“Of course,” Nilsa said thinly. “Anyway, what’s Ivar got to do with any of this? He never comes into town, and he’s banned from putting up a stall for Yule.”
“Banned?” That sounded promising.
Nilsa motioned me closer. I leaned in, and so did the pixie, even though she looked like she was well-aware of Ivar’s sordid history. “He got into a couple fights one year before you started coming into town. Caused a broken nose and a couple swollen eyeballs. Ever since, he’s not been allowed back. Still sells plenty of pies, though, just not at this time of year. Except to the sailors, maybe.”
“And you saw him in the meadow? Carrying away some barrels?” I asked hopefully.
She winced. “Well…no.”
My stomach dropped in disappointment. I’d begun to hope this pie man by the sea was the answer to all our problems. He’d taken the ale to get back at Steffon for banning him from Yule, and all Ragnar and I had to do was retrieve the kegs from him. And then Yule would be saved.
“I think I speak for both me and Lilia here when I say that isn’t exactly what we were hoping to hear,” Nilsa said with a sigh.
“I can probably give you something almost as good as that, though,” said the pixie. “A few weeks ago, I ran into Ivar at the market in Milford. He was hunting for some exotic ingredients. Frog leaves or something. But he was also looking for some good ale preserved with Galdur sand. He told me he wants to get into making ale pie. Only problem is, no one could sell him any. The Milford taverns wanted to keep all the ale for themselves. He seemed pretty agitated about it.”
She was right. I did perk up at that. “So what you’re saying is, you know a man who has a bone to pick with the festival, and he also happens to be in search of the very thing that’s gone missing.”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” she said. “If I were a betting kind of gal, I’d bet the whole damn town that you’d find every single one of your missing barrels—Ragnar’s, too—if you paid our not-so-friendly pie man a little visit.”
I smiled. “Luckily for all of us, that’s precisely what I plan to do. Where can I find him?”
* * *
Ragnar was deep in conversation with a boisterous blue-haired elf whose eyes and stained lips looked like he’d drank his weight in wine. Although…it was less a conversation and more Ragnar nodding along to the extended monologue spilling from the elf, like the deluge of rain from the Elding. I edged close to the table, trying not to laugh. Then, I figured I should be kind and rescue him from the situation.
I cleared my throat, and the elf slurred his words to a halt. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I really need to borrow Ragnar for a moment. Important tavern business, you see.”
“Tavern business!” the elf proclaimed, raising his goblet in a toast. “Well, I certainly can’t get in the way of that. By all means, steal away, dear tavern lady!”
Ragnar’s expression was that of a man who’d been saved from downing a particularly bitter jug of ale. I fought back a laugh, waiting to the side while he murmured departing words to his new friend. Then he followed me through the raucous din of the taproom.
“Thanks for that,” he said when we reached the back corner. Gazing down at me, he folded his arms and leaned sideways, shoulder against the wooden panels of the inn. I wet my lips, suddenly all too aware of how close we stood. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Nilsa watching us.
Finding my voice, I said, “We might have found our thief.”
He arched his brow and waited for me to continue.
“A pie man, who lives down by the sea. Rumor has it he was asking around about some ale a couple weeks back. And listen to this.” I dropped my voice and leaned in to whisper. It took all my concentration to ignore the brush of his chest against mine. “He’s been banned from the festival for starting fights.”
A slow grin spread across Ragnar’s face. “Well, if that doesn’t sound like our culprit, then I don’t know what does.”
I beamed up at him. “We should pay him a visit tomorrow, so long as the storm has died down.”
A steady rain still rapped against the windows, but the anger of the wind had subsided to a few half-hearted gusts now and again. By morning, the Elding should have returned to the sea, where it would whip the waves up into a frenzy. The walk would require sturdy boots and a pair of dry socks on return, but it would be worth it to find our kegs.
“Meet you here in the morning?” he asked.
“Right here in this corner,” I replied.
He arched a brow. “And you promise you won’t run off on your own adventure this time?”
“Oh, I will.” I grinned back at him. “Just not tomorrow.”
“Sounds like a deal.” He stuck out his hand. Swallowing, I slid my fingers into his warm palm and slowly shook. A few seconds turned into a minute, our hands still locked. Eventually, Ragnar let go, and my palm tensed as I lowered it to my side.
“Where are you going to sleep?” I asked, suddenly feeling awkward.
“Back in my wagon.”
