Chapter 13
Before he could start on his challenge from Alvea, Ainsworth knew he first had to get what he needed from Ashe—a harder task by far.
But if he wanted his application for a Transportation Circle to be received by the Skarrow Library as quickly as possible, then he had to get it to the Post Server’s office in Wenslykirk first. Walking up and down those hills himself to reach the town would take about a week, which was not an ideal plan.
But perhaps if someone would be willing to wildeshift for him and swiftly take his application to its destination…
The weather was foul that morning. He had initially woken from his night with Alvea and Quiddle in high spirits, despite the pounding headache from the extra bottles of wine they opened (Honey had later scolded them for letting Quiddle partake in both gambling and wine consumption), but the rain and wind lashing against the window made his heart sink.
As if he didn’t have enough to ask of the wildeshifter!
Even with the awful weather, Ashe stood as rigid as ever just beyond the door. When Ainsworth opened it to step out, he noticed the lack of rain just to his left. The wildeshifter was generating, as she had the first day they met weeks ago, a small shield against the elements.
“Going somewhere in this?” she asked, still looking straight ahead. Ainsworth walked in front of her. He was immediately chilled, his hair plastered against his skull as the rain battered down. “You aren’t very prepared. Not even a cloak?” Ashe remarked coolly.
“Well, I was hoping not to be out here very long,” he shouted over the wind. “Just wanted to ask you something. Can you hear me all right?”
She rolled her eyes and with a flick of the wrist extended her shield around him. Within it, the air was almost still. It seemed like only a light breeze and the merest hint of drizzle broke through. A high-level, completely impervious shield would take much more effort than something like this.
“Ah. Thank you,” he said with as much dignity as he could muster, wiping hair and rain from his eyes. She had, he noticed, extended the shield to include his antlers, too. Most thoughtful.
“Out with it, then.”
He was not off to a great start. “I have a favor to ask. I would like to apply for a Transportation Circle between Wenslykirk and the inn. I’ve marked coordinates for the small hill just over there, next to the large boulder and under the tree.”
Her face remained unchanged. He continued on, interpreting her silence as an invitation.
“It would take such a long time on foot traversing the hills and valley to get to Wenslykirk, and the application itself will take a few weeks to be processed, so I was wondering: Could you fly with my application to the Post Server’s office along with a small pouch containing the relevant coin for the, er, official wildeshifter postal service to take onward to Hinslyth? ”
Ashe idly passed her tall wooden staff between her hands.
“Ah, Ainsworth, you must be mistaken. We are not all the kingdom’s errand folk.
I am not part of the wildeshifter community that uses our gifts to render such services, although I forgive you for your mistake.
” She spoke in a haughty, clipped tone—perhaps mocking his own.
Very well, then. “I did not mistake that, Ashe. I was merely asking a favor. For the Misnich Inn, you see? I seek to increase foot traffic, get more guests. Don’t you— Don’t you wish to see Honey’s business thriving?
” He added that last part somewhat cheekily.
It was a bold move, but he saw her expression briefly soften.
“And…Honey said you ran this type of errand from time to time.”
“Of course I’d do anything to help Honey. But that is why I cannot leave.” She gripped her staff tighter. “What if terrors come down from Mount Vengeance? Or if thieves, desperate, roam these hills? Or what if you get guests that turn unruly?”
“It’s just, well, you would not be gone for long.
Quiddle seemed to think you could do it in a couple of days or so, and then with a day to rest before coming back…
” He squeezed some water from the bottom of his shirt.
“I can help keep an eye on things here. I do know some enchantments. I can…levitate things, as you’ve seen, and I have enough binneach blood that I can do a little nature craft. ”
“Really?” She gave a slight jerk of her chin. “Like what?”
He sighed. “Well, I can…manipulate the ground, somewhat. Make it soft, make some patches of earth tear from the ground as though it is sand to be scooped.” It had come in handy once, when he had almost been robbed in the forest near his village while still very young.
He took the footing out from under the horse one bandit rode, and rather by accident, it went flying into the rogue with the blade who had been approaching Ainsworth from the thickets.
It was all rather a lot of fuss for a boy who had little in his pockets anyway.
“I’m sure that’ll come in handy when a snarling madadh-dubh strides past looking for food.”
“Yes, well,” he said, wincing. “I suppose I’m not much of a…combatant.”
“No, really?” said Ashe in a tone that suggested otherwise.
“But I am another set of eyes around the inn, Ashe. And I am not useless. I made it here, didn’t I?
I promise to spend the time you’re gone being extra vigilant—especially if there are guests.
In fact, if you see guests, then you’ll know there’ll be some adventurers at hand to keep us safe.
And I’m sure you’d spot any signs of bandits on your way—”
“Enough. You talk and talk and talk. I will think on it. It is not like I would set off in this weather anyway.”
He nodded. Not a yes, but not a no! “Thank you. Sincerely.”
She waved a hand to dismiss him, and he gratefully stepped back inside before she dispelled her shield.
The main tavern room of the inn was mostly empty, with Ruraidh off giving the rooms a deep clean and Honey squirreled away in her quarters reading the diaries Ainsworth had found.
As he stepped inside, the wonderful transition from the cold to the warmth of the firelit space made his bones almost melt in relief.
Ainsworth walked past the pristinely polished tables, ivy leaves reaching down from the beams to brush his antlers, and stood in front of the hearth.
He stretched his open hands toward the flames, allowing them to warm him from his fingers to his toes while the rain battered against the windows as though begging for admission.
“Need something to heat you up?” Bren called from the bar.
“Yes, actually,” Ainsworth replied, anticipating his next task. “A shot of whisky for me, please, Bren. And a bottle of red wine for later.” He did not have much time to waste.
He had dinner to make for everyone, after all.
“Whisky? It is not yet noon! You’re not as soft as I thought,” Bren growled. Ainsworth laughed and perched atop the stool, awaiting his shot of courage. Heat from the flames lingered on his hands, and he rubbed them together so as to keep it for longer.
Alvea had said he could have free rein with the kitchen’s supplies. Because the inn had just stocked up, she was willing to let him be perhaps a tad more wasteful than she would have been in exchange for her night off from cooking.
In other words, he was permitted to make something decadent, and to be liberal with spices if he wished.
Quiddle, too, was delighted that he was to get the evening off—except for serving and washing the dishes.
Although, once Ruraidh had found out what was going on, he had offered to help clean up in the kitchen should Ainsworth need the assistance.
Ainsworth had been a little stung that Ruraidh seemed to think he could not clean up after himself, but what did he expect when he had so far carried himself like a preening, selfish bird caring only for its feathers and nothing beyond?
And recently, he had lacked even that level of tidiness.
It seemed silly to put oil in his hair, press his shirts, and make sure all his stylish outfits were washed together when he was just among the folk at the inn who cared little about what he looked like.
And while, yes, he did take pride in his appearance and enjoy fashionable pursuits, he found he was happy to slink back into his old ways, too.
He had started wearing mismatched shirts and trousers, and his blond hair had lost its sleek waves and turned into unruly curls.
The length of it reminded him that he’d soon have to pay Honey extra for his stay.
Truly, how could he be here so long and have so little to show for it?
Yet Honey had commented on how he suited his new hair, and that she preferred his more ruffled look in general, so perhaps that had been part of the reason why he’d let the transformation happen so willingly…
Nonsense! It was just convenience, he told himself.
He had a quick drink with Bren, who moaned about the weather like he did every other day, and then, bottle of wine under one arm, Ainsworth headed to the kitchen.
Alvea and Quiddle were preparing a basic lunch: a selection of cured meats, bread, and cheese for the staff to snatch whenever they could among their chores.
“Getting an early start?” Alvea called as she sliced some cheese.
He grinned, holding up the wine bottle triumphantly. “Oh yes. Now, can you give me access to the cool room?”