The Language of Bees - Laurie R. King [165]
I turned around and called, “Sorry?”
He raised his voice. “He's not on it, if tha's what ye're wanting.”
I retraced my steps. “Why not?”
“I told him she wouldna'be leavin' fer hours yet, what with the wind wanting to blow her halfway to Denmark.”
“Did he buy any tickets?”
“No. Last I saw'im, he was heading back t'toon.”
Town. Surely not to take a room, not if the solar eclipse was to take place tomorrow. Did they have another—
Town: The harbour was in Thurso itself; only large boats put in here at Scrabster.
I trotted back to my unofficial taxi and directed him to the harbour.
The harbour master's office was empty. All the boats I could see were lying at anchor, not setting out into the gale. I studied the buildings along the shore until I spotted a likely one.
The air inside the pub was thick with the smells of beer, wet wool, and fish. It was also warm and damp, which made my spectacles go opaque, but not before I had seen the universal outrage on the faces of every man in the place. I removed my glasses and, as long as I had their attention, spoke clearly into the silence.
“Pardon me, gentlemen, but I'm looking for a man who may have tried to hire a boat earlier today. Tall, thin, Englishman with a beard. Has anyone seen him?”
If anything, the hostility thickened. I cleaned my glasses and threaded them back over my ears, then dug into my pocket for one of the two remaining gold coins. I held it up. “He's trying to get over to the islands. I'd really appreciate it, if anyone has news of him.”
There was a general shifting in the room, and someone cleared his throat. After a minute, a chair scraped. A man in the back rose and threaded his way forward.
“Keep your coin, mum,” he said. “Let's step into the saloon bar and Ah'll tell yeh what yeh want to know.”
I followed him into the adjoining empty room, a bare closet of a space that might have been designed to discourage any lady who might have mistaken permission for approval. One could just imagine a daring local feminist bravely venturing inside, ordering a sherry, and forcing it quickly down.
However, I did not intend to drink.
“When was he here?” I asked the man. A fisherman, by the looks of him, waiting out the wind.
“Who's he to yeh?”
“My husband's son,” I said.
He looked startled.
“My husband's quite a bit older than I,” I told him impatiently. Asymmetrical marriages were commonplace, in the wake of a devastating war. Perhaps here in the North fewer men had died? Perhaps women were more resigned to their solitary lot? Perhaps it was none of his business. “What does it matter? Have you seen my step-son?”
He surprised me by grinning.
“If that was the step-son, Ah'd laik t'meet the father. He was a stubborn one, that. Up and down the boats, not about t'take no for an answer. Started out askin' ta be taken o'er t'Mainland, and—”
“He wanted to go to the mainland?” I interrupted. Weren't we on the mainland?
“Mainland's the big island. Kirkwall's the town.”
“I see. Go on.”
“Laik Ah say, he wanted to go to Mainlan', and when we all looked at ‘im laik he was ravin’, he then offered t'buy a boat outright.”
“Oh, Lord. I hope no-one sold him one?”
“Nah. You'll find few here willin' t'send a man t'his death for money.”
I was aware of a hollow feeling within. “You think the wind is that bad?”
“D'ye think we're in the habit of taking a holiday every time there's a wee breeze?”
“I see. So, where did he go?”
“He's on a boat.”
“But—”
“You're willin' to pay enough, there'll be a man desperate enough for yer gelt.” The heavy disapproval in his voice gave a different cast to the thick silence in the next room: This Englishman's need threatened to take one of their own.
“Just him, or another man and a child?”
“Just the one.” Although Brothers could have been waiting along the coast, with E'stelle.
“When did they leave?”
“Two hours. Maybe more.”
“They should be there by now, then.”
“If they're