George Martin - Rogues

Bast paled at that. “By all the gorse no, Reshi,” he said, waving his hands in front of himself and taking a step 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.”