The Queen's Librarian (12 page)

Maybe things would look better in the morning. Or at least… different.

“B
UT
if Slade’s not who he says he is,” Lucas said as he tilted his head a little to give Alex better access to that spot just below the ear that made Lucas go all melty, “and if he has nothing to do with Red Bridge, then what was that man Laurie saw doing here?” The man looked too much like Slade, and it was too much of a coincidence. It
had
to have something to do with—

Mm, the rasp of Alex’s beard against Lucas’s skin made tingles stir all over, and the press of Alex’s very firm body was doing a good job of distracting Lucas from the thumping of his head and cheek.

“Shh,” whispered Alex and ran his hand up Lucas’s thigh and then over his ribs, stirring warm shivers that made Lucas sigh. “Think about it tomorrow.”

“Ooh, yes,” Lucas agreed and—
ah
, teeth!—turned a little more into Alex so that Alex’s wandering hand could get around Lucas’s hip and— “
Oh
, that’s… oh, yes please.” Lucas hummed and shut his eyes.

The inn’s bed was old but very soft, and piled with quilts and linens that made Lucas feel like he was floating on a cloud of feathers. Though, that could be because Alex was really very good at this, making Lucas’s blood thump and heat flare all over him. It pounded a little unpleasantly at the cut on his cheek and the lump on his temple, but he thought maybe he could ignore that for… well, Alex was usually good for at least a half an hour. Sometimes more. Sometimes Lucas lost track of time altogether.

He frowned a little.

“D’you suppose your brother is as good at this as you are?”

Because Lucas had given in to the fashionable force of nature that was Alex within hours of having met him. He didn’t like to think that Tress would be quite so weak, but Anson Booker was… no, that thought did not belong in Lucas’s head and he was evicting it right this second.

Alex had gone rather still. “Lucas?”

“Mm?”

“Love?”

“Yes?”

“Worst. Pillow talk. Ever.”

Lucas sighed and dropped a kiss to Alex’s nose in apology. “I’m sorry, I only… well, things are rather….” He waved his hands around. “Things are jumbled just now, and I can’t stop thinking that the whole trip has been a complete waste of time and aggravation, and Mother’s going to be furious about the whole thing if I can’t fix it, so I’m having a difficult time—”

“Lucas.” Alex took hold of Lucas’s hands and pulled them to his own breastbone. “If you ever—and I say this with love—if you ever bring up your mother again while I’m trying to seduce you, I will not be responsible for certain body parts losing their will to live. And I know you’d miss them.”

Well. That was true.

“I’m sorry,” Lucas repeated, and he really was, because the press of Alex against him was the best thing that had happened to him all day, and Alex was the best thing that had happened to him ever, and here he was, not appreciating any of it properly.

He pulled Alex down into a kiss that made them both hum, and shifted his thigh in a way that made Alex chuckle somewhat evilly and push back. And then it was all a mess of sliding hands and seeking fingers and other interesting bits in some unreasonably motivating places that made Lucas’s eyes cross and his mind go blank, nothing at all in his head but
Alex Alex Alex
, and that really was the best thing that had happened to him all day, so he let it all take him and let Alex make him forget about the world entirely.

Which was especially nice, because tonight, Alex was good for much more than half an hour.

H
E
WAS
pleasantly exhausted, pleasantly sore, and Alex was snoring lightly against his ribs. On the verge of sleep himself, Lucas ran lazy fingers through Alex’s dark hair, drowsily trying to muss it a little, and vaguely annoyed when it immediately sprang back again to exactly where it belonged. It really was impossible to disarrange it, Lucas had to acknowledge through his half-awake haze, which was a little sick-making, but in a fond way, which made a lethargic smile twitch at his mouth as he slipped a little further toward sleep. So it was quite annoying for Lucas when his traitorous mind, abruptly and for no apparent reason and without any perceptible prompting, reminded him that he’d forgotten all about the offering to the Green Warden that Miss Emma had packed for him. Just as alarming, he then remembered that Alex had had a game he was supposed to have played that afternoon, and he’d missed it to follow after Lucas on what was looking more and more like an utter waste of time.

Guilt and annoyance washed through Lucas, which was rather the story of his life, so he didn’t groan out loud. He couldn’t fix the fact that Alex had missed his game, but he could at least apologize for being so thoughtless. In the morning. Waking someone up to apologize was probably not the most selfless thing a person could do.

The offering, though—he could still fix that. Because even if he didn’t entirely believe in the Green Warden, if he didn’t make the offering and it ended up raining tomorrow, he’d still feel like it was entirely his fault. A glance out the window showed him thin clouds obscuring an indigo sky—all too familiar these days—and he didn’t actually think that a failure on his part to show the Green Warden his personal respect was going to bring storm clouds and days of rain, but… well, an offering couldn’t hurt.

It took him quite a while to untangle from Alex without waking him. And then it took him another while to find some clothes in the dark, though finding a ribbon to tie back his hair was hopeless. Where the
devil
did they all go anyway? Trying not to grumble too loudly, Lucas gathered up the small traveling case in which he’d tucked the tiny bottle of mead and two sweet rolls. Thus armed, Lucas managed to find his way out of the room in the dark without too much damage to his shins, satisfied that Alex was still snoring when Lucas eased the door shut behind him.

No one snoozed at the desk downstairs, which was a relief, and there was no bell over the door, which was a bigger one. It was chilly outside. Lucas sucked in a long breath through his nose and peered around at the sleeping village of Red Bridge. Like any other village, he supposed. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but now that everything wasn’t happening all at once and he could really look despite the darkness, a touch of inexplicable disappointment colored his mood.

Maybe because he so rarely got out of Orchard Downs, he’d assumed the rest of the world had a great deal more sparkle to it than his part of it did. Maybe because he read so much about other places and other people—some of them exotic or magical or bleak or downright frightening—that he’d somehow assumed he’d be more dazzled. Alex traveled for his father’s business somewhat irregularly, and he always had interesting and exciting things to tell Lucas when he got back; maybe the rest of the world only seemed interesting to Lucas when it was seen through someone else’s eyes.

The tree he found for his offering was only a few minutes’ walk from the inn, down a small winding cow path that looked like it opened out onto a glade, and he could hear running water and the soft lowing of sleepy cattle farther out, but he couldn’t see much in the dark. Sturdy and full though autumn-leafless, the tree boasted a fortunate hollow in its bole where a snarl of roots branched off. Good job he wouldn’t have to go hunting farther in the dark and in a place he didn’t know. Lucas took care to investigate the small breach first before kneeling down in the moss and grass. It wouldn’t do to try to appropriate someone else’s place of offering. Lucas certainly wanted all the blessing he could get, but trying to horn in on someone else’s would be both rude and unfair.

“This is for Rolling Green,” he said out loud. “And the whole of Orchard Downs,” he added as he unwrapped the sweet rolls from one of his mother’s linen napkins and scooted them through the gap in the tree’s rough trunk. “Don’t mistake it for an offering for Red Bridge. Not that you shouldn’t bless Red Bridge,” Lucas hastened to add. “It’s only… well, we really need it, you see. There’s been so much rain, and the harvest is going to start rotting in the fields if we can’t get it done, and the vineyards are already fighting mildew, it’s been just… well, you’d know, I suppose. Perhaps you could send any rain meant for Orchard Downs here to Red Bridge instead?”

If you even exist
, he didn’t add out loud. He did this at least once a week throughout the year at the great red oak in the grove behind the barns at Rolling Green, and it had done a fat lot of good so far this year. His tenuous “belief” in the Green Warden was getting more and more tenuous. Then again, the offerings were always gone when next Lucas returned to make a new one, so who was he to say? Best to err on the side of
snatch every last bit of luck you can get
.

He pulled the wax stopper on the little bottle of mead and tipped a few drops onto the ground before sealing it again and slipping it in beside the sweet rolls.

“That’s from Mister Burke’s own cellars,” he said. “The very best in all of Orchard Downs, and Hunt’s Run, besides. Probably anywhere. I keep telling him he should sell it—the inns and taverns would fall over themselves to buy it—but he keeps telling me…. And you don’t want to hear all this babble, do you?”

Lucas slumped and sighed. Even when he was talking to a superstition, he couldn’t seem to shut up. He bowed his head and clapped his hands together smartly, three times, to get the attention of the Warden, then he stood.

“Please accept this humble offering and look with favor upon Rolling Green and all of Orchard Downs.” He paused then added, “And Red Bridge,” because it just seemed like he should. “On the honor of Lucas Tripp, the blessing with which you favor us shall return to you throughout the coming season of dearth.”

In other words:
You take care of us, we’ll take care of you
. He suspected people had been exchanging this particular promise since there
were
people.

Feeling a bit less like a forgetful ne’er-do-well, Lucas carefully folded his mother’s napkin and tucked it into his jacket pocket. She’d be furious if she knew Miss Emma had let Lucas out of the house with it, which would, of course, make Miss Emma smirk and chortle to herself and make Mother roll her eyes and purse her mouth in a way that never hid the fondness, but still. No sense in stirring unnecessary trouble.

“Ah, the Tripp. No rain?”

The voice, coming from directly behind him and out of the dark like it did, nearly scared Lucas out of his skin. The shriek he loosed as he spun was probably a little high-pitched and girly, but the growl that rumbled in his chest when he saw who’d snuck up behind him was quite robust, in his opinion and all things considered.

Lucas set his teeth. “Mister Scontun—
if
that’s even your name. I’ve several bones to pick with you, it would seem.” He took a bold step in. “What are you doing here? Did you follow me?”

Mister Scontun held up his hand and shook his head. “This ‘follow’ I know not. No rain, I know. I help. I trade.”

“So you
do
know the language.” Lucas felt his chest puff out and his chin lift. “A-
ha
! I knew you were up to something. I was willing to ignore that you broke into my house and not report it to the constables, because I thought you were only a harmless nutter, but I’ve lately had cause to change my opinion.” His eyes narrowed. “Are you Slade’s father? If that’s even
his
real name.”

Mister Scontun was squinting at Lucas through the dark, a decided kink to his brow. “Con-staaa-bull. Nut-ter.” With a shake of his head and a sigh, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out—

“Oh my god!” Lucas nearly choked on his tongue. “Oh my
god
! Is that—?” He snatched the little book out of Mister Scontun’s hand and flipped it open to the inside flap. “It is! Of all the—” He clutched the book to his chest. “This is mine! You stole it!
From my house
!”

His
book of
his
translations from the Daimin, in
his
own writing, and this man had just walked into his house and taken it. The gall was nearly making Lucas hyperventilate.

“‘Stole’,” Mister Scontun repeated then shook his head again. “‘Stole’ I know not. I learn.” He pointed to the book and raised his eyebrows when Lucas twitched backward. “I learn. Key.” He pointed again then reached into another pocket and took out—

“Did you…? Is that…?” Lucas could barely see. The fury and affront were pounding so hard behind his eyes it was beginning to cloud his vision.

“Stole,” said Mister-Scontun-if-that-was-his-real-name, and he flipped open the little book of lexicon that Lucas knew normally sat right beside the vase on his clothespress. “Ah! Stole.” Mister Scontun frowned over a page in the book then clucked his tongue. “No stole.” He looked up at Lucas and smiled. “I take.”

Lucas spluttered. “And when you
take
something without permission, it’s called
stealing
!”

Mister Scontun’s smile fell, and he flipped more pages in the book. “Stealing, stealing….”

“Are you…? Stop looking that up!” Lucas snatched that book away too and waved it between them. “No, I’m not letting you pull the wool over my eyes again.” Mustering every bit of bravery the anger was fueling, he grabbed hold of Mister Scontun’s arm and started dragging him back toward the inn. “Accost me at the Duck, break into my house, steal my things, and I
know
you had something to do with Slade disappearing, so you will come with me and we’ll find a constable and get your arse straightened right out, or I’ll—”

“You stole prince,” Mister Scontun informed Lucas calmly then stopped abruptly and dug in his heels until Lucas was compelled to stop too.

Some concerted tugging and a lot of words he really wasn’t proud of later, Lucas had to admit that he wasn’t going to move Mister Scontun unless Mister Scontun deigned to be moved. Nonetheless, Lucas growled and tugged some more.