Chapter 7 #2
Ainsworth scowled at her lack of enthusiasm.
“The markings around the margins deem it so. It means the parchment is impervious to most elements that might damage it. You should thank your…great-great…great-grandmother?” Ainsworth’s eyes widened in disbelief at the date scribbled in the top right corner.
It was, he recognized, an old account of a trade agreement permitting the current holder of this residence to buy and trade goods, including perishable ones.
But the date…“Honey, this must have been signed soon after the inn was built! Or at the very least, soon before it became operational. This is…This paper is approximately two hundred years old!”
It had been a tremendous discovery, and now he snatched up the copy of the document he had made to show Ashe—did she know she stood guard across such ancient doors?
Before he could tell Ashe, she jumped up, rigid, and shot back out the door. The way she had grabbed her staff suggested to him that something was approaching. Trouble? Was her hunch correct?
He surprised himself with how quickly he followed the wildeshifter—or that he followed her at all.
She stood on the path heading back up the hill Ainsworth had stumbled down days previously.
Eyes closed, Ashe seemed completely undisturbed by the wind that was whipping her hair and chilling Ainsworth to the bone.
The muted purples of the heather bushes atop the hill tried their best to bring a spot of color to the land amid the dense gray clouds that surrounded it, infusing everything in a ghastly gray light.
“What is it?” he asked, but Ashe ignored him.
A few seconds later, the wind let up briefly and he heard the familiar sound of hooves.
“Guests?” Ainsworth’s heart leapt at the prospect—combined with relief that it was unlikely a beast was approaching.
Despite what Quiddle, Bren, Honey, and Ashe assured him—and despite what had happened with Fig and Fern—he wholeheartedly refused to believe that every single guest turned away from the mountain.
He knew he just had to meet the right people.
Someone as hungry and ambitious as he was to make a name for themselves would appear.
And if they didn’t…
Well. It was another challenge he would have to rise to meet. What was one more to add to the list?
“Honey!” Ashe suddenly barked, making Ainsworth jump in fright. Two horses came into view, leading a rather large carriage. No, a roofed supply cart.
“Yes?” Honey popped her head out the door, cringing slightly as the cold wind greeted her. Ainsworth noted how her hair flew wildly and tangled in her curved horns. He briefly rubbed the back of his head, grateful for his short locks and their inability to snag in his antlers.
“Tell the lads to get some food and drink out on the table to welcome everyone home!”
“Oh, finally!” Honey beamed, her eyes alight. “We were beginning to run low on almost everything! They truly cut it fine this time.”
Ashe suddenly went up the hill, her staff forgotten as she broke into a run.
It took Ainsworth a few seconds before he worked it out.
“Ah, the rest of the staff—from the supply run?” he asked.
But Honey had already disappeared inside, chirping to Bren and Quiddle that the team would need a big meal.
Ainsworth felt somewhat awkward and out of place as the cart made its slow process down the hill while Honey, Quiddle, and Bren chattered excitedly among themselves as they worked.
He returned to his solitary table and continued writing his introduction, every so often marveling at the age of the Misnich Inn.
Of course Mount Vengeance was as old as the land itself, but the fact that the inn was far older than he’d suspected gave him hope there would be at least some lead in the attic—a letter from a successful adventurer thanking Honey’s family for their stay, perhaps.
There must have been a time in which adventurers flooded to the place; misnich meant “to hearten, to encourage.” Surely it was the prospect of coin to be made by doing so that led to the inn’s establishment.
Despite the engrossing nature of his work, and the fact he finally, finally had a starting point, he could not help but eavesdrop on the welcoming party outside.
The cart had been pulled in front of the door, and he watched through the arched windows as Ashe led two huge gray horses to the stables behind the inn.
He heard Honey’s voice float in through the doorway and hurriedly returned his gaze to his papers. “Come in, come in, Spin! The others will start unloading, but let’s get you a seat. I know how much you hate the jostling of that last stretch.”
Ainsworth snuck a quick glance to the door, and watched Honey lead a toirtis-mhith woman into the warmth of the tavern.
She was smaller than Honey and had to maneuver to the side slightly to allow her bronze shell through the doorway.
For one heart-stopping moment, Ainsworth thought she’d get stuck, but she quickly popped through the frame with a chuckle.
“Worth the shortcut to get out of the wind, but I look forward to using my double doors around the garden again,” she said, her voice deep and slightly cracked.
Her reptilian face seemed to be carved with joviality; lines by her eyes and mouth sketched a wondrous, wide smile.
As she spotted Ainsworth, she raised a claw in greeting.
“And who is this, then? Do we have an adventurer seeking to head out tomorrow?”
Honey smiled as she continued the slow pace across the room to the table that Bren and Quiddle had laid with goblets of wine, steaming golden potatoes with butter, tough brown bread, and slabs of smoked gray fish.
“Spin, I’d like to introduce you to Ainsworth Gladsly.
He’s a guest, yes, but he won’t be attempting the mountain.
Instead he’s here to study the history of the inn and meet a few adventurers to help with the book he’s writing. ”
Ainsworth shot to his feet and gave a small bow.
“Wonderful to make your acquaintance, Spin. I have heard all about your enviable talents at coaxing the freshest of vegetables from the tight-fisted hand of this drab, tough land.” It was true; Quiddle had recently complained that if the trio of workers were delayed any longer, he’d have to start tending to the garden himself.
“Oh! What a charmer!” Spin said after a hearty chuckle. Honey looked less than impressed, and she tried to usher Spin to the food that awaited.
“Don’t sit over there, Ainsworth—come join us!” said Spin.
“Ainsworth has not yet ordered any food for this afternoon—” Honey began to object.
But Spin slowly waved her away with a claw. “Nonsense. It’ll take you all an age to unload the supplies, and I’d like some company.”
“I would be delighted to join you, Spin. Unless I could be of assistance elsewhere?” He added the last part earnestly.
For some reason, the fact that Honey did not want him at the table for the homecoming made his stomach clench.
It was irrational—he was the very definition of an outsider here, and happy with that label.
As soon as he had finished his business, he would be off home to where he belonged.
But nevertheless, the slight disapproval that radiated from the innkeeper irked him, and he would be damned if he didn’t at least try to make a good impression.
Yet it seemed his effort was wasted. “Ah, no thank you, Ainsworth. I’m not sure you’d be up for the task at hand.”
Ainsworth made to object, but Honey flounced back out the door before he could. He was about to follow her outside, to prove to her just how up for the task he was, but a small tug of his sleeve stopped him.
Spin gave him a knowing look. “Don’t mind her. Come sit down, have a drink with me.”
Initially, Ainsworth hesitated, eyes lingering over the door Honey had disappeared through.
It seemed as though she offered him her warm hospitality one moment, and then wished only to see the back of him the next.
Something tugged at his conscience. Had he said something?
What was it about him that provoked such a reaction?
But the twinkling eyes of Spin and the inviting table won him over. “All right. Thank you for the invitation.”