He shrugged. “I’ll have to find another way to make it right.”
I opened my mouth, trying to conjure a response to that. But the pie man’s wife chose that moment to charge back into the taproom. She carried two plates topped with a slice of ale pie, along with mash smothered in gravy. With the frizz battling her eyes, she plopped the plates before us.
“There you go. That’ll be one gold coin each,” she announced.
Ragnar let out a low whistle. “This pie better be good, then.”
“Better than anything you’d get up top,” she said crisply. “I know you lot think the festival has the finest food in all the Isles, what with all the merchants scrabbling over each other for a prime spot, but us down here…we don’t need to do anything fancy to prove ourselves.”
Ragnar’s lips twitched. “You’re right. Those pesky merchants all fighting for sales.”
“Exactly,” the woman said with an eager nod.
As she turned to go, I cleared my throat. “You said this is an ale pie, right? Did you brew the ale yourselves?”
The woman stiffened, her eyes narrowing. “None of your business. You pay and you eat. You don’t get to ask questions. I won’t have folk from Riverwold trying to copy our recipe. You hear?”
“I didn’t mean…” I trailed off as she stormed out the back door, slamming it behind her so forcefully it rattled against its hinges. I blinked. “Well, then.”
“And here I thought I’d be the one pissing them off instead of you.” Ragnar grinned, poking the pie with his fork. “Think this is safe to eat?”
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
“I don’t know. There’s something not right about any of this. Where are the other patrons? Why wasn’t there a sign hanging out front? This building doesn’t seem much like a place of business,” he mused.
“I don’t think itismuch of one,” I replied. “Like the woman said, they only get a few sailors in here now and again. Sounds like a ship came through recently, which means another likely won’t for a while.”
He shoved his plate aside and leaned toward me. “So then what are they really doing here? If they’re not running a pie shop, they have to be doing something else.” He gestured at the corner, where the piles of barrels were consumed by dust. Then he inclined his head toward one of the tables. Also dusty. In fact, now that I was looking, I spied a few cobwebs in the corners and mildew on the walls. This room clearly got little use.
I nodded toward the back door the woman kept disappearing through. Ragnar silently returned the nod. In unison, we pushed back our chairs and stood. Blood rushed into my ears as we stole across the floor. Ragnar reached for the doorknob, and my breath hissed between my teeth.
“You ready?” he murmured, looking far too excited about this. I, on the other hand, felt a little nauseous. It’d been a while since I’d done anything this bold.
“No.”
“Just stay behind me,” he said. “I won’t let any harm come to you.”
I pressed my lips together, hating the way my heart kicked my ribs at the thought of Ragnar throwing himself into danger in order to save me. I could take care of myself. I had for a long, long time. And yet, I kind of liked that he had my back in this. And that I had his, too.
“Just hurry up and open the damn door,” I whispered. “I don’t think I can bear the tension any longer.”
Ragnar twisted the knob, then kicked the door open. The wood splintered, cracking like thunder. Fisting his hands, he rushed outside. I followed close on his heels. We came into a back garden that was beyond disrepair. Weeds sprouted through the stone path wending through the swampy grass. A second building perched to the side, warm light beaming through the glass panes. The window boxes there were full of blue winter flowers, and smoke curled through the chimney.
“Ah, so that’s where they live,” I murmured.
The door flew open. The woman charged toward us, her frizzy hair tossed into her eyes from the wind. She wagged a finger at us, and her face twisted into a furious scowl. “You’re not allowed back here. This is private property.”
“We’re looking for Ivar. Is he inside?” Ragnar asked in a deep voice that brokered no argument.
Narrowing her eyes, the woman backed up. “You two didn’t come here for ale pies, did you?”
“Where is Ivar?” I asked. “Someone told us he’s the one who makes the pies, and yet you’re the only one here.”
Her face paled. “What do you want with him?”
“We just want to ask him a few questions.” Ragnar edged a little closer, nodding toward the much more welcoming building than the one behind us. “Is he home? All we want is a few moments of his time, and then we’ll be on our way.”
“He’s not here,” she snapped, her eyes narrowing. “Now you two better leave before I call for my neighbors. They won’t take too kindly to Riverwold folk bothering me and mine.”
