Darkness Descending

As if to leave no possible doubt about its opinion, Ealstan’s stomach rumbled again. He laughed, which was the easiest way to hide his embarrassment. “All right,” he said. “I’d better, or my belly will shake the building down.”

He spooned up barley and onions and chopped almonds and a few tiny bits of smoked pork, thoughtfully smacking his lips. “You did something different this time.”

Vanai nodded. “You got me that fennel I asked for, so I used it.”

“Is that what it is?” Ealstan said. For Forthwegians, fennel was medicine, especially useful in hemorrhoid preparations. Kaunians did more cooking with it, a tradition that went back to the days of the Empire. Ealstan smacked his lips again. “Tastes better than I thought it would.” Listening to himself, he admired his own calm. He hoped Vanai did, too.

By the way the corners of her mouth twitched, she was trying not to smile, or maybe not to laugh out loud. “You shouldn’t have bought it if you didn’t expect me to put it in the food, you know.”

“I suppose not.” Valiantly, Ealstan kept eating. People did cook with fennel, and they didn’t perish as a result. He had bought this particular batch, and it hadn’t gone into a hemorrhoid cream. And when you got down to it, it wasn’t so bad. “Interesting flavor,” he admitted. This time Vanai did laugh.

They’d just finished supper when shouts down on the street made them both hurry to the window to find out what was going on. Night had already fallen, and the street was poorly lit, but Ealstan didn’t need long to make sense out of what was happening: a couple of men in kilts were forcing a fellow in trousers along the sidewalk. One of them took a bludgeon off his belt and walloped the luckless Kaunian, who cried out again. No one came to his rescue.

Gently, Ealstan pushed Vanai away from the window. “We have to be careful, sweetheart,” he said. “We don’t want them looking up here and seeing you.”

Two tears slid down her cheeks. By her expression, they were tears of rage. “No, of course we don’t,” she said, her voice quivering. “As long as I stay inside my trap here, I’m perfectly safe.”

Ealstan didn’t know how to answer her. He didn’t think there was any way to answer all the meanings she’d put into that. He did the best he could: “I love you.”

“I know you do,” Vanai said. “That just leaves the rest of the world out of the bargain.”

Once again, Ealstan found himself without a good reply.

Skarnu felt a certain amount of pride at going into Pavilosta by himself. He’d been staying on the farm once Gedominu’s for going on two years now: long enough for the locals to conclude he’d be around for a while, even if they’d call him things like the new fellow the rest of his days.

Silver jingled in the pockets of the homespun trousers Merkela had made for him. He needed a couple of drill bits. He knew more about them than Merkela did, and at least as much as Raunu, so he was the logical one to come and buy them. Even so, he felt small-boy enthusiasm for an outing of a sort he hadn’t enjoyed before.

Down in Priekule, he would have gone into an ironmonger’s, bought what he needed, and left with as much dispatch as he could. In a village like Pavilosta, he’d discovered, that was bad manners. A customer was supposed to pass the time of day rather than brusquely laying down his money. Skarnu found that peculiar, since the country folk were usually much more sparing of words than his old set back in the capital, but it was so.

After gossip about the weather, the way the crops were shaping, and a couple of juicy local scandals, Skarnu managed to make his escape. His time in and around Pavilosta had changed him more than he would have guessed, though, for instead of heading straight back to the farm, he ambled into the market square to see what he could see and hear what he could hear.

Maybe I’ll learn something to help in the fight against the redheads, he thought. But he was too honest with himself to let that stand for long. Maybe I’ll pick up something to make Merkela laugh or cluck. That came closer to the truth, and he knew it.

Somehow or other, he found himself gravitating toward the enterprising taverner who was in the habit of setting out a table at the edge of the square. If he stood around and soaked up a mug of ale, or even a couple of mugs of ale, he wouldn’t look the least bit out of place. So he told himself, at any rate.

As a lure to the men who were both thirsty and curious, the taverner had set out a couple of copies of a news sheet that had come in from some larger town-- from Ignalina in the east, Skarnu saw by the masthead. “Full of nonsense and drivel,” the taverner said as the noble picked up the sheet.

“Well, why do you have it, then?” Skarnu asked.