Chapter 9 #2
“I’m sorry, those are reserved for another customer. I’ll have more next week, though!” Oaklin said in an attempt to turn the man away.
The man only frowned, unmoved, his scraggly white beard hugging his scowling jaw like an elderly drowned rat. “I’ll pay you an extra five coins if you sell me those too. Don’t pass up free money at your first market, child. Lesson one: Always take present coin over promised coin.”
Oh, they were getting lessons now. Delightful.
They weren’t about to go back on a promise, though, especially when they were about to crush their budding friendship with Ryn by disappearing.
Oaklin put on their most biting smile and batted their eyelashes.
“I do so appreciate your wisdom, sir, but it’s important to me that I keep my word. Check back next week.”
There wouldn’t be a next week, but the man didn’t need to know that. He seemed to sense it anyway, though, as he gave a haughty sniff.
“Tch, not likely,” the man said. He promptly stormed off, clutching his little parcel of mushrooms close to his chest. Oaklin was pretty sure he would be back again next week, anyway. The man would just have to be disappointed.
All in all, for a very first farmer’s market, a pretty decent success. They’d earned enough to survive a few weeks on the road if they were careful. Hopefully they’d be able to carry the lessons they’d learned here over to their next farm, their next village.
Their next life.
The market concluded in the late afternoon, and it took Oaklin no time at all to break down their small setup, once the pushy old man was gone.
Grumpy Horse glared as Oaklin stacked empty crates in the cart, but otherwise behaved until Oaklin was finished.
Good. They couldn’t afford delays. Best to get out now while everyone was distracted.
“Hope you’re not planning to sneak off without saying goodbye to everyone,” a deep, mirthful voice said.
Oaklin whirled around, taking in the sight of a tall, thin man in his mid-fifties dressed for working in the fields, his tanned brown skin creased with age and leathery from the sun.
The man laughed at Oaklin’s wide-eyed stare.
“Don’t worry, kid, I’m not here to bite you.
Just thought I’d introduce myself. I’m Alin.
That over there is my husband, Bram.” He pointed down the row of market booths to another man, his skin a shade lighter and his middle a few hands wider than Alin, nodding with a serious expression as he accepted payment from one last customer.
“He’s the brains of the operation. I just work in the field and do what I’m told. We all have our strengths.”
The belly laugh that followed was so open and genuine that Oaklin couldn’t help but smile in return, a tiny coil of unease beginning to unravel in their stomach.
“I’m Oaklin Nettlewood,” they finally remembered to say, holding out their hand and hoping their nervous tremor wasn’t noticeable. “I bought the farm north of the village.”
“Old Granny’s place!” Alin said, grabbing Oaklin’s hand in a shake so vigorous they nearly fell forward.
“So glad to see that beautiful land being tended again. No one’s expecting you to help stock the village food bank in your first year, so you just focus on getting things up and running.
You need anything, you let me or Bram know, y’hear? ”
Oaklin nodded without fully processing what they were agreeing to as Alin charged onward.
“Now, this is important,” he said, lowering his voice.
“All us local farmers meet up three times per year to hash out issues and make plans for the season, and it’s not optional.
You missed the late winter one, so if I were you I’d tattoo the date and time of the next one on the inside of your eyelids so you don’t forget, else Ms. Chanda will come looking for you. She keeps us all in line.”
A flood of questions swept through Oaklin’s brain following that proclamation, but the one Alin was probably most expecting floated to the top. “When’s the meeting?”
They wouldn’t be attending—planning to flee and all—but no need to break that news right now.
“Two weeks from today, right after the market,” Alin said. “We’ll be in the meeting chamber at the back of the library. Now then, I need to get back to Bram and give him a hand with the packing up, but go around and say hello to everyone! Don’t worry, they’re all good folk.”
Alin gave Oaklin a mighty clap on the shoulder and headed off, greeting several others on his way back to his husband.
With a deep breath and a roll of their shoulders, Oaklin finished off their own packing and forced themself to face one of their greatest fears: mingling.
Was there anything worse than mingling when all you wanted to do was run for your life?
They spent a little time introducing themself to the other farmers as briefly as possible, most of whom were friendly, if skeptical, about them.
Most were simply happy to see the fertile land to the north of the village finally being worked again.
All had soft eyes and fond smiles for the memory of the previous farmer, though none of them mentioned her by name, even when asked—almost as if something was stopping them.
Maybe something was. Or someone. Oaklin looked over their shoulder for that shadowy void, the hole in the world where a person should be…but saw nothing.
Probably just paranoid.
With everything packed up into Grumpy Horse’s cart, the horse fed and watered, and the sun dipping toward the western sky, it was time for Oaklin to meet their friends at the tavern as promised.
Ryn had left the market hours ago, sold out long before any of the farmers.
Jules had gone along for his lunchtime gig, and Lior still hadn’t emerged from the church, which had been shut up tight ever since their urgent meeting had begun.
If Oaklin wanted to slip away, now was the time.
But, should they? Or should they take this one last chance to be with the people who had shown them so much kindness?
It felt dangerous to be spending time with people when the Inquisitor was sure to be a hot topic of conversation, and also like it was too normal of an activity for someone like Oaklin.
Meeting friends for a drink was something that a normal person with a normal life who had definitely never killed anyone would do.
Oaklin was not a normal person, and their first attempt at that kind of life had failed miserably.
But with these three, maybe it wouldn’t feel so hard.
No. They shouldn’t go. They couldn’t.
It hurt to realize they truly never would see any of them again.
“It is what it is,” they murmured to themself.
Then, they took Grumpy Horse’s lead and began the long walk back to the house.
With any luck, they’d arrive with enough daylight to pack their meager belongings and get back on the road before anyone thought to check on them.
On their way out of the square, they paused next to the statue of Old Mossley and rested their hand in that polished spot on his shoulder.
“Goodbye,” they whispered, throat thick.
“Oaklin, wait!”
Oaklin’s heart skipped galloping and went straight for a breakneck sprint. No, no, they needed a clean break, a quiet disappearance, not this, not—
“Hey, wait!” Ryn said again, jogging over. Grumpy Horse snorted his displeasure at the sudden approach, but Ryn simply clucked his tongue and gave the horse a friendly pat before turning his gaze on Oaklin.
“Where are you going?” he said, a tinge of hurt in his tone. “I thought you were joining us at the tavern. I was just coming to see if you needed a hand packing up when I spotted you. Did you…change your mind?”
Oaklin’s expression crumpled into regret. “No, I mean, I just… I didn’t want to leave Grumpy Horse any longer and… I-I couldn’t…”
“You call him Grumpy Horse?” Ryn said, grinning, then shook his head, the smile falling away. “Never mind, story for another time. They have a hitch and water trough out front of the tavern, and Sammy will lend you some feed if you’re out. He’ll be fine for a bit. One drink. Please? I insist.”
This friend group sure did seem to do a lot of friendly insisting.
But Ryn’s big brown eyes were soft and sincere, and if they tried to leave now, it would be noteworthy.
Someone would come to check on them sooner rather than later.
They needed to slip away unnoticed, not with drama and a rude refusal.
They had to go. Besides, Ryn, Jules, and Lior had been so kind. They’d put forth real effort to be welcoming, and they deserved one final goodbye, even if they didn’t know that’s what it was.
Right?
Was this a terrible idea?
Regardless, it had to be done. A delay of an hour would buy them days of lead time without suspicion. Possibly no one would notice their flight until the next market. A worthwhile, if terrifying, trade-off.
With that, Oaklin beat their gut-twisting nerves into submission and set off for the tavern, Ryn chatting happily at their side, and with an oddly comforting pat on Grumpy Horse’s flank. Goodbyes were hard, but necessary.
Oaklin felt guilty enough as it was.