Ulf met them with a grin and a bag of silver, and set two of his sons to unloading the wain of its pelts while Olin and Ulf chatted, mostly about mead and sore heads.
A woman entered the yard as they were talking, tall and stern-faced, an otter pelt cloak about her shoulders. Two men walked a step behind her, both muscled and scarred, belts brimming with axe and knife.
‘Hildith.’ Drem nodded a greeting. She ran Kergard’s mead-hall, had helped build it with her own hands and was one of the original members of the Assembly.
‘Still alive, then,’ Hildith said to Drem and Olin.
‘Aye,’ Drem said.
Just, as he thought of the white bear.
‘Forgive me, but I cannot stand here in conversation,’ Hildith said, pulling a sour face. ‘The smell is too much. I’ve come for my new boots and cloak, Ulf.’
Ulf ran to fetch them and Olin led Drem back to their wain, now unloaded.
‘Come see me at the mead-hall and tell me your trappers’ tales,’ Hildith called after them.
Olin raised a hand.
‘A good deal,’ Drem said to his da as he drove the wain out of the tanner’s yard, wheels bouncing now the load was lighter. They turned into a wide street, where clouds of steam were hissing from the roof of Calder the smith.
‘Huh,’ Olin grunted, making Drem frown. His da had been like this since they had found that lump of black rock in the elk pit – distant, quiet, uneasy, no matter how hard he tried to hide it.
It is the starstone that worries him so, if that is what it is. I do not blame him; I am worried, too. Despite his da’s reasons for taking and keeping the lump of black rock, Drem thought it would be better for all if they took it and buried it again, or dumped it in the Starstone Lake.
‘Here,’ Olin said, pointing, and Drem whistled and pulled on the reins. They were at the market square, all manner of tents and stalls selling a variety of goods. Drem followed his da round and listened as Olin bartered and haggled, Drem carrying each purchase back to the wain. It was not long before the cart was groaning with the weight of grain sacks, barrels of salted meat and fish, and a fair few skins of stoppered mead. Olin had also bought a crate of ten chickens and two goats, who were now tethered to the wain.
A group of men were standing close to the cart, seven or eight of them, some trappers by the look of them, clothed in furs and deer-skin, knives and axes hanging from their belts.
One of their number, a man with red wisps for a beard, was prodding the butt-end of a spear at the feet of Drem’s new goats, making them dance. He was finding it much funnier than Drem considered it to be.
Drem loaded a huge round of cheese into the wain, looking at Wispy Beard.
‘They don’t like that,’ Drem said.
‘They must do, or they wouldn’t be dancing,’ Wispy said, laughing so hard at his joke he started coughing and choking. One of the men with him, hooded face in shadow, touched his arm and Wispy raised a hand.
‘All right, I’ll stop then,’ he said, ‘if you think they’re all danced out.’
A ripple of chuckles through his companions.
‘Thank you,’ Drem said, remembering his da’s advice to always be polite.
The hooded man looked at Drem. He appeared to be bald beneath the hood of his cloak; Drem did see a scar running across one cheek, through the edge of the man’s mouth to his jaw, giving him a permanent scowl.
‘We’re new to town,’ the hooded man said. ‘Heard there was a mine nearby, needing men.’
‘Aye, that’ll be up to the north of the lake,’ Drem said. ‘Easy to find.’
‘And somewhere to wet our dry throats while we’re here?’ Wispy asked.
‘Hildith’s mead-hall – that way.’ Drem pointed, then he headed back to the market.
There were new faces everywhere, some amongst the traders, but mostly those who were walking the market streets looking to buy rather than sell. Olin was talking to a stall holder about it when Drem returned.
‘Feels crowded for the north,’ Olin was saying.
‘Aye,’ the trader said, Asger, a short, round man, his forearms so hairy Drem could hardly see the skin beneath. ‘Lots of new faces in Kergard, holds springing up all over. And there’s that mine on the north shore of the lake. A few faces have disappeared, though.’ He leaned closer to Olin, glancing left and right. ‘I don’t mean packed up and moved on. I mean gone. Just vanished. If it was all newcomers I’d put it down to them not respecting a winter in the north. But it’s some of the townsfolk, too, ones that have been here years, like Hakon and his brood. They’re gone. Cattle still in the barn, all their belongings still there.’
He tugged on a bushy beard.
‘I’ve heard wolven howling at night. Maybe a pack’s come down from the Bonefells . . .’
‘Could be,’ Olin said, looking thoughtful.
‘Not complaining about the newcomers,’ Asger continued. ‘It’s good for business. Though sometimes it’s not.’ Asger looked both ways and leaned close again, dropping his voice. ‘Thieving’s becoming a problem. Was a time when I didn’t need to lock my barn doors. Wouldn’t dream of leaving them open, now. It’s those new miners. Not the same as good, honest trappers, if you ask me.’
Drem snorted. He’d met many a trapper that would have happily put a knife in his back to take his furs, a few had tried, though his da had taught them the error of that decision.
‘Though they’ve hired their own trappers to keep them fed and clothed. They’re more like thieves, I reckon.’
Drem would have liked to stay and hear more, but his da loaded him up with a barrel of apples and so he trudged back to the wain. He thought about what Asger had said, about thieving, thought about those men near the wain and resolved to wait there until his da was finished in the market.
As he turned a corner and the wain came into view he saw a woman in the street, pale yellow hair revealed as the hood of a cloak blew back in the wind. It was Fritha, his new neighbour, a large basket of latticed willow hooked over one arm. She didn’t see Drem, as she looked to someone calling out to her: Wispy Beard, part of the group of trappers and miners that Drem had seen.
‘Need some help with that?’ Wispy said, stepping close to Fritha.
Drem didn’t hear what Fritha said, but Wispy didn’t seem to like it, stepping in front of her, blocking her way. She tried to go around him but he mirrored her, stepped with her. Some of his companions laughed. Drem put his barrel of apples in the wain, looking over his shoulder at Fritha.
Words passed between Wispy and Fritha, unheard but clearly angry in nature. Then Wispy slapped the basket, emptying its contents onto the ground. Red berries.
Berries picked from the woods, to sell in the market? Drem thought.
Fritha crouched down to scoop them back into her basket and Wispy raised a boot to stamp on them.