brushed self-consciously at his clothes.
“I … I haven’t quite got round to that yet,
Reshi.”
The innkeeper gave a deep sigh. “I
don’t ask a …” He stopped and sniffed,
then eyed the dark-haired man narrowly.
“Are you drunk, Bast?”
Bast looked affronted. “Reshi!”
The innkeeper rolled his eyes. “Fine
then, have you been drinking?”
“I’ve been investigating, ” Bast said,
emphasizing the word. “Did you know
Crazy Martin runs a still?”
“I didn’t,” the innkeeper said, his tone
making it clear he didn’t find this
information to be particularly thrilling.
“And Martin isn’t crazy. He just has a
handful of unfortunately strong affect
compulsions. And a touch of tabard
madness from when he was a soldier.”
“Well, yes …” Bast said slowly. “I
know, because he set his dog on me and
when I climbed a tree to get away, he
tried to chop the tree down. But also,
aside from those things, he’s crazy too,
Reshi. Really, really crazy.”
“Bast.” The innkeeper gave him a
chiding look.
“I’m not saying he’s bad, Reshi. I’m not
even saying I don’t like him. But trust me.
I know crazy. His head isn’t put together
like a normal person’s.”
The innkeeper gave an agreeable if
slightly impatient nod. “Noted.”
Bast opened his mouth, then looked
slightly confused. “What were we talking
about?”
“Your advanced state of investigation,”
the innkeeper said, glancing out the
window. “Despite the fact that it is
barely three bells.”
“Ah. Right!” Bast said excitedly. “I
know Martin’s been running a tab for the
better part of a year now. And I know
you’ve had trouble settling up because he
doesn’t have any money.”
“He doesn’t use money,” the innkeeper
corrected gently.
“Same difference, Reshi,” Bast sighed.
“And it doesn’t change the fact that we
don’t need another sack of barley. The
pantry is choking on barley. But since he
runs a still …”
The innkeeper was already shaking his
head. “No, Bast,” he said. “I won’t go
poisoning my customers with hillwine.
You have no idea what ends up in that
stuff …”
“But I do know, Reshi,” Bast said
plaintively. “Ethel acetates and methans.
And tinleach. There’s none of that.”
The innkeeper blinked, obviously taken
aback. “Did … Have you actually been
reading Celum Tinture?”
“I did, Reshi.” Bast beamed. “For the
betterment of my education and my desire
to not poison folk. I tasted some, Reshi,
and I can say with some authority that
Martin is not making hillwine. It’s lovely
stuff. It’s halfway to Rhis, and that’s not
something I say lightly.”
The innkeeper stroked his upper lip
thoughtfully. “Where did you get some to
taste?” he asked.
“I traded for it,” Bast said, easily
skirting the edges of the truth. “I was
thinking,” Bast continued. “Not only
would it give Martin a chance to settle
his tab. But it would help us get some
new stock in. That’s harder, the roads as
bad as they are …”
The innkeeper held up both hands
helplessly. “I’m already convinced,
Bast.”
Bast grinned happily.
“Honestly, I would have done it merely
to celebrate you reading your lesson for
once. But it will be nice for Martin, too.
It will give him an excuse to come by
more often. It will be good for him.”
Bast’s smile faded a bit.
If the innkeeper noticed, he didn’t
comment on it. “I’ll send a boy round to
Martin’s and ask him to come by with a
couple bottles.”
“Get five or six,” Bast said. “It’s
getting cold at night. Winter’s coming.”
The innkeeper smiled. “I’m sure Martin
will be flattered.”
Bast paled at that. “By all the gorse no,
Reshi,” he said, waving his hands in
backwards. “Don’t tell him I’ll be
drinking it. He hates me.”
The innkeeper hid a smile behind his
hand.
“It’s not funny, Reshi,” Bast said
angrily. “He throws rocks at me.”
“Not for months,” the innkeeper pointed
out. “Martin has been perfectly cordial to
you the last several times he’s stopped
by for a visit.”
“Because there aren’t any rocks inside
the inn,” Bast said.
“Be
fair,
Bast,”
the
innkeeper
continued. “He’s been civil for almost a
year.
Polite
even.
Remember
he
apologized to you two months back?
Have you heard of Martin ever
apologizing to anyone else in town?
Ever?”
“No,” Bast said sulkily.
The innkeeper nodded. “That’s a big
gesture for him. He’s turning a new leaf.”
“I know,” Bast muttered, moving
toward the back door. “But if he’s here
when I get home tonight, I’m eating
dinner in the kitchen.”
Rike caught up with Bast before he even
made it to the clearing, let alone the
lightning tree.
“I’ve got it,” the boy said, holding up
his hand triumphantly. The entire lower
half of his body was dripping wet.
“What, already?” Bast asked.
The boy nodded and flourished the
stone between two fingers. It was flat
and smooth and round, slightly bigger
than a copper penny. “What now?”
Bast stroked his chin for a moment, as
if trying to remember. “Now we need a
needle. But it has to be borrowed from a
house where no men live.”
Rike looked thoughtful for a moment,
then brightened. “I can get one from Aunt
Sellie!”
Bast fought the urge to curse. He’d
forgotten about Sellie. “That will do …”
he said, reluctantly, “but it will work
best if the needle comes from a house
with a lot of women living in it. The
more women the better.”
Rike looked up for another moment.
“Widow Creel then. She’s got a
daughter.”
“She’s got a boy, too.” Bast pointed
out. “A house where no men or boys
live.”
“But where a lot of girls live …” Rike
said. He had to think about it for a long
while.
“Old Nan don’t like me none,” he
said. “But I reckon she’d give me a pin.”
“A needle,” Bast stressed. “And you
have to borrow it. You can’t steal it or
buy it. She has to lend it to you.”
Bast had half expected the boy to
grouse about the particulars, about the
fact that Old Nan lived all the way off on
the other side of town, about as far west
as you could go and still be considered
part of the town. It would take him half
an hour to get there, and even then, Old
Nan might not be home.
But Rike didn’t so much as sigh. He just
nodded seriously, turned, and took off at
a sprint, bare feet flying.
Bast continued to the lightning tree, but
when he came to the clearing he saw an
entire tangle of children playing on the
greystone, doubtless waiting for him.
Four of them.
Watching them from the shadow of the
trees at the edge of the clearing, Bast
hesitated, then glanced up at the sun
before slipping back into the woods. He
had other fish to fry.
The Williams farm wasn’t a farm in any
proper sense. Not for decades. The fields
had gone fallow so long ago that they
were barely recognizable as such,
spotted with brambles and sapling trees.
The tall barn had fallen into disrepair
and half the roof gaped open to the sky.
Walking up the long path through the
fields, Bast turned a corner and saw
Rike’s house. It told a different story than
the barn. It was small but tidy. The
shingles needed some repair, but other
than that, it looked well loved and
tended-to. Yellow curtains were blowing
out the kitchen window, and there was
flower box spilling over with fox fiddle
and marigold.
There was a pen with a trio of goats on
one side of the house, and a large well-
tended garden on the other. It was fenced
thickly with lashed-together sticks, but
Bast could see straight lines of
flourishing greenery inside. Carrots. He
still needed carrots.
Craning his neck a bit, Bast saw
several large, square boxes behind the
house. He took a few more steps to the
side and eyed them before he realized
they were beehives.
Just then there was a great storm of
barking and two great black, floppy-
eared dogs came bounding from the
house toward Bast, baying for all they
were worth. When they came close
enough, Bast got down on one knee and
wrestled with them playfully, scratching
their ears and the ruff of their necks.
After a few minutes of this, Bast
continued to the house, the dogs weaving
back and forth in front of him before they
spotted some sort of animal and tore off
into the underbrush. He knocked politely
at the front door, though after all the
barking his presence could hardly be a
surprise.
The door opened a couple inches, and
for a moment all Bast could see was a
slender slice of darkness. Then the door
opened a little wider, revealing Rike’s
mother. She was tall, and her curling
brown hair was springing loose from the
braid that hung down her back.
She swung the door fully open, holding
a tiny, half-naked baby in the curve of her
arm. Its round face was pressed into her
breast and it was sucking busily, making
small grunting noises.
Glancing down, Bast smiled warmly.
The woman looked fondly down at her
child, then favored Bast with a tired
smile. “Hello Bast, what can I do for
you?”
“Ah. Well,” he said awkwardly, pulling
his gaze up to meet her eye. “I was
wondering, ma’am. That is, Mrs.
Williams—”
“Nettie is fine, Bast,” she said
indulgently. More than a few of the
townfolk considered Bast somewhat
simple in the head, a fact that Bast didn’t
mind in the least.
“Nettie,” Bast said, smiling his most
ingratiating smile.
There was a pause, and she leaned
against the doorframe. A little girl
peeked out from around the woman’s
faded blue skirt, nothing more than a pair
of serious dark eyes.
Bast
smiled
at
the
girl,
who
disappeared back behind her mother.
Nettie looked at Bast expectantly.
Finally she prompted. “You were
wondering …”
“Oh, yes.” Bast said. “I was wondering
if your husband happened to be about.”
“I’m afraid not,” she said. “Jessom’s
off checking his traps.”
“Ah,” Bast said, disappointed. “Will he
be back anytime soon? I’d be happy to
wait …”
She shook her head, “I’m sorry. He’ll
do his lines then spend the night skinning
and drying up in his shack.” She nodded
vaguely toward the northern hills.
“Ah,” Bast said again.
Nestled snugly in her mother’s arm, the
baby drew a deep breath, then sighed it
out blissfully, going quiet and limp.
Nettie looked down, then up at Bast,
holding a finger to her lips.
Bast nodded and stepped back from the
doorway, watching as Nettie stepped
inside, deftly detached the sleeping baby
from her nipple with her free hand, then
carefully tucked the child into a small
wooden cradle on the floor. The dark-
eyed girl emerged from behind her
mother and went to peer down at the
baby.
“Call me if she starts to fuss,” Nettie
said softly. The little girl nodded
seriously, sat down on a nearby chair,
and began to gently rock the cradle with
her foot.
Nettie stepped outside, closing the door
behind her. She walked the few steps
necessary to join Bast, rearranging her
bodice unself-consciously. In the sunlight
Bast noticed her high cheekbones and
generous mouth. Even so, she was more
tired than pretty, her dark eyes heavy
with worry.
The tall woman crossed her arms over
her chest. “What’s the trouble then?” she
asked wearily.
Bast looked confused. “No trouble,” he
said. “I was wondering if your husband
had any work.”
Nettie uncrossed her arms, looking
surprised. “Oh.”
“There isn’t much for me to do at the
inn,” Bast said a little sheepishly. “I
thought your husband might need an extra
hand.”
Nettie looked around, eyes brushing
over the old barn. Her mouth tugging
down at the corn
ers. “He traps and hunts
for the most part these days,” she said.
“Keeps him busy, but not so much that
he’d need help, I imagine.” She looked
back to Bast. “At least he’s never made
mention of wanting any.”
“How about yourself?” Bast asked,
giving his most charming smile. “Is there
anything around the place you could use a
hand with?”
Nettie smiled at Bast indulgently. It was
only a small smile, but it stripped ten
years and half a world of worry off her face, making her practically shine with
loveliness. “There isn’t much to do,” she
said apologetically. “Only three goats,
and my boy minds them.”
“Firewood?” Bast asked. “I’m not
afraid to work up a sweat. And it has to
be hard getting by with your gentleman
gone for days on end …” He grinned at
her hopefully.
“And we just haven’t got the money for
help, I’m afraid.” Nettie said.
“I just want some carrots,” Bast said.
Nettie looked at him for a minute, then
burst out laughing. “Carrots,” she said,
rubbing at her face. “How many
carrots?”
“Maybe … six?” Bast asked, not
sounding very sure of his answer at all.
She laughed again, shaking her head a
little. “Okay. You can split some wood.”
She pointed to the chopping block that
stood in back of the house. “I’ll come get
you when you’ve done six carrots’
worth.”
Bast set to work eagerly, and soon the
yard was full of the crisp, healthy sound
of splitting wood. The sun was still
strong in the sky, and after just a few
minutes Bast was covered in a sheen of
sweat. He carelessly peeled away his
shirt and hung it on the nearby garden
fence.
There was something different about the
way he split the wood. Nothing dramatic.
In fact he split wood the same way
everyone did: you set the log upright, you
swing the axe, you split the wood. There
isn’t much room to extemporize.
But still, there was a difference in the
way he did it. When he set the log
upright, he moved intently. Then he
would stand for a tiny moment, perfectly
still. Then came the swing. It was a fluid
thing. The placement of his feet, the play
of the long muscles in his arms …
There
was
nothing
exaggerated.
Nothing like a flourish. Even so, when he
brought the axe up and over in a perfect
arc, there was a grace to it. The sharp
cough the wood made as it split, the
sudden way the halves went tumbling to