in Saer Ringbom’s hut
The old man sat silent, watching the knight speak his thoughts out loud, grasping at slippery straws for a figment of a truth. He wouldn’t respond for a moment, seeming to be lost in thought and having grown visibly indecisive for the first time. The harshness of his expression had chipped, replaced by something— almost like hope?
He wouldn’t dare have such a thing for himself, but perhaps—
” Not really a literal child anymore, as she’ll turn twenty this year. ” He muttered, eye dipping to his hands, laced together before him. ” But in the big castles and Lord’s courts, children often are considered their parents’ property until they’re five and twenty. If not in perpetuity. ”
At least, so I’ve heard. Had it been wrong to assume it would’ve gone to that? To forcing and kicking and screaming. What will the high and mighty do to secure an heir for all they’ve built. Mortality come knocking in the dead of night as the eve of one’s life approaches.
He had the sinking feeling it was no use stalling — The man would pry the information from him one way or another. And himself wasn’t exactly in position to bargain, was he now, not with an armed man at the very least.
” You’ll find her in the village, am sure. Ask for Eloïse and someone will point her out to you. I’d rather not as— ”
It’d be suspicious? ” But if— ” He faltered again and shrugged, almost a little defeated.
She doesn’t know any of this. Does she?
” Don’t you think, sometimes, people might be better off not knowing things? What reason have you to seek her out, apart from quenching your curiousity. ”
Faramund
Smithy
” An errand — ”
Clang. ”
I sent him on. ” The man repeated, like he was hard of hearing. Though he wouldn’t regard anyone directly by looking up from his work, his voice elevated so that it might reach across the room.
” This why you arrive late today, Jali? Your
errand. ”
” I— ”
” Speak up, dammit. For once in your life. ” The smith’s tone grew taut and a touch louder, weary anger in every syllable. His son, tall for his age and broad at the shoulders from work, had never looked this small, shrinking into his seat.
” Sorry. ”
” You think we had something to do with the murder, hmh? That is what you are insinuating to my face. ” He stopped working, shoving the piece of metal away into a through of water. His hammer he held onto yet, like he’d forgotten it, free hand flipping up the mask. His stare was on the squire, full of accusation.
” I was at home asleep next to my wife the night before they found the woman. Ask the neighbours if you must. And as for my son— ” Not releasing her from under the vice grip of his glare, he indicated the lad by lofting the hammer at him.
” Had it been him there would be no murder investigation. He only kills people in broad goddamn daylight! ” Anger had come untethered, directed full on at Jali who merely stared at the dirt floor, hands cradled betwixt his knees.
” In the middle of the street, for all to gawk at! ”
Amelia Hawthorne
the shack with the Dead
So, it was as he’d wagered. The girl was deaf.
He’d first taken her for a mute, like Joona, but their difference had sunk in all at once when he’d tried to speak at her back and it elicited no reaction. Only when her eyes were on him, was she able to read his face for the words.
At least there was that. She’d tried to sign him something, like he’d seen her do with the Elder, but he lacked practice to properly understand. Joona had taught him a little bit over the past year, but it had all been in passing and consisting of singular words to indicate things.
Different tools and animals. Food items. Firewood. Break? I don’t know how. Sister.
He’d asked her to write down what she meant, but that’d been a quick dead end as she knew not how. Most people didn’t, out here. So simple gestures it was, yesses and nos and maybes and i don’t knows.
His attempts for additional information had been quickly exhausted as fruitless. They’d since resulted to standing next to one another in the coolness of the room, staring at the dead like expecting her to speak up any moment. In the shared silence, the girl’s face had changed gradually from wide-eyed curiosity to something more solemn. More befitting of a funeral. And yet they’d all claimed they hadn’t known the woman, not in a way that mattered.
Suppose there was something to be felt regardless, witnessing death. Brought it closer, no matter who it was. Somewhere, near or far, someone sure was bound to miss who’d never return. And they’d yet to know about it, too, let alone that the deceased was stashed in some rickety shack, after being lugged about town without much dignity. An item in an investigation, stripped from a measure of humanity.
Why had he allowed the girl in here again? Some guard he was.
