Notes: Let's go down a bit of a rabbit hole into Avery's past, hmm?
Title: Quaint Escapes for Traitorous Bastards: Ch. 8 Pt. 2
***
Chapter Eight, Part Two
Rough Beginnings
Tilda came back a few minutes later holding two large cups, each with a spoon sticking out the top. “We’ll have to return these once we’re done,” she said as she sat down in the chair Master Surr—Avery had so recently vacated. “I had to convince Ruslan to let me take them away from the stall, but I assured him you’re much more responsible than a child.” She held one of the mugs out to Hiram.
He took it and inhaled deeply as he looked inside. “Potato soup?”
“Don’t mock it until you’ve tried it,” she warned him with a little smile.
Hiram obligingly took a spoonful and, after blowing for a moment to take the heat off, tried it. He closed his eyes and bit back a moan as flavor burst across his tongue, half a dozen different herbs and spices blending harmoniously with soft chunks of potato, a creamy base, and salty bacon.
A lot of bacon.
“Good, isn’t it?” Tilda said once Hiram opened his eyes again. She did an admirable job of not sounding smug, but he knew this was her version of “I told you so.”
“Delicious,” he agreed. They ate in companionable silence for a while, the hubbub of Market Day diminished as everyone in attendance seemed to decide all at once that it was time to eat. Once he’d taken the edge off his hunger, Hiram said, “So. Master Surrus is…interesting.”
Tilda nodded knowingly. “Isn’t he? I thought I saw the two of you chatting together.”
“Yes.” Hiram didn’t tell her what they’d talked about—he didn’t share his clients’ concerns to others unless they specifically allowed it—but he had plenty of questions that didn’t revolve around nightmares. “I get the feeling he’s not a local.”
“He is, actually.”
Oh. That was genuinely surprising.
“Well,” Tilda corrected herself, “I should clarify. He was born nearby and he lived here for some years in his childhood, but he left very young. He only came back five or six years ago, and I think that’s only because of Master Spindlestep.”
Ah, now we’re getting somewhere. “Are they friends, then?” he asked despite knowing the answer.
“They are. I don’t know the details of it, but I believe that Master Spindlestep was something of an adventurer before he lost his eyesight. He bought the store from Lollop’s last tailor over ten years ago, but he still gets out and about every now and then. I suppose they must have met on one of his journeys, and Master Spindlestep invited him back to Lollop.”
Tilda set her spoon back in the mug and put it on the table. “Master Surrus was in a bad way when he first came to town,” she said, her eyes distant with memory. “Poor thing looked half starved, and he was barely able to walk. Hardly any of us saw him for the first few months of his time here, and once he finally emerged he was still very thin and pale.” Her face brightened a bit as she went on, “But he’s a gifted teacher. We’re quite lucky to have him—no one else was lined up to take on the role of teacher after Mistress Arivas decided to give it up, but he fit in beautifully. He’s recovered very well since then, and the children thrive with him. We even had to expand the school and get him an assistant so he could handle the workload.”
A picture was beginning to emerge, but Hiram still hoped to fill more of it in with Tilda’s assistance. “Was he born to a farming family?”
“Ah. No.” Tilda lowered her voice a bit. “His mother worked at an establishment that provided food, drink, and company to travelers. She was young when she had him, and she did her best to care for him but Lollop is rather…old-fashioned in a lot of ways. She didn’t get the help she needed, and eventually she ran off with a tinker and left the young boy behind.”
Hiram’s mouth dropped open. Not because he was necessarily surprised—it was an old tale, one he’d seen play out many times on the road—but because— “Lollop’s primary deity is Melemor. Melemor specifically requires his followers to care for orphans and children who’ve been abandoned. He should have been taken into the temple.”
“He was,” Tilda replied evenly. “And he hated it there, from all accounts. When he was offered an apprenticeship in another town, he leapt at the chance. We lost track of him after that.”
“An apprenticeship in what?”
“Chimney sweeping.”
Of course. Small children or gnomes had to be employed to make it down the narrow chimneys most houses had, and gnomes generally knew better. It was dangerous work at the best of times, and all too often children were injured or killed while plying the trade. “I see.”
Tilda sighed. “I know you’re judging us harshly, and I don’t say that we don’t deserve it, but—”
“No, no.” Hiram shook his head. “I’m not, I assure you. Life is…” He shrugged. “Life is full of extenuating circumstances. However Master Surrus began, he’s clearly made something of himself, and the fact that he’s willing to live and work in Lollop now speaks well of the town, I suppose.”
“And better of him,” Tilda said, a smile beginning to surface again. “Hiram…do you like Avery?”
“I don’t even know him.”
“That’s not what I’m asking.”
Did he like him? There was definitely something intriguing about the young man, and he was quite handsome. Anyone with eyes could see that. Not to mention his familiarity with philosophical concepts that no one without a rather high level of education would have even heard of, much less been able to explain, and… “He’s interesting,” Hiram allowed. “I’d like to speak with him again, certainly.”
“I’m sure that can be arranged.”
Oh, no. No. Hiram shook his head. “I’ve no need of a matchmaker,” he insisted. “I came to Lollop for peace and quiet, not to become a spectacle.”
Tilda laughed. “Hiram,” she said, gently but with some reproach, “I’m afraid you’re already a spectacle. You say Avery is interesting, and he is, but he’s nothing compared to the interest you’ve generated here in town.”
And that, Hiram was coming to realize, was a mistake. The last thing he needed was for the next Imperial messenger to stick a WANTED poster in Fuzzle Pinky’s tavern and have half a dozen people wondering why the picture looked so much like their new herbalist.
Tilda’s hand came down on top of his, and he realized he’d been tapping the tabletop with his fingers. “It will die down,” she promised him quietly. “Not many new people come to Lollop, but once you’re in, you’re in. Our town will get used to you, and you’ll be all right.”
Hiram looked into her warm, understanding eyes and thanked all his luck that she had been the one to guide his stay so far. Tilda likely guessed far more than he was comfortable with, but he also knew she would keep her silence.
The rest of the afternoon passed in a flurry of pleasantries, brief meetings, and disbursement of his stock until, at the end of the day, there was nothing left but a few sprigs of dried rosemary. Hiram considered it quite the success, and so did Tilda.
“You’ll have more orders than you know what to do with,” she said cheerfully as she helped him pack up. “You should consider hiring an apprentice. Perhaps Letty…”
Hiram shook his head. “I don’t think she’d be content in that sort of role,” he confessed. “She’s looking for something different.” And he would figure it out soon enough and see what he could do to facilitate it. “And I can manage well enough for now on my own.”
“If you say so. Come on.” Tilda nodded toward The Yew Brew. “Let me treat you to a drink before we retrieve your mule and cart.”
“If you insist.”
“I believe I do.” She linked arms with him and led him toward the tavern. Just before they reached the door, Hiram glanced back at the square. In the distance, he just had time to make out a familiar, broad-shouldered silhouette before it vanished into a shop.
I wonder how Avery and Master Spindestep met. Perhaps he would get the chance to ask someday.
***
The door to the tailor’s shop slammed shut, the bell above it jingling so violently it almost fell off. “Sorry.”
The old elf sighed, his hands not stopping their hemming work as he turned his head toward the doorway. Eye contact didn’t matter to him, of course, but the effort put other people more at ease. “Avery, dear. What has you in such a tizzy?”
The young man came over to Narion’s workbench and sat down beside him. Then he stood up again and began to pace, then sat once more. “What makes you think I’m in a tizzy?”
“Avery. Sit down, you’re making me tired just listening to you pace.”
“I’m not in a tizzy. That man didn’t put me into a tizzy.”
Ah. “You met Master Emblic, then.”
The pacing stopped. “How can you tell?”
“Most people seem to have a strong reaction to meeting him. Also, you smell very strongly of chamomile.”
“Oh.” Avery took a deep breath, then spoke more calmly, “Yes, I did meet him today. We spoke for a bit.”
Narion nodded. “Anything interesting?”
“Peverall’s Demon, in fact.”
Narion went still. After a moment, he said, “Well, the man is from Galenish. He’s had access to some of the greatest universities and libraries in the world. It’s not surprising he might be more educated than your average villager.”
“Especially if he wasn’t always an herbalist.”
Narion turned more fully to face Avery as he sat down again. “You suspect he wasn’t?”
“I do. He’s too smooth, too much of a talker. Too insightful. The only people like him I’ve met before were people who understood power.”
“People of power don’t come to places like Lollop.”
Avery snorted. “Yourself excused, I suppose.”
“I’m no longer powerful, my dear. I wish I was, I wish I could do as you need, but—”
Avery’s warm hands took hold of his. “You’ve done more than I could have asked,” he promised, easing Narion’s heart. “You kept me alive when I wanted nothing more than to die, and I’m forever grateful for that. But I still need to find a way out of this.”
Narion nodded. “And you think Master Emblic might be the key?”
“I don’t know yet. But…” Avery took something out from beneath his cloak and set it carefully on the table in front of Narion. “He gave me this. He was—well. Can you sense anything from it?”
A ceramic jar? The source of the chamomile, and some other herbs, and…Narion ran one long finger around the edge of it, then drew back with a gasp. Power…latent, subtle, but strong. So strong. He couldn’t remember the last time his psychometry had been so intensely triggered. There was a hint of fire, and the color gold, and…
And this from a man who wasn’t even trying to use his power.
“Be careful,” Narion whispered. “Be very careful, Avery. There is much more to Hiram Emblic than meets the eye.”
“So he is powerful.”
“Yes, but…” This much power could only be accompanied by a great deal of danger. “Don’t push him,” Narion warned.
“Oh, I won’t,” Avery said.
Now, why didn’t Narion believe that?
No comments:
Post a Comment