Author: Ann Marie Scott
Category: Other
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Blair never stopped smiling when she replied, “I’m eight and ten summers now, and promise ye there’s nae much under the sun with the power to shock me anymore, Mister Hardie.”
She drank off the rest of her ale and said, “Mither is all of a dither, that’s what brings me here. I have no reason to snoop, I assure ye.” She lowered her eyes and her voice, trying to sound as conspiratorial as she could. “If...if Faither has a fancy lady he’s run off with or some other deed he wishes to go unnoticed by his family, dinnae ye think he would take more pains to make it less obvious than to simply disappear without one word?”
Mr. Hardie looked uncomfortable with the direction the conversation had taken. He placed the mug down gently on the counter and backed out of the room, saying, “P’raps I better go fetch Mistress Hardie to ye, Blair, she being a woman an’ all…”
The innkeeper must have had quite a discussion with his wife before allowing her to come and answer Blair’s questions. In the time she was waiting, Blair ordered a bannock and an apple to eat from the serving boy, as she had left home that morning without breaking her fast. It was already too late in the day to ask for porridge.
By the time Mistress Eileen Hardie came out to where she was waiting, the taproom had begun to fill up with folks in need of refreshment and nuncheon. The lady beckoned Blair to follow her to one of the upstairs parlors.
When they had settled themselves inside the parlor, and the tavern keeper’s wife told one of the cleaning maids to bring them up some tea, Mistress Hardie began telling her story.
“Blair, ye are a clever young woman, and I have every faith that ye’ll nae drop into hysterics after ye hear the news I’m about to tell ye.”
She waited for Blair to nod her head to this before continuing. “Yer faither was always one to seek out adventure. Me own grandmither can remember him when he was a wee lad, always looking to stick his nose in where it didnae belong, on the search for some intrigue or exciting caper. Growing up and having a family didnae change that—”
Blair interjected, “He loves to tell us stories about his exploits at home.”
Mistress Hardie shook her head sadly. “Whether he heard them from the ship captains or mercenaries who clutter this town with their nonsense, I dinnae ken. But this much I do ken...yer faither became dissatisfied with simply listening a few years back. That’s when he began to seek out daring escapades for his own.”
Blair knew this for the truth. It was when Angus had begun leaving home more often and coming home later.
“First, he was content to sit in the taproom and offer to run errands for the upright citizens and good seafarers who patronize our establishment. Then, after a year or so of making himself useful to virtuous men, he stopped drinking and eating at our tavern and started going to the Phoenix.”
Blair could not help herself from gasping in shock. Whenever they had ridden past that notoriously dubious place, Angus had always warned her away from it: “Dinnae ye even think of comin’ here on yer own, lassie,” Angus would say. “Ye will be snatched off yer horse and onboard a slave ship before the cat’s had time to lick its paw!”
“Aye, I see ye ken about that tavern,” Mistress Hardie said with a sigh. “Many an innocent young girl has wandered through its cursed portals, never to be seen again. When ye used to come here with yer faither, I would ask him, ‘Angus, auld friend, why have anything to do with the Phoenix when there yer daughter sits, unaware of how things stand between ye and the blasphemous wretches who operate there?’ and all he would do is look sheepish and say, ‘What the eye doesnae see, the heart doesnae bleed for.’ It ‘twas enough to make me want to wring his neck!”
Blair could just hear her father saying such a thing. One of his most endearing, but irritating, characteristics was his overconfidence and his love of drama.
“Now, here’s the thing. We get to hear a little bit about how Angus has been helpin’ out those thugs up at the Phoenix and so what I say is the truth; when it’s time for his return journey back to the farm after he’s sold his chattels, he takes whatever his Phoenix tavern mates want delivered and drops it off for them on his way home. Ye’d think it would be as easy as pie, right? But there ye’d be wrong. The longer he stayed working for them, the harder and more evil his orders became.”
Blair stiffened when she heard this.
Does this mean me Faither is a bad man? How could this be? And yet, his deeds have been staring us in the face the whole time. What other farmer’s wife can afford half a dozen pairs of mules? Who else in the neighborhood gets a new poppet or tin soldier whenever they lose one or tire of the old one?
Eileen saw Blair’s reaction and leaned forward to pour her another cup of tea. Feeling generous, she dropped in an extra spoonful of sugar.
“Two or three sennights ago, lass, yer faither came here all in a panic. His ‘deliveries’ and ‘packages’ were no longer inanimate ones. He was asked to take a pair of rustled horses down to Croachy, where a buyer was waiting. When he refused, they threatened him with the usual set of menaces—killing his family, poisoning his well, making it impossible for him to do business in the market anymore. So, he did it.”
Blair flinched when she heard what her father had done. It could land him at the end of a hangman’s noose.
“There, there, dear, dinnae worry. Yer faither’s not in prison...yet! He must mend his ways and part company with those scoundrels. He might have to give them back every penny they’ve paid him over the last few years, but it will be worth it just to be free of their demands.”
“Do ye think they will stop? If Faither hasnae come back yet, he could be somewhere in jail or caught up in an even nastier affair!” Blair looked around the room for her bags and cloak. “I must go and find out what and where was his last delivery! He might have run into some trouble with which I can help.”
Mistress Hardie stood up and caught the hem of Blair’s sash before she could run out of the parlor. “Just a moment, lass. Yer faither was ever the heedless fool, so be clever and dinnae follow in his footsteps! Go home, and wait with yer mither to see how the cards may fall. Ye shouldnae get yerself involved in this kind of thing. Anythin’ to do with the Phoenix, I mean.”
4
A Refusal and a Meeting
“If I were a man, me faither’s firstborn son, ye wouldnae be askin’ that of me, ma’am,” Blair said to the innkeeper’s wife as they went down the stairs together. “In fact, I’d be called a coward if I dinnae!”
“But that’s just the thing, Blair, ye’re nae a man! And even if ye were, lass, I would still caution ye against the Phoenix. Go on, tell her, Mister Hardie.”
Eileen urged her husband, who was waiting for them downstairs, to add his opinion to back up her own. Before he even had a chance to open his mouth, Blair cut in.
“I’ll nae give up trying to find me faither, though I do thank ye most kindly for all yer help in the matter. At least I ken where to start and what Faither’s been up to.”
“Och, ye’re a thrawn wee lassie,” the innkeeper said without trying to mask it as a compliment. “Oh, well. Expect no more help from us, Blair. If we do help ye in this mad escapade, we’ll have folks breathing down our necks when something terrible happens to ye. Just pretend ye were never here if ye’re set on going along this reckless path.”
Blair, while refusing to give up all hope, did not relish leaving her allies, the Hardies, on bad terms.
“Good people, I am grateful for yer concern,” Blair said, while still fully resolved to rescue her father, “and after yer wise words, I...I have decided on a different course of action.”
She waited to see what effect these words had on the Hardies and was pleased when they relaxed their frowns and began smiling and nodding instead.
“I think it will be best for me to hire someone to look for Faither in me place. What d’ye think of that?”
“I always said ye were a clever girl, Blair,” Mr. Hardie said, his face now wreathed in smiles. “
And as luck would have it, there’s a ship lately come to port with some new mercenaries on board—the last ones the town hired proving to be less than ideal. I will send one o’ the grooms to the harbor and he can make inquiries on yer behalf. He can gather up some of the more agreeable ones, and bring them here for our inspection.”
Hoots! The last thing I need is to interview a bunch of heathenish mercenaries under the watchful eyes of the Hardies. They would soon cotton on to the fact that I plan on accompanying the man I choose on his quest.
“That sounds like the perfect plan, sir,” Blair agreed, “but ‘twould be best if I go in place of the groom. Y’see, me funds arenae plentiful, and I wouldnae feel comfortable sending one o’ the grooms all the way to the harbor if I cannae pay him.”
The Hardies insisted it would cost her nothing to send their groom, but in this instance, Blair remained unmoved. She asked to settle her account in full, breaking into one of her father’s gold sovereigns in order to do so, and included the watering and feeding of her horse in the total. Before the sun had even reached its zenith, Blair had bid the kind couple a fond farewell and ridden off in the direction of the harbor.
I refuse to put one of the most important tasks of me life into the hands of some stranger I’ve only just met! Rescuing Faither from this silly mischief could possibly be the thing that makes him see the error of his ways. But first, I need to find the right companion for this temporary alliance.
The harbor was bustling with men, women, and horses. Cargo was offloaded onto carts and drivers would give the command for the horses to pull away, only for another horse and cart to take its place. Some of the women standing around, lolling against the warehouse walls, looked cheap and painted. Blair cast her eyes down when the women called out to her in mocking tones as she rode by.
“Have ye come by lookin’ for yer man, dearie? I swear he wasnae here above an hour or so!” and they would laugh and jeer until Blair had left them out of earshot.
It was with some relief when Blair reached the harbormaster’s shed. She knocked politely, but on receiving no invitation to enter, pushed the door open and stepped inside. The little wooden shed was full of maps and logbooks and was empty. Blair had no concerns about this; it was still relatively early in the day and she would have all evening to look for a traveling companion in the nearby alehouses too. She walked around inside the little shed; it was well lighted by the sun streaming in through the dirty window casement, and she enjoyed looking at the beautifully detailed maps tacked to the walls. She was busy doing this when the harbormaster returned.
“Well, well, well! What are ye snoopin’ about here for, missie?” the old man said. Blair whipped her head around at his words.
“Pardon me, sir, but I am so intrigued by these wonderful drawings! ‘Tis hard to imagine our part of the world looks like that from so high up.” She pointed at a pale chart showing the Scottish coastline. Blair stopped, remembering why she was there. “That is to say, I’m looking for the ship lately come to port with the new mercenaries.”
Blair was slightly flustered at being caught all unawares, but she remained adamant to see her plan through.
The harbormaster could see at a glance that Blair was an upright young girl, not yet quite a woman, but definitely well brought up.
“I didnae mean to bite yer head off, lass,” he apologized. “‘Tis only that I get all types in here and nary one o’ them is a fine young lady, such as yerself.” He went to the logbook lying on the dusty desk in the corner, licked one finger, and began to turn the pages. Blair waited patiently; there were more than enough maps within her line of sight to keep her attention engaged.
“Here ye go,” the harbormaster said. “The Don de Dieu. Only dropped anchor here on Friday. Ye’ll find it docked at the last wharf on the right. Is it yer brither ye’re looking for on board?”
Blair bobbed a curtsy and replied, “Nay, thank ye. I have need of a mercenary to help me out in a private matter.”
The man’s eyes widened in alarm. “Ye, a young lass…looking for a warrior for hire? Well, I never! Listen, lass,” he said as Blair walked to the door, “dinnae go onboard, ye hear? Ask for the captain at the gangway, and he’ll do the looking for ye. Understand?”
Blair waved a hand in thanks and went to untether Pooka outside. Then she changed her mind and stuck her head back in through the shed door. “Please, may I leave me horse and saddlebags here? Ye have a water trough and the crates and boxes make riding difficult.”
With many more unsaid protestations on his lips, the man nodded in the affirmative. Blair walked with a firm step to the last wharf. The ship docked there looked empty, but undeterred, she raised her voice and hollered from the edge of the gangway, “Ahooooooy! Anyone here?”
She shouted a few more times before a frowsy-looking man popped his head out of the deck hatch.
“Who’s making that awful racket?” he snarled. When he saw the sweet and shapely red-haired girl shouting and waving on the wharf, his manner underwent a significant change. “It’s me lucky day, it seems. Come aboard, ye pretty young thing. Tell yer keeper I’ll reward them handsomely for such a fresh prize.”
Blair had no real idea as to what the man was alluding to, but she remembered the harbormaster’s words and shook her head. “Nay, I’m advised nae to board this ship, sir. I only seek to speak with one of the soldiers or experienced warriors about a job.”
The man lost interest and began lowering the hatch closed, saying, “It’s past noon, and they are warriors, missy. Use yer head—they’re at the alehouse,” and with those words, the hatch snapped shut.
“Alehouse, alehouse…” Blair began her search anew after retrieving Pooka from outside the shed.
Following a drayman who offered her directions, she found the harbor alehouse. It was bustling with sailors, dockworkers, and longshoremen.
She loitered at the door of this intimidating establishment for a few minutes, checking to see if it was dangerous or not. The sight of busy—and apparently unmolested—women, rushing from table to table with large trays of food and beer reassured her. Blair stepped inside.
The barkeep was behind the counter, standing in front of half-empty barrels and bottles. He would listen keenly to one of the serving wench’s requests, go to his supply of spirits and beverages, turn the tap on one or two barrels, and then refill the mugs to the brim with clear, foaming liquid. Blair was not there to drink.
She knew all she had to do was wait. It did not take long. The barkeep wiped his face with his apron and signaled for a young man to come and stand behind the counter in his place. Then he disappeared to the kitchens downstairs.
Quick as a flash, Blair ducked out the entrance and ran around the back of the alehouse to where the stairs for food deliveries went down to the kitchen. She sauntered in through the doors leading to the scullery and out into the kitchen. She could not have timed it better. The barkeep was stuffing his face full of pie and taking the occasional refreshing sip of cold milk. He looked very happy and seemed quite amiable when Blair approached him.
“I saw ye hanging ’round the alehouse entrance at the front o’ the house, lass. I was wondering what brings such a fresh-faced young lady to this side o’ Flichity Harbor?”
Blair gave a beaming smile and complimented him on his sharp perception. Then she got straight to the point. “Are the men from the Don de Dieu here? I have need for a mercenary.”
The barkeep pushed back his empty plate, replying, “Aye, they’re here, at least, those that havenae acquired a job yet, so ye better hurry. Ye can go back inside using this door”—he indicated which one with his head—“and they are all seated at the table on the left, against the harbor-facing side of the house.”
Blair felt in her bones that this part of her quest was nearing its conclusion. She thanked the man and left the kitchen.
It was only then Blair realized that thinking about hiring a warrior and actually doing it were two entirely different kettles of
fish. She stood at the side of the table where at least ten men were drinking and scoffing down food, ducking the hasty serving wenches and staggering drunkards, and trying to muster up the courage to advertise her job.
Losh! I must crack to it and buckle down with making me request. The day’s nae getting any younger, and I still have yet to begin me search for Faither in earnest.
Inspired by the thought of her father, Blair shouted out to the table, “I’m looking for a warrior! Are any of ye men available?”
A roar of laughter greeted her statement. The rest of the alehouse joined in once their neighbors had let them in on the joke.
A man stood up from the table and lurched toward Blair, slurring,
“Aye, sweetheart, I’m yer man! If ye are keen to have a warrior, I will stiffen meself in the wink of an eye—if it’s me longsword ye seek!”
Blair was revolted by the man, even though she had no clue as to what he was insinuating.
“Nay! I want a proper soldier, nae some ale-soaked oaf! Does nary one of ye want a job?”
More loud laughter, mixed in with a few jeers and mocking catcalls, was heard.
“Please, can no one help me?” Blair was now close to tears. It had been a long day, and she was close to losing all hope and determination. “Me...me faither is missing...and...and me mither and siblings are all home alone. I have gold…” she sobbed.
The sound of her voice was drowned out by men offering her gold for one night alone with her. She was buffeted to one side by a serving wench.
“Get out o’ the way!” the woman snarled. “Cannae ye see they want none o’ yer highty-tighty ways here, girl?”
Blair was as near to giving up as she had ever been in her life. Her father, her mother left alone, her quest—everything was ashes in her mouth. Her tenacity meant nothing outside the fences surrounding the family farm.
A deep voice, easy to hear over all the raucous chatter, said calmly behind her, “I’ll take yer job and the gold ye’re offering. What is it ye want done?”