Bast opened his mouth, then looked slightly confused. “What were we talking about?”
“Your advanced state of investigation,” the innkeeper said, glancing out the window. “Despite the fact that it is barely three bells.”
“Ah. Right!” Bast said excitedly. “I know Martin’s been running a tab for the better part of a year now. And I know you’ve had trouble settling up because he doesn’t have any money.”
“He doesn’t use money,” the innkeeper corrected gently.
“Same difference, Reshi.” Bast sighed. “And it doesn’t change the fact that we don’t need another sack of barley. The pantry is choking on barley. But since he runs a still …”
The innkeeper was already shaking his head. “No, Bast,” he said. “I won’t go poisoning my customers with hillwine. You have no idea what ends up in that stuff …”
“But I do know, Reshi,” Bast said plaintively. “Ethel acetates and methans. And tinleach. There’s none of that.”
The innkeeper blinked, obviously taken aback. “Did … Have you actually been reading Celum Tinture?”
“I did, Reshi.” Bast beamed. “For the betterment of my education and my desire to not poison folk. I tasted some, Reshi, and I can say with some authority that Martin is not making hillwine. It’s lovely stuff. It’s halfway to Rhis, and that’s not something I say lightly.”
The innkeeper stroked his upper lip thoughtfully. “Where did you get some to taste?” he asked.
“I traded for it,” Bast said, easily skirting the edges of the truth. “I was thinking,” Bast continued. “Not only would it give Martin a chance to settle his tab, but it would help us get some new stock in. That’s harder, the roads as bad as they are …”
The innkeeper held up both hands helplessly. “I’m already convinced, Bast.”
Bast grinned happily.
“Honestly, I would have done it merely to celebrate you reading your lesson for once. But it will be nice for Martin too. It will give him an excuse to come by more often. It will be good for him.”
Bast’s smile faded a bit.
If the innkeeper noticed, he didn’t comment on it. “I’ll send a boy round to Martin’s and ask him to come by with a couple bottles.”
“Get five or six,” Bast said. “It’s getting cold at night. Winter’s coming.”
The innkeeper smiled. “I’m sure Martin will be flattered.”
Bast paled at that. “By all the gorse no, Reshi,” he said, waving his hands in front of himself and taking a step backwards. “Don’t tell him I’ll be drinking it. He hates me.”
The innkeeper hid a smile behind his hand.
“It’s not funny, Reshi,” Bast said angrily. “He throws rocks at me.”
“Not for months,” the innkeeper pointed out. “Martin has been perfectly cordial to you the last several times he’s stopped by for a visit.”
“Because there aren’t any rocks inside the inn,” Bast said.
“Be fair, Bast,” the innkeeper continued. “He’s been civil for almost a year. Polite even. Remember he apologized to you two months back? Have you heard of Martin ever apologizing to anyone else in town? Ever?”
“No,” Bast said sulkily.
The innkeeper nodded. “That’s a big gesture for him. He’s turning a new leaf.”
“I know,” Bast muttered, moving toward the back door. “But if he’s here when I get home tonight, I’m eating dinner in the kitchen.”
* * *
Rike caught up with Bast before he even made it to the clearing, let alone the lightning tree.
“I’ve got it,” the boy said, holding up his hand triumphantly. The entire lower half of his body was dripping wet.
“What, already?” Bast asked.
The boy nodded and flourished the stone between two fingers. It was flat and smooth and round, slightly bigger than a copper penny. “What now?”
Bast stroked his chin for a moment, as if trying to remember. “Now we need a needle. But it has to be borrowed from a house where no men live.”
Rike looked thoughtful for a moment, then brightened. “I can get one from Aunt Sellie!”
Bast fought the urge to curse. He’d forgotten about Sellie. “That will do …” he said reluctantly, “but it will work best if the needle comes from a house with a lot of women living in it. The more women the better.”
Rike looked up for another moment. “Widow Creel, then. She’s got a daughter.”
“She’s got a boy too,” Bast pointed out. “A house where no men or boys live.”
“But where a lot of girls live …” Rike said. He had to think about it for a long while. “Old Nan don’t like me none,” he said. “But I reckon she’d give me a pin.”
“A needle,” Bast stressed. “And you have to borrow it. You can’t steal it or buy it. She has to lend it to you.”
Bast had half expected the boy to grouse about the particulars, about the fact that Old Nan lived all the way off on the other side of town, about as far west as you could go and still be considered part of the town. It would take him half an hour to get there, and even then, Old Nan might not be home.
But Rike didn’t so much as sigh. He just nodded seriously, turned, and took off at a sprint, bare feet flying.
Bast continued to the lightning tree, but when he came to the clearing he saw an entire tangle of children playing on the greystone, doubtless waiting for him. Four of them.
Watching them from the shadow of the trees at the edge of the clearing, Bast hesitated, then glanced up at the sun before slipping back into the woods. He had other fish to fry.
The Williams farm wasn’t a farm in any proper sense. Not for decades. The fields had gone fallow so long ago that they were barely recognizable as such, spotted with brambles and sapling trees. The tall barn had fallen into disrepair and half the roof gaped open to the sky.
Walking up the long path through the fields, Bast turned a corner and saw Rike’s house. It told a different story than the barn. It was small but tidy. The shingles needed some repair, but other than that, it looked well loved and tended-to. Yellow curtains were blowing out the kitchen window, and there was a flower box spilling over with fox fiddle and marigold.
There was a pen with a trio of goats on one side of the house, and a large well-tended garden on the other. It was fenced thickly with lashed-together sticks, but Bast could see straight lines of flourishing greenery inside. Carrots. He still needed carrots.
Craning his neck a bit, Bast saw several large, square boxes behind the house. He took a few more steps to the side and eyed them before he realized they were beehives.
Just then there was a great storm of barking and two giant black, floppy-eared dogs came bounding from the house toward Bast, baying for all they were worth. When they came close enough, Bast got down on one knee and wrestled with them playfully, scratching their ears and the ruff of their necks.
After a few minutes of this, Bast continued to the house, the dogs weaving back and forth in front of him before they spotted some sort of animal and tore off into the underbrush. He knocked politely at the front door, though after all the barking his presence could hardly be a surprise.
The door opened a couple of inches, and for a moment all Bast could see was a slender slice of darkness. Then the door opened a little wider, revealing Rike’s mother. She was tall, and her curling brown hair was springing loose from the braid that hung down her back.
She swung the door fully open, holding a tiny, half-naked baby in the curve of her arm. Its round face was pressed into her breast and it was sucking busily, making small grunting noises.
Glancing down, Bast smiled warmly.
The woman looked fondly down at her child, then favored Bast with a tired smile. “Hello Bast, what can I do for you?”
“Ah. Well,” he said awkwardly, pulling his gaze up to meet her eye. “I was wondering, ma’am. That is, Mrs. Williams—”