Ghostwalker - Erik Scott De Bie [28]
Taking her response as encouragement, he launched into an explanation of the rafters and the sunken floor. Local legend had it that the founder of the Red Bear had built the tavern on the finest ground available to compete with the Stag, but the curse of Silvanus on certain disloyal worshipers had caused the ground to soften and brought the tavern sinking down.
"That'll teach us to skip ceremonies for a brew, aye, lass?" he asked with a chuckle.
Arya accepted the tale with an easy manner, though it held little interest for her. It would not hurt her cause to ingratiate herself with the townsfolk. The barkeep caught her eye, and she ordered a weak ale.
"What can you tell me about travelers who pass through the Moonwood?" Arya asked the old man. "Messengers from Silverymoon, mayhap?"
"Well, the one who'd be knowing about that'd be Lord Singer Greyt." The name set his eyes to shining. "He meets all the outsiders and adventurers passing through. E'en wedded a few o' them."
Arya held up her hand. "I'm not really interested in hearing about-"
"Did I hear ye mention the Lord Singer, Elbs?" a particularly buxom serving maid asked beside their table. She was a golden-haired woman of the north with steeper curves than Arya had thought possible on a woman's body.
Arya was about to pipe up, but a huge smile painted her dining companion's face. "Annia… Aye, lassie," he said. "Just telling Goodwoman-"
"Goldwine," Arya said. She reasoned Bars and Derst wouldn't mind if she borrowed their names. "Maid Goldwine."
"Goodmaid Goldwine about Quickwidower's wives," he said.
"Quickwidower?" Arya asked, frowning at the nickname.
"Aye, Greyt can't stay married more than a year or three," said Annia. "Just like any man, if'n ye ask me. Charmin' though-just look at the wives and babes. Though…" A shadow crept across her face. "They was all sickly. Poor babes, only one survived to ten."
"Greyt has separated from many wives?" asked Arya.
"Aye, after a fashion. The lasses tended to meet with accidents," Elbs said somberly. "Greyt's got the rottenest luck with women. Shame, such pretty things. Died, most o' them. Or left town-just couldn't settle down. Hey, that sounds like one o' the Lord Singer's rhymes-"
The barmaid slapped him on the back of the head. "Lord Greyt certainly made that mistake," the barmaid said. "Should've ne'er settled down, but Lyetha was here."
"Lyetha?" Arya asked, wondering what the half-elf woman had to do with this.
"The woman he's always loved," Elbs said wistfully. "Lyetha, heartbroken after her husband and son disappeared. The most beautiful woman in Quaervarr." The barmaid's face turned stormy. Elbs smiled widely and patted her bottom. " 'Cept for me pretty Annia 'ere."
Apparently appeased, the voluptuous woman smiled and moved away.
Elbs turned back to Arya. "Only babe still breathing, though, be that fancy-faced Meris," he said. "Dashing, but something about him I just don't like, ye know?"
"What?" Arya asked.
"I don't be knowing," he replied. "Never talks back to his father-right respectable lad, that Meris."
"You mean respectful," corrected Arya. "They are not the same thing."
"Oh aye," Elbs replied. "Even when Lord Singer goes against Speaker Stonar…"
As he continued, Arya nodded without speaking. She had been thinking about getting up and trying her luck elsewhere, but something about this thread of conversation was appealing. She offered to buy Elbs another ale, an offer he heartily accepted. Arya smiled, thinking that she was already on the right track to the answers she sought.
* * * * *
Nursing his glass of heated wine, Greyt wasn't surprised to find himself alone for dinner. Claudir had set three places with the hope that he might serve his master, mistress, and Greyt's son, but, as usual, it was only