Blood in Snow (4 page)

“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?”

“Well, sir. It’s just … there seems to be something different about him, this brewer—Vin, or whatever he calls himself. I can’t put my finger on it. He’s just different. That’s all I can say.”

“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 had 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.

“All right!” Edmund yelled over the growing commotion. “All right!”

The restless crowd had been promised their allotment of beer after the town meeting was finished and Edmund wondered if he should simply just step off the table and let them drink.

“There’s one, one more thing,” Edmund said, “that I want to discuss with you b-before we get to tonight’s merriment. Please … quiet down!”

“Shut up!” Hendrick shouted.

The crowd quieted.

They all stared up at him.

Edmund cleared his throat.

“Over the past few months … well, that is to say, I’ve become very fond of all of you.”

The room erupted with cheers and whistles.

“And we you!” many cried out.

“Okay, okay.” Edmund waved his hands to shush them. “I’ll keep it short.” He took a deep breath. “Some of you may remember our former lord, Lord Norbert …”

There was a collective groan.

“Lord Drunkard, more like it,” somebody said.

“Good riddance!”

“We don’t need any stinking nobility here!”

Another tremendous roar went up.

“Shut up!” Hendrick shouted even louder.

“M-m-many,” Edmund went on when they had quieted down again, “many of you already know this, but I don’t want any secrets among us. We’re all family.”

A man in the middle of the common room suddenly applauded but stopped when somebody slapped him across the top of the head.

“Anyway,” Edmund said, “Norb was a bit … well, he was a bit jealous of me. You see, I … I loved his wife.”

Upon seeing their reactions, Edmund immediately corrected himself.

“That is to say, I’d loved her since we were young children, but nothing ever came of it. She didn’t feel the same way. She just wanted to be friends.”

Those last words made Edmund’s throat tighten.

Some of the men seemed to understand his feelings completely.

Edmund took a drink of water to steady himself. His sweaty hands trembled.

“Anyway, Norb was the jealous sort. And, and he … he started some rumors about me. Bad rumors.”

“What did he say?”

Edmund hesitated. “He said … that I was a w-witch.”

He waited for their response.

Most of them rolled their eyes. False accusations weren’t unheard of, and everybody in the room seemed to know it.

So far, so good …

Edmund took another deep, uneven breath. “Anyway, this is our home, and I want everybody to be welcome here. I don’t care if you’ve been accused of witchcraft or whatever.”

Still no negative response.

“If you work hard and help each other … then you’re welcome here.”

People nodded.

“Everybody
.
” Edmund stressed this word. “Everybody is welcome, if they help their neighbors.”

“What if they can’t help out their neighbors?” somebody called out from the back. “What if somebody’s sick?”

“Or hurt?”