CY 579, Coldeven 10 (Moonday)
Slightly later
Askyrkja was back in the Coster House soon afterwards, still shaking off the embarrassment and humiliation of having been made such a fool; all she could do at the time was to escape as quickly and cleanly as possible, though the shame still reddened her. Stupid Southerners! She would have liked to have pitched a pin back at one of them. Huffing, she ducked into the kitchen. It was spotless – or as near as she could make it.
The counters had been soaped and scrubbed, the buckets sterilized several times – she'd hurled one hopeless case into the alley behind the front building but the rest had survived and she used them to collect water from the well nearby, where she would meet and talk to various other charwomen and fetch-girls, learning something of the idiosyncracies of the neighbourhood, and even of her own co-workers. The pots and pans had been cleansed and hung, utensils cleaned and knives sharpened; and it was her day to do the midday meal.
The tun of salt pork she'd turned her nose up at; there was a less than pleasant semi-briny smell from it and more than once she'd pondered simply rolling it into the river, though she suspected Orvil would disapprove. She lit the small stove-fire, fetched water and soon had a big pot of diced turnip and onion on the boil, and another pot of sauce made from the cream, salt, garlic, pepper, paprika and a few other spices, and even some juice squeezed from a yellow fruit she'd never seen before – a suggestion from a shopgirl named Amy who worked in the river pilot's office. Meanwhile, she plucked, cleaned and chopped the chickens, scored their meat and doused them with the sauce. Then she put them each on a pan and roasted them fiercely in the oven until clear juices dripped fire into the embers.
When they were done, she carefully fished the pan out with kitchen towels on her hands, drained the vegetables, poured them into the pan and brought it out into the dinner hall.
All the lads were there and they looked up expectantly. Reflexively she looked down; no one made eye contact with a mere thrall. But instead of scowls, they were smiling, and some of them sniffing the air excitedly.
And she was not a thrall. Askyrja squared her shoulders and raised her head. 'Lunch!' she said proudly, setting the pan down, adding a sprinkle of salt and dried chives and using a knife and ladle to pass around portions. 'There,' she said.
They looked down at their food; Ninfel stared as if he'd never seen such a thing before. Colson sprang to action, sawing off a corner of chicken and sticking it in his mouth. His eyes widened as he chewed and he began devouring his plate as fast as he could.
Askyrja smirked with triumph as the others dug in and soon the Coster House's feasting hall was full of the noises of excited, hungry men.
'Miss Askyrja,' Orvil said when they were done, 'That fair brought tears to my eyes, and not like when Albrecht does the cooking. What you did was a touch, a veritable touch, it was: a touch of what makes a home.' She lowered her eyes demurely as the others murmured assent. 'To Miss Askyrja – our good luck charm,' Orvil said, and they repeated it, raising their mugs. She did the same and they toasted together.
And Askyrja, at last, was happy.
And so it went for a little while, at least.
CY 579, Coldeven 15 (Starday)
There had been surprising changes at Walder's Wains.
Cleaned and spruced, the Coster seemed almost revitalized and rare was the day that Orvil did not comment on it with the greatest approval. And as if by some mystical sea-change, the now clean and orderly place seemed to attract more interest – as did their curious and comely new employee. Men dropped by to make orders and the wagons of Walder's Wains were busier than ever, though it did take effort to usher them out of the front-room.
Askyrja had settled well into her new position as bookkeeper, errant-runner, housemaid and chief – but not sole – cook.
Such diverse roles had her hopping. When she was not in in the front office, taking orders – which seemed to be piling up – she was shopping, cooking, cleaning floors and windows. But still and all, it was not a life of such drudgery: her hours were not so long and here she received pay for her work and more – respect. Orvil and the lads bestowed on her such thanks, such kindness that she found herself blushed with appreciation. Even Albrecht began to thaw to her a little. She always made sure to smile, and to laugh at his dry jokes, even when she didn't quite understand them.
She gazed north, taking a long breath as her mother, sister and brother crossed her mind. She wondered what they were doing now, or if they were even alive. She'd known she was leaving them behind and defenceless but she hadn't even had time to send them a warning; she'd hoped that Bjorn or Felix would have done that, though she was fairly sure that Bjorn at least had not. If she'd stayed, she'd have been condemned to death, and it was at least as like that Orvung would have killed her family right alongside her just as punishment. Ironically, fleeing might have improved her mother's odds: what good was it to murder her family members if she'd fled and left them all behind? She'd prayed for her family's lives and souls many times, hoping they were safe. Would her father kill his innocent children and their mother, over her? But the Fates had woven out their threads and what was done was done.
Would her family have hesitated to escape on her account? Kara had spoken often of escaping back to her people and Askyrja had a strange presentiment that she hadn't necessarily included her children in her fantasizing. Then again, all her children been gotten on her more or less in acts of conquest. Who truly would want such reminders?
Bjorn had not commanded her. He'd been gentle, kind, even thoughtful, with his touches, his soft kisses, the presents he brought her and –
No. NO. She was not going to think of that. He had made his choice, and now he was with the gods – or in Hel, preferably. 'Traitor,' she hissed in fury under her breath, bright teeth bared.
'Askyrja?' Bail asked, looking surprised.
'What?' she said, looking up. She was in the kitchen, where she'd been teaching Bail to make a proper stew. 'Oh,' she said. 'Nothing. You are doing very well,' she added, looking over his dicing.
On other days, she carried on helping Orvil with the books; she felt truly sorry for him, as his eyesight truly was degenerating. She began to take especial note of those who still owed the Coster and was surprised to see that it was adding up into quite a tidy sum. 'How can they be made to pay?' she asked Orvil one day, scowling with affront as she scanned the list of delinquents she'd made.
If it had been her people, there would have been blood for such insolence; maybe even a hall-burning, which was a serious crime. But Orvil seemed to take it in stride. 'The price of doing business,' he sighed. Askyrja instead took it as an almost personal insult against her new 'clan' and privately seethed whenever she saw the non-payers or their establishments around town, which Colson found very amusing when they were next out on deliveries. 'Cuthbert's Coat, Askyrja, you're taking it harder than we are!' he exclaimed as they passed a hardware store that Askyrja knew for a fact owed eight sheaves, eleven spires fivepence. 'It's just business. It's how it is.'
'It is owings and they owe us,' she growled in a sudden burst of savagery, brows furrowed in outrage. 'They should be made to pay.' Her fist clenched reflexively.
Colson laughed though he did feel a momentary alarm at the almost feral look on her face. 'That's – just the way it is. Some as pay, some don't, and some's you could do without.'
'In my country, blood would be spilled for such an outrage,' she said, glaring at the building. As if sensing something in the air, the stockboy sweeping their front looked up, met her eyes and promptly shrank away in alarm.
'Easy now; that's just a lad!' Colson said soothingly, patting her arm. Her anger had seemed out of place before, but now appeared natural, integral, as if had always been there, just below the surface. From where had it emerged? 'Is Rhizia truly such a savage place?' he asked.
Up in the supper hall, in the evenings when the fire burned low, Askyrja had entranced them all with stories spun of her homeland: of swirling snowstorms, evil goblins, terrible giants and huge, fire-breathing dragons, as her face glowed crimson in the red light of the coals and her tales never failed to set the hairs of his nape on end. Colson's Grampy had told him tales of monsters when he was a child, and of course he'd heard tell about the green dragon of the Gnarled Woods but no story he'd ever heard was like these and Askyrja made no bones about how she'd heard them direct from the doers. It put a positive chill up Colson's spine to think of great fire-drakes crashing down on frozen mountainsides, talons like swords, faced by warriors of iron and ice with great axes and gleaming spears; and there had been brutal tales of other kinds, that she had been reluctant to relate, but had not shied away from.
'Yes,' Askyrja said. 'It is not like here. There are many dangers there, and they are not far away.' The year before she'd run a horde of orcs and goblins ten thousand strong had swarmed out of the Gorusk Mountains just east of the Schnabel. Her father's herliđ had met them between two hills just over their border into the Dwarvish uplands near the headwaters of the Hjalslaken. The two armies had clashed swords over a frozen brook, spears and arrows flying. Orvung's warriors had begun carving them down like ripe wheat, and then his phalanx of shield-chewing baresarkars had sprung screaming into them.
The goblinoids had broked and fled and the Northerners pursued them into the hills, finally running into another force: this one a clan of frost-giants from an upland steading, and then the real battle had begun. The Schnai warriors had attacked uphill into the teeth of the giants and the remains of their goblin allies, their swords soaked with black and red. Her father, a terrifying spectre maddened with battle-lust, had fought the frost giant chieftain man-to-man and taken his head. The others fell, one by one, and then the Schnai were alone on the field of frozen blood and ice. The year before that, ogres had tried to block the land-route to Granrud and Orvung's hunters – including Bjorn – had chased them down. Three years before that a great kraken had plied the waters around the Vatun's Teeth until it could be harpooned and dragged into the shallows to be slain by men with pikes. Yes, her homeland was dangerous; only the Schnai could survive and thrive there. 'Sounds harsh, Askyrja,' Colson said grimly.
'There is no room for weakness,' she shrugged. 'Only strength matters. Your people call mine barbarians – ' she knew what those few Verboncians who had heard of Rhizian said about them ' – but there is no other way to survive there.' And they said nothing for a time.
'Well… I'm sure glad you're here an' not there, at least,' Colson said as they pulled up outside a potter's studio; the back was piled high with small crates of clay, and alumina, flux and silica for glaze, and sacks of powder for colours. He hopped down, tying up Ban's reins to the post.
'Been waiting for this, Colson Carter. You're days late!' a heavyset man grumped from the door of his dusty shop. He had an apron stained red with clay and smears on his thick forearms and his beard. He seemed about to growl something else, then stopped and stared when he saw Askyrja fetching boxes out of the back of the cart.
'Oh – sorry about that, Garfeld,' Colson said, hiding a little smirk as the carpenter caught sight of the beautiful Suel girl. 'Somethin' happening out around Eglath, slowed shipments down a bit; army around an' everythin'. Damn weird; but them easterners are a weird lot anyway if you ask me.'
'What?' Garfeld grunted, not having quite listened. 'Oh. Well, you just… er – don't – ' He stopped talking to watch Askyrja; she smiled warmly at him as she carried the boxes in through his door. He leaned down to whisper to Colson. 'Who's that?'
Colson frowned as if he hadn't understood. 'Oh! That's Askyrja. She's staying with us up at the Coster House.'
'She is?' Garfeld peered after her, craning his thick neck.
'Well… for now,' Colson said sadly. 'I jus' hope we kin afford t' keep her. Way Orvil figgers it, we kin only hold onto 'er if we manage t' get in all the overdue accounts.' He shook his head sadly. 'Fat chance o' that,' he sighed heavily, then looked up at Garfeld. 'Take you, fer example: I reckon yer into us for… what was it, Askyrja?' he asked as she hurried by.
'Three sheaves, two spires sixpence,' she said quickly, going to the back of the cart again.
'Aye, there it is,' Colson sighed again. 'I jus' hope as we can scrape enough t'gether ter – '
'Just a moment,' Garfeld said, hurrying into his shop. 'I'll see about that money.'
'Yeah, you just do tha',' Colson said dryly.
They made several stops at delinquents' shops that day, Askyrja employing a little charm where she could – and sometimes a kind of stubborn refusal to leave until they were paid in full, which took their subjects a little aback – coupled with Colson's judgemental diplomacy. A surprising number of them paid out, though whether it was Colson and Askyrja's mixed strategy – a sort of good Watchman-bad Watchman approach – that was responsible or whether it sprang from the general wish of Verboncians not to be embarrassed in front of a foreigner was never precisely clear. One smithy coughed up just over twelve wheatsheaves, and one woman apothecary that Colson suspected of being a witch was unmoved by either method and was consequently marked down as Cut Off. Colson checked off each account as they went.
'Had ourselves a banner morning, Askyrja,' he smirked in satisfaction that afternoon, leaning back in his chair. They were in the Maiden – Veera's Voluptuous Maidens, of a name – Colson's favourite place. Askyrja felt it was nice enough: it was raining but they were under of the lavishly painted balconies rather than in the open main floor, and they had their own table though it was a little scratched and sticky. The Maiden didn't have the wondrous magical blue lanterns from the Eel that left a hazy glow in the air, but it was noontime anyway so that they weren't necessary. She wasn't sure such delicate magical things would have been a good idea in the Maiden anyway, since she'd heard that it got a little unruly after dark. The food was good enough, but she was sure she had identified a very different reason that drew Colson here. 'We generally do one o' these collection sweeps every couple months, but this time we got near twice as much as usual. I don't reckon Orvil'd ever thought he was goin' t' see all that back!' Nor would he, in fact, for Colson had taken a small portion of the proceeds and got a simple lunch out for them – on the Coster, and he'd insisted. She'd blushed and gratefully agreed, happy for the unexpected reward.
Askyrja smiled pleasantly at her companion as she sank her teeth into a steaming chicken breast soaked in butter and spices. The weeks of rest – for so she considered Verbobonc, comparatively – had done her a world of good: she felt stronger, invigorated, almost as though the events of the last weeks were just some mad dream. They made a variety of small talk on the weather, the future, and what would follow for the business in the summer. 'How are you getting on with Albrecht?' Colson ventured between chewing. 'He's allus been a bit… grumpy, I guess. Does grate on folks a bit.'
'He likes his rules,' she said, shrugging, 'though that is not my way.' Albrecht had been – better. He would speak to her, though mostly regarding work, and while he was not exactly friendly neither was he unkind. 'He seems to thaw to me,' she shrugged, and that was as good as it was for a start.
What she didn't care at the moment though were the cold glares their pretty young server kept giving her. When the girl had brought their food, she'd nearly dropped Askyrja's on the table and it was nearly cold and twice she'd jostled her when she was going past them, performing no duties the Northern girl could see needed doing. Askyrja was beginning to think all those things had not been accidents, and the warm, friendly smiles she kept giving Colson suggested a possible motive.
In fact, her cursory examination found that all of the barmaids at the Maiden were rather pretty – though, she thought conceitedly, not so pretty nor shapely as her – which she suspected was also intentional, and probably the main reason Colson preferred the Maiden. Hadn't he said when they'd first met that she could 'do very well here'? She glanced over towards the bar; their server had a troubled look and was huddled with a short, saucy brunette who gave Askyrja a waspish glare, and a tall glowering blonde. 'I do not think I agree with you,' Askyrja suddenly said, returning their scowls.
Colson looked up. 'Eh?'
'I do not think I could work here,' Askyrja clarified. The short brunette crossed her arms, raised an eyebrow and cocked her hip defiantly at Askyrja as if daring her to say something. Askyrja frowned suspiciously at the froth on her drink; was it possible that one of them had spat in it?
'Well, anyway, it's good of ye to understand,' Colson said, not following her. 'He's… he's a pain in the ar- I mean, in the behind, tho' I don't like to use that sort o' language. He don't like me as I'm a bit young!' he grumbled suddenly. 'He don't think I got the maturity and responsibility t' do this job!'
Askyrja remembered he'd been talking about Albrecht and smiled sympathetically. 'Pay him no mind. He is a fool not to value you because of your age; you saved me, did you not?' Fairly, she probably would just have walked to town, but Colson stopping by the roadside had stayed the pain of her broken heart for a time, and for that too she was grateful. 'He is just – how do you say it, miserable? – because he is getting old.' Colson was young but did not seem incompetent and had an impressive array of responsibilities. Perhaps he would be groomed to take over after all?
She looked over: the brunette server was being comforted by the angry maid, confirming Askyrja's suspicions. She sighed; she had no designs on Colson but it was probably useless to tell the girl so. He'd made numerous compliments to her throughout the dinner, ranging from her hair to her personality, which Askyrja had graciously accepted, though she would not let them go to her head. Askyrja was no fool and so she was not ignorant of his interest, but while he was very sweet and generous and even handsome in his way – and a little daring to have brought her here – he was young, and it was just not the time. The wounds of Bjorn were too fresh, too deep, and she had no way and no experience to think her sorrows through; she was just not ready for another man. Love was nothing but pain anyway, she thought miserably. How would a new man change that? She did not want to escape bondage only to become some man's bed-warmer until she ended up pregnant.
Moreover she had achieved a rarity of circumstance never found among her own people for a thrall – or a woman, she thought bitterly – freedom! She could do as she wished here, including chosing her own mate, if indeed she ever chose any again; she could make her own life here. The job and the money she'd stolen would keep her for a long while still, and she would be careful.
'That's a good one!' Colson suddenly laughed, jolting her back into the conversation. 'I hadn't thought o' that. Albrecht's not as old as Orvil but he's no lamb, either – I'll say that to him next time he goads me! Thankee, Askyrja!' And to her surprise he enthusiastically tapped his wine horn on hers, almost knocking it over, then lifted his own cup. 'T' new and clever friends!' He drank deep and Askyrja followed him.
She licked her lips and then a nagging question burst out that she'd been wanting to ask for weeks. 'Colson, why do you speak up for me? Why did you help me? Truly you did not know me. I am a stranger.'
Colson said nothing for a while, only sitting and thinking in his chair. 'My ma… was allus a good judge of character, and she passed that on to me, I reckon.' He gave her a look. 'What I sees in you is – ' he shrugged, ' – a beautiful girl with a good heart – mebbe broken, but no less'n fer all that – as just needs some help. I wasn't lying when I told the others ye were a nice girl; I knew it was so. I just felt as I had to do summat; couldn't just leave you there cryin' on th' road, so I stopped t' get yer.'
He shrugged. 'Mind, a lot of blokes would help you out, and Verbobonc's a decent place by and large, but not everyone is so… nice. Y' know? The Watch and Knights and is all fine – though I don't trust em' – but there's even some here as'd do you a harm if they needed to or wanted to,' he said solemnly. 'Some as would give you their shirt off their own back – and some as'd steal yours if you'd nothing else between you and the wind.'
She frowned. 'What are you saying?'
He shrugged. 'I dunno. Just that – well, like I sayed before, there's things changin' hereabouts an'… some days I dunno what's to happen next. I reckon… we all has to be ready for things not t' be like they was before. Different things. Change. It's allus scary.' He frowned and scratched his head. 'I 'spect I'm not makin' myself clear. I guess… just mind, is all. Just mind yerself. An' – I'll help mind ye, too; never doubt.'
They ate and drank – probably a little more heartily than they ought – and had a very merry dinner. Finally, Colson poured the last of his ale down his throat and wiped his mouth with the napkin, which he left on the table. 'That were proper,' he said reluctantly. 'Time we should be off.' Askyrja was flattered when he offered his arm to walk her back to the cart, then realized he needed a bit of steadying himself. 'That was a good day, Askyrja. Loads delivered, a bit learned – and great company,' he said with a slight slur.
'I cannot believe it worked so well,' she said demurely. 'Thankyou for bringing me.'
'Not at all! I don't think Orvil was ever as pushy as he ought to be on the delinquent accounts,' Colson chuckled as they reached the cart, then shook his head. 'Anyhows,' he said more slowly and with feeling, 'I reckon I had t' best of it, about town w' a beautiful girl on me arm,' he smiled at her. 'Hullo Ban, old chum; have a good feed, did ye?' They'd left Ban with some hay and water, and the donkey turned morose eyes on him, jaws making lazy circular movements.
'Colson,' Askyrja began awkwardly, then noticed Ban's look seemed less morose and more pained. She frowned and cocked her head, studying his eyes, his posture. 'Something is wrong with Ban,' she said, suddenly sober. She knelt down. 'I think there is something in his hoof.'
Colson frowned and knelt beside her. 'Hey, 'e's holdin' it funny; summat is wrong.' The donkey was standing a little unusually, favouring his right front hoof over his left. Colson lifted that leg and tucked it between his own to hold it in place. He probed the frog of the hoof with his fingers. 'Cuthbert's Cuff,' he said in astonishment, digging a sharp rock out and flicking it aside. 'It was jammed just under the hoof! Y' knaw horses, too?'
Askyrja shrugged. She knew a little, true, but she was hardly a groom or even a farrier. 'I… understand animals,' she said vaguely. 'And they me. I don't know how; perhaps it is because they are slaves now, as I once was.' She stroked the donkey's nose again and he wiggled his head at her, making her giggle.
'Best be careful, Askyrja,' Colson said. 'That's twice now I've heard ye laugh today. Any more an' I might think ye was happy.'
She stood and grinned shyly. 'I… suppose. I do feel better.' She looked around. 'This is a good place, a peaceful place. It begins to feel… like home.'
'Really? Can't have been much of a boat, then.' Colson teased as he finished rubbing and massaging Ban's hoof, ignoring Askyrja's embarrassed frown. 'Well, there we are, good as new.' Colson grinned, dusting off Ban's hoof and giving it a last check. 'Cooking, counting, animal 'usbandry – is there anything ye don't do?'
'Kissing strange men,' Askyrja said with a sad smile. She blushed and played with her hair nervously as the words started to spill out of her. 'I – I wished to speak to you before. Colson… I am so sorry – about the kiss. That was not fair to you. I – I was just so happy, and so grateful that it just – '
But he held up a hand. 'It's all right, Askyrja,' he said solemnly, tucking his fingers in his pockets. 'I been thinkin', an' I figure I I reckoned it right then, and now. Ye – ye were a bit – well, overwrought. And me ma didn't raise no fool: I knew it were just that. Shocked me a bit though!' he said with a smile, then sighed. 'I know you and this Bjorn character were close,' he said. 'An' it wasn't all that long ago you an' he were – ' he trailed off.
'He is nothing to me now,' Askyrja was quick to say, 'But… I... am not ready to think about – '
'I know,' he interjected. He shifted uncomfortably. 'An' I understand. I think… if that's what ye need… that's what ye should do, after everythin' ye've been through. Although…' he cleared his throat and shook his head, 'I just… think you oughter take care, that's all. Just take care. Like I said about mindin'. Same thing.'
Askyrja studied him, smiling a little sadly, then impulsively leaned over and softly kissed Colson on the cheek. 'Thankyou, Colson Carter of Verbobonc,' she said warmly. 'You have been very kind to me, and I do not forget.'
Colson gasped and his face lit up in a huge, blushing grin that showed his missing tooth. 'Lands alive, Askyrja! Yer welcome,' he said. 'It's my honour to help. We Carters have that too, you know.' He laughed.
She laughed along with him, relief flooding her. 'And… thank you for understanding about – earlier.'
'Don't mention it. You're a friend, Askyrja. You're allus that, an' every bit of it.'
Askyrja smiled as she climbed into the cab, almost bouncing on her toes, feeling a hundred pounds lighter.
She didn't hear Colson's quiet sigh, nor see him track her every movement, as if carving it indelibly into his memory.