Blood in Snow: (The Riddle in Stone Series - Book Three), Page 3
Robert Evert
Oh! This is …
He took a third, much longer drink.
Incredible!
I haven’t had a beer like this since—
You’ve never had beer like this!
It caressed his tongue like creamy butter, melting in his mouth.
Vin laughed. “This”—he patted the barrel he sat on—“this is what I can do for the town.”
Unable to resist, Edmund took another drink, and then another. Now he detected a slight nutty flavor.
“Oh!” He gasped for air. “This is heaven! Honestly, this is the best beer I’ve ever tasted.”
Vin didn’t disagree.
“You sell this?” Edmund asked.
“I make it. I’m a brewer.”
“A brewer!” Edmund took another drink. “What the hell are you doing here? You’d make a fortune in Eryn Mas!”
“I’ve already made a fortune.”
“So why come here?”
Vin watched Edmund, eyes calculating. Then he shrugged. “I heard about this place. It sounded like a good place to be.”
“Our little heaven in the north?” Edmund laughed, some of his cares slipping from him. But the laugh died as he considered something. He put the nearly empty stein on the wagon’s rail. “The only p-p-p … the only people who come here are men of adventure or men with nothing to lose.” He noted the gold buttons on Vin’s vest. “You don’t strike me as either.”
They scrutinized each other.
Edmund waited for the other shoe to drop.
“Why are you here?”
Vin shrugged again. “There might be a couple of … other … categories of men who’d want to come up this way. Perhaps I fit into one of them.” He spoke this as if it should mean something to Edmund, but when it became plain Edmund didn’t understand what he hinted at, Vin laughed. “So let’s talk business! I want to build a brewery up this way. I have the money to—”
“I’m not sure this is the place for you,” Edmund cut in, seeing at once what Hendrick had been worried about.
“Why?”
“Because the last thing I need in this town is a bunch of drunk men.” He tapped the stein, wrestling with the urge to finish off his remaining beer. “And without much to do other than work, everybody would be bellied up to your barrels.”
For a moment, Edmund had second thoughts, but then regretfully wagged his head, decision made.
“Plus,” he added, “we need to build a great deal more than businesses right now. We need housing and sanitation. We need warm clothes and food for winter. We have to take care of our survival before we start considering luxuries, like beer.”
He sighed and held out his hand.
“I’m sorry.”
Vin didn’t shake it. Instead he gazed through the evening’s gathering gloom and nodded toward The Buxom Barmaid. “Who owns the tavern? Doesn’t he serve drinks?”
The question startled Edmund. He was about to say Norb owned the tavern, but Norb was dead, throat slit open to his neck bone.
“We don’t have anything in the tavern to drink other than water,” he replied. They’d finished off the last of Norb’s beer and wine several weeks before. “And—”
“Well, there you go!” Vin said merrily. “You need me! I came just in time. Let me get my barrels unloaded, and I’ll save the day.”
Edmund shook his head again. “Look, Vin. I’m not sure why, but I like you. You’re a breath of fresh air in this place. But … but the last thing Rood needs is a bunch of beer flowing through the streets. These men won’t stop at half a stein; they’ll drink what you have here in a couple of days, and nothing will get done before winter. Then we’ll freeze to death, or die when the King comes.”
“My beer is special.”
“It certainly is.”
“Let me ask you this.” Vin inspected Edmund’s stein. “You’ve had maybe three-quarters of what I gave you. How do you feel?”
If anything, Edmund felt badly that he was asking this obviously intelligent, good-natured brewer to leave Rood, but he wasn’t feeling drunk. Not even close. In fact, his mind felt clearer than when he’d come across town; his headache was gone, and he felt even happier than since before Pond and Abby left.
“I’ll tell you what,” Vin said, “finish your stein. Have another if you like. Or a third. Have as many as you like. But if you don’t feel drunk, I get to stay. Deal?”
Edmund sighed and studied the emerging stars.
“Look, Vin …”
“Let me stay. You won’t regret it! I have a lot of skills that can help this place—a lot of skills! Trust me, there’s more to me than meets the eye! I’m more than just brilliant … if you get what I’m saying.”
Edmund studied the stars again, but finding no change from the moment before, he looked at The Buxom Barmaid instead. He wished the ugly eyesore would burn down; then he wouldn’t have to think about Molly and Norb every time he walked into it.
“Could you keep the drinking to a minimum?”
“Absolutely! I can even water down what I have. I can make it last forever.” Vin winked.
Edmund stared at the light streaming from the two completed barracks. Some of the men inside were singing. They’d been working all day, every day, for more than a month and a half, doing whatever was asked of them. Edmund knew they deserved good beer, but he also knew they weren’t the type to stop at one drink, and many of them were probably ugly drunks.
“Come on.” Vin nudged Edmund’s shoulder. “You know you want me to stay. I’ll even give you your drinks for free! Hell, I’ll give everybody free drinks for two years. I’m rich enough to take the loss.”
Edmund laughed. The beer had made him feel better; he seemed less daunted by the problems that threatened to overwhelm him. Plus, Vin was easy to talk to and happy. He’d cured Edmund of his loneliness.
“Go talk to Gabe,” he said. “He’s the cook. Short, fat man with a balding head.”
“All cooks are short, fat men with balding heads. Never trust a skinny cook. But go on.”
“If Gabe says it’s okay,” Edmund went on, feeling he’d somehow been persuaded against his better judgment, “I’ll give The Buxom Barmaid to both of you. You can handle the drinks; he can handle the food. When the time comes, you can split the profits.”
“Buxom Barmaid? Ugh!” Vin cried in overblown dismay. “That’s horrid! Who named it that? Can we change it?”
Edmund laughed again. Something told him he’d be laughing a lot around Vin.
“You can burn it down for all I care. But I need you to understand something.” He caught and held Vin’s attention. “If these men start getting drunk, we won’t be ready for winter. And then we’ll all die.”
Edmund was walking through Rood, headed back to his room at The Buxom Barmaid, when he suddenly realized he was humming to himself. Whether it had been the beer that put him in a better mood or something else, he didn’t know. But all the same, he was happy for a change.
Several people approached and asked questions. Edmund answered them, then continued on his way, whistling. He came across Hendrick.
“Did you meet the newcomers?” he asked.
“I did,” Edmund replied. “Thank you.”
“So? What did you think? Any concerns?”
“What, with Vin?”
“I’m not sure what his name is,” Hendrick said, “but he has a wagon full of beer and God only knows what else.”
“Oh”—Edmund waved a dismissive hand—“it’ll be fine, as long as the men don’t drink too much. They deserve their diversions.”
Hendrick didn’t seem too sure. “You know best. But I have to say, I’d hate to see some of these men drunk, if you get me.”
“Vin’s given me his word he won’t allow the drinking to get out of hand.” Edmund considered his still-frowning Captain of the Guards. “What? Is there something else?”
Hendrick pursed his lips. “Well …”
“Well? Well what?”
“Different can be good.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ll tell you what. I’ll keep my eye on him. If he doesn’t help the town or becomes a danger or a nuisance, we’ll make him leave. But we’ll take his beer first.”
Hendrick chuckled. “Very good, sir. Like I said, you know best.”
“We’ll see about that,” Edmund replied over his shoulder as he resumed walking. “We’ll see.”
Chapter Three
September slipped into October, and Edmund’s days went pretty much the same: He awoke alone in his room at The Buxom Barmaid, Pond’s empty bed neatly made next to his; had a hurried breakfast while a line of people waited for him to finish; then roamed the town with Becky, going from project to project and answering an endless flow of questions regarding the many problems that arose.
Occasionally Vin tagged along, especially when Edmund surveyed the surrounding orchards and farmlands, but the reasons for leaving town soon became fewer. Most of the farms had already been allocated to people who had agreed to tend them, all of the apples and pears that could be stored for winter were already in their tubs, and the trails and paths that townsfolk would use had all been clearly marked, so nobody would get lost among the endless hills and dense forests.
In the evenings, when everybody shared their last meal of the day together, Edmund’s tasks eased somewhat. Vin had created a system where each adult who had worked that day was given a slip of paper that could be traded in for a mug of beer.
At first the men protested; they all wanted more than one mug each, especially after tasting Vin’s beer. But when Vin threatened to take it all away and head back to Eryn Mas, they gave in. Nobody could say no to him anyway. If he wasn’t charming a crowd with funny stories or leading the entire town in drinking songs, he was organizing fun games. He’d even had a night where an extra mug of beer was awarded to whomever created the dirtiest limerick. To everybody’s surprise, Toby had won that competition with his limerick about King Lionel, which had gotten everybody howling.
Though the days were spent working hard, the evenings in The Buxom Barmaid were filled with laughter, song, and a growing sense of closeness, and at least for a few hours, Edmund could sit and enjoy his budding home. By the end of each evening, after the last song had been sung and the final mug had been nursed dry, Vin ushered everyone out and told them to go to bed. Then he and Edmund would linger a while longer, cleaning up and chatting.
“So”—Vin sat on a stool across from Edmund—“another good day.”
He clinked his stein against Edmund’s mug.
“Another good day, thanks to you and your brewing skills.”
“I am brilliant,” Vin admitted, taking a drink. “If only I could paint as well as I brew.”
“You paint?”
“I dabble.” Vin took another drink, then set his stein onto the bar with a contented thump.
“That’s impressive,” Edmund said. “I’ve always wanted to learn how to paint.”
“Well, I’m no adventurer.”
He slid a sideways glance at Edmund, as if cueing him to tell a story about his exploits. But Edmund just stroked Becky’s head.
“So you grew up here,” Vin said, when it became clear Edmund wouldn’t rise to the bait.
“I did. It was a wonderful little town, though I didn’t realize it back then.”
Edmund swished the dark brown beer around the bottom of his mug, then sniffed its rich aroma, wondering if he should finish it off now or savor it a bit longer.
“Well, thanks to the work of a lot of good men, sober men I might add”—Vin bowed—“I think you may have something really special here. In a couple of years, you’ll have the prettiest town in all the land. People will flock to it, just to see the leaves change color.”
“The winters will drive most of them back south.”
“That bad?”
Edmund chuckled. “You have no idea.”
The northern skies were slowly turning grey, nights were lasting longer and longer, and the temperatures were dropping. Soon it would snow, and Edmund knew most of the newcomers had never known such weather. He wondered if they could endure it.
“Well,” Vin said, “I might be able to help with that. I have a recipe for a spiced apple cider that will keep you warm throughout the night.” He gave Edmund an odd look. “A special recipe.” He winked.
Edmund laughed for no reason and sipped his beer.
“So,” Vin said eventually, “I hear you’re sweet on some woman—Abby, I believe?”
Edmund groaned and took another drink. “Next topic.”
“All right.” Vin examined his stein. “I hear you’re a magic user.”
Edmund choked on his beer, sending a spray of it across the table. He coughed.
“Where—? Where—?”
He coughed some more. Next to him, Becky jumped up, evidently concerned. Edmund gave one last great cough, then swallowed.
“Wh-where, where did you hear that?” He chortled casually as if Vin had made a joke. “And what is it I’m supposed to be able to do? Rebuild towns out of thin air?”
Vin gave a noncommittal shrug.
“Just heard it. There was a rumor of an Ed from the north who was a witch. Supposed to be a healer or something.” He took a drink. “Figured it might be you.”
Forcing himself to be calm, Edmund struggled for the right words. He knew this would happen one day, and he had a story already prepared.
Vin watched him over the brim of his stein.
“Well, you see,” Edmund began, “there was this girl.”
“Abby?”
“No. No …” His heart hurt just thinking about her. “No. Her, her name was M-M-Molly.”
Vin nodded, evidently knowing that part of the story. “The one you gave your house to.”
“Yeah.” Edmund exhaled heavily, praying he could make the story convincing.
“Look, if this is painful for you …”
“No. It’s fine. I want you to know. The, the l-l-last … the last thing I want anybody to think is that, is that I’m a, I’m a—”
“A witch?” Vin offered, sipping his beer.
“Exactly.”
“So what happened?”
Sweat pooled under Edmund’s armpits. “She married another guy.”
“The drunk lord?”
Edmund cringed, his grip around his mug tightening. “Yeah.”
“Well, no offense or anything, but one dead lord is a step in the right direction, if you get me.”
“Don’t like nobility?” Edmund asked, hoping to derail the conversation.
“Not a bit. But finish your story. Then I’ll tell you mine.”
“Well …” Edmund tried to slow his heart. He’d rehearsed the story many times with Pond, but now that his life depended on it, he wasn’t sure he could get it out. “Well, there, there really isn’t much to tell.”
He fiddled with his mug.
“You see, this … this other fellow, Norb, well he … he m-m-married Molly, like I said, and he, he started these stories about me. I think he wanted me to stay away from her. He was the jealous type.”
Vin nodded again. “I was kind of thinking that.” He inspected his stein as if he were no longer interested in the tale.
Edmund wanted to let the matter drop, but he needed to know something.
“So,” he went on, as casually as he could, “how did you hear about Norb’s lies about me? The men aren’t whispering about them, are they?”
Vin scoffed. “Are you kidding? Everybody here thinks you’re a god. Wouldn’t surprise them a bit if you could fly.”
Edmund tried to laugh, unsure of what to think about that.
“To tell you the truth,” Vin said, “I heard the story in Eryn Mas. I h
ad a customer who was one of those witch hunters.”
Edmund froze. Cold sweat trickled his ribs. “A … a witch, a witch hunter?”
“Yeah,” Vin continued. “A real pompous ass. All of them are. But at any rate, the day after I’d heard the story about you, I saw the announcement from Lord Norbert, or whoever. I figured this town sounded like a good place to be. Nothing exciting ever happens in Eryn Mas; everything seems to happen elsewhere. Anyway, I put two and two together and thought you might be the Ed.”
Vin finished his beer while Edmund fought to breathe.
“It’s funny what stories reveal about the teller,” Vin said with a chuckle. “Some people say the eyes are the window to the soul. Me? I think what they say tells you the most. And what they don’t say.”
Edmund finally managed to exhale.
“S-s-so,” he said, in an effort to change the subject, “sp-speaking of stories. Tell me why you don’t like nobility. What happened?”
“Oh …!” Vin gave an exaggerated moan. “Let me tell you about the nobility in Eryn Mas. Talk about pompous asses! Here”—he took Edmund’s mug—“let me get you another drink. You’re going to need it.”
Chapter Four
Edmund stood on a table at the far end of The Buxom Barmaid’s common room, trying to determine whether he should go through with his plan. It was dangerous, but he thought he might be able to pull it off. If not, things might go badly—very badly—for him and his friends.
“And when are they coming back?” someone called out from the crowd.
“Mr. Pond and Abby should be r-r-re, returning, returning shortly,” Edmund replied, secretly wondering the same thing. “Any day now.”
“I hope they brought some women with them!” somebody else hollered.
At this, there were some giggles, but for most of them the joke was getting old. The past couple of weeks brought another group of settlers from the south, raising the Highlands’ population to 212, thirteen of whom were women and small children. Now all of them sat in the smoky common room talking.
