Chapter 16
A couple of weeks later, Ainsworth woke to the sounds of a fellow guest rummaging around. “Morning, Mr. Gladsly!” the jovial gnome said. “Sleep well?”
“Oh yes,” Ainsworth lied.
In fact, he had not slept well in some nights. The other beds in his room were occupied, and had been for the past four nights.
He had not yet heard anything about his Transportation Circle application.
However, the flyers and posters sent out by a begrudging Ashe to Wenslykirk, and forwarded on by post to the taverns and shops of other local villages and settlements throughout Allfhraoch, had led to more guests than usual trickling in over the past few days.
No adventurers, though. So far, they had come as simply tourists. But Ainsworth knew that would change—and as he avidly shared rumors of the legendary Mount Vengeance and its dragon with guests at mealtimes, he knew the word would spread further about its unclaimed riches.
“Well, I slept like shit,” came the muffled sounds of a young elf across the room. “You don’t half snore, Yolk.”
“I do not!” Yolk exclaimed, but he threw Ainsworth a knowing wink.
Once upon a time, such…lack of dignity would irk him.
He would be enraged that his precious sleep had been disturbed.
But it was all quite amusing, really. And he was learning that losing a few hours’ sleep, losing the peace and quiet of the Misnich Inn, was nothing in exchange for meeting more people and hearing the wondrous tales of their life.
Why did it take him leaving the biggest city in the kingdom to finally see people beyond his research again?
To finally hear them? He thought about his book, which was coming together nicely—the first half, anyway.
While he had yet to get research participants for the second part, he found he…
Well, he loved the first part of his project.
This inn was a place to be documented and celebrated as much as the mountain itself, and he felt truly honored to be the one putting its story out into the world.
On his way down to breakfast, passing other sleepy residents residing in the other rooms, Ainsworth practically skipped to the kitchen. “Morning, you two.”
“Morning? This is practically noon for us…” Alvea said, wiping sweat from her forehead. Quiddle was also looking flustered, and even Bren came in, scowling, with trays to help deliver food to the guests. Ainsworth rolled up his sleeves. “Can I take anything through?”
Quiddle hesitated. “Well, you’re a paying guest as much as anyone else…”
Ainsworth sighed. “We went through this yesterday. This is my doing, and it will inevitably aid my research. So, how can I hel—”
Alvea shoved a tray into his hands. “To the table by the hearth, please.”
“Yes, Chef,” Ainsworth replied, and swiftly exited the kitchen.
The main room of the tavern was, as always, a haven against the storm raging outside.
The thick gray light that filtered through the huge windows was met with the winning gold of the fire in the hearth and from the pillar candles Honey had dotted around the room atop shelves next to the trailing ivy and in artful arrangements in the middle of each table.
Seated by the hearth was a party of druid-bloods, each blessed by a different animal’s gift.
While Ainsworth’s grandmother’s association with the binneach showed via his antlers, other druids at this table sported wildcat ears and goat horns; one woman had the fine scales of a grass snake in place of skin.
Unlike him, however, he could tell they had more than just the physical attributes of the blessing; they had an aura of magic about them, and not the kind you had to spend months painstakingly learning from books like he did.
He gently placed the tea tray in front of them. The druid-blood blessed by the goat (called the ceigeach, he knew from his grandmother’s tales), Illustria, smiled warmly at him. “Thank you. But I thought you were a guest, too, Gladsly?”
“Yes, yes, but long-term. Helping out keeps me busy in between writing,” he said as he passed each of them a cup.
“You must, must remember to let us know when you’re finished.
We will be thoroughly pleased to read your book!
And perhaps see our names featured within it?
” said Tarn, immediately pouring a generous amount of milk into her tea.
Her cat-ears twitched as Ainsworth laughed, reminding her that he had all their correspondence details safe and that he might perhaps dedicate a chapter to the non-adventurous guests.
Letters, and the promise of letters, had come in abundance in recent days.
A handful of inquiries to Honey asking about availability at the inn were sent via an express wildeshifter postal employee who arrived with a pouch clutched in eagle claws, much to the displeasure of Ashe.
Then a few letters arrived for Ainsworth.
From his friends, he realized with some guilt when he noticed each of their stylish seals: Jura, his companion from his days as a young student, and Devon, one of the Skarrow Library illustrators.
He had not informed them—or anyone—of his swift departure, but nevertheless the letters were filled with well wishes and enthusiasm for his project.
There was an update from Lyria confirming the interest that the funding council had in his project.
She must have sent it before his Transportation Circle application, for there was no word of its failure or success.
But to his surprise, she had allocated an extra grant allowance that would enable him to extend his stay for another two moon’s turns at the Skarrow Library’s expense.
He wondered, with a slight shudder, if that offer would still be there if the Transportation Circle application, with Ainsworth’s extra requested funds for it, went through.
There was nothing from Enach. But, Ainsworth told himself, Enach was busy on his own project. And it was not like Ainsworth had sent any to Enach, either. He wondered if he should rectify that…
He had many other letters to write in the coming months—hopefully.
In a carefully folded pile in his trunk were the names and addresses of the guests who had come in recent days and fallen in love with the inn and its wild, rugged landscape—despite the precarious closeness to one of the most dangerous territories in the kingdom.
They wished Ainsworth to write and tell them of his completed project.
None of them were adventurers, however. Most were residents or casual travelers to Wenslykirk who were intrigued by Ainsworth’s and Ruraidh’s posters.
Ainsworth knew brave adventurers would come soon enough, though, and he schooled himself to stay patient.
The week before the tourists arrived, two orc cousins seeking to prove their might against the dragon had appeared.
Much to Ainsworth’s dismay, though, they also changed their mind the following morning and headed home.
Ainsworth wondered if there was some sort of repelling spell surrounding the mountain range, but he had decided that couldn’t be so.
After all, he had traveled along the lower parts of the mountain range and the very foot of Mount Vengeance itself three times now to inspect and sketch the remnants of Honey’s grandmother for his book.
He never once felt dejected, or inclined not to go when he woke up in the morning. Even when the weather was foul!
It was bizarre. Ainsworth himself was an utter coward.
He was no fighter, no good with weapons or combat spells…
and yet the seasoned warriors who turned away did so with no hint of fear that Ainsworth could recognize, only an indifference to their previous ambitions.
Perhaps it was only those who wished to slay the dragon that would be affected if such a spell existed.
Ainsworth certainly did not want to do that!
But then, neither had Fig or Fern. Maybe it was a repellent from the dragon itself, sensing a potential challenge?
But Honey believed—and this was supported by the cursing of Beatrice, as well as some scholarship—that dragons relished such challenges, so why would it repel adventurers?
Honey also said that, in the past, people who merely sought to cross the range with ambitions of travel—again, like Fig and Fern—decided, the next morning, to hold off, too.
“Could the dragon’s curse have afflicted the whole Misnich Inn? To deject…everyone?” Ainsworth asked Honey one morning over breakfast.
Honey finished her syrupy porridge before answering. “Perhaps. But then the curse supposedly condemned Beatrice to a life here, whereas everyone else is leaving.”
It frustrated him no end, and it frustrated him even more that the staff did not seem to care much about the strange behavior of the adventurers.
But Ainsworth did not let it deject him.
He knew something was going on, and he was determined to find out what and document it in his book.
A few weeks ago, the prospect had daunted him.
But he was a scholar, after all! It was his duty to solve this mystery.
“Do you require anything else?” Ainsworth asked the guests, tucking the tray behind his back and standing straight as he addressed the diners. He had once seen a waitress he admired greatly do this, and he aimed to replicate her stance.
“We’re all good, thanks, Gladsly!”
As he turned to leave the table, Honey almost collided with him. He managed to catch her shoulder with his tray-free hand just in time. “Honey! What’s the rush?” Ainsworth asked as she blew some stray hairs from her face.