Chapter 8 #2
“It was my fault,” said Ruraidh. His words were downcast. “I never realized it had gotten so bad up here. It’s my job to keep things in tip-top shape, so…”
Ainsworth felt somewhat awkward in his new position.
Was it his role to…comfort this stranger?
But he found he rose to the task, an unbidden memory urging him on.
After one particularly raucous night in a deluxe inn, Ainsworth had started to clean up the array of bottles and drunkenly spilled food.
Enach had placed a firm hand on his wrist and drawled, “What are you doing? That’s the help’s job.
” It was just like Enach; technically he was right, and he made Ainsworth feel like such a fool for trying to argue with such facts.
But surely it was a gesture of goodwill, of respect, not to leave everything in such a state?
“If guests do not typically come up here, then I would consider that outwith your job description.” Ainsworth smiled. “The window, however…My makeshift repairs haven’t done much, so your help is much appreciated.”
“Oh.” Ruraidh, for the first time, gave a hint of a smile.
“Part of the frame has rotted away. I’m going to replace it.
Then…” He nodded toward the bookshelves.
“I’ll fix them for you, too. Maybe make some new ones—ones that go right to the ceiling.
If you don’t mind my company, that is. Sorry if I’m loud.
I’ll be a bother to you, but I’ll be quick. ”
“Nonsense! Thank you, Ruraidh.”
The pair worked in companionable, if somewhat precarious, silence.
Well, silence in that few words beyond pleasantries were exchanged between them, but the slams of a hammer, the rustling of documents, and the scraping of boxes as Ainsworth continued to drag them into a semblance of organization were certainly prevalent.
At noon, Ainsworth retreated down the stairs to grab a snack for them.
Ruraidh insisted on continuing with his work, firmly refusing to let Ainsworth’s workspace continue to fester in dampness.
Touched by his dedication, Ainsworth felt that making sure the man ate was the least he could do.
A small spread had been set out by Honey, who looked up as he approached. “Will you two be joining us for lunch?”
“Ah—no. Duty calls, I’m afraid. May I take some of these auldfruits for Ruraidh?”
“Of course, of course.” Honey gave an over-the-top smile as she gestured to the table. “You’re paying, after all.”
Ainsworth sighed and picked up a small breadbasket, emptying its contents onto a plate and filling it instead with fruit. The last thing they needed up there was crumbs.
“Oh, before I forget,” Honey said, her voice muffled behind a mouthful of cheese; Ainsworth wrinkled his nose in distaste.
“Spin called on the Post Server when in Wenslykirk, and I received a small bag of our correspondence. I got a note of thanks from the guests who stayed here just before you, if you’re interested.
They ignored the mountain, of course. And this was addressed to you. ”
His heart jolted as he saw the familiar, tight maroon scroll.
“Looks like it came by wildeshift runners, too, judging by the postal mark and size. Must be pretty important. I’m sorry it got caught up with the rest of our stuff. I presume the Post Server bid them to leave it there at Wenslykirk since my staff were staying in town on their run.”
Ainsworth did not answer, his hands trembling as he broke the silver wax seal. The ink, too, was silver—Lyria’s favorite.
Dearest Ainsworth,
Significant interest has been generated about your project within the funding council.
It seems one of the committee members is the son of a deceased, unsuccessful Mount Vengeance adventurer (the death is unrelated, as I understand) and has deemed your project to be of significant public interest. This is all speculation so far, of course, but I will advocate tirelessly on your behalf to ensure you get the proper funding and resources!
I also envision the allocation of research assistants, should you wish to transfer any documentation you might find there into our own archives.
I wish you the very best of luck, and I eagerly look forward to your report.
Fellow Enach, you might want to know, has left for Inisyr Academy—it seems the proposal was approved. I understand you were working on this application, too, but please do not be discouraged, as I remain convinced the Misnich Inn and Mount Vengeance are of more value to you and your career.
I do hope your spirits have lifted since last we spoke, and that you have recovered from the shock of it all. Please do take care of yourself.
Yours Sincerely,
Heritage Master Lyria
A brush of hair fell on his shoulder. “Research assistants? Enach? Will more of you be coming here?”
Ainsworth, whose heart had sunk with each and every word of Lyria’s well-meaning but pressure-laden missive, jerked out of Honey’s reach. “Have you no manners? Do you read every guest’s letters over their shoulders?”
She tilted her head and raised a brow in mock thought. “Hmm. Only the interesting ones. Anyway, who writes in silver ink?”
“People with impeccable taste!”
Honey held up her hands, eyes wide at his response.
He sighed and began to run his hands through his hair again before he stopped himself.
“It’s fine. This letter is just…Enach. I— Before we parted, we were hoping to gather funds for a…
proposed project we had.” Ainsworth heard the hollowness in his own voice.
Enach had seemingly abandoned his current archival project to head to Inisyr Academy, where he would, no doubt, document the intersections between medicinal and literary heritage.
It was a project they were supposed to carry out together.
Ainsworth had put a lot of work into the funding application, which seemed to have been approved in his absence.
“Ainsworth?” Honey poked his shoulder. “What project?”
He swatted her hand away. “It matters little. I need to return to the attic.” A new urgency roiled within him.
Lyria’s account of the interest the project had garnered should have thrilled him; instead, with the lack of any real adventurer leads and barely anything to show for his archival work as of yet, it served only as a reminder that he now had much further to fall should he fail to deliver.
He ignored Honey’s protests as he stomped up the stairs, only just remembering to grab the food before he left.
“Ainsworth, wait!”
The earnest note in her voice finally made him stop and turn when he reached the top step.
She stood at the bottom of the staircase looking up at him, one hand on the banister and one foot placed upon the next step, as though she had attempted to follow him and stopped herself.
“I—” she started, before thinking better of what she was about to say.
She cleared her throat, and her voice softened somewhat as she said, “I am sorry. For reading your letter. I should not pry, but should you wish to talk, I—that is to say we, all of us—are here.”
It took Ainsworth a moment to register what she meant. The letter, objectively, carried good tidings, and Honey could not possibly know of the worry, the fear of failure, that clenched his heart. And then he recalled Lyria’s last few sentences.
He forced himself to smile, to stand up straight. “That is very kind of you, Honey, but I assure you, I am fine. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to work.” He did not wait for her response before he walked away.
He said little as Ruraidh gratefully accepted the fruit.
He spent the rest of the afternoon staring at the useless boxes.
He knew he needed to sort them, knew he needed to find something, but the pressure had him paralyzed.
It was as if the fog that usually surrounded Mount Vengeance had descended suddenly, wrapping tightly around him, leaving him unable to think, to see straight.
Further interest from the funding council, and he had so little to show thus far!
And Enach had left Hinslyth. Pursuing their project. When would Ainsworth see him again? When—
“Look,” Ruraidh said, cutting into his downward spiral.
“What?”
Ruraidh gave the window frame a light tap. “It’s all sorted. No more damp. Now I need to cut and sand a few more planks for the bookshelves. It’ll take the rest of the afternoon, maybe even some of tomorrow. Sorry about that.”
“Don’t be,” Ainsworth said, suddenly desperate to be doing something productive, something quick. Something with immediate results. “Can you show me?”
“I— What, sir?”
“You do not need to call me that,” Ainsworth said. “I mean, can you show me? How to prepare the wood and fix the shelf? I want to learn. I want to help do it.”
“Ah, right!” Ruraidh said, a deep flush to his face. Nevertheless, he looked pleased. “You aren’t at all what Honey said you were like. I’ve got a work shed around the back of Spin’s garden. Come with me.”