With sunset coming on, the interior of the inn was dim and a middle-aged woman made her way around it and lit bundles of oil-soaked rag in clay dishes. These added a smoky tang of linseed oil to the cooking smells in the room; the floor had good fresh rushes on it, though, and the hearth was cheery.
‘Bean soup with ham,’ the woman said, calling from where she ladled two bowls full from a big iron pot hanging over the coals. ‘There’s sweet cider, hard cider, ale and small beer. Cider mulled, if you want it. You’ll be hungry, travelling far. From Land’s End?’ She set the crockery bowls down before them, and rounds of bread, butter, cheese and onions with them, and a wooden dish of sea-salt.
‘Yes,’ Flora said. ‘I . . . live with my Aunt Cleora, in Land’s End. Mulled cider for me.’
Tael came back in, stepping out of his pattens, his feet crunching on the cut river-reeds that covered the floor which gave a pleasant green scent, for they’d been mixed with pungent herbs and flowers that gave off a scent of dried memory, like hay.
‘Cleora Winsley, that would be,’ he said, catching what she said. ‘Karl Winsley’s wife, and Yardley Heywood’s daughter?’
‘Yes,’ Flora said, a little surprised. It’s nice to have a family people know, too, she thought.
‘I’ve done business with Karl Winsley,’ Tael said. ‘Buying hops.’ He looked at Lorrie. ‘And Bram is your friend?’
‘We’re neighbours,’ Lorrie said. ‘His . . . his horse came back to Land’s End, saddle empty and an arrow in it. I’m staying with Mistress Winsley. We came to see if he’s all right.’
‘I can’t tell you,’ Tael said.
His wife returned with mugs made of turned maple, and an iron rod with a wooden handle; the tip of the metal glowed white-red.
‘Thanks, pet,’ Tael said.
He took the mulling iron from her and plunged it into Flora’s cider. The drink bubbled and seethed, hissing as the metal quenched; the iron had gone dark when he removed it a moment later, but it was still hot enough to make him cautious as he returned it to the hearth. A pleasant smell of apples and spices rose; Flora sipped cautiously.
Tael took a long drink of his beer as he came back, and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, taking the last of the foam from his moustache, thinking hard. Flora spooned up some of her soup—she was hungry, and it smelled good—and ripped apart one of the small loaves for dunking. It was hot enough to steam slightly, and good wheat bread, nearly white.
‘Well, as to young Bram, he stopped here for food about noon couple o’ days ago,’ Tael said abruptly, like a man who’d been ordering his thoughts. ‘Nice lad, polite, for all he’s from Relling way. Sorry.’
‘No offence,’ Lorrie said; a small smile quirked at the corner of her mouth.
‘And he came looking for a young lad named Rip, who he thought would have been in the company of two men, and maybe not happy about it.’
Flora and Lorrie nodded. The innkeeper hesitated and drank again, then nodded as if to himself after some internal dialogue.
‘Well, I’d seen no such boy,’ he said. ‘But I had seen two men who might have been the ones he were looking for, you see.’ Another hesitation, then: ‘Men-at-arms from the manor; men of the Baron’s. Skinny and Rox, they’re called; gallows-bait. I soldiered a bit myself when I was younger, and I met enough like them; ready-for-aughts, if aught were somethin’ that meant money for no work, but not the sorts a good captain would have in his troop, or ones that a wise comrade would trust with his purse or back, if you takes me meaning?’ They nodded. ‘I told your Bram that much, for he seemed a good enough sort, and they’re no friends of mine, for all they spend their pay here. Then he thanked me, polite-like, and rode up north toward the lord’s hall. The next we see is his horse running south; we tried to catch it and couldn’t. Didn’t think to lure it with grain until it was half-way down the road to Land’s End. Glad it got back to you; I’d have sent word had I caught the beast.’
Lorrie had no doubt he meant that, but she knew country ways and ‘sending word’ would be to mention to a passing wagon driver heading towards the city that he’d found a horse, just in case someone came looking.
‘And next evening, in come Rox and Skinny, laughing, and spending free—a roast goose between them, and everything of the best. Wine and beer and spirits, and I had to send Bessa to bed early.’
Flora looked at Lorrie, and their hearts sank. Lorrie leaned close and whispered, ‘Rip’s here . . . not far at all. Close.’
‘And if Rip is, and these two men are, maybe Bram is too.’ Unless he’s dead, Flora thought. And that would be a pity. He’s sweet, and pretty as a picture. And Lorrie’s a friend, I wouldn’t want her to lose her man before she’s even had him.
Tael observed the byplay, crunching an onion between strong yellow teeth. ‘Thing is . . .’ he said when they looked at him.
‘Yes?’ Lorrie said eagerly.