I told Kit I wouldn’t leave but, the truth was, my tenacity would be determined by the amount of coin I had in my pockets. With fall harvest just passed, I wasn’t urgently needed on the farm, but inn stays and meals cost money, of which I had little. Our farm did well enough, but we conducted most business by bartering. Since I couldn’t bring bags of barley and corn on my back to exchange for lodging, I would stay as long as I could afford to.
My mother worried when I told her I was leaving. I hadn’t meant to give her more to fret about, but Sayla assured her I was seeking an apprenticeship in a neighboring ward and would return within a fortnight. Given the four-day journey that brought me to Kit Mosel’s front door, I had ten remaining days to convince him to take meto the Bone Men, where I would plead my case and then get back home.
I may have felt confident of that timeline, but another voice invaded my thoughts.
You’re a fool, Penwell.
How many times had my brother told me that? He scolded me for leading with my mouth instead of my mind, making promises I couldn’t keep, and pledging myself to ill-fated endeavors. Kit Mosel seemed to agree. He’d brandished a knife while steadfastly refusing to aid in my quest, and he clearly thought I was a lunatic.
Regardless of what Kit thought, what he said stuck with me.
That’s your fault.
I didn’t deny it. It was for my sake we’d forgone the traditional funeral pyre, unable to shake my childish fears. Digging a hole in the earth was more serene than a violent inferno that would fill the air with acrid smoke. I vividly recalled services where the remains of family or friends were set ablaze, loosing fire that licked at the sky and bathed everything in stifling heat. The thought made my skin ache.
Upon arriving at the sole inn in town, I spent almost all my copper on a room for three nights and prayed that would be long enough to change Kit’s mind. Failure was not a novelty in my life, more of a habit I was desperate to break. My father taught me that being a man meant taking responsibility for your actions and then making necessary changes. This was certainly a change.
I gave Kit the rest of that day to consider my proposition. After a night of fitful sleep, I woke to hunger clawing at my belly. Scarce funds meant spending them prudently. In this case, it meant forgoing food to pay for lodging.
I’d skipped dinner the night before, but spent a copperon breakfast in the inn’s dining hall which doubled as the town pub. While alternating between taking bites of gluey porridge and trying to get my spoon to stand upright in the stuff, I caught the attention of a passing barmaid. Rumors had brought me this far, but I needed to know more.
The busty blonde sidled up to my table. Her face was flushed from the heat pouring off the roaring fire in the hearth, and she had a bucket of dirty dishes propped on her hip. She wiped her free hand on her apron, leaving a greasy smudge on the fabric.
“Whaddya need?” she asked.
I fidgeted with my spoon. “I was hoping to get some information on Kit Mosel.”
Her immediate frown wasn’t promising. “Not many people come round here asking after Kit. Not since that mob a few years back. But we sent them on their way.”
My brows arched. “That was… kind of you.”
She set the dish bucket on the edge of the table long enough to tug on the waist of her apron. “Eh, Kit’s a decent sort.” Her shoulders bounced. “Useful. Got a head too pretty to be hanging from a gallows, too.”
He was, in fact, much prettier than the sharp-toothed, snarling fiend described to me before my arrival. I was musing over the memory of his face, drawn with angry lines but somehow appealing, when the barmaid spoke again.
“What’s your interest in him?”
I tried for a charming smile. “Curiosity? I’ve heard a lot of gossip—not that I hold any stock in it, of course—and I wanted to hear about him from someone who knows him.”
She scoffed, but the ghost of a smile tugged at one corner of her mouth. “Not gonna have much luck with that around here. Nobody really knows him.”
“You must knowsomethingabout him.”
The barmaid considered long enough that I thought she would rebuff me. Instead, she held out her hand. “I don’t give out information about my patrons for free.”
My heart leapt with sudden hope. “So, he comes here?” I asked. “To eat? Drink?”
The barmaid’s features hardened, and her hand stayed out, fingers curling in a beckoning gesture.
My stomach twisted as I fished a copper from my pocket and dropped it into her palm.
Her fingers closed around it so fast that she almost caught my own in her fist. “Kit works the forge in town. Odd hours, only when he’s needed. Lucky for you, he’s due there today. You want more information, you can get it from him direct.”
Dread pooled in my gut. Of course he had to be a blacksmith, toiling over a vat of fire in the one place in Forstford I had no interest in visiting. Blistering heat and a man who had threatened me once already made for a daunting combination.
I croaked out thanks to the barmaid before she disappeared into the kitchen, leaving me to wallow in my bad luck.
My appetite had gone, but I choked down the rest of my porridge, unwilling to waste it when I’d spent my lunch money buying information on Kit’s whereabouts. With my stomach full but unsettled, I trudged out of the inn and toward the blacksmith’s stall. It was easy to find at the edge of the town square, marked by the sight and smell of smoke.
