As a trading hub, people came from all over to E’Skaara’s harbor. Hundreds of men matched Arkenn’s description, speech as varied as their clothing, but no one knew the name. Maybe he’d gone north or booked passage on another ship.
The Stone’s Throw tavern catered to all kinds. If Arkenn remained in the lower city, sooner or later, their paths must cross. Keeping his artificially darkened hair closely cropped allowed Petran—no, notPetran,butPeter—to blend with the locals. With time, he managed to copy their singsong accent when he spoke.
“Peter, boy. Come here. I need you.” Addie stepped out from behind the bar, wiping her hands on her apron. Peter followed her to a far table where three men sat, skin golden from the sun. “What are they saying?”
Peter tried three languages before one of the men smiled. They chatted for a moment, then Peter told Addie, “Three pints of ale, three bowls of mutton stew, and one of fish chowder.” He arranged payment then, in case he wasn’t around when the time came to pay.
“There’s a good lad,” Addie said. “I knew we kept you around for a reason.” She patted his cheek and wandered back to the kitchen, jingling a pocket full of coins. Apparently, barmaids made more coin than a woman pushing a cart.
“Peter? I need another cask!” the tavernkeeper shouted from behind the bar, a stout, balding man in his later seasons.
“Yes, Mitta.” Peter trudged behind the building, hoisted a cask onto his shoulder, and returned inside.
Mitta clucked his tongue. “Were but I your age again.” He squeezed Peter’s muscular arm, relatively larger than when he’d arrived. Now he lifted, building firmer muscles than he’d earned aboard theSeabird.
Three summers. Three summers since he’d settled in E’Skaara. Three summers since he’d left the world of piracy.
Three summers since he’d seen Arkenn.
One day they’d meet again. The priest said so. While Peter didn’t put much stock in religion, he’d cling tightly to those words.
Addie returned from the kitchen, bringing the foreigners their meals, while Peter carried the ale, spending a few moments talking to the travelers before duties called him away again.
A young girl darted into the tavern, chattering away to Addie. Addie held up her hand. “Calm, young one.”
“It’s Mum! It’s time!” the girl cried.
Addie nodded. “Go, girl. Tell yer mum I’mma coming.” She left her apron behind the bar and lifted a brow in Mitta’s direction.
Mitta waved a meaty hand. “Go, go.”
Passing by Peter, Addie murmured, “Come, I need you.”
Once more, Mitta raised a hand in a shooing motion. “Go on.”
Peter chased after Addie. “Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.” For a woman twice his age and two-thirds his height, Addie managed to match Peter’s longer strides. She yanked his sleeve. “Down here.” They cut through an alleyway, across another road, ending at a modest cottage.
A shriek came from within. Addie hurried her steps. “Poor woman lost three babes already. I’d hate for her to lose another.”
A birth? Addie brought Peter along to help with healing skills? “I know nothing about delivering babes.”
“I don’t need you to. Just stay here. Think good thoughts.” She disappeared inside the house.
Think good thoughts? The woman inside screamed again, much louder this time. Peter cringed. The poor woman must be in agony. The little girl ran back outside, swiping at her damp cheeks.
“What’s wrong?” Peter asked.
“My auntie died having a baby. Is Mum gonna die?”
When the girl talked, the shimmering eyes and little hiccups nearly broke Peter’s heart. “No. She’ll be fine. The babe will be fine. Soon you’ll have a brother or sister.”
“I had three brothers. They all died,” the girl wailed.
Peter hunkered down, putting himself on eye level with the girl. “What’s your name?”
“Mags.”
