Blood in Snow (3 page)

The murmuring group crowded Edmund but retreated a pace when Becky growled.

Edmund again raised his hands to quiet them down.

“The truth is, we need everybody.”

He turned back to the farmhand. “We have land, good land, suitable for corn, wheat, and many other crops. If you can work it, the land is yours.” He raised his hands a third time, cutting off questions he knew would erupt. “But there is a catch!”

“Knew it,” somebody grumbled.

“The catch is this …” Edmund glanced at each of them in turn. “You need to help rebuild the town. After you harvest your crops, you’ll need to share some with your neighbors. We’ll give you as much land as you can work, and we’ll help you get the plows and the horses and the seed you’ll need. But for two years, you help us rebuild. Does that sound fair?”

They all stared.

Gabe waddled into the common room, carrying a stack of tin bowls in one hand, a steaming pot in the other, and several loaves of black bread under each meaty arm. “Tell them about the voting!”

“Let’s focus on one thing at a time.” Edmund examined the group again. “We want two years of you helping your neighbor, then the land is yours—free. There’re no other catches or tricks. Just two years of helping. Is that fair?”

Speechless, they all nodded.

“Yeah,” someone said. “Yeah. That … that’s fair.”

“Okay,” Edmund said while Gabe set bowls onto some of the tables and began filling them with hot tomato soup. “I want you to eat and relax. And then, when you feel up to it, mill about the town, such as it is. I w-w-want, I want you to dream about what this town could be like after a few years of hard work. Think about what it would mean to you and your families to have your own land and your own businesses. Come tomorrow, if you still want to be here, see me, and I’ll help you in any way I can.”

Edmund stepped down from the bench and started to weave his way through the crowd to the front door.

“You ain’t told us your name,” somebody called after him. “Begging your pardon, but … like the other fella said, you don’t look like no lord.”

“I’m afraid Lord Norbert is dead,” Edmund replied. “My name’s Edmund. I’m the governor of the Highlands.”

“Governor?”

“What the hell is that?”

Edmund forced a smile and motioned to the food on the table. “Eat. Relax. And dream! I’ll be here tomorrow to answer all of your questions.”

Edmund closed the door to The Buxom Barmaid and found that the gentleman who’d been sitting in the corner had followed him outside.

“You’re good with a mob,” the newcomer said. “That’s a wonderful skill to have, especially if they ever get ahold of pitchforks and torches.” He petted Becky, apparently unafraid of the large dog. Then he held out his hand. “They call me Vin.” Edmund shook it. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to—”

Edmund motioned for Vin to walk with him. Although the crowd in the tavern was currently pacified, the last thing he wanted was to be around once they’d finished their meals. After that, there’d be hours of questions, and his head still hurt.

“So”—Edmund raised an eyebrow—“they
call
you Vin?” The two walked up the street, men carrying lumber weaving around them. “That’s not your real name?”

The well-dressed man grinned, an affable grin that Edmund immediately liked. “Let’s start there and see how things go.”

“Very wise.”

They stopped to avoid horses dragging a limbless tree trunk. Judging by the amount of wood that had been brought in so far, they’d have enough lumber to build at least two more barracks.

Edmund glanced at Vin, trying to guess what he wanted and how he could help the town.

“So?” Vin said.

“So?” Edmund repeated as they resumed walking.

“You’re sizing me up, trying to figure out what I can do for you and your people.”

Edmund’s stride faltered. “I’m … I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be that obvious.”

Vin laughed, loud and long. “No! Go right ahead. I’d like to know. Take your best guess. The beer is on me if you get it right. And that’s a hint, by the way.” He extended his arms and rotated so Edmund could see all sides of him. “What do you think? Prince or pauper?”

“Well,” Edmund said, appreciating the challenge, “you’re no pauper, that’s for sure. You have high-quality clothes on. N-n-not, not just expensive but functional. So you’re also intelligent. Or at least you’ve journeyed long distances before.”

Vin bowed, hand on his heart. “I’ll accept intelligent. Go on.”

“Judging by your accent, I’d guess you’re from Eryn Mas or the surrounding areas.”

“You’re good,” Vin said, impressed. “Eryn Mas it is. What else? What do I do for a living?”

But the thought of somebody from King Lionel’s capital city tightened Edmund’s stomach, though he didn’t know why. Might Vin actually be a prince? Or some sort of spy? He considered Vin some more. Perhaps this wasn’t just a game. Perhaps it was some sort of important test he needed to pass.

“You’re not a farmer or a laborer,” Edmund said.

“Why not?”

“No sunburn. No calluses on your hands.”

Vin nodded.

“And farmers would work off—” Edmund started to gesture to Vin’s gut, then stopped, embarrassed.

Vin shook his stomach and laughed again. “What’s the saying about a fat farmer? Good at growing, poor at selling?”

A townsman ran up to Edmund, slowing when Becky bared her teeth.

“Excuse me, sir.” He gave Becky a wide, nervous berth. “Don’t mean to interrupt or nothing, but I just wanted to make sure I understood. How many shovels did you say you wanted?”

“As many as you can make. Give them good, sturdy, long handles. These aren’t dirt-digging shovels; they’re shovels for snow. So picture yourself scooping up heavy snow from the ground.” Edmund pretended to shovel the street. “See what I’m getting at?”

“So about a five foot handle?”

“Sounds about right,” Edmund said. “If you and Toby can make twenty of them, we’ll be in good shape.”

“Twenty?”

“Do you want to shovel all by yourself?”

“No sir! Twenty it is. I’ll go tell the boy.”

“Man.”

“Beg your pardon?”

“Toby’s a man. Don’t treat him any differently because he’s on the young side. We all deserve respect here, understand?”

“Yes sir. He’s a good one. I didn’t mean any offense.”

“Don’t call him a boy again and none will be taken.”

“Yes sir.” The townsman saluted, though a bit unnerved, and ran off through a crowd. Other men were approaching, all clearly wanting to speak with Edmund.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Vin?” Edmund asked, trying not to sound put off.

Vin watched the people close in. “It looks like you’re busy, you having a town to build and all. I’ll tell you what. If you can make your way to the stables later, I’ll show you what I can do for you and everybody here. I promise I can help in ways that you wouldn’t expect.” Then he added in a confidential tone, “Trust me!” He winked.

At least twenty townsfolk now surrounded Edmund. Vin, backing away, pointed to where a handful of horses were corralled and gave a thumbs-up. Edmund nodded and was immediately bombarded by questions.

By the time Edmund had waded through the endless stream of questions, evening was setting in. Men were stopping after a long day’s work and heading to The Buxom Barmaid, out of which laughter was already trickling. Even from several blocks away, Edmund could smell the wonderful meal Gabe had waiting for them. His stomach rumbled. Reluctant to keep his promise, he made his way to the new stables and found Vin sitting on a wagon full of casks, grinning at him.

“I d-d-don’t … I don’t have much time,” Edmund said, rubbing his stiff neck, which hurt as badly as his head. “What can I do for you?”

Someone shouted Edmund’s name from a few streets over. Edmund gave a weary wave, groaning. Vin handed him a brightly painted stein.

“So. What can I do for you, Mr. Vin?” Edmund asked again, trying to sound politer and more upbeat than at their first meeting. Without thinking, he took a drink from the stein. Immediately his expression changed from annoyance to amazement. He looked at the stein, unsure of how it had gotten into his hand, and took another drink.

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.”