daggers and he’d kept his word as he’d said. Even so … He thought about Rowan’s strong broad shoulders and scarred face and arms and hands and his air of quiet self-assurance. The lad had an uncomfortable feeling the outlander just might be able to do all that he’d said. He’d got those scars somewhere after all, and the sight of his own blood didn’t alarm him at all. Donnie valued his own skin, even if he was careless of others and he certainly couldn’t casually cut himself like that. He made up his mind.

  “Nah, come on lads, we’ll go down to the Black Bull and drink their health instead.” He laughed, but he had the odd feeling that it might be better to get going fairly smartly.

  Within sight of the Duck and Whistle Inn, Rowan stopped and faced Rose.

  “There you go, Rose, you’ll be fine from here… I’ll only be a little while…”

  “Rowan, what are you going to do to them? They’re only silly lads… you, you wouldn’t have really…” she looked up at him anxiously. He still looked perfectly calm, and that horrible bleakness had faded from his eyes.

  “No, Rose love. Of course not. I know I shouldn’t have threatened them like that, but didn’t you see them? They’d have all killed each other for those daggers if I’d let them have them. Sometimes a really serious threat’s needed to get through their thick skulls,” He sighed. Sometimes the damned daggers were more curse than blessing, he thought, particularly around idiots like those louts. And he DID keep them in plain scabbards too, as he always had, to Fess’s disgust. The g’Hakken dwarves had suggested it but he would have done it anyway, just as he did with his sabre.

  “I’m not going to do anything to the lads, truly… All I’m going to do is just ask them nicely for our money back, because we might need it… oh, maybe I might knock their silly heads together for them too, it couldn’t do any harm. You didn’t truly think I’d let them have Glyn’s and Zara’s rings just like that, did you? Oh. Perhaps you’d better take these. I promised I wouldn’t touch them until those louts and us were safely away. You’d better have the clan knife too, I suppose. Silly buggers never saw it, and I doubt they saw yours either. Now, I didn’t say anything about not helping them on their way, did I?” he put the belt with the sheathed daggers in her hands, gave her the bone-handled hunting knife from his boot as well and pushed her gently towards the Inn. “You go now, Rose love, I won’t be long…” and he was gone into the gathering gloom, as swift and silent as a hunting cat.

  The group of lads was heading in the general direction of the Black Bull, laughing and cursing among themselves, convinced they’d come off best in a rather worrying exchange only by dint of their own courage and strength and more convinced of their importance and invincibility than ever when a tall, well-built, broad-shouldered shape appeared among them.

  “No, no, boys… that’s not very good… why, Rose can swear better than that…”

  **********

  4. “…a subject I try very hard not to ever think about”

  Rose stood undecided for a short time, though she knew Rowan was more than capable of taking care of himself. She thought about the obnoxious Donnie and his friends: those lads really did need to learn a few manners from someone, she decided, and Rowan could do the job as well as anyone. She shrugged and stepped into the Inn.

  There were a good many people inside, quietly drinking and chatting amongst themselves and there was a delicious aroma coming from the kitchens. She was surprised to see Bimm sitting glumly on a chair near a window, his face pale and drawn behind his beard, his left foot and ankle heavily bandaged and resting on a low stool.

  “Bimm, are you all right? What’s happened to you?” asked Rose, going across to him.

  “Yes, I’m fine... well, sort of... I was going down to the cellar, like I have thousands of times, and I tripped on the stairs...” he replied. “The healer says my ankle isn’t broken, but it’s very painful and I can hardly stand on it...”

  “And you won’t be standing on it either, Bimm,” said Shana briskly as she bustled past with a tray full of empty mugs and tankards, “You just stay where you are and rest it for now.”

  “Where’s Rowan, isn’t he with you? Are those his knives?” Bimm asked curiously, looking around.

  Rose was no better at lying than any other forester, which is to say she was quite hopeless at it. She struggled to answer without getting Rowan into some sort of trouble.

  “Oh, yes, I’m just er, holding them for him while he’s… um… well… he’ll be here in a minute, he’s just… er… ah! Here he is!” she said as Rowan came up behind her and slipped her pouch into her pocket. His own pouch was already neatly buckled onto his belt, and his ring was back on his finger. His finger had stopped bleeding and he’d washed his hands. He had a leather bag in his hand.

  “Oh, Rowan, you didn’t…?” she looked at him anxiously as she groped in her pocket to find her own rings. He was calm and unruffled, and looked like he’d just been out taking a quiet stroll in the fresh air. He quickly buckled the knife belt around his hips and slipped the hunting knife into his boot.

  “Of course I didn’t, what do you think I am? But… er… well, I did have to sort of bloody that Donnie’s nose for him,” he replied, a little shame-faced.

  “Donnie? Donnie? Big beefy young thug who thinks he’s the answer to a maiden’s prayer? Has a mob of pimply-faced idiots with him? All waving bloody great knives around?” Bimm asked quickly.

  Rowan looked at him, a bit surprised at his sudden interest.

  “Aye, that’s him… only he’s got a black eye and a bloody nose just now… and, er, maybe a couple of loose teeth too… it might frighten the maidens off a bit, with any luck at all… and his idiot friends took off so smartly, the stupid buggers, they left their knives behind… they’re very careless, some of these lads…” Rowan opened the top of the leather bag carefully and showed them nine or ten broken knives.

  “Good Gods! That’s Donnie Phelps… him and his lunatic cousins are the biggest damned nuisances around these parts. I’m always running that bloody gang off. The damned Watch doesn’t want to know.”

  “Ah, well, I don’t think you’ll be having too much problem with him for a bit,” Rowan said, casually closing the top of the bag for later disposal, “I think he said something about… um… let me see now… ‘not hangin’ about here’, I think it was… er, something about ‘travellin’ with the lads’… or him and the lads were ‘goin’ to move on’… or ‘move out’, or… er… something like that.” He shrugged, then said innocently, “It’s funny, you know, but I didn’t notice he had such a bad stammer before, when he was robbing us. Did you, Rose?”

  Bimm stared at him as Shana came over to them again.

  She turned to Rowan apologetically. “I’m sorry there’s not much room in here right now, but you could go back to the little parlour if you like, the fire’s still burning... and I can bring you something to eat if you’re hungry. The roast beef’s very good, and so’s the apple pie.”

  “That sounds fine, Shana, thank you. I hadn’t realised how hungry I was until we got back here. It must be all the running about I’ve done today,” Rowan said with a smile, already tired of the subject of Donnie. A thought came to him. “Will you come and join us there, Bimm? I can help you down the steps,” he offered.

  Bimm nodded gratefully; glad to leave Donnie and his gang to their fate. He was a little surprised that this quietly-spoken man had been the cause of it, but he didn’t doubt his word for a moment and certainly there was something about him that said he could look after himself. Poor Bimm hadn’t been enjoying sitting in the common room, with everyone looking at his bandaged ankle and laughing at his clumsiness, and he felt ashamed that he couldn’t do his share of the work as he always did. He hobbled into the other room, leaning heavily on Rowan’s shoulder, impressed by how easily the smaller man
supported his considerable weight.

  “You know, we often call this ‘Tim’s Parlour’...” he murmured, as they saw Tim Mouser curled up in the big wing chair by the fire, purring softly.

  “You lazy thing, Tim Mouser,” Rose said to the cat sternly, “I don’t believe you’ve moved at all since we left you here hours ago.”

  Bimm and Rowan looked at each other and smiled.

  “Um, no, I think you might owe him an apology, Rose,” chuckled Rowan, indicating the hearth.

  Neatly lined up there were two headless mice, a green lizard, a couple of big blue beetles that were rather the worse for wear, and a good-sized rat. Slightly to one side was a half-plucked pigeon.

  “’Tis really not a bad afternoon’s work,” he added, rather impressed by the cat’s skill, versatility and enthusiasm for the job.

  Bimm stroked the cat’s ginger head gently and said, “You’re a fine cat, Tim Mouser, and a brave hunter, but I do wish you wouldn’t leave your trophies in here...”

  Shana had followed them in to see that Bimm was settled comfortably. She pursed her lips and glared at the cat, which gazed up at her with huge innocent amber eyes. With a long-suffering sigh, she scooped up the little corpses with the hearth shovel and hastily left the room.

  “That’s usually my job... Shana hates doing it.” Bimm chortled happily.

  **********

  Bimm, like all innkeepers, was an excellent listener, and a good storyteller too, with a little encouragement. He had a great fund of stories gleaned from his customers - both his regulars from Gnash and travellers from afar. He felt much better after the healer’s potions had finally dulled the pain of his ankle, and he found an interested audience in Rose and Rowan. They kept each other entertained as they ate an excellent meal.

  “Sheree, that’s Shana’s mother - my sister - is a wonderful cook,” Bimm said contentedly as he finished off the last of the apple and walnut pie. “Mind you, she can be a terrifying woman, and I wouldn’t dare touch anything in the kitchens... still, food like this makes it easier to put up with her...”

  “Shana’s the image of her, you know... not quite as terrifying yet, maybe, but sometimes I truly think she might be working on it...” he added darkly.

  Rowan hadn’t thought of Shana as being terrifying. Her Wirran forebears had left their mark on her and she was very pretty, with long pale blonde curls and the same blue eyes as her uncle. She was a tall, statuesque lass, and she seemed to say what she thought, but ‘terrifying’? He wondered if he’d missed something.

  Just then Shana came back into the room to clear their little table. Rose got up quickly to help her.

  “You can’t do that!” said Shana, shocked, “You’re a guest!”

  “Oh, nonsense. These two are busy telling stories, they won’t miss me... and I’m sure you could do with another pair of hands out there,” Rose said firmly, “At least I can collect up a few plates and things for you.” She headed for the common room, determined to do just that.

  Shana looked at Rowan and Bimm helplessly.

  Rowan shrugged. “Sometimes ‘tis better to just go along with her, Shana. She can be very stubborn if she puts her mind to it.”

  “But… has Rose ever, er, worked in a tavern? It can be, um…”

  Rowan laughed at her alarm.

  “I promise you she can take care of herself, Shana. She’ll be fine,” he said, completely unconcerned.

  “Let her do it then, Shana,” Bimm said reluctantly, “We wouldn’t want to upset a guest... not that her help won’t be very welcome... and Rowan and I will stay in here out of the way.”

  “You certainly will!” replied Shana tartly, but in fact she was pleased to have a bit of help, as it was still fairly busy in the common room and it’d been a long, tiring day.

  Despite Rowan’s lack of concern, Shana hurried after Rose with the intention of giving her some pointers on self-preservation. Her heart sank as she saw her lean over a crowded table to collect some empty tankards. Rose’s dress was flattering, but modestly cut with little flesh on display; nevertheless the eyes of one of the drinkers in particular lit up: Basil Alfern was a notorious groper and lecher and Bimm had often had occasion to have words with him about it. He’d even banned the man a few times but it’d had little enough effect on his behaviour.

  Before Shana could say or do anything, the man had his hand on Rose’s shapely backside.

  Rose carefully put the tankards down, then straightened to her full impressive height and stared down at him.

  “If you don’t take your hand off me, Sir, you’ll find yourself wishing very much that you had,” she said softly.

  “Ha! And what makes you think that, my pretty lassie? My, you are a lovely one, aren’t you? Feisty, too!” Basil smirked at her and groped a bit more. His other hand moved toward her breast. His cronies leered at her and leaned forward to get a better look at this stunning flame-haired girl with the odd, beguiling accent.

  She smiled at Basil: a charming smile that would melt a heart of stone.

  “This does, Sir,” she said.

  He stared at her, not understanding, but comprehension dawned as he felt an oddly uncomfortable prickling sensation in his nether regions. He looked down, and was horrified to see a very sharp, very business-like, bone-handled knife pressed against his groin. As he gaped, dumbstruck, Rose delicately moved the blade in a slicing action and the laces holding his trousers closed, parted. A slightly firmer action cleaved his belt.

  He very quickly moved his offending hands and himself as far from her as he could and tried to stammer some sort of apology.

  “Thank you, Sir,” she said calmly, “Now, if you’re finished with that tankard, I’ll take it with these others. Would you care for another round, Sir?”

  “I…er… um, no. Er… no, thank you, Miss. We… er… No, we’re, um, we’re just leaving,” Basil stammered, then getting to his feet, he bolted to the door, trying desperately to hold his trousers up and decently closed as he went.

  His cronies gaped at Rose and at Basil’s undignified exit: those who’d seen what had happened, in shock and horror; those who hadn’t, in stunned amazement, then they all got up and went after their friend.

  Shana hurried up to Rose.

  “Oh! Rose, I’m so sorry that happened! Are you all right?” she cried anxiously.

  Rose nodded.

  “Of course I’m all right, Shana. The day I can’t handle a pathetic, dirty old man like him is the day I’ll give up breathing,” she laughed.

  “But…” Shana stared at her in amazement.

  “Nobody at home would do anything like that, and I’m damned if I’ll put up with it anywhere else either.”

  “But…”

  “A knife to the goolies is much more effective than a slap to the face, unless of course I could hit as hard as Rowan does,” Rose said serenely, “Somehow the thought of singing soprano in the village choir does wonderful things for a man’s manners. Still, I’m truly sorry I’ve cost you some customers.”

  Shana shook her head and tried not to laugh at the memory of the wonderful spectacle of Basil scuttling from the tavern, trying to hold his pants up. The story would be all around Gnash by tomorrow, she thought happily.

  “No, don’t worry about that. I’ve been trying to get rid of that old bugger and the rest of his hangers-on for ages. He’s the worst of them, but truly, some of the others aren’t a lot better. They don’t even listen to Bimm’s warnings and banning them for a month doesn’t stop them, the filthy old lechers,” she said vehemently.

  “Ah. Well, I do believe he’s got the message now, Shana, and maybe he’ll even remember it. If not, I’m sure his friends will remind him,” Rose laughed, “Now, would you have an apron or something I might borrow, please? This is the only decent dress I’ve got with me.”

  Shana looked at the pretty green silk dress with its cream embroidery, noted its modest neckline and long, fullish divided skirt that all but hid the knife nestle
d in its sheath at the hip, and smiled.

  “Of course I have. Come with me…” she wondered if this surprising guest might perhaps show her just how she’d managed to do that to the biggest lecher in Gnash.

  **********

  “I’m glad you sorted out Donnie and Ronnie and the rest of those pests, Rowan,” Bimm said when the women had gone, “I’ve been trying to get rid of them for ages, without having to resort to breaking their silly necks.”

  “Oh, no… it didn’t come to that. I probably shouldn’t have let it go as far as it did… I suppose they just saw us as easy prey, the idiots,” Rowan considered for a moment. “Truly, a black eye and a good fright is no more than that lout deserved.”

  “Yes, at least that,” Bimm agreed, “They’ve cut a few people, and lately they’ve been getting bolder…”

  “Like dogs in a pack, pushing each other along,” Rowan sighed and sipped his ale.

  The two men moved closer to the fire. They were silent for a little while, then Bimm said quietly, “Shana said you mentioned something about Duke Rollo of Plait... were you at Messton-near-Edge?”

  Rowan looked up at him, suddenly wary, but he said nothing.

  “Rowan, I don’t want to pry into your private business... most people in Gnash haven’t even heard of Plait, and couldn’t find it with a map and a guide... Ha! Most of them couldn’t find their own backsides with a map and a guide! But here, we get a lot of travellers and they all talk and tell their tales... from what they say, Yaarl is a much better place without Duke Rollo...”