The Spirit Stone - Katharine Kerr [46]
The farmer and his wife exchanged a glance, but their eyes showed no feeling at all.
‘I don’t,’ the man said at last. ‘You’re right enough. It’s too close to the road for someone to be setting snares.’
‘Let me get you a sack for them cabbages.’ Without looking at any of the men, the wife turned away and hurried into the farmhouse. Wffyn raised one eyebrow but said nothing.
Once they were back on the road, Wffyn manoeuvred his horse to ride next to Gwairyc and Nevyn.
‘What did you think about those people?’ the merchant said. ‘It looked to me like they knew plenty about that snare.’
‘To me, too,’ Nevyn said. ‘I wonder what they’re after, up in the wild hills.’
At the next village, when Wffyn told his story in the local tavern, the men there responded with honest bewilderment. After some discussion, however, the local miller remembered that you could find small grey hogs up in the hills.
‘Pigs, they get loose now and then,’ the miller said. ‘Go wild, they do, breed amongst themselves. There’s a right proper herd of swine by now, I’d wager. Our local werrbret hunts them now and again, but he don’t claim them or nothing, so the pork’s free for the taking.’
Werrbret. Gwairyc was so startled by the man’s accent that he nearly gasped aloud. He covered the sound with a quick cough. ‘Hogs, eh?’ Wffyn turned to Nevyn and lowered his voice. ‘That farmer and his wife—why would they act so strange, like, if they were just hunting wild pig?’
‘Indeed. I wonder—I’ve heard rumours about slavers landing their boats in the wild places along the coast. No doubt there are ways of finding out where, if you have somewhat to sell.’
‘Gods!’ Wffyn spat on the straw-covered floor. ‘You could well be right, good sir.’
‘I’d rather be wrong, truly. Come to think of it, why would they risk maiming the merchandise? That snare was a dangerous thing.’
‘Well, if someone were wearing boots and hadn’t rolled up his brigga, either, it wouldn’t bite very deep.’
‘True spoken.’ Nevyn frowned down at his tankard. ‘Even a good thick wrap of rags would protect the leg to some degree. On the way home, tell your men to keep their boots on.’
‘Oh, I don’t think I’ll need to tell them.’
Nevyn agreed with a smile, then turned to Gwairyc. ‘You look like somewhat’s troubling you, lad. Is it about these slavers?’
‘What? It’s not. I was just wondering why the Eldidd folk speak a fair bit different than we do, with their werrbret and all, and then the way they roll their R’s around.’
‘I’m surprised you’d notice such a thing.’
Gwairyc shrugged in feigned indifference. Someone must have told me about it, he decided. He refused to believe anything else, despite a voice from deep in his mind that persisted in whispering: you remember.
Tirro’s scalp was beginning to sprout a blond fuzz, marred by a few small circles of ringworm. Nevyn had him sit on a bale of goods in the strong morning sun and turn his head this way and that just to make sure that the spots were on the verge of disappearing. As he worked, he was also inspecting Tirro for something entirely different. He’d begun to suspect that he’d known this unfortunate little scoundrel before, during one of Tirro’s earlier lives, someone with a nature equally flawed. He would have to find some excuse for staring into Tirro’s eyes before he could be certain. At the moment Wffyn stood nearby and watched the inspection.
‘Very good,’ Nevyn announced. ‘You can burn that ghastly linen cap, lad, but keep putting salve on those spots.’
‘I will, sir,’ Tirro said. ‘Thank you, sir.’
‘One more thing.’ Nevyn pounced on the white lie that suddenly occurred to him. ‘I don’t like the appearance of your left eye. Getting a trace of this particular salve in your eye can be a very bad thing. Here, tip your head up and look me right in the face.’
Tirro caught his breath with a small gulp of fear.
‘Go on,’ Wffyn snapped. ‘Do what the herbman wants.’
Tirro gulped again and caught his shaking hands between his knees. So! Nevyn thought. He’s got some reason to fear me, has he? Tirro