Stepping away from the window, Oskar carefully closed the shutters to keep out the icy draft. Without a word, he moved to the fireplace and stoked the fire, adding more logs until the flames roared to life, filling the room with warmth. The crackling fire danced and flickered, casting a golden glow across the worn walls.
Lily’s eyes followed Oskar’s every movement as she settled back onto the bed, wrapping the blanket around herself to ward off the lingering chill.
“Did you get any sleep?” she asked.
He shrugged. “A little.” He rose to his feet. “I have to go out. If we’re going to travel in this weather, we’re going to need proper supplies.”
He strode to the door, pulling the bench out of the way and pausing with his hand on the handle. “Lock this behind me,” he said. “Dinna open it for anyone but me.”
She nodded. “All right. And Oskar? Don’t be gone long, will you?”
He felt his expression soften. “I’ll be back before ye know it.”
He left, closing the door softly behind him, and made his way through the inn and out into the cold morning air, a cloud of white mist escaping his lips as he exhaled. The snow crunched under his boots as he walked through the village. It was as if the world had been hushed by the snowfall, sounds muffled and distant, leaving only a serene stillness in its wake and making even this squalid little place seem like something out of a child’s tale.
But there were still chores to be done and they couldn’t wait on the weather. A woman was busy breaking the ice on a bucket of water by her door. Another was sweeping away the snow from her doorstep with a broom, sending sprays of white powder into the air, whilst men bundled up in thick cloaks hurried through the streets on errands.
Oskar’s eyes darted about suspiciously as he walked. Were any of these people in league with Alfred Brewer and his associates? Were any of them involved in the man’s rescue? Unlikely. None of them looked like the kind of conspirators involved in such an operation, they looked ragged and half-starved, hiding up here because they had no other choice. Yet, appearances could be deceptive. How many times had he learned that lesson?
He pulled his cloak tighter about him and trudged on. His thoughts drifted to Emeric and Magnus. How were they faringwithout him? Had they managed to catch up with Alfred and Alice yet? And what would happen when they did? If anything should befall his sword-brothers...
He shook his head, flinging away the thought. Magnus and Emeric were more than capable of taking care of themselves and he had his own task to accomplish.
Up ahead, a group of children caught his attention. They had formed two teams, each armed with snowballs and were engaged in a spirited snowball fight. Their rosy cheeks were flushed from exertion and the cold, and their eyes sparkled with mischief.
One young boy, his scarf wrapped snugly around his neck, took aim and launched a perfectly formed snowball towards his opponent. The girl on the receiving end squealed in laughter as it hit her square in the face, sending a spray of snow cascading over her. The other children burst into peals of laughter, the sound of it echoing through the quiet village.
He scowled and walked on but hadn’t gone more than three paces when he felt a dull impact between his shoulder blades followed by a shot of cold. He slewed around to find the children facing him, frozen with fright, one young lad’s arm still raised.
“Sorry, mister!” he called.
Oskar glowered at them, saying not a word. The children’s nerve broke and they scattered, quickly disappearing amongst the houses.
Oskar sighed and moved on. The air was filled with the aroma of wood smoke as he approached a house near the outskirts of the village. It stood apart from the others, its boards timeworn, its thatch sagging under the weight of snow.
Oskar raised his hand and knocked on the door. The sound reverberated through the quiet street as he waited patiently for a response. The door creaked open and a man with a facelike tanned leather peered out at him, squinting against the brightness.
“Finally!” he barked. “I wondered when ye were going to turn up!”
“Hamish,” Oskar said in greeting.
“Well, come in then!” Hamish said, stepping aside. “Ye are letting in the cold!”
Oskar kicked the snow from his boots and stepped inside, his cloak and clothes dripping little puddles onto the flagstone floor. The interior of the house hadn’t changed at all since the last time Oskar was here. It was still scrupulously clean, with a freshly swept hearth, a neatly made bed, and all of Hamish’s meager possessions either sitting on one of the shelves built against the wall or hanging from hooks in the ceiling.
“Drink?” Hamish asked, hobbling to one of the shelves and pouring whisky into a pottery beaker.
“Not for me,” Oskar replied. “It’s a little early.”
Hamish shrugged. “Suit yerself.” He downed his whisky in one go and then fixed Oskar with a curious stare. “So, what is this news I hear of ye bringing a lady to our humble village?”
“I dinna remember that being any of yer business, Hamish,” Oskar snapped.
Hamish laughed, a hacking noise that rattled deep in his lungs. Hamish was not that old, Oskar knew, but he was as creased and weathered as a well-worn saddle, testament to a life hard-lived. For all that though, he was shrewd and wily, and Oskar had no doubt he’d already received a full report of his arrival with Lily yesterday.
“All right, all right, dinna get yer beeches in a knot,” Hamish said. He slumped down onto a crude wooden bench by the fire and indicated for Oskar to take the other. “What can I do for ye?”
Oskar remained standing. “I need a horse. I can pay.”
