by Robert Beers
He detached himself from the wall, and turned the corner, allowing his body to fall into a casual saunter as he crossed the guard's line of vision.
“Halt! Stand and be recognized!”
Neely turned to face the guard. “Huh? What'choo mean, recognized? Do I know you?”
The guard took his hand away from the pike that leaned against the guardhouse. A drunk, and well into the bottle if he didn't miss his guess. “On your way, citizen. Bed is where you belong, though your head may not like ... urk!”
Flynn eased the throttled guard into the guardhouse while Neely lifted the bar out of its brackets and eased open the gate.
“You go get Charity. I'll keep watch.” Neely whispered to Flynn. His feet itched to be out of Berggren and back onto open road.
Flynn kept to the shadows, and made his way back to where Charity held the horses. She was moving back and forth between the three, keeping them soothed with gentle words and a soft hand.
“The gate's free, Miss Charity. We can get goin’ now.”
She rubbed one last nose, and handed the reins of Flynn's horse to him. “Good. I can't wait to be free of this place.”
“The memories'll fade with time, Miss Charity.” Flynn gave her a puppy dog look.
She patted his cheek. “I know they will, Flynn. Thanks for caring.”
They walked the horses out of the closed alley, and down the street to where Neely stood fidgeting.
“Come on!” He hissed. “Come on! They could be on us at any moment.”
Charity looked back at the castle sitting on the hill. Its windows were dark. “We would have been overrun already, Neely, I think the guards were as pleased to see Cloutier's end as I was.”
She mounted her horse, and nudged him into a slow walk through the gate. “Are you coming?”
Neely cursed his fortunes silently, and climbed back onto his patient mount.
Flynn came alongside of him and smiled broadly. “It's good to be back on the’ road again, ain't it Neely?”
Neely muttered his opinion of that and other things under his breath as he let the horse follow its mates out the city gate, and into the lands beyond.
After they passed through the gates, a shadow detached itself from the guardhouse and followed them at a distance, keeping pace with Neely's plodding horse.
Chapter Thirteen
“That's a good-looking skein, Ellona.” Ethan held the yarn in his hand. “You learned the trick of plying quickly, faster than I did, in fact.”
“That's only because you were a little boy, and little boys get distracted easily.” She worked the drop spindle as she talked, being careful to spin it in the opposite direction the yarn had been originally spun to insure a proper ply.
She looked at the basket with its skeins of plied yarn. “Are you sure these will sell in Bantering?”
Ethan looked at the yarn again. It was that soft cream color unbleached natural wool takes on when washed without having the lanolin stripped from it. He was sure they would sell. His mother could spin a tighter, more even yarn, but she didn't market in Bantering. “Oh, yeah,” he said. “These'll sell.”
* * * *
“How long are we going to keep riding?” Neely felt as if his teeth were going to be jarred loose from his gums, and his behind had long settled into one giant painful pile.
Charity sat her mare as if she were born to the saddle. Her obvious pleasure of being on horseback did not help Neely's disposition.
Flynn reached forward and patted his Clydesdale's neck. “I dunno, Neely. I kinda like it, though. I never had me own horse before.”
“Well, I hope we find a stopping place soon. Me bum is about to fall off, an’ I'll be eatin’ mush for the rest of me life iffn we keep on like this.” Neely rubbed the backside in question.
“All right.” Charity turned in the saddle toward her two companions. “How about that place. Will it do?”
That place was a grouping of thatched roof buildings including a large barn built into the wooded hillside. A creek ran behind the smaller buildings and powered a water wheel that turned a shaft running into the one closest to the creek. It occupied a choice piece of land backed by the trees of the long wood.
Neely gazed at the grouping with adoration. “It's just lovely. Come on, horse, we's going to part company for a bit.” He clucked his tongue and dug in his heels, urging his mount to pick up the pace.
Charity and Flynn fell in behind him, and in a very short order they were having their mounts cared for by the barn's stableboy.
“You say this is a Wayfarer House?” Charity stood next to the boy as he rubbed her mount down with a wisp of straw. She'd removed her bow from the back of the saddle, and had it slung over her back.
He was about the age that Hersh's boy, Ornette, had been when she and Adam had moved into the Butcher's household in Dunwattle. A bloom of freckles lay across his nose and cheeks just like Ornette's, but his hair was dark, and he had none of the former's bulk.
He worked his way around her horse, and started rubbing the other side. The mare grunted in pleasure. “Aye , Milady. That be the callin'. This be the main road ‘tween Berggren an’ Grisham, plus the lands to the south. Lots o’ travelers come by here goin’ both ways. His nibs’ Da did the buildin'. A man o’ vision, he were. A man o’ vision.”
“What does a Wayfarer House do, besides put folk up for the night?”
The boy stopped rubbing, his brow wrinkled in concentration. “Well, now, I think outfittin’ be the main thing, Milady. That an’ the smithin'.”
Flynn and Neely coming back into the stable interrupted Charity's next question. Flynn's eyes were huge.
“You gotta see it, Miss Charity. The place is tops full! Everything we could need for the road, and more. And the prices! The man only wants a copper for a ten-pound bag of wheat flour. He's practically givin’ the stuff away.”
Neely was pleased but less effusive. “He's got an impressive place, that's for sure. I ain't never seen so much dry goods all together in one place. Man must be doing a landslide business.”
“He's got over a dozen folk workin” for him full time, at least.” Flynn interjected.
“Oh ‘is Nibs’ got more'n that on the crew, to be sure,” the stableboy said, while he finished up Charity's mare. “Why don'tcha go inside an’ see fer yerself?”
Charity held her hand out and her mount nuzzled it. She smiled at the show of affection. “I think I will.”
She looked at Neely. “What do you think we'll need for the road?”
He counted on his fingers while they walked out of the stable and into the yard separating it from the main building. “Hmmm. Flour for biscuits. Tin of jam. Yeast cake would be good along with some leavenin’ powder. Dried meat, for sure. Tisane mixin's, couple pounds'll do, some salt, cheese for slicin', the yellow'd be best...”
Neely's shopping list continued as they walked across the yard and onto the porch that lined the front of the main building, a three-story structure with several dormer windows poking through the heavily tarred thatch. A couple of the windows had faces in them, watching the trio make their way across the yard.
Charity stopped inside the door and gasped. In her estimation, both Flynn and Neely had understated the amount of goods the outfitting shop held. Items for purchase sat stacked upon row after row of shelves with a walking space wide enough to allow two people to pass between the rows. There were twelve rows with small signs; each had a simple picture painted upon them depicting the type of goods underneath, nailed to posts set upright along the center of the row.
Articles of clothing hung on pegs set into the walls between the multi-paned windows, and a long counter, set against the interior wall stood in front of another row of shelves lined with dozens of small boxes bearing tiny labels.
Next to the counter a triple wide doorway, minus the doors, opened onto a typical Inn's gathering room. A number of travelers were at table, either eating lunch or drinking. A staircase starte
d upwards just beyond the opening. A small counter and desk, occupied the floor next to the foot of the stair. An older woman sat at the desk watching the folk in the gathering room.
A man with white hair and a dark gray beard wearing an aged, stained shop apron came up to where Charity stood. “How can we service you, milady?”
Charity ignored Flynn and Neely's snickers at the unintended double entendre, and answered demurely. “We have need of supplies for the trail. Can you help us?” She was well aware of the idiocy of the question.
The old man, to his credit, didn't even blink. “Of course, milady. We will be happy to aide you and your worthy companions in any way that our humble establishment can be of service to do so. Please, come inside.”
He stepped aside, allowing Charity to pass him. Flynn and Neely broke away and began exploring the largesse of the shelves.
“Flynn. Neely.” She called to them.
“You need us, Miss Charity?” Flynn arrived first, being a couple of aisles closer than Neely who'd been eyeing the clothing hung against the wall.
“Yes I do.” She waited the few seconds it took Neely to arrive.
“We need a list,” she said, when he joined them. “You were putting one together outside, Neely. I think it would be good to lay it all out to the old man, and be sure we can afford it before we start pulling things off the shelves.”
She noticed Flynn's face. “What are you smiling at?”
His grin grew broader. “You're gonna make someone a good wife, Miss Charity. By Bardoc, you are.”
The old man helped Neely with the contents of the list, adding fodder for the horses and trail medications.
Flynn added a request for pots and pans made of tin that could nest together for ease of packing. The old man nodded and added the items to his tally.
Charity requested thick woolen bedrolls and a bottle of cedar oil to keep the bugs out.
Neely objected to the cedar oil. “Aww, come on, miss. The camp'll smell like a bleedin’ drawin’ room, it will.”
Charity raised an eyebrow. “I suppose you enjoy sharing your bed with partners who draw blood when they bite?” She smiled, showing small, sharp, teeth.
Neely paled and nodded to the old man. “Add the oil. A pint's worth.”
Charity leaned over the counter to see the list in the old man's hand, and felt her heart sink. It was much more extensive than she had imagined, and she feared they'd not have enough coin to pay for half of it, much less the whole thing.
She sneaked a peek into the coin pouch built into her belt. As she feared, there was little left there. Two golds, the silver the stableboy in Berggren had returned, and a half dozen coppers. She sent up a silent prayer it would be enough.
The old man broke in on her thoughts. “I said ... will you be needing arrows for that bow, milady?”
“Huh? Oh, oh yes. I suppose I will.” She said weakly. She began to wonder if the Wayfarer House had need of a sausage maker.
He turned and walked over to a cupboard with two man-high doors in its face.
Neely whispered to Flynn. “I clean forgot about weapons. What was I thinkin'?”
Flynn whispered back. “We's becomin’ domestic, I guess.” He shrugged, giving the appearance of a minor earthquake in action.
The old man returned with a handful of arrows. Each of them bore a different fletching and head. He laid them out onto the countertop, and spread his hands over the collection.
“Do any of these suit your purposes, milady?”
Charity found herself automatically examining each arrow critically, for weight, balance and accuracy of line. The old man grunted in appreciation as she discarded one after another in the collection. Finally, she had two left from the original grouping.
She looked up at the old man. “May I see the rest of each of these? And can I test them in actual flight?”
He nodded, a small smile creasing his face. “For one who appears to know the craft as well as you do, milady, it will be a pleasure.”
He held out his hand. “I am called Howell. This is my establishment. Both sets of shafts are my own handiwork.”
She took his hand. “Pleased to meet you, Howell. I'm called Charity. This is Neely, and the large one there is Flynn.” She inclined her head toward them.
Howell dipped his in a nodded bow. “Well met, gentle sirs.”
He looked back to Charity. “There is a small range out back. Shall we go there?”
She smiled and nodded.
Flynn leaned over and nudged Neely in the arm. “This is going to be good.”
Neely wasn't as sure. “Don't know. Been a long time since that day we first saw her shoot. Knowin’ what a good arrow looks like is one thing. Being able to shoot it without practicin’ is another.”
Flynn was shocked at his friend's near blasphemy. “Neely! That's Miss Charity. Of course she'll do it.”
Neely grunted. “We'll see, Flynn. I surely hope so, but we'll see.”
Howell showed Charity the archery range, laid out in the yard behind the main house. A large cloth target was tied to a straw backing woven into a circle that sat on a framework of crossed logs at the end of the range. Sticks hammered into the ground marked off the various distances for shooting. He and Charity stood at the mark for thirty paces.
He handed Charity one of the arrows from the bundle he held. “This is a fair distance for a lady to be shooting, milady. Are you sure you do not wish to begin at a closer range?”
She took the arrow from him, and nocked it to the bow. “I'm sure.”
She drew the arrow back, sighted along the shaft, and released it in one smooth movement.
“Well shot.” Howell murmured, as the arrow cut the cross mark in the center of the target.
Charity bounced the bow in her hand. “I'd like to try a couple at further range if it's ok with you, Howell.”
The old man ducked his head in a bow. “As you wish, milady.”
Flynn and Neely stood at the back of the main house, and watched as Charity and Howell made their way to the sixty pace line.
Flynn chuckled in his throat. “Told yer so, Neely. She ain't lost a thing.”
Neely sighed. “Aye. You're right in that, Flynn. Seems unnatural to be that sharp and that young all at the same time. We're in for some kind of adventuring, my friend. I'll tell ya that.”
Howell handed Charity another arrow. She shook her head at the choice.
“No. I'd like to try one of those with the speckled fletching, if you don't mind.”
Howell made the change, and handed her the new arrow. “Why the change, milady?”
“Oh, I just want to try something.” She sent the arrow into the upper right quadrant of the target.
Howell shook his head, clucking his tongue. “It's a bit far for a lady to be shooting. Maybe we should...”
Charity held out her hand. “May I have two more, please?”
Howell started to protest, but then handed her the arrows. Sometimes it was best to allow the young to learn by their own mistakes.
Charity held one shaft in her bow hand while she drew back the other to her ear. She released the first one, and then the second was in the air right behind the first.
Howell open his mouth. “What are you...? Oh, I see...”
Charity turned and held out her hand again. “May I have one of the others now, please?”
He handed her one of the arrows with the pure white fletching without comment.
Charity drew the shaft to her cheek, and released it in the same smooth motion she'd used earlier. The shaft buried its head dead center in the target, splitting the previous arrow shot at thirty paces down the middle like a piece of kindling. The other three arrows surrounded the center in a perfect triangle, head down.
Flynn and Neely broke into thunderous applause.
Howell gave Charity a deep bow. “Milady Charity. If you would do me the honor of accepting both sets of arrows, I would like to give them to you at no charge, in ap
preciation of the show of mastery you've just gifted me with.”
Her smile was answer enough for Howell.
Back in the interior of the Wayfarer House, Charity's elation over her archery exhibition vanished like mist when she saw the supplies list once again.
“We'll never be able to pay for all this, I just know it.” She looked at her coins again, two golds, one silver and six coppers. The count hadn't changed from the first time she checked the pouch.
She looked at Flynn and Neely. Their faces told her nothing other than they were very excited about getting the supplies. She looked at Howell, and inwardly gritted her teeth. “Give us the tally will you please, Mr. Howell?”
A stylus appeared in his hand as if by magic. “At once, Milady.”
The tip of the stylus wove a tight trail back and forth over the list as Howell's lips mouthed a silent compilation. Charity could feel a nervous sweat form on her palms and the small of her back.
“Hmmm.” Howell let out the sound in a long, drawn out fashion.
“Yes? Yes?” Charity could not bear the suspense.
Howell looked up at her, the tip of the stylus at his lips. “Three gold, a silver and four be my best price, and you'll not find better ‘tween here and Grisham.”
Her heart sank. Nearly three and quarter golds. What her purse contained wasn't nearly enough. She could feel her hands chapping in anticipation of the drudgery to come in order to pay for everything.
Neely nudged her shoulder with a finger. “Go on, pay the man.”
She turned to him with tears in her eyes. “I don't have that much money!” She whispered fiercely.
Flynn leaned over Neely's shoulder. “Whut?”
“I said, I don't have that much money. I can't pay the bill!” Charity kept her voice to a whisper, mostly out of fear. She dreaded telling Howell they'd wasted his time. He was probably going to take back all those beautifully fletched arrows.
Flynn elbowed Neely. “Go on. Tell ‘er.”
Neely looked sullen. “But that's our...”
Flynn scowled; the teddy bear became a Grizzly. “Tell ‘er.”
Neely looked embarrassed. “Uh ... miss Charity. Umm. Milady. We ... uh ... we have the extra.”