by Jenna Rhodes
He did not wish to go back, save for one thing. The memory he needed lay hidden in pain and Tressandre alone had the key.
Chapter Twenty-Four
MISTRESS GREATHOUSE RODE out on the road to Stonesend, sitting on a high-striding pony with bells braided into its mane. Her mount whickered at Bumblebee as if greeting the tired cart pony with delight and encouragement. Rivergrace and Nutmeg leaned out of the wagon, waving at the peddler who waved a gem-studded riding whip at them and seemed to signal the end of their flight and the beginning of an adventure. She wore a braided crimson-and-gold scarf about her luxuriant tresses, but silver now highlighted the dark brunette, and there were lines about her laughing eyes and mouth.
“Derro, derro, and well met, even if it is under hard circumstances!” she called out. “You’ll be driving to my house, where I’ve extra beds put up, and a healer waiting. Lily, you look done in. You make these strong young lasses help you settle everyone when we get in.”
Lily let out a soft, short laugh, and Nutmeg elbowed Grace as she did, for it was the first time since they took the road that their mother had, her face perpetually creased in heavy worry for Hosmer and Garner, and her laughter much missed.
“We’re in your debt,” Tolby said, his voice a husk of itself, as well.
“Nonsense! You’ve come a long way, but there’s rest ahead. Hurry along, now!” She waved her little quirt briskly, pivoted her showy mount, and led the way onto a well-used side lane off the main dirt road leading through groves of trees with green-gold leaves that even looked like coins, up to a small hill where her home perched grandly.
Nutmeg had often mused to Rivergrace about what Mistress Greathouse’s home must look like, large and grand, she thought, for the peddler was undoubtedly the richest person they knew, and she grabbed Grace’s hand now and squeezed in excitement. It was a cottage, or perhaps better described as three cottages built onto each other, each a little bigger and grander than the last, but no manor or mansion. A white picket fence surrounded the jumbled home, with an immense barn behind it and a second, open one below it with pole fencing about it.
“Two barns!” breathed Nutmeg.
“That’s no barn, lass, that’s her warehouse,” Garner told her. “Must be like a treasure chest.”
“Ooooh,” both Rivergrace and Nutmeg breathed as one, staring at the building. Their awe seemed to carry to Hosmer who stirred and tried to lift his head. “Home yet?”
Garner put his hand on his brother’s shoulder, wincing as he did, for it jarred his sore and torn rib cage as the wagon bounced over a summer rain’s pothole. “Not yet. Soon. Just rest easy.” Hosmer nodded and let his eyes close again. His face looked pale under his weathered Farbranch complexion, but it was better than the high flush which rode Garner’s cheeks. Lily glanced over her shoulder at both, frowning, and clucked to the mules to hurry them up the lane.
Once there, Keldan and Tolby unharnessed the animals and put them away after caring for them gently in deference to their hard days, while Lily directed Rivergrace and Nutmeg about what to unload and what to shift aside so that Hosmer and his litter could be gotten out. Garner grimaced as Nutmeg tossed him a bale, and shrugged the weight aside.
“You’d better be telling Ma about that.”
“Later. Once Hosmer is put to rights. I can wait.”
Rivergrace put out her hand and touched his flank, and he shivered with the pain of it, though her touch had been light, and she pulled her fingers back quickly. “You can’t wait much longer.”
Nutmeg braced herself in the wagon bed, brushing her unruly hair back from her face, her hands ready to tug out a backpack. “You always healed faster’n anyone else. What’s wrong?”
He tried to shrug, then pulled himself upright, one arm hugging his ribs. “Don’t know, rightly. It hurts like a thorn or something caught in me. Might just be my rib, might not. I know Ma thinks it cracked.”
“Maybe it had a stinger or a barb and it caught?”
Rivergrace watched Garner, feeling her face grow cool as if her blood had run to ice at the notion. “It could be some poison, deep in you.”
“I’ll see the healer soon as Hosmer is resting, all right?”
“Promise?” she asked faintly.
“Promise.”
Mollified, Nutmeg went back to work, but Rivergrace stood there for a moment, staring at her hands as if expecting to see them covered in blood or some strange fluid, before scrubbing them on her skirts vigorously. She knew Garner watched her for a moment, but she could not help herself. Keldan’s return stopped the question forming on Garner’s lips, and they all turned their attention to getting Hosmer out of the wagon and into the back cottage where the healer awaited them.
The man was tall, much taller than a Dweller, whip-thin, with scars marking his tanned forearms with thin white steps up and down. He met them at the back cottage where the incense of healing herbs rose on the air, and indicated where to put the litter down. Garner came in on his own, hesitantly, and breathing shallowly. The healer bowed. “I am called Berlash.” He touched Hosmer, then Garner. He frowned as his hand left Garner’s wrist. “You will stay as well.” Not a question, nor an order, but merely a statement of fact.
Garner eased into a chair by the door. The room filled quickly, but Berlash seemed unconcerned. Dressed in muslins dyed a serene blue, his silvery hair held back in a gleaming obsidian band, his feet clad in soft hide moccasins, his only concerns were the two injured.
Nutmeg craned her head back to look at him, then the healer knelt by her brother’s side. “Kernan,” she announced, as if making up her mind.
Berlash smiled. “Indeed, young Dweller. From the east and faraway Meranta, so I am different even from most Kernans. Have you heard of it?”
“Mama bought me hair ribbons from Meranta once. They had bells on them. I wore them until they wore out, so I saved the bells for new ribbons. I’ll wear them on my wedding day.”
He chuckled. Then he bent his attention to Hosmer, drawing aside the blanket and snipping away the bandages with small, slender shears. Hosmer woke as Berlash viewed the wound, his touch neat and quick and sure. Though Hosmer’s eyes looked bleary, he said, “It’s sore but not hot.”
“There’s been good work here, and some of the neatest stitches I’ve ever seen. I would say he should be up and walking with a crutch soon as he can, to make sure the muscles knit well and strongly. Just not to overdo and keep it clean. I’ll give you an ointment to help continue the process. Bandage it lightly, let air get to it now.”
Hosmer and Lily both nodded. Berlash stood, turning to Garner. “Lie down and let me see what ails you.”
With a shrug, Garner did as bidden. He pulled his shirt up, wincing a little as Berlash cleaned his shears, then repeated the same quick, neat job of snipping away the bandage. Nor did his expression change much as he probed the wound carefully, although Lily and Tolby frowned as they watched.
“What did this?”
“A Raver. It came after me, tried to pincer its way to my heart, I think.”
Berlash looked up at Lily. “You’ve been poulticing this, too?”
“Tried.”
The healer nodded. “I’ve something a little stronger that will soothe. A Raver attack is something to survive, and he’s doing quite well, but there’s a poison in there, and I’ll need to open him up, flush him a bit. I imagine good strong Dweller bones saved him, but he probably cracked a rib or two at that.”
“Exactly what I thought,” Lily said.
“It’s not as deep as your other son’s gash, but that was a clean wound from the beginning. This ...” Berlash stood and began to search through jars and bowls on one of the chests. “The very being of a Raver is poison to us. If there’s any shard of it left in him at all, it’ll continue to fester. I think I’ll ask you all to leave but you, ma’am, and we’ll get to work.”
Tolby took Keldan by the elbow and wagged an eyebrow at the girls. They filed out the doorway as
asked, hearing Lily saying, “But it will heal, won’t it?”
“Indeed, madam, and quite quickly once the venom’s gone. You’ll have your two hearty lads back in a few weeks.”
Tolby let out a long sigh as they passed from earshot.
Mistress Greathouse set down her steaming mug, the fragrance of the tea filtering throughout the room. Tolby sat back, his booted feet up and crossed at the ankles, his cold pipe gripped in his teeth, one hand on Keldan’s shoulder. Keldan had a plate of tarts across his lap and paid attention to sampling each, sweet fruit to savory meat tarts, arranging them in order of his appetite. Nutmeg sat at her mother’s feet, resting her head on Lily’s knee. Rivergrace curled up in a small armchair, her legs tucked under her, listening to the back rooms in case either Garner or Hosmer should call for them although the healer Berlash had remained with them. “It’s a tragedy about the Barrel boys. Tearabouts, they were, but we all knew they’d outgrow that. They gave their lives trying to send out the call. For that, and for Hosmer’s own efforts, they’ll be long remembered.” She folded her hands in her lap. “Now, we’ve all got to look to the future. You’ve come far these past few days.” Her gaze fixed on Tolby.
“I’m not running away, Robin, “ he answered firmly.
“That, we all know.”
He squared his shoulders back. “We’ve been talking about moving back to a town for a while now. I’ve still a good name in the business and seems like the time to trade on that. I make a fine cider, hard cider, and a nice sparkling wine. I don’t need to grow the apples and grapes myself, I know what I’m doing. Farming life is wearing on Lily a bit, and it’s time to find a good life for the lasses as well.”
Rivergrace and Nutmeg traded glances then, and Lily cleared her throat as if in warning.
Mistress Greathouse smiled and asked mildly, “What did you have in mind?”
“Startin’ fresh like this, I figure to manage a press and such for someone, with an understanding I can buy up in time. I’m not too old to make an offer like that.”
“Any man would be a fool not to entertain an offer from you, Tolby Farbranch. As a matter of fact, I’ve had three letters forwarded to me, in the hopes that you might be contacting me when word of the raid went about. The Meadowes are making sure there is help for the Barrels and you. Perhaps there will be good news in one of them. If not, I know of a place, needing much work, that can be bought outright. We’ll talk more when you’ve read your mail and thought about things.” Picking up her mug and sipping and changing the conversation as deftly as if weaving delicate threads, she said, “And what about you, Lily?”
Lily drew back a little. “Some tailoring, I suppose, and weaving. Wherever Tolby goes, I had hopes I might find an opening.”
“Some weaving?” The corner of Mistress Greathouse’s mouth quirked. Then she beckoned to them and said, “Come with me!” After a soft call to Berlash that they would all be out of the cottage for a few moments, she led them out the back door and to the immense barn. A brace of the biggest dogs Rivergrace had ever seen sat by the warehouse’s closed doors. The male, black and russet brown, padded over to the trader and leaned against her with such affection she had trouble staying on her feet. “This is Peace and that is his mate, Quiet. Aptly named, for I’ve had no trouble here at all since I bought them as pups and word got around. Excellent watchdogs although they cost me a fortune in meat.” She laughed at herself as she scratched the dog’s ear, then pushed him away. He sat back down next to the female and, bright brown eyes sparkling, growled at the Farbranch family as they trooped past in Mistress Greathouse’s wake, everyone save Rivergrace. As she passed, trailing the others, both dogs sank to their bellies and whimpered softly. She hurried past quickly, not understanding, but the trader turned inside the warehouse, a glint of sunlight revealing the surprise on her face, and one eyebrow rose sharply before she reached for a lantern and shut the door at Grace’s heels.
She scarcely needed a lamp. Bright beams of rainbow light struck from angled glass in the ceiling beams, sending dazzling rays with motes dancing in them like small gems throughout the warehouse interior. Tolby looked up and mused for a moment, as if taking in the practicality of such a thing in the midst of its beauty. “Ship prisms,” she said. “Handy things, when there is sun. Like a mirror, they reflect sunbeams down and about.”
He nodded.
She crossed through the aisles of crates and bales, many of them marked and tagged but their guide moving too quickly for them to take in the veiled and hidden treasures. Even at that, the warehouse seemed less than half full, but it was summer and she was on the road in the summer, selling her wares. “The family name is Greathouse, but not because we had one. From as long as we could remember, we were named Greathouse because we worked in one, while we built our peddling business. My mother did laundry and cleaned house while my dad took to the road. We’ve all come a long way, I’d say.” She reached back for Lily’s hand and took it, and steered her to the corner, where sheeted ladders took up much of the room. A twitch of their joined hands and the sheets came tumbling down, to reveal racks with bolts and lengths of cloth . . . a good many of them crafted by Lily herself over the last ten years.
“I could never,” Mistress Greathouse said, “find a tailor or seamstress to do them justice. So I saved them until that day when you might find time for them. I think that day has come?”
Lily let out a long breath, then held very still, before slowly shaking her head. “I can’t believe this, Robin.”
The other held up her hand. “Hear me out first, then.” She lowered the lantern and set it on a safe, barren spot on the floor. “I’m not getting any younger, as the saying goes, and I’m selling some of my holdings. I won’t be giving up the road for a while yet, because I enjoy it far more than I like shopkeeping. It’s risky, I know, but I meet fair folks and have the wind in my face, and it reminds me of the years my husband and I shared together, few as they were. I’ve such a shop in mind, Lily, that needs someone like you.
It’s a ladies’ tailoring and millinery shop, and the woman who ran it for me has had to leave, to take care of her grandchildren. The apprentice there will stay, but she has no ambitions for owning the place or doing more than putting in her hours. She’s a good seamstress, but she cannot design or weave. You show Adeena what to stitch and she’ll do a fine job of it, but you know a shop in Calcort needs more than that.”
“Calcort!” gasped Lily, and Nutmeg after her. Rivergrace listened, not quite understanding, except that Calcort was not a town, but a great, huge city.
“I know, I know, it’s not what you had in mind. But I’d like you and Tolby to think about it. The press I mentioned is also in Calcort, near the old town gates, which is very countrified, with the shop in the refined quarter, a handful of streets to the east of it, on the border. I don’t own the press, but I know the pair of gentlemen who do, and they’re ripe for a good offer. As for myself,” and she looked Lily square in the face. “I’d like nothing better than to pass my shop into capable, talented hands like yours.”
“But the cost—”
“Bother the cost. Look around you. I’ve more money than I hope to spend, and so will my son and his children, after me. I won’t let the shop go free, but a partnership, and I promise to be a silent one. Go to the city for me, and look it over? Before you say no?”
“And if we say yes,” muttered Tolby, “there will be some explanations to be made.”
“That, I know.” She placed a gentle hand on Nutmeg’s head, then tucked a long tress of Rivergrace’s hair back into place. “Those explanations will have to be made no matter where you go, though, aye?”
“Tolby . . .” said Lily, and nothing more. Husband and wife gazed at each other silently, as though their thoughts were being spoken to each other, or perhaps it was only the memory of many discussions they had shared with each other over the years.
He shuffled a foot. “We’ve dealt with you over many a season, and yo
u’ve never been anything but fair with us. It’s not like me to accept sight unseen, but I’ll make this deal with you. If there are problems, we’ll handle it like the fair people we are. Agreed?” He put his hand out.
Mistress Greathouse beamed as she took it and shook firmly. “More than agreed. I’ll get to the paperwork in the morning, then, and after a day or two of rest, I’ll make sure you are all set to be on your way.”
Keldan leaped in the air, scattering dust motes and fallen sheets, and Lily scolded him before taking him by the ear and making him hang the covers back over the racks as they had been, but he did not complain, even with his ear pinched apple-red.
Only Rivergrace held back. Explanations? Because of her, of course, needing to be veiled and hidden away. The last few days she had scarcely dared think it, but now it rose again, like a stubborn and unwanted weed, in her thoughts. Had the Ravers come seeking her? No way to know for sure, but it seemed a certainty that Tolby wanted the safety of town barriers and streets even though it would strangle him slowly, losing the freedom of the highlands he coveted so much. Wanted it enough to take a deal, unseen. She shifted her weight uneasily, as the burden of her thoughts pressed down upon her. It would be best if she left them now, before she brought any more trouble down on them.
She lifted her gaze to find Nutmeg watching her. Nutmeg shook her head slowly, denying whatever doubts she read in Grace’s face. Grace shuttered away her thoughts before Nutmeg could read anything else.
Chapter Twenty-Five
HE MIGHT HAVE BEEN ordered and enticed to return to Tressandre ild Fallyn, but he was determined to take his own time getting there. As soon as he made his way through the maze of the boundary of Larandaril that kept it hidden and mostly safe, he turned his mount’s head toward another of the Holds, the first Hold, that of the Ferstanthe.
It took him days to get there, several spent on a smuggler’s cutter. Haste rode his thoughts much as he rode the waves and roads, and when he finally pulled up on a crest overlooking the Hold, he took his first deep breath in a very long time.