Read An Unexpected Apprentice Online
Authors: Jody Lynn Nye
An Unexpected Apprentice (9 page)
“And who doesn’t?”
“Now, wait just a moment,” said the man at the bar. “It wasn’t three months ago that a smallfolk fellow, not that high”—he gestured two and a half feet off the floor—“but with a square chin like a mattock, came here and bargained me for a packet of embroideries not half the size of my hand. You can’t say that was fair, now, can you?”
“Did you buy it?”
“Well, the quality was mighty good … .”
The other patrons laughed.
“Then stop laying your tongue to slander,” Wim Cake said mildly. “He was a good trader, and you accepted the bargain at the time. You only recall now that it’s more than you wanted to pay. If he managed to talk you around, then he’s smarter than you were. A good fellow, comes through now and again,” Wim added, as an aside to Tildi.
Gosto!
Tildi thought fondly. It had to be. And that packet could have contained some of her own work, along with that of half the village matrons.
Tildi thought fondly. It had to be. And that packet could have contained some of her own work, along with that of half the village matrons.
“What’ll it be then?”
“A half of your best beer,” Tildi ordered, bringing out a silver coin. “And perhaps one for my friend, to show that smallfolks are honest. And one for you, Mr. Cake?”
“Thanks, little one,” the man at the bar said, a sheepish expression on his wry face. “Maybe I was hasty talking down your kinsman.”
“No offense taken,” Tildi assured him.
“Well, thank you, young sir,” the innkeeper said, pushing a few bronze coins over for change. “Sit down and enjoy the beer. My wife’s brewing is too good to drink standing up.”
Tildi started to turn, and found herself wedged between benches, thanks to the bulk of her pack. Wim pointed to the wall, where a few other rucksacks and bags had been stowed beneath the window. She backed carefully away from the bar and shucked off her burden. What a relief it was to be rid of the weight! She felt at least three inches taller.
A couple of humans made room for her between them at the table on the bench facing the counter. She sat down on the base of her spine, sticking out her belly and throwing out her knees like Gosto did when he was making himself comfortable.
Danyn, the barmaid, set down a foaming mug before her with a
clunk.
Tildi thanked her, then regarded the metal cup with dismay. This was a half? It looked like the two-pint pots that the granddads used during outdoor festivals so they wouldn’t have to go back to the kegs as often! With both hands she hoisted the cup and took a deep swig. She set it down carefully and wiped the froth off her lips with the back of her hand.
clunk.
Tildi thanked her, then regarded the metal cup with dismay. This was a half? It looked like the two-pint pots that the granddads used during outdoor festivals so they wouldn’t have to go back to the kegs as often! With both hands she hoisted the cup and took a deep swig. She set it down carefully and wiped the froth off her lips with the back of her hand.
“Ah!” she breathed out gustily, in imitation of Pierin after a long day at work. “Good brew. Couldn’t have done better myself.”
“Do much brewing yourself?” the barmaid asked curiously. The other patrons glanced at her, too. Tildi quailed internally. Girls must do the brewing in human families, too. She wished she didn’t have to pretend she was a boy. It was so easy to make mistakes! She forced a grin to her lips.
“Er, a bit. My mother thou—thinks we should all know how to do all the tasks on the farm. I sew and weave, too. We all do.”
“Ah, you’re a farmer, are you?” Danyn asked.
“No, I’m a scholar!” Tildi insisted. “I’m going to take up my apprenticeship in Overhill. My eldest brother’s the farmer.”
“Oh, fine,” Danyn said, with an outrageous wink at the other patrons. “Well, then, I should ask for my tip in advance. You scholars are notoriously cheap.”
The customers roared with laughter. Red-faced, Tildi felt in her purse and handed over a silver penny. Danyn shook her head over it.
“You’re generous. Must be the farmer blood in you. But you’ll need your money for books, my dear.” She handed it back. “Copper will do for now. If you ever write scholarly books and you make your fortune in gold from a king, come on back and buy us all a round.” She reached down and pinched Tildi’s cheek.
“Ah, she likes you,” said one of the dark-skinned men, who were all sailors from Tillerton.
“She’s nice,” Tildi said sheepishly, feeling her face burn. The men nudged one another and chuckled.
Humans were kindly,
she thought, as she drank her beer. Not at all what she had feared of such gigantic beings, though their regard wasn’t without
its dangers. The drunken fellow on her right, with a pale belly peeking out between the buttons of his soiled blue tunic, kept slapping her companionably on the back while he talked. His blows were enough to bounce her off the table edge.
she thought, as she drank her beer. Not at all what she had feared of such gigantic beings, though their regard wasn’t without
its dangers. The drunken fellow on her right, with a pale belly peeking out between the buttons of his soiled blue tunic, kept slapping her companionably on the back while he talked. His blows were enough to bounce her off the table edge.
The tall, skinny man at the end of the table went on with the story he’d been telling when Tildi had come in.
“And my captain said there must be sea serpents out there,” he said, holding out his raw-skinned hands as far as they would stretch. “What else could bite a halibut right in half like that? Dead afore it hit the nets!”
“Did you ask the mermaids?” asked a woman alone at a table in the corner. Tildi glanced at her over the top of her mug. Her long dark hair was unbound, and she had golden skin, but what set her apart from the rest of the company were her ears. Between the silky tresses of hair, pointed tips swept gracefully at a backward angle. She was an elf! Teldo and the others said they had met some in the human kingdoms. She didn’t look that much different from humans … but there was a quality about her, something elusive that Tildi couldn’t put her finger on.
“My captain don’t like to talk to them mermaids,” the skinny man said, shaking his head. “We after the same catch, you know.”
The elf caught Tildi staring at her and fixed large, dark eyes upon her. Tildi blushed and bent her attention to her drink.
“I heard the big fish are like their sheep,” Wim Cake said, from behind the bar. “To them, you’re rustling!”
The skinny man signaled for a refill. “And what have you got on the stove, eh?”
“Mutton stew, boiled chicken, some ham,” Danyn said, coming over to replace the fisherman’s empty mug with a full one. “No fish.” Skillfully, she avoided his grab at her skirts, and turned to Tildi. “You will be wanting to eat some supper, too, Teldo Summerbee,” she said, then clicked her tongue. “And what happened to your shirt, little one? It’s all burned on the shoulders. Drying your washing too close to your campfire?”
Tildi glanced down at the black marks. “No, I … I was attacked by a creature in the forest, a fire-demon.” She took a hasty drink as she realized everyone was looking at her.
“Eh?” asked a bent woman with deeply tanned and wrinkled skin, peering at her with sudden interest. “A fire-demon? What kind of creature is that?”
“Well, it was like a light shaped like a man,” Tildi said. “More of a fire than a light, I mean. But it was a bright shape.”
“And that’s all?” the old woman insisted. “You can’t just say something like that and let it rest. How did you meet it, and how did it come to burn you? Tell us all! I want to hear it.”
“We, too! Tell us the tale, smallfolk!” the fishermen chimed in. “Is that where you got the mark on your face?”
“Síyah, a tale, a tale!” A fat man with golden skin and long black hair like the elf’s seized her around the waist and hoisted her up in the middle of the table. She windmilled her arms to keep from falling over. The man steadied her, and gave her a slap on the back. “There, now everyone can hear you.”
“A tale, a tale!” the patrons chanted.
“Er …” Tildi hesitated, looking around at the circle of eager faces. She didn’t want to make a spectacle of herself, but all these men were demanding she comply. She felt she must obey their wish. “Er, I was hiking in the forest. It’s at the eastern border of the Quarters. Where my people live.”
“We know that,” the old woman said encouragingly. “Some of us have been in the Quarters.”
“Have you?” Tildi asked awkwardly, trying to recall if a human woman had ever visited her village. “I … uh … stopped for a rest. I made a campfire,” she began. It would be wise not to mention making the fire spell, so she devised the existence of a flint and steel, and described having a little trouble getting her campfire started. At first she was sorry to disappoint them with such an ordinary narrative, of an outdoor picnic, but they were good listeners, and she could tell they anticipated something exciting. So she clawed back every detail from her memory, making it sound as lively as she could, throwing in every leaf and tree, every twist and turn. When she reached the part where the demon hand had reached through her chest toward the fire, the audience as one gasped and sat back. She showed them the burn on her face, and told how it had come about. With growing delight she realized that she had as good a story as any Gosto had ever told, and it was all hers. It had happened to her, and no one else! By the time she got to the point where she stamped the earth down over the ashes of her campfire and ran away, the audience roared its approval.
The eldest fisherman slammed his mug on the table. “Well told, little one! What an adventure! Danyn, a drink for the smallfolk!”
“Are you certain the
heuren
didn’t follow you?” the elf asked. The others turned to look at her.
heuren
didn’t follow you?” the elf asked. The others turned to look at her.
“Well, she killed it, didn’t she?” the old woman asked.
The elf didn’t disagree, but her quiet question left Tildi feeling nervous again. She climbed down and wriggled her way into the place beside the stout man.
“A refill, anyone?” Danyn asked with a smile.
“One for me,” the wrinkled one said. “And another one for Teldo.”
“Aye! Here’s to Teldo, the bravest smallfolk we’ve ever met!” shouted the tawny man at the bar.
“You’re a brave one, for certain,” Danyn said, placing two more mugs of beer and a steaming bowl of stew down before her. “Well, I’d be proud to mend the shirt of a hero like you. Slip it off and hand it to me.”
“No!” Tildi yelped, grabbing the hem with both hands, as if she were afraid that Danyn would strip it off her right there and then.
Danyn’s eyebrows went up. “Why not?”
Tildi felt her cheeks burn. “I mean … uh, I don’t have another. Not until I reach Overhill. I’ll make do. But thank you for your offer. Truly.” She raised one of the gigantic cups, but she kept one hand on the fabric of her tunic. “Your health!”
The others laughed. Danyn winked at them. “Modest, too, as well as brave.” She dropped a kiss on top of Tildi’s head. “Tell us some more stories of your homeland. We have a few come and go, but only rarely. Mostly they go to the south and the seaport to trade.”
“That’s true,” Tildi said, feeling a trifle more relaxed. “It’s just closer by. What would you like to know?”
A lot, it seemed. The queries flew at her from all sides. The Groaning Table was a busy place, and it had filled up over the course of the evening to near bursting point. Word seemed to have spread that she was there, and everyone wanted to know all about smallfolk. In between bites of the excellent stew, Tildi did her best to answer everything, without giving too much away about her own life. Everyone had a question or two, about the food, the sport, the beer, women, music, and dancing.
“We dance a lot,” Tildi admitted, pushing the bowl aside at last and returning to the beer. “During meetings and at festivals, at Year’s End and weddings, of course.”
“How about singing?” asked the stout man. “Give us a lusty song to drink by. Go on, lad!”
“Yes! Sing! Sing! Sing!” chanted the crowd.
“I …” A
lusty
song? Tildi knew some that her brothers liked, but she had never sung them in public.
lusty
song? Tildi knew some that her brothers liked, but she had never sung them in public.
“Go on, then!” He grasped her by the collar and stood her on the table.
“No, I really shouldn’t.” She tried to climb off, but the stout man had a firm grip on her shirt. Was she destined to spend the entire evening on the table? “Please, let me sit down.”
“Are you refusing, after we showed you such hospitality, runt?” demanded a truculent patron at the end of the board. He had arrived very late, and seemed to have started drinking before he got there.
“No, indeed, I’m not that good a singer,” Tildi protested with a calm smile, hoping he would calm down. “You just wouldn’t enjoy hearing me.”
“Smallfolk snob,” sneered the thinnest of the seamen, peering at her with red-veined eyes. He had hardly lifted his nose out of his mug all night, and was far past the stage when Tildi usually took the beer jug away from a potentially disruptive visitor. He sprang up, and a knife appeared in his hand. “Too good to offer cheer to us big folks, eh? Little unnatural runts.”
Everyone seemed to be shouting at once, most of them at the fisherman, whose friends immediately leaned over and pushed his arms down. The innkeeper reached under the bar. Tildi assumed he had a stick or a riding crop there; many of the innkeepers in the Quarters had something to get the attention of angry drunks. The cheerful mood in the room turned suddenly menacing. Tildi was afraid. She dropped to her knees to crawl off the table.
Someone pulled her by her arm across the table. Mugs overturned and spilled their contents onto the laps of patrons, who jumped up, swearing at the sudden flood. Tildi found herself face-to-face with a pimply blond man who was screaming unintelligibly at her. His breath smelled of stale beer and onions. Gasping at the stench, Tildi pushed at him, but he was much stronger than she was. Another pair of hands seized her legs and hauled her across the tabletop. The blond man let go, and Tildi curled into a little ball, covering her head with her arms as her body crashed into more dishes. She had been so grateful to get to the inn. She wished she had spent another night in the forest.
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