* * *
Ipeered out the rear door of the inn with the heat of the kitchen at my back. Mist-shrouded rain plinked against the stones, and the frequent thunder was like a dragon’s roar. The dark haze smudged the courtyard at the end of the narrow alley. A few huddled forms scurried through it, likely visitors who’d had enough of the campground.
“Shut that door, will ya?” Herold called out from behind their mound of pots and pans and baking trays. The taproom was a cacophony of chaotic activity, and Herold was up to their ears in food orders.
“Sorry,” I told them. “I’m just trying to work up the nerve to go out.”
“You lost your damn mind? We’ve got a roaring hearth and piles of food here. Go find somewhere to sit. And if the tables are packed, find a corner to prop your arse against. It might not be much, but it’s dry.”
“When I get back, I’ll do just that.” Sighing, I tugged my cloak’s hood over my head and stepped out into the storm. The door thundered shut behind me.
Puddles splashed around my boots as I hurried through the village. According to Nilsa, Tomas kept a carpentry shop on the southern side of town, where most of the fishmongers lived. I hurried down the street. The bottom of my cloak swept across the mud, splattering droplets onto my trousers. Lightning forked through the gray skies in wicked tongues of white.
A heavy chill settled into my bones as the moments bled past. When I finally spotted a wooden sign swinging in the wind, etched with a painting of a hammer, I loosed an audible sigh. Even if Tomas couldn’t help me, I’d find a brief respite from the rain inside. I dashed up a set of rickety stairs, faded from wind and time. Warm light spilled through the cracked curtains.
I knocked and waited, bouncing on my toes.
When the door swung inward, the sight of a towering shadow demon greeted me. Shadows pulsed around him, curling like wisps of smoke. His eyes gleamed bright, like stars, and his black hair was twisted in a high bun that sat squarely between his sleek, curving horns. Folding his bulky arms across his aproned chest, he arched a brow.
“We’re closed today due to the storm.” He pointed at a small sign in the window that said just that, but I’d been so focused on the light I hadn’t noticed it.
“Looks like you’re still working.” I indicated his apron.
“I’m always working.” He took in the sight of me, drenched to the bones. Shaking his head, he opened the door wider. “Come on in, then. I don’t have it in me to turn away a drowned rat.”
“A drownedelf,” I corrected him with a thankful smile.
Inside, his shop was a mess. Planks of wood in all shapes and sizes formed a cascading mountain across one side of the room. The opposite wall held all manner of tools, but there seemed to be no rhyme or reason to where they hung. Hammers were haphazardly clinging to spools of thread, and saws were situated with the sharp side out. I gave that wall a wide berth, then realized the planks could drown me in an avalanche if I jostled them too much.
“Right.” He palmed his worktable in the center of the room, hidden beneath drawings and tools. Rain beat the tin roof above. “What can I get for you?”
“My name is Lilia. I run the Traveling Tavern for the festival.” I stuck out my hand.
With a grin, he captured my palm in his grip and eagerly shook it. “I’ve heard of you. Best ale in all the Isles, right? Maybe this year I should finally make some time to attend the festival and give it a try. I’m fond of a good brew.”
This was a good sign.
“That’s actually why I’m here,” I told him. “My kegs have gone missing, which means there’ll be no ale this year unless I can brew some more. I was hoping you had some barrels. And if not, perhaps you could build some for me.”
“Gone missing?” He scratched his chin. “Well, I don’t understand. How do kegs go missing?”
“That’s a good question. Unfortunately, there’s not a lot of time to figure that out.”
“So you need some barrels. Hmm.” He cast a glance at his wood pile. “I don’t have any ready-built, I’m afraid, but I could certainly build you some. When do you need them?”
“In a few days.”
“Days?” The shadow demon paced the floor, and a few strands of shadows shot out to whip the wall. I gave him a wide berth as best I could, but there was nowhere for me to go. Mumbling to himself, he shook his head, then said, “I have too many other jobs in the queue, I’m afraid. Unless you can pay double, I just don’t have the time.”
I hated to ask. “What’s double?”
“How many barrels?” he countered.
“Five at the very least.”
“Ten golds each,” he said without missing a beat. “Fifty in total.”
“Fifty?” I gaped at him. That was extortionate. Earlier this year, I’d purchased barrels from the docks near Milford for two golds each, and the carpenter in Wyndale had built some for only one. Spending ten each meant I’d barely break even. Add in all the lost barrels, and I’d leave the festival worse off than when I’d arrived.
