by Cari Z
“Oh, I don’t drink,” slipped out from Colm’s mouth, and the girl looked at him for a moment before laughing.
“You don’t! Not a priest, are ye?” She looked him up and down speculatively. “You don’t have the look of a priest.”
“I’m not a priest,” Colm assured her. “I just…it doesn’t tend to agree with me.”
“Some small beer,” the girl insisted, leading him over to the bar. There was an empty stool at the end, and she pressed him down into it. “Just some small beer. It’s good for you. Eases your pains after a long day but doesn’t cloud your mind. Vernon!” she called out to the barkeep. “A pint of small beer for…” She looked at him again. “What’s your name?”
“Colm Weathercliff,” he said, giving up on fighting it as the tattooed man set a mug down in front of him with a thunk. He would just drink it…slowly. Very slowly.
“Weathercliff! And here I took you for a country lad.”
“I am a country lad,” Colm told her with a smile. “My father came from the coast, but this is my first time here.”
“Well, welcome,” she said. “I’m Idra. Let me go give this to Mistress Megg and we’ll see what she has to say.” Idra walked around the bar into the back room, and Colm bravely took a sip of his small beer. It was…honestly, it tasted closer to water than alcohol, nothing like the spirits he’d consumed on the road. He took a more generous sip, and Vernon nodded at him approvingly.
“Thank you,” Colm said to him. Vernon knocked once on the table.
Col wondered if this was some sort of Caithmor custom he’d have to get used to. He knocked as well, and Vernon suddenly grinned, then shook his head.
“No, I shouldn’t knock?” Colm asked him. Vernon didn’t say anything. Had Colm somehow offended him?
“He can’t speak back,” Idra said, reappearing at Colm’s side. “Vernon’s mute. Had his tongue cut out a dozen years ago. One knock either means ‘yes’, ‘thank you’ or ‘you’re welcome’ depending on the question. Two knocks means ‘no’ or ‘watch your mouth’, and after that, all the knocks are against foolish heads, so it’s best to keep it to one.” She winked mischievously at Vernon, then said, “Mistress Megg wants to see you. Follow me back.”
Colm set his mug down hastily and followed Idra into the kitchen. Two more women stood at a counter, putting together plates of food when they weren’t moving from oven to skillet to hob, and at the very back of the room, a wizened old woman, hunched and skinny, bent over what smelled like a rum cake as she cut very thin slices of it and laid them on a plate. She looked up as Idra and Colm approached, and her wrinkles stretched wide as she smiled a welcome.
“This is Desandre’s boy, then!” Megg proclaimed, setting the sharp knife she’d been cutting with down and coming around the table. “Colm Weathercliff, look at you! I’ve been hearing about you in letters for years now, but I’d never imagined you would be so tall! And just as handsome as my niece told me.” She pulled Colm down into a tight embrace, and his heart shuddered with pure relief at the warmth of his welcome. “Welcome to Caithmor, welcome to the Cove, welcome!”
“Thank you,” Colm said, his voice a bit husky. Megg let him go, and he cleared his throat and tried again. “Thank you very much. I don’t know exactly what my stepmother said to you in her letter, but—”
“That you’ve your poor dad’s ashes with ye, in need of a proper burial at sea,” Megg broke in, nodding decisively. “Of course he wouldn’t rest easy in some mountain village, not a proper sea-loving lad. We’ll take care of that as soon as we can, my boy. Desandre says you want to try your hand at city life, and I think it a fine idea. There’s always room for another good fisherman here, and she says you’re the best.”
“Thank you,” Colm repeated, a little overwhelmed.
“And ye’ll be stayin’ here at the Cove, o’ course,” she continued. “Back in the family quarters. I’ll put you in with my grandson, Nichol. It’ll be a bit tight for two lads in his room, but it’ll do for the short term.”
“Oh.” Colm’s voice finally caught up to his racing thoughts. “That’s very kind of you. I’ll pay you, naturally.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it!” Megg exclaimed, sounding scandalized. “Pay to stay with your own family, what nonsense! Ye’ll catch me fish and ye’ll help around the inn, and I’ll be glad for the company, Colm. I almost never see Nichol these days, he’s so busy with the Sea Guard.
“Idra,” she said, changing targets, “finish up this cake for me and hand it out to the dinner guests. I’m going to show Colm the family quarters and get him settled for the night. Keep back a plate with some of the chowder and fresh bread for him, won’t you?”
“Yes, Mistress,” Idra said, moving in to keep cutting the cake. Megg laced her arm through Colm’s and led him out the back door into a small courtyard. The top of her head barely came to the middle of his chest, but her presence seemed much larger than that.
“The stable’s on the other side of that wall there next to the well, and there’s servants quarters set back here for my keepers. It’s just Vernon right now. Idra goes home to her mum after the evening’s done. The family quarters are back here, nice and snug.” She led Colm to a heavy wooden door and pushed it open. A blue-black cat with two tails emerged from the dark and immediately wound itself through their ankles. “Sari! You cheeky little mouser, get out of the way!” To Colm, she said, “Sari was a wedding gift from my husband, and she’s a right bit of luck usually, but she can make a nuisance of herself sometimes.”
“A wedding present?” Colm didn’t know much about cats, but he was pretty sure they weren’t meant to live for as long ago as Megg must have gotten married, even with nine lives.
“Oh, she’s a spirit cat, love. It took a special spell and a lot of help from a priest to manifest her. She’ll last me as long as my own heart beats, though, and be my guardian and friend. She was a very grand present for a new bride, but then my Rory always did believe in grand gestures.” Megg pointed out a smaller door on the ground level of the small, dark building. “The pot’s on that side, and my room’s just back there, so don’t hesitate to come and get me if you need something.”
“Thank you,” Colm said, silently resolving not to bother Megg in her own room unless the inn was burning down.
“You’ll be up here.” Megg led the way up a creaky staircase. It was hard to see where they were going, the light was almost completely gone from the sky outside, and the few windows in this part of the building were tiny. Colm could barely make out the pale smudge of Megg’s hand against the dark wood. She pushed the door open, and suddenly Colm could see again.
The room at the top of the stairs was definitely small. Colm thought if he lay down flat that his head and feet would brush against opposite sides. There was a cot against the right wall, while the left was taken up by a sea chest and a bar set into the wall with clothes hanging from it. A small table next to the cot held a candle and scattered sheets of parchment and ink, and the whole place smelled faintly of mildew.
The ceiling was much higher than Colm had expected, though, and in its apex was a surprisingly large pane of glass that let in the light, and from the looks of it could be swung open in its frame as well. There was a lovely sketch of a tri-master cutting through the waves on the wall above the cot, and a pair of clogs lay abandoned next to the door, slightly muddy and scuffed and looking like they still carried the haste of whoever had abandoned them.
“My grandson tends to fill whatever space he’s given,” Megg said with a resigned air. “But he’ll not mind makin’ room for you. We can make you up a nice cozy pallet along the wall so the lad doesn’t barrel into you when he gets home, and see about getting you something better tomorrow.”
“A pallet is more than enough,” Colm assured her. “No, truly,” he added when she looked dubious, “I’ve been sleeping on the ground for the past month. A
soft pallet will feel like bliss.”
“Well, I don’t know about that, but it’ll have to do for now,” Megg decided. “Now, lay your things down and come and eat some supper with me. You can tell me all about how the family fares back home.” She turned and stumped back down the stairs, and Colm followed after slinging his backpack to the floor on the far side of the sea chest, where he wouldn’t trip over it if it was dark.
He spent the rest of the evening sitting at the bar with Megg, who asked that he call her by her name, not title, eating and telling her about life in Anneslea, and listening to her tales in return.
Meggyn had met her husband, Rory Searunner, by chance after a visit to Isealea as a young woman, and her family had been scandalized when she’d uprooted her life and left to go to Caithmor with him. Rory’s mother had been a selkie, and her magic was strong with him. He’d fished the coast for years before old age had taken his sight, and finally last year he’d transformed when life simply became too much for him to bear.
“Only the pure bloods can go back and forth with ease,” Megg said a little sadly as she sipped at her mug. Colm was a little relieved to find her drinking small beer too. Maybe preferring it didn’t make him strange. “My Rory, he always knew he’d likely have but one chance, and he didn’t take it until life on land was too heavy for him. I sometimes see him, when I walk along the beach. He’s a fine figure of a seal now, sleek and fat.”
She’d had two sons, both of whom had died at sea, and only one had given her a grandchild. That was Nichol. “Swims like a fish, that lad,” she said proudly, serving Colm another piece of the rich dark rum cake. “And a better hand with those little racing dinghies than any other boy in the Sea Guard, that’s for sure. He wants to join the navy, but without a commission, it’s hard these days. The navy’s all the rage with the young men, you know.”
“I didn’t know,” Colm replied. He was beginning to think he hadn’t known much of anything before coming down out of the mountains, nothing beyond the turning of seasons, the way the snow looked as it blew across the utter stillness of the frozen loch, the warmth of a fire and the friendly, teasing chatter of his family. A vision of home overwhelmed him for a moment, and the feeling of heartsickness that swelled within his chest made him want to cry. Colm shut his eyes and swallowed hard against the feeling.
“There now, you’re tired, Colm,” Megg said, petting his long fingers with her own weathered palm. “Why don’t you go up to yon room and have a lie down? Wake whenever the spirit moves you in the morning. I’m sure I’ll be up. We’ll make a plan for what to do with your dad’s ashes, all right? I think the sooner we put him to rest, the better.”
“Thank you,” Colm said for what felt like the dozenth time that night, but he’d meant each and every one of them. He stood up and took the candle in a slim brass holder that Megg passed him and headed back outside. It was starting to rain, just a little, and Colm managed to find what had to be the two biggest puddles in the tiny courtyard on his way over to his new quarters. He climbed up to the top room and surveyed the scattered, comfortable bits and pieces of Nichol’s life, and wondered if there were really room up here for him to make a pallet. Surely he’d be stepped on the moment the other man came through the door. The only other options were taking Nichol’s bed or asking Megg for an alternative, neither of which appealed.
Colm moved the sea chest from the wall to the foot of the cot, made enough space next to the bedside table for him to fit his head, then laid out the blankets he’d brought with him, as well as a slightly musty comforter Megg had pushed at him, and made a pallet out of it. He used his cloak for a pillow and pushed his pack under the cot where it would be out of the way, then blew out the candle and laid it aside. The room fell dark again, but the steady beat of the rain against the glass above his head soothed Colm as surely as any lullaby, and he was asleep almost before he realized he was tired.
Chapter Five
Colm dreamed of being on the road again, only this time the road led to a castle of gold, and he didn’t mean to take a piece with him, but it had stuck to his shoe and turned his leg to gold too. For every step he lurched after Fergus and his caravan, the wagons disappeared ever farther in the distance. “Catch up, Weathercliff!” he heard Fergus shout, but it was too late, he was too far back, and now the caravan was gone and Colm was alone in a small dark room, and he didn’t know where he was or what he was doing there, and—
Colm woke up with a little gasp and looked around the small dark room where he lay, and wondered if his dream had just taken a very odd turn. But no, this wasn’t a dream. In the dream, he’d been alone, and now that his heartbeat calmed and he got control of his senses again, Colm realized there was another person in the room with him. He carefully pushed up onto his arms and looked over at the cot. A hand and part of a forearm dangled over the edge of the thin mattress, and a pair of feet had similarly drifted over the end, their toes pressed against the top of the sea chest. All Colm could really make out beneath the shapeless blanket was the thick dark hair that curled against the pillow, and the faint but persistent snoring of a person deeply asleep.
This must be Nichol, then. Colm was a bit impressed that the man had made it into the room and into bed without waking him. He must have been extra cautious. Colm picked himself up off the floor and pushed his nest of blankets up against the wall, then slipped his shoes on and headed downstairs. He used the pot and washed his face, ran his fingers through his hair until he knew it was as good as he was going to get it, then headed across the courtyard into the taproom.
The inn’s main floor was a much quieter place this early in the morning. A woman Colm hadn’t met yet was in the kitchen, stirring up a large pot of porridge. She glanced over at him. “Ye’ll be Colm Weathercliff, then?”
“Yes.” Gods, that porridge smelled delicious.
“Mistress is waiting for you. Take her this.” The woman spooned out a helping of the cereal, then poured fresh milk over the top before dropping in a handful of dried currants. She made a second bowl quickly and stuck spoons in each of them, then handed them both to Colm. “One for you as well.”
“Thanks.” Colm headed out into the taproom, which had about a dozen men and women, mostly laborers from the looks of them, sitting and eating hurriedly. Megg was at a small table near the front window, which she’d opened up and was looking out of pensively. She already had a bowl in front of her, and rolled her eyes when Colm approached with another one.
“I just finished the last portion! Lysse is trying to make me fat,” she complained, taking the bowl from Colm’s hand and setting it aside. “How’d you sleep, Colm?”
“Well enough,” he said honestly. He felt well rested, despite his strange dreams.
“Good, that’s good. I caught Nichol on his way up and told him to be mindful of you, and I’m glad he was. I take it my boy is still sleeping?” She tutted at Colm’s nod. “He’s taking more and more Sea Guard shifts while his friend Jaime is away. I understand that the lad needs something to occupy his time, but he’ll be tired all day after a night like that.”
“What is the Sea Guard?” Colm asked before taking a bite of his own porridge. It was thick and hot and just sweet enough, and he dug in with a hunger he hadn’t realized he possessed until that moment.
“Oh, it’s a fancy name for a group of lads who take turns watching along the cliffs in those few places the King’s watch might miss. They’ve naught seen more than a few unlucky dinghies and a baby kraken or two since they started it up a few years ago, but the coast guard seems to like the help, and so they keep at it. Gets them access to the coast guard’s fleet of smaller craft as well, so that the boys can get comfortable with the feel of them before seeking their commissions. It’s a way for Nichol to play around and get some exposure at the same time, so I don’t say anything against it, although I wish he’d—”
“Grow up and act sensibly?” a new voi
ce interrupted, cheerful and bright despite the early hour. “But then what would you complain about, Gran?” The young man attached to the hair that Colm had seen earlier pulled a third chair over and sprawled against it, a huge grin decorating his face. He had dark brown eyes and equally dark stubble on his oval face, and a snub nose that was still a little red from yesterday’s sun. His appearance was set apart less by the fineness of his features and more by the sheer capacity for emotion that seemed to radiate from every square inch of his face. Just looking at him had Colm smiling reflexively, although when he realized he was doing it, he stopped himself. Just what he needed, to be caught out grinning like an idiot for no reason.
“You’re up early, Nichol,” Megg said with surprise, pushing her second bowl of porridge his way. Nichol took it with a grin and blew away the steam that rose across the top of it.
“I woke up, rolled over and saw that my mysterious new cousin had vanished before I could meet him, and after that I simply couldn’t contain my curiosity,” Nichol said, levering that curiosity directly at Colm. Colm was seized with the impulse to sit up straighter, maybe brush his hair back from his face again, but Nichol didn’t seem bothered by his lack of formality. If anything, his own disheveled appearance invited it. “So you’re Colm Weathercliff, then. How are we related again?”
“We’re not,” Colm said, then immediately felt like smacking himself. “Not blood related,” he clarified. “I’m the odd child out in the Weathercliff brood, I’m afraid.”
“Right,” Nichol said, his dark eyes shining with interest. “I remember that story. Your dad wound up in Anneslea with you and not much else, and Cousin Desandre fell in love with him and persuaded him to stay.”
“I think if there was any persuading to be done, it was on my dad’s part,” Colm interjected. “Not many women would take on a man already caring for a child.”
“Yes, but from what I remember of the letters Cousin Desandre sent us, you were always the perfect child,” Nichol said gleefully. “Practically made my mum weep to read about how you did the washing up and the sweeping and tended to the boat…then when Mum left, it was Gran’s turn to hold you up as my icon.”