“It’s my going rate for a rush job,” he said, his expression softening. “I am sorry, but it wouldn’t be fair to all my other customers.”
“No, I understand.” I nibbled on the inside of my cheek, shoulders slumping. The problem was, I didn’t have fifty gold coins. “It was a long-shot, anyway. Even with all the barrels in the world, I can’t brew ale without some grains, and most of the food stock here in Riverwold is reserved for Yule.”
“I’ve got plenty of grains.”
I straightened. “You do?”
“Got them when the last ship came through.” He wandered to the back of the room, where a cupboard was nearly bursting from the seams. When he unlatched the lock, the door collided into him. Piles of sandpaper, wood chips, and tiny carved figurines tumbled onto the floor.
And there, piled innocently on the top shelf, were big old sacks of grains.
“That’s quite the stock,” I said, trailing over to him.
“Ship came through at the docks just a couple days ago. Or was it yesterday?” He rubbed his chin, frowning. “Days all blur together, you know.”
I cut my eyes his way. “What are you going to do with them?”
“I thought it might be fun to make my own beer. Nilsa likes her wine and spirits, but…” He shrugged. “Thing is, I don’t really know much about brewing.”
I looked down at the pouch of Vindur sand on my hip, half-hidden beneath my cloak. As long as Tomas would accept it for payment, it would more than cover the cost of all the barrels and the grains, even with the rush fee. I’d been holding on to this sand for years now, saving it for a rainy day. My hand found the pouch, and my fingers pressed into the leather. I was reluctant to part with it, but it was hard to imagine there’d ever come a time when it would be needed more than it was now.
Loosing a breath, I extracted the pouch and dropped it onto the worktable. The sound of shifting sand whispered through the shop.
He gasped and moved toward it. “Is that…is that what I think it is?”
“Eight ounces of Galdur sand,” I answered proudly. “Vindur, specifically.”
He wet his lips and rubbed his hands together. “Please tell me you’re offering this as payment.”
“It’s yours if you can agree to have my order ready by…what’s today?”
“Mandag,” he said.
“I need them by Torsday, then—six barrels, not five. And you have to throw in the grains. I’ll collect them when I come get the barrels.”
“That’s a lot of demands,” he said with a wry grin.
I reached for the sand pouch. “Can you do it or not?”
He motioned at the grains. “They’re all yours.”
13
RAGNAR
“Where’s Lilia?”
Nilsa deposited a plate piled high with sausages, eggs, and mash onto the table before me. I’d tucked myself in the back corner, where I could see the staircase to the upper floors as well as the front door. An hour had bled by without any sign of Lilia and her unmistakable silver hair and curvy hips.
My boots were still sopping wet from the trek over. The rainfall had transformed the festival grounds into a swamp. I’d planned on moving my wagon today so Lilia could return her Traveling Tavern to its rightful place, but the wheels wouldn’t budge in all that mud.
I’d spent all night considering it, tossing and turning in the cramped wagon. If we were somehow going to turn all this around, we needed to run the tavern from Lilia’s wagon. I’d caught a glimpse of her supplies when we’d discovered her missing kegs. She had tables and chairs, silver banners, and an awning to hang outside. We could find the missing ale and then sell it together, so long as she agreed to the deal.
‘Course, the lass had to show up first.
Nilsa patted my arm as if reading my mind. “My partner saw her sneak off into the alley earlier this morning. I’m afraid she’s not back yet.”
I frowned. “We agreed to meet here for breakfast, then go out hunting for the ale.”
