Chapter Eighteen Finlyr
chapter eighteen
finlyr
As I break open the savoury bun and let the steam pour out, I grudgingly admit that the day’s garden work was worth the exchange.
Isagani and I sit at the communal dining bench, rubbing the smalls of our backs, occasionally sighing contentedly.
As the day has gone on, more of the guests have risen from their beds, some grabbing a bun on their way out for later, others sipping tea and easing silently into their days.
The pastries and tea had been laid out but there was no sign of the innkeeper or her apprentice.
The door opens and we’re distracted by the wall of noise and smells that waft in from Umasa.
Already I have gotten used to feeling as if the inn is sealed against the outside world.
Our hosts have returned, along with new arrivals: two women and a child.
One of them is clearly at ease with Narra and Ligaya, leaning into the later, pushing back her hair and revealing the blue ribbon woven near the nape of her neck.
The other looks apprehensive and is a little older than me, with a hardy face and full figure.
A working woman, some sort of labourer. She has dressed tastefully, with clothes that aren’t showy, but well made, and she’s tied her ribbon into a bow to keep her hair from her face.
Her outfit fits her with little flourishes, as though tailored for her rather than handmade by another and traded for.
The child is about six or seven, glittering keen eyes, with a cascade of dark wavy hair, similarly adorned like her mother’s, and red cheeks.
Isagani and I share a look, and they raise their eyebrows.
Narra and Ligaya usher them into the kitchen but the latch doesn’t quite catch, and it creaks ajar.
I stand, stretching and yawning. ‘Come on, squirt.’ I pat Isagani on the back and we make our way across the dining room. The other few guests’ glance at us languidly, as they had when the new arrivals were ushered in. Lots of coming and going at the moment.
I head towards the staircase to the rooms, swerving at the last minute to an alcove behind them, right beside the kitchen. Isagani crouches by me and we listen to the scrape of furniture, watching through the sliver in the door frame. A scrape of furniture and the women sit down.
‘Parched?’ Ligaya asks and I recognise a pitcher of that ghastly purple liquid: her truth binder.
The woman and girl take a mug each and sip.
‘This is your inn?’ the woman asks, eyes dark and wild as they rove over every surface.
‘Yes, and you and Biba are welcome to stay here,’ Narra says, her voice low and gentle. ‘Bed and board for whatever errands you can help with.’
I furrow my brow. Where are they going to put them: the attic? That, or we’re doubling up on bunks because we’re fully occupied here from what Narra said.
‘Got any mending?’ The woman laughs, something deep that quickly turns to hiccuping sobs.
‘Oh, Ris,’ Ligaya says, moving the pitcher away and taking the woman’s hand.
‘Things have been hard for you. But you’re among friends now, and like-minded folk,’ the other visitor, the one familiar with Ligaya, pipes up.
‘Thank you, Morna,’ Ris says, smiling at the child, Biba.
But the child isn’t looking at her mother. She’s looking at us.
‘People,’ she says, pointing at the door.
Narra hisses, making her way to the door and staring at us with a face like thunder. ‘Speaking of trouble.’
‘We didn’t mean to eavesdrop,’ Isagani says, sheepishly.
Ligaya rolls her eyes. ‘You two love getting into mischief.’
‘Who are they?’ Ris asks, eyeing us warily.
‘Other guests at this inn: merchant Larkin and his daughter Isa.’
Ris stands, her body braced.
‘What’s the matter?’ Narra asks, observing the change in her demeanour.
The child is staring at me. ‘You’re not him!
’ she yells suddenly, lashing out at me.
‘Why would you say that?’ she screams and the fireplace roars to life, the whoosh of the heat sending Ris stumbling backwards.
The hem of her travelling cloak is aflame, and I run forward, smothering it with the soles of my boots.
‘What in fucking Aistra was that?’ Isagani asks, scrambling up from the floor.
‘She’s touched,’ Ligaya says.
‘Touched?’ I echo. ‘You gave them the drink, the spell! They shouldn’t be able to cause harm.’
‘I know,’ Ligaya says helplessly.
‘That’s no petty magic,’ Narra says, hand on her chest, breathing laboured. ‘Have you done that before, child?’
Biba awakens from her shock, and nods slowly. ‘I can do things. Sometimes it’s an accident. Mama told me not to show anyone, but they found out anyway. That’s why we had to run.’
The atmosphere in the room shifts and a horrific sound like an animal dying comes from Ris. At first, I’m not sure what it is, and then I realise she’s crying, smoke gently still rising from the smouldered hem of her cloak.