give it to her. River stone works best if
it’s given as a gift.”
Rike nodded, not looking up. “What if
she won’t wear it?” he asked quietly.
Bast blinked, confused. “She’ll wear it
because you gave it to her,” he said.
“What if she doesn’t?” he asked.
Bast opened his mouth, then hesitated
and closed it again. He looked up and
saw the first of twilight’s stars emerge.
He looked down at the boy. He sighed.
He wasn’t good at this.
So much was so easy. Glamour was
second nature. It was just making folk see
what they wanted to see. Fooling folk
was simple as singing. Tricking folk and
telling lies, it was like breathing.
But this? Convincing someone of the
truth that they were too twisted to see?
How could you even begin?
It was baffling. These creatures. They
were fraught and frayed in their desire. A
snake would never poison itself, but
these folk made an art of it. They
wrapped themselves in fears and wept at
being blind. It was infuriating. It was
enough to break a heart.
So Bast took the easy way. “It’s part of
the magic,” he lied. “When you give it to
her, you have to tell her that you made it
for her because you love her.”
The boy looked uncomfortable, as if he
were trying to swallow a stone.
“It’s essential for the magic,” Bast said
firmly. “And then, if you want to make
the magic stronger, you need to tell her
every day. Once in the morning and once
at night.”
The boy nodded, a determined look on
his face. “Okay. I can do that.”
“Right then,” Bast said. “Sit down here.
Prick your finger.”
Rike did just that. He jabbed his stubby
finger and let a bead of blood well up
then fall onto the stone.
“Good,” Bast said, sitting down across
from the boy. “Now give me the needle.”
Rike handed over the needle. “But you
said it just needed—”
“Don’t tell me what I said,” Bast
groused. “Hold the stone flat so that the
hole faces up.”
Rike did.
“Hold it steady,” Bast said, and pricked
his own finger. A slow bead of blood
grew. “Don’t move.”
Rike braced the stone with his other
hand.
Bast turned his finger, and the drop of
blood hung in the air for a moment before
falling straight through the hole to strike
the greystone underneath.
There was no sound. No stirring in the
air. No distant thunder. If anything, it
seemed there was a half second of
perfect brick-heavy silence in the air. But
it was probably nothing more than a brief
pause in the wind.
“Is that it?” Rike asked after a moment,
clearly expecting something more.
“Yup,” Bast said, licking the blood
from his finger with a red, red tongue.
Then he worked his mouth a little and
spat out the wax he had been chewing.
He rolled it between his fingers and
handed it to the boy. “Rub this into the
stone, then take it to the top of the highest
hill you can find. Stay there until the last
of the sunset fades, and then give to her
tonight.”
Rike’s eyes darted around the horizon,
looking for a good hill. Then he leapt
from the stone and sprinted off.
Bast was halfway back to the Waystone
Inn when he realized he had no idea
where his carrots were.
When Bast came in the back door, he
could smell bread and beer and
simmering stew. Looking around the
kitchen he saw crumbs on the breadboard
and the lid was off the kettle. Dinner had
already been served.
Stepping softly, he peered through the
door into the common room. The usual
folk sat hunched at the bar, there was Old
Cob and Graham, scraping their bowls.
The smith’s prentice was running bread
along the inside of his bowl, then stuffing
spread butter on the last slice of bread,
and Shep knocked his empty mug politely
against the bar, the hollow sound a
question in itself.
Bast bustled through the doorway with
a fresh bowl of stew for the smith’s
prentice as the innkeeper poured Shep
more beer. Collecting the empty bowl,
Bast disappeared back into the kitchen,
then he came back with another loaf of
bread half-sliced and steaming.
“Guess what I caught wind of today?”
Old Cob said with the grin of a man who
knew he had the freshest news at the
table.
“What’s that?” The boy asked around
half a mouthful of stew.
Cob reached out and took the heel of
the bread, a right he claimed as the oldest
person there, despite the fact that he
wasn’t actually the oldest, and the fact
that nobody else much cared for the heel.
Bast suspected he took it because he was
proud he still had so many teeth left.
Cob grinned. “Guess,” he said to the
boy, then slowly slathered his bread with
butter and took a big bite.
“I reckon it’s something about Jessom
Williams,” Jake said blithely.
Old Cob glared at him, his mouth full of
bread and butter.
“What I heard,” Jake drawled slowly,
smiling as Old Cob tried furiously chew
his mouth clear, “was that Jessom was
out running his traplines and he got
jumped by a cougar. Then while he was
legging it away, he lost track of hisself
and went right over Littlecliff. Busted
himself up something fierce.”
Old Cob finally managed to swallow.
“You’re thick as a post, Jacob Walker.
That ain’t what happened at all. He fell
off Littlecliff, but there weren’t a cougar.
Cougar ain’t going to attack a full-grown
man.”
“It will if he’s all smelling of blood,”
Jake insisted. “Which Jessom was, on
account of the fact that he was baggin’ up
all his game.”
There was a muttering of agreement at
this, which obviously irritated Old Cob.
“It weren’t a cougar,” he insisted. “He
was drunk off his feet. That’s what I
heard. Stumbling-lost drunk. That’s the
only sense of it. ’Cause Littlecliff ent
nowhere near his trapline. Unless you
think a cougar chased him for almost a
mile …”
Old Cob sat back in his chair then,
smug as a judge. Everyone knew Jessom
was a bit of a drinker. And while
Littlecliff wasn’t really a mile from the
&nbs
p; Williams’s land, it was too far to be
chased by a cougar.
Jake glared venomously at Old Cob, but
before he could say anything Graham
chimed in. “I heard it was drink too. A
couple kids found him while they were
playing by the falls. They thought he was
dead, and ran to fetch the constable. But
he was just head-struck and drunk as a
lord. There was all manner of broken
glass too. He was cut him up some.”
Old Cob threw his hands up in the air.
“Well ain’t that wonderful!” he said,
scowling back and forth between Graham
and Jake. “Any other parts of my story
you’d like to tell afore I’m finished?”
Graham looked taken aback. “I thought
you were—”
“I wasn’t finished,” Cob said, as if
talking to a simpleton. “I was reelin’ it
out slow. I swear. What you folk don’t
know about tellin’ stories would fit into
a book.”
A tense silence settled among the
friends.
“I got some news too,” the smith’s
prentice said almost shyly. He sat
slightly hunched at the bar, as if
embarrassed at being a head taller than
everyone else and twice as broad across
the shoulders. “If’n nobody else has
heard it, that is.”
Shep spoke up. “Go on, boy. You don’t
have to ask. Those two just been gnawing
on each other for years. They don’t mean
anything by it.”
“Well I was doing shoes,” the prentice
said, “when Crazy Martin came in.” The
boy shook his head in amazement and
took a long drink of beer. “I ain’t only
seen him a few times in town, and I
forgot how big he is. I don’t have to look
up to see him. But I still think he’s
biggern me. And today he looked even
bigger still ’cause he was furious. He
was spittin’ nails. I swear. He looked
like someone had tied two angry bulls
together and made them wear a shirt!”
The boy laughed the easy laugh of
someone who’s had a little more beer
than he’s used to.
There was a pause. “What’s the news
then?” Shep said gently, giving him a
nudge.
“Oh!” the smith’s prentice said. “He
came asking Master Ferris if he had
enough copper to mend a big kettle.” The
prentice spread his long arms out wide,
one hand almost smacking Shep in the
face.
“Apparently someone found Martin’s
still.” The smith’s prentice leaned
forward, wobbling slightly, and said in
hushed voice. “Stole a bunch of his drink
and wrecked up the place a bit.”
The boy leaned back in his chair and
crossed his arms proudly across his
chest, confident of a story well told.
But there was none of the buzz that
normally accompanied a piece of good
gossip. He took another drink of beer,
and slowly began to look confused.
“Tehlu anyway,” Graham said, his face
gone pale. “Martin’ll kill him.”
“What?” the prentice said. “Who?”
“Jessom, you tit,” Jake snapped. He
tried to cuff the boy on the back of his
head and had to settle for his shoulder
instead. “The fellow who got skunk
drunk in the middle of the day and fell off
a cliff carrying a bunch of bottles?”
“I thought it was a cougar,” Old Cob
said spitefully.
“He’ll wish it was ten cougars when
Martin gets him,” Jake said grimly.
“What?” The smith’s prentice laughed.
“Crazy Martin? He’s addled, sure, but he
a i n’ t mean. A couple span ago he
cornered me and talked bollocks about
barley for two hours.” He laughed again.
“About how it was healthful. How wheat
would ruin a man. How money was dirty.
How it chained you to the earth or some
nonsense.”
The prentice dropped his voice and
hunched his shoulders a bit, widening his
eyes and doing a passable Crazy Martin
impression. “You know? ” he said,
making his voice rough and darting his
eyes around. “Yeah. You know. You hear
what I’m sayin? ”
The prentice laughed again, rocking
back on his stool. He had obviously had
a little more beer than was good for him.
“People think they have to be afraid of
big folk, but they don’t. I’ve never hit a
man in my life.”
Everyone just stared at him. Their eyes
were deadly earnest.
“Martin killed one of Ensal’s dogs for
growling at him,” Shep said. “Right in
the middle of market. Threw a shovel
like it was a spear. Then gave it a
kicking.”
“Nearly killed that last priest,” Graham
said. “The one before Abbe Leodin.
Nobody knows why. Fellow went up to
Martin’s house. That evening Martin
brought him to town in a wheelbarrow
and left him in front of the church.” He
looked at the smith’s prentice. “That was
before your time though. Makes sense
you wouldn’t know.”
“Punched a tinker once,” Jake said.
“Punched a tinker? ” the innkeeper
burst out, incredulous.
“Reshi,” Bast said gently. “Martin is
fucking crazy. ”
Jake nodded. “Even the levy man
doesn’t go up to Martin’s place.”
Cob looked like he was going to call
Jake out again, then decided to take a
gentler tone. “Well yes,” he said. “True
enough. But that’s ’cause Martin pulled
his full rail in the king’s army. Eight
years.”
“And came back mad as a frothing
dog,” Shep said.
Old Cob was already off his stool and
halfway to the door. “Enough talk. We
got to let Jessom know. If he can get out
of town until Martin cools down a bit
…”
“So … when he’s dead?” Jake said
sharply. “Remember when he threw a
horse through the window of the old inn
because the barman wouldn’t give him
another beer?”
“ A tinker?” the innkeeper repeated,
sounding no less shocked than before.
Silence descended at the sound of
footsteps on the landing. Everyone eyed
the door and went still as stone, except
for Bast, who slowly edged toward the
doorway to the kitchen.
Everyone breathed a huge sigh of relief
when the door opened to reveal the tall,
slim shape of Carter. He closed the door
behind him, not noticing the tension in the
room. “Guess who’s standing a round of
bottle whiskey for everyone tonight?” he
called out cheerfully, then stopped where
he stood, confused by the roomful of grim
expressions.
Old Cob started to walk to the door
again, motioning for his friend to follow.
“Come on Carter, we’ll explain on the
way. We’ve got to find Jessom double
quick.”
“You’ll have a long ride to find him,”
Carter said. “I drove him all the way to
Baden this afternoon.”
Everyone in the room seemed to relax,
“That’s why you’re so late,” Graham
said, his voice thick with relief. He
slumped back onto his stool and tapped
the bar hard with a knuckle. Bast drew
him another beer.
Carter frowned. “Not so late as all
that,” he groused. “I’d like to see you
make it all the way to Baden and back in
this time, that’s more’n forty miles …”
Old Cob put a hand on the man’s
shoulder. “Nah. It ain’t like that,” he
said, steering his friend toward the bar.
“We were just a little spooked. You
probably
saved
that
damn
fool’s
Jessom’s life by getting him out of town.”
He squinted at him. “Though I’ve told
you you shouldn’t be out on the road by
yourself these days …”
The innkeeper fetched Carter a bowl
while Bast went outside to tend to his
horse. While he ate, his friends told him
the day’s gossip in dribs and drabs.
“Well that explains it,” Carter said.
“Jessom showed up reeking like a rummy
and looking like he’d been beat by
twelve different demons. Paid me to
drive him to the Iron Hall, and he took
the king’s coin right there.” Carter took a
drink of beer. “Then paid me to take him
to Baden straight off. Didn’t want to stop
off at his house for his clothes or
anything.”
“Not much need for that,” Shep said.
“They’ll dress and feed him in the king’s
army.”
Graham let out a huge sigh. “That was a
near miss. Can you imagine what would
happen if the azzie came for Martin?”
Everyone was silent for a moment,
imagining the trouble that would come if
an officer of the Crown’s Law was
assaulted here in town.
The smith’s prentice looked around at
him, “What about Jessom’s family?” he
asked, plainly worried. “Will Martin
come after them?”
The men at the bar shook their head in
concert. “Martin is crazy,” Old Cob said.
“But he’s not that sort. Not to go after a
woman or her wee ones.”
“I heard he punched the tinker because