The Scourge of Muirwood
Page 40
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“Dost thou need a pallet? Or is it the soup only thou cravest?”
“Let me first taste the soup. Then I will decide.”
The innkeeper scowled at her and then walked back towards the large oven in the corner where a huge cauldron was bubbling and seething. It smelled overcooked and ill-made. The woman scooped up a spoonful of scalding soup and Lia tasted it gingerly. It was hot but had no flavor except for a little marrow.
“Dost thou want soup and a room, or just the soup?” the innkeeper repeated, folding her arms and staring at Lia archly. She pitched her voice lower. “When the men-folk see thee, they will bother thee. They will offer thee gold to touch thee. If thou camest here to sell thyself, go elsewhere.”
Lia sipped from the spoon again. “If anyone touches me, I will break their hands.”
That earned her a smile. “What seekest thou?”
“A guide to Dochte Abbey. When must I leave to make it with the tide?”
The innkeeper nodded shrewdly. “Thou knowest what thou art asking. A fine kettle of fish. Who told thee to come hither?”
Lia smiled and handed her the spoon.
“Jouvent!” the innkeeper said gustily. A boy of about ten approached from the room, holding a cap in his hands. He was tall and husky for ten, with dark hair that was combed straight down his forehead, the tips like quills and he had pale blue eyes. He was young, but he had the wary look of a cat, ready to jump or pounce. His eyes belied his age. They looked haunted by things he must have witnessed.
“Aye, mother?” He glanced from the innkeeper to Lia in a soft tone. He nodded to Lia respectfully.
“The lad can take thee to Dochte Abbey. But thou must depart whilst it is yet dark. We are quiet and good for sleep and rest, such as we are, because we serve no cider.” She brushed her hand through Jouvent’s hair. “Soup, pallet, and a guide. What wilt thou pay me?”
There was something in her eyes that Lia trusted. She was an honest woman living her best in a hive of filth and treachery. The way she caressed the boy’s hair revealed something of her personality that reminded Lia of Pasqua.
“Knowledge worth a hundred crowns,” Lia answered and watched the woman gape in shock.
“What art thou jesting at?” she challenged, laughing with surprise. “A hundred crowns? Thou dost not look as if thy had ten. By my troth, thou dost not.”
Lia looked at the cutting table next to the cauldron. She gave the wise innkeeper a fresh look. “I will teach you how to make a soup that will fill your inn every night. Soups and breads and desserts. I know many recipes. If you let me stay here, I will teach you some of what I know.” Lia looked at the boy. “Would you like to taste a real soup, Jouvent?”
His eyes widened hungrily. “Aye, my lady.”
“Then you must pay attention and watch me. I will teach you.”
“Where didst thou learn to cook?” the innkeeper said, curious now. Something unspoken passed between them as Lia took an onion from the table. She peeled back the crackling skin and smelled it. It was fresh.
“When I was Jouvent’s age, I learned to cook for an Aldermaston. These are good onions. Let me show you how to cut them. There is a way to cut them very fine. You need spices. I can show Jouvent how to gather plants on our walk to the Abbey. Here, let me show you.”
Lia began to cook. It all came rushing back to her. There were beans to soften, strips of salt pork to add, and spices. From her rucksack, she withdrew spices they had never seen before, but smelled wonderful. Both watched her with fascination as she worked, quickly and deftly, adding new aromas to the bubbling cauldron. The smell in the inn began to shift and so did the mood. Others entered, but it was not a rowdy crowd and many left as soon as they learned there was no cider.
With a sharp knife, Lia smashed a clove of garlic and mixed it with the onions and then added them to the soup, scraping the wooden board clean and then adding some salt and crushed peppers. She smelled the soup, tasted it often, and then sprinkled some sprigs of thyme leaves.
Jouvent stared at the pot, his eyes wide with hunger and anticipation.
“Taste it,” Lia whispered. He obeyed, producing a spoon from his pocket and gently ladled some soup into his mouth. The expression on his face pleased her.
“Aye, my lady. It is good soup,” he mumbled.
Lia nodded and tousled his hair. “You watch people, Jouvent. You learn by watching. I will dare say that you know many tales and stories.”
He nodded shyly.
“What news from Dochte Abbey?” she asked.
He took another spoonful of soup and devoured it. He fished around for a chunk of meat and then chewed it, nearly burning his tongue. When he finished, he looked at her again. His eyes were wise beyond his years, as she had noticed earlier. “Talk of marriage and war. The king of Comoros, he has come thither to study at the Abbey. If thou wilt listen, thou wilt hear he shall marry a lass. She be the heir of Demont. They shall marry and stop all the warring in that accursed land.” He slurped more of the soup. “If they do not marry, there will be a war. There be too many from Comoros here and they crave the warring to happen. Dost thou know who stays at the Lily here in Vezins? Another earl from Comoros, he be. A fine swordsman. Thou may call him Dieyre. An’ he is paying ten crowns for the boy or man who brings him word of a boat a comin’ from Comoros. I know’ve a boat just arrived from Doviur, but the Holk was not the vessel he seeks.” He seemed ashamed of a sudden, as if realizing that he was talking too much.
“Let me first taste the soup. Then I will decide.”
The innkeeper scowled at her and then walked back towards the large oven in the corner where a huge cauldron was bubbling and seething. It smelled overcooked and ill-made. The woman scooped up a spoonful of scalding soup and Lia tasted it gingerly. It was hot but had no flavor except for a little marrow.
“Dost thou want soup and a room, or just the soup?” the innkeeper repeated, folding her arms and staring at Lia archly. She pitched her voice lower. “When the men-folk see thee, they will bother thee. They will offer thee gold to touch thee. If thou camest here to sell thyself, go elsewhere.”
Lia sipped from the spoon again. “If anyone touches me, I will break their hands.”
That earned her a smile. “What seekest thou?”
“A guide to Dochte Abbey. When must I leave to make it with the tide?”
The innkeeper nodded shrewdly. “Thou knowest what thou art asking. A fine kettle of fish. Who told thee to come hither?”
Lia smiled and handed her the spoon.
“Jouvent!” the innkeeper said gustily. A boy of about ten approached from the room, holding a cap in his hands. He was tall and husky for ten, with dark hair that was combed straight down his forehead, the tips like quills and he had pale blue eyes. He was young, but he had the wary look of a cat, ready to jump or pounce. His eyes belied his age. They looked haunted by things he must have witnessed.
“Aye, mother?” He glanced from the innkeeper to Lia in a soft tone. He nodded to Lia respectfully.
“The lad can take thee to Dochte Abbey. But thou must depart whilst it is yet dark. We are quiet and good for sleep and rest, such as we are, because we serve no cider.” She brushed her hand through Jouvent’s hair. “Soup, pallet, and a guide. What wilt thou pay me?”
There was something in her eyes that Lia trusted. She was an honest woman living her best in a hive of filth and treachery. The way she caressed the boy’s hair revealed something of her personality that reminded Lia of Pasqua.
“Knowledge worth a hundred crowns,” Lia answered and watched the woman gape in shock.
“What art thou jesting at?” she challenged, laughing with surprise. “A hundred crowns? Thou dost not look as if thy had ten. By my troth, thou dost not.”
Lia looked at the cutting table next to the cauldron. She gave the wise innkeeper a fresh look. “I will teach you how to make a soup that will fill your inn every night. Soups and breads and desserts. I know many recipes. If you let me stay here, I will teach you some of what I know.” Lia looked at the boy. “Would you like to taste a real soup, Jouvent?”
His eyes widened hungrily. “Aye, my lady.”
“Then you must pay attention and watch me. I will teach you.”
“Where didst thou learn to cook?” the innkeeper said, curious now. Something unspoken passed between them as Lia took an onion from the table. She peeled back the crackling skin and smelled it. It was fresh.
“When I was Jouvent’s age, I learned to cook for an Aldermaston. These are good onions. Let me show you how to cut them. There is a way to cut them very fine. You need spices. I can show Jouvent how to gather plants on our walk to the Abbey. Here, let me show you.”
Lia began to cook. It all came rushing back to her. There were beans to soften, strips of salt pork to add, and spices. From her rucksack, she withdrew spices they had never seen before, but smelled wonderful. Both watched her with fascination as she worked, quickly and deftly, adding new aromas to the bubbling cauldron. The smell in the inn began to shift and so did the mood. Others entered, but it was not a rowdy crowd and many left as soon as they learned there was no cider.
With a sharp knife, Lia smashed a clove of garlic and mixed it with the onions and then added them to the soup, scraping the wooden board clean and then adding some salt and crushed peppers. She smelled the soup, tasted it often, and then sprinkled some sprigs of thyme leaves.
Jouvent stared at the pot, his eyes wide with hunger and anticipation.
“Taste it,” Lia whispered. He obeyed, producing a spoon from his pocket and gently ladled some soup into his mouth. The expression on his face pleased her.
“Aye, my lady. It is good soup,” he mumbled.
Lia nodded and tousled his hair. “You watch people, Jouvent. You learn by watching. I will dare say that you know many tales and stories.”
He nodded shyly.
“What news from Dochte Abbey?” she asked.
He took another spoonful of soup and devoured it. He fished around for a chunk of meat and then chewed it, nearly burning his tongue. When he finished, he looked at her again. His eyes were wise beyond his years, as she had noticed earlier. “Talk of marriage and war. The king of Comoros, he has come thither to study at the Abbey. If thou wilt listen, thou wilt hear he shall marry a lass. She be the heir of Demont. They shall marry and stop all the warring in that accursed land.” He slurped more of the soup. “If they do not marry, there will be a war. There be too many from Comoros here and they crave the warring to happen. Dost thou know who stays at the Lily here in Vezins? Another earl from Comoros, he be. A fine swordsman. Thou may call him Dieyre. An’ he is paying ten crowns for the boy or man who brings him word of a boat a comin’ from Comoros. I know’ve a boat just arrived from Doviur, but the Holk was not the vessel he seeks.” He seemed ashamed of a sudden, as if realizing that he was talking too much.
