Or any who were not so casual, she thought, considering the stories she had been told in the past twenty-four hours. She was glad she had visited Bumper while it was still full daylight. She would have been too nervous to walk out to the clearing after dark. She hurried back to the village while there was still plenty of light.
After sunset, troubled by the story of the evil and mysterious Stealer, Maddie was glad to spend the night in the inn. The attic room she had been given had a stout door with a good lock on it. That gave her a certain sense of security. But she was still nervous and tended to jump at any unexpected noise. The sound of footsteps on the stairs would make her freeze, head cocked to one side and listening attentively. Even though logic told her they probably belonged to Jerome or his wife, or another member of the inn’s staff, she would keep one hand close to the hilt of the saxe knife, hanging over the bedhead, until she heard them move away again.
As Will suggested, she offered to help in the kitchen and her offer was gladly accepted. Aside from anything else, it gave her a few hours in the company of other people, and the noise and bustle of the busy kitchen was a welcome change from the little room at the top of the stairs.
Jerome watched approvingly as she bundled her hair up under a head scarf, donned an apron and began scraping the greasy platters, then plunging them into a large iron cauldron of soapy water suspended over the kitchen fire. She would then scrub them thoroughly with a long-handled wooden brush. After a few minutes, her face was red and damp from the steam and her arms were coated with soap suds up to the elbows. When the washing-up was done, she busied herself sweeping the kitchen and the tap room. She was still at it when the last customers made their way out, calling their farewells to the innkeeper. A few of them muttered pleasantries to her as well. They’d seen how hard she had been working and they admired such industry.
It was still relatively early when the tavern emptied out. It was a weeknight, after all, and country folk went to bed and rose early.
Jerome entered the tap room as she finished sweeping and put the broom away in its cupboard. He moved to the front door and shot the two heavy iron bolts across to lock it—one near the top and the other at the bottom of the door. He glanced at her and smiled reassuringly.
“I’ll bolt the kitchen door too, once Emma and Ted have gone,” he said. He assumed she might be nervous with her father away and he wanted to reassure her. He liked her. She had worked hard through the night. Even though he would charge Will for a night’s accommodation in the stable—after all, their handcart and their belongings were stored there—he decided he would pay Maddie a few coins for her work.
Maddie smiled at him. The doors were solid oak, with the inside reinforced by a second layer of planks, set diagonally to the outside layer. The tavern, after all, held a lot of valuable items—wine and ale and food, not to mention the money that had been paid across the bar during the evening. It was probably the most secure building in the village.
The cook and the kitchen hand, Emma and Ted, said their goodnights and left for their homes. Jerome went into the kitchen and locked the door that led into the stable-yard. He moved around the big, low-ceilinged room, pinching out the candles and blowing out the one large lantern that hung from the central beam. The only light now came from the fireplace. The fire had been banked down and cast flickering shadows into the corners. That left only Jerome and his wife, Tildy, in the inn with Maddie. The innkeeper and his wife had a small suite of rooms that took up half the first floor of the building, leaving room for an additional three bedrooms for guests. Maddie’s room was on the next floor up, under the sloping ceiling of the attic.
“Time for bed, Maddie,” Jerome told her. “Be careful with your candle now. Make sure it’s out before you go to sleep.”
After the cheerful noise and bustle of the evening, the inn seemed strangely silent as Maddie mounted the stairs to her room. She carried a candle with her, in a pewter tray, shielding its open flame with her free hand as she went upstairs. The inn was riddled with draughts and the night was cold.
The attic was positively icy. None of the heat from the ground floor seemed to penetrate here and she shivered as she pulled her dress over her head. She hesitated, then delved into her pack and took out her breeches and jerkin, pulling them on over her shirt. There was a thick pair of socks in there, and she pulled them on too. When she finally lay down and pulled the two thin blankets up to her chin, she felt passably comfortable, if not exactly warm. The wind had risen during the night and it whistled round the upper floors of the inn, seeking out the many cracks that would give it entry and shaking the walls and rattling the small attic window with its heavier gusts.
“A good night to be inside,” she told herself. Of course, the wind set off a myriad of small noises, with the timbers of the house creaking and groaning as they moved and rubbed together. Just as she would become accustomed to the pattern of sounds, a new one would arise and set her teeth on edge. Then she would listen for several minutes, lying tensed under the blankets, until she was sure the new noise was nothing sinister.
Lying wide eyed while the wind pounded the walls, she reached up behind her head to where the belt holding her saxe was hanging over the head of the bed. She unhooked it and placed the weapon under her pillow, her hand resting on the hilt.
Comforted by the feel of the heavy weapon, she finally nodded off.
And woke.
Her eyes shot open, but other than that, she showed no movement. Apart from a momentary hesitation, her breathing remained the same—deep, even and rhythmic. Will had trained her to wake at the slightest sensation that danger might be present, but to do so with the smallest possible outward signs. Hurriedly, she closed her eyes again, leaving only the smallest slit between her eyelids to see through.
She sensed a presence in the room. Someone, or something, was standing by her bed. She was lying on her right side, facing away from the door, her right hand touching the hilt of her saxe under the pillow.
Whatever or whoever was in the room was behind her, out of her field of vision. She didn’t know how she knew it was there. She could hear no breathing, no small movements. Outside, the wind still battered at the window and walls.
But she could sense something there. Something close. Something malevolent.
“You awake, girl. I know you awake. Don’t move. Don’t try to turn over. And leave whatever is under your pillow where it is.”
The voice was a hoarse, croaking whisper. The speaker sounded foreign—Maddie could detect an accent and he had said “you awake’, rather than “you’re awake’. She lay rigid under the blankets, not daring to move. She wanted to whip over, drawing the saxe as she went, and strike out. But she couldn’t find the will to do it. Now she heard a low rustle of clothing as the speaker moved slightly. How did he get in? The front door and the kitchen door were bolted solidly. And her room was locked as well.
She realised there was no future in trying to answer that question. He was here, and that was all there was to it.
“You been asking questions, girl,” the voice croaked. “That not healthy. Not healthy for you. Not healthy for that village boy you’ve been talking to.”
Her heart lurched with fear—for herself, and for David. David was vulnerable and virtually unprotected. His parents were simple villagers. Probably brave enough, but not fighters.
“You know what happen to people who talk about the Stealer. You don’t want that happening to your friend. Or to you. So keep you trap shut. Understand?”
She said nothing, not knowing whether to admit she was awake or not. The silence became unbearable.