here. And why? Because trading starts tonight, not tomorrow!” Her lips thinned. “She’s hiding from me, that’s what she’s doing. And she’d better, after what she’s done!”
Harty coughed and Hagar buried his face in his tankard. Big Davi’s eyes went from one to the other, then back to his mother. “What did Frann do?”
Indignation stiffened Lorra into a black-hatted statue. “She—” almost spat, “—traded our barrels of ash for a flute and a cup of ginger beer!”
Bannan kept his face straight with an effort. Hagar choked and his father turned an interesting pink.
“Ancestors Witness, Frann does like ginger beer,” Davi said, reasonably, if not wisely.
“And the rest of us like being clean!” Lorra glared at her son, feathers tipping forward. “Our barrels always go to Endshere’s ashman for an admitted pittance of lye—Heart’s Blood, the woman will never admit she can’t barter properly—but no, not this year. This year, she trades our hard work for a trinket and drink! It’s that thief, Upsala. He played on her weak mind. A flute!” She paused to let them contemplate the enormity of this offense, then swept the table with a stern look. “I want you to get it back.”
“The ash?” Harty raised his big hands as if holding back a tide. “Trade’s done, Lady Treff. Can’t be undone.”
Bannan smiled to himself. Lady Treff? It had to be the hat.
Her son sighed. “Mother—”
“Now!”
To Bannan’s surprise, Davi shook his head. “It can’t be undone. Not if we want to trade here.”
“The wagon was well-loaded,” the truthseer observed, breaking the ominous silence that followed this nigh-on and, for all he knew, unprecedented rebellion within the Treff household. “Surely we’ve something else this ashman would take for the lye.”
She might be furious, but Lorra Treff hadn’t become who and what she was by ignoring opportunity. A brow lifted thoughtfully. “There may be. I must speak to Gallie at once!” Feathers dancing, the formidable head of the Treffs turned and was swallowed by the crowd.
“Ancestors Grateful and Glad, Bannan,” her son said with relief. “You’ve saved the day and I thank you.”
“We thank you too,” Hagar chimed in, raising his tankard for a toast. The others did the same.
“A flute?” Bannan mused, eyeing Davi.
The smith refused to take the bait. Instead, he yawned. “I’m off to check my lads before getting some rest myself.”
The truthseer held up one hand. “About the horses—” he began. As he recounted the attempted theft, the faces of all three men clouded with outraged anger, but the two from Endshere, he noticed, also showed guilt. “I left Scourge on watch,” he finished, knowing Davi would be satisfied by that, then turned to Harty. “You’ve had other thefts. Why didn’t you warn us?”
The smith hesitated.
“Yes,” his son answered. When his father gave him a quelling look, he shook his head. “They’ll hear the rumors soon enough, Da. We’re not to talk gloom and doom at the fair,” he continued. “It’s bad for trade.”
“So’s thievery,” Davi said grimly. “What rumors?”
Bannan lowered his voice. “Is Rhoth at war?”
Davi stared at him, shocked, but Harty spoke up. “Not so’s you’d notice.” He glanced over his shoulder, but no other patrons of the inn appeared interested. “Yammering t’now. Our arse o’a prince thought Mellynne wouldna notice his doin’s, y’see. Well, t’have.” With dour satisfaction.
Hagar leaned forward. “Mellynne demanded an envoy be sent to Channen to explain. Ordo had no choice but comply.”
The elder Comber put a hand flat on the table, scowling darkly. “Aie. And no one’s heard from t’envoy since, have they?”
“The border’s been closed—” his son countered.
“More like he’s dead,” with gusto. “Or inna cellar, fed to rats!”
An envoy?
Heart’s Blood.
“Who?” Bannan demanded, though he knew the answer,
Harty coughed and Hagar buried his face in his tankard. Big Davi’s eyes went from one to the other, then back to his mother. “What did Frann do?”
Indignation stiffened Lorra into a black-hatted statue. “She—” almost spat, “—traded our barrels of ash for a flute and a cup of ginger beer!”
Bannan kept his face straight with an effort. Hagar choked and his father turned an interesting pink.
“Ancestors Witness, Frann does like ginger beer,” Davi said, reasonably, if not wisely.
“And the rest of us like being clean!” Lorra glared at her son, feathers tipping forward. “Our barrels always go to Endshere’s ashman for an admitted pittance of lye—Heart’s Blood, the woman will never admit she can’t barter properly—but no, not this year. This year, she trades our hard work for a trinket and drink! It’s that thief, Upsala. He played on her weak mind. A flute!” She paused to let them contemplate the enormity of this offense, then swept the table with a stern look. “I want you to get it back.”
“The ash?” Harty raised his big hands as if holding back a tide. “Trade’s done, Lady Treff. Can’t be undone.”
Bannan smiled to himself. Lady Treff? It had to be the hat.
Her son sighed. “Mother—”
“Now!”
To Bannan’s surprise, Davi shook his head. “It can’t be undone. Not if we want to trade here.”
“The wagon was well-loaded,” the truthseer observed, breaking the ominous silence that followed this nigh-on and, for all he knew, unprecedented rebellion within the Treff household. “Surely we’ve something else this ashman would take for the lye.”
She might be furious, but Lorra Treff hadn’t become who and what she was by ignoring opportunity. A brow lifted thoughtfully. “There may be. I must speak to Gallie at once!” Feathers dancing, the formidable head of the Treffs turned and was swallowed by the crowd.
“Ancestors Grateful and Glad, Bannan,” her son said with relief. “You’ve saved the day and I thank you.”
“We thank you too,” Hagar chimed in, raising his tankard for a toast. The others did the same.
“A flute?” Bannan mused, eyeing Davi.
The smith refused to take the bait. Instead, he yawned. “I’m off to check my lads before getting some rest myself.”
The truthseer held up one hand. “About the horses—” he began. As he recounted the attempted theft, the faces of all three men clouded with outraged anger, but the two from Endshere, he noticed, also showed guilt. “I left Scourge on watch,” he finished, knowing Davi would be satisfied by that, then turned to Harty. “You’ve had other thefts. Why didn’t you warn us?”
The smith hesitated.
“Yes,” his son answered. When his father gave him a quelling look, he shook his head. “They’ll hear the rumors soon enough, Da. We’re not to talk gloom and doom at the fair,” he continued. “It’s bad for trade.”
“So’s thievery,” Davi said grimly. “What rumors?”
Bannan lowered his voice. “Is Rhoth at war?”
Davi stared at him, shocked, but Harty spoke up. “Not so’s you’d notice.” He glanced over his shoulder, but no other patrons of the inn appeared interested. “Yammering t’now. Our arse o’a prince thought Mellynne wouldna notice his doin’s, y’see. Well, t’have.” With dour satisfaction.
Hagar leaned forward. “Mellynne demanded an envoy be sent to Channen to explain. Ordo had no choice but comply.”
The elder Comber put a hand flat on the table, scowling darkly. “Aie. And no one’s heard from t’envoy since, have they?”
“The border’s been closed—” his son countered.
“More like he’s dead,” with gusto. “Or inna cellar, fed to rats!”
An envoy?
Heart’s Blood.
“Who?” Bannan demanded, though he knew the answer,
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