Don't Forget to Dream

Author

Kathryn Ling

Chapter 1

A brisk spring breeze threatened to pull further strands loose from her freshly braided hair. Distractedly she brushed them behind her ears before straightening the fall of her best dress and en
sured
she had not covered the hem with mud on the short walk from her hostel. She was anxious at having spent the last of her coin on a bath and laundering, but
she was running out of options. I
f she did not get this position she would be on the street in a couple more days anyway.

Looking at her irregular reflection in the glass window of a tailors
’
, she was pleased at her appearance. Her long brown hair
shone with gold in the sunlight. Her
skin had a healthy glow from the sun and she remembered how her father had told her many times that she had the same beautiful brown eyes and warming smile as
that of
her mother. She stood taller than most young women in the city, slightly broader of shoulder than many as well, but that re
flected the labour of her youth. I
t also gave her
a strength
of carriage that she drew upon now.
Her lack of confidence was her one concern at this moment.

Only a few more paces brought her to the Inn of the Laughing Willow in the great city of Lestran. The sign swinging in the wind over the door showed a huge willow tree with
the shape of
a well dressed man resting beneath it. The door
to the inn was solid oak. T
he cobbled street in front
was
freshly swept. The panes of glass were of fair
quality but in need of
cleaning.S
he
could see candle light beyond but could make out little of the interior.

With a final deep breath she pushed open the door and
entered the gloomy glow beyond.
Rhyla had not been to many inns before. In the village where she grew up her father
’
s closest friend had owned the local inn and his daughters had been like sisters to her. Where the front room of the Plough and Stable had been more an extension of the family home, welcoming locals but very few travellers, the Laughing Willow was definitely a place of men. The tables and benches
were constructed
of sturdy
,
well crafted oak
. Rhyla
glanced at the poorly swept wooden floor.
The candles she had seen though the window were secured in lanterns hanging from the ceiling beams. The fire place had yet to be cleaned and freshly laid for the evening. The room spoke of simple efficiency and moderate cleanliness, none of the warm comfortable touches she had known at the Plough and Stable. She concluded if the Inn Keeper was married
,
his wife had
little involvement with the cleanliness of the establishment
.

From the doorway at the back of the Inn she heard the clatter of dishes being stacked and the murmur of voices. As no one had come forward at her entrance she assumed they must not have heard her.

“
Hello. Master Drake,
”
she called out, a little more timidly than intended. She waited as more dishes were moved and further orders issued to who she assumed was the kitchen hand. A moment later a rather plump man of similar height to her appeared in the doorway, drying his hands on a slightly stained apron. She placed him as 10 to 15 years her senior. His dark hair was oiled from his rounded face. Catching sight of her he dropped the apron
and took a moment to assess her;
every part of her. Fighting down her nervousness she refrained from fidgeting or avoiding his eyes, knowing she could not give him a moment of doubt if she were to evade the humiliation of returning home to live off the charity of her friends.

“
You must be Rhyla. Mistress Arnold said you would be coming by this morning,
”
he paused as his final steps brought him directly in front of her.
“
I run a good clean Inn. My clientele are some of the more wealthy young men of the city. They come for ale and wine, as well as for the odd meal and more than a few games of chance.
”

“
Yes sir. Mistress Arnold told me a little already,
”
Rhyla replied, her voice more level than her first attempt at speech.

“
Did she now? Well that doesn
’
t surprise me, she runs a nice hostel and is known for a tendency to be more that a little forthright with people. She would
not have sent you here if she thought you incapable of the position. Have you any experience with working at an inn?
”

“
No sir. Not one such as this. There was a small inn in my village. I was friends with the Inn Keepers
’
daughters so helped out on occasion.
”

He sneered slightly, evidently not impressed with her level of experience.
“
Well you look strong enough for it. And no doubt the customers would prefer to see you serving them than any more of me or Joe, he
’
s the kitchen hand," he said, with a wave of his hand vaguely indicating the door from which he had earlier emerged.
“
He makes a good ste
w and the odd decent roast. Damn
near killed the place the first few weeks he was here, food was barely fit for street urchins.
”
He paused again, clearly considering her. Rhyla was not sure if she should say so
mething. H
e had not asked for references or anything about her family. Perhaps Mistress Arnold had already told him. She thought it best to wait for him to speak; she did not want him thinking she chatted unnecessarily. Another minute seemed to drag by as he continued to look her over and chew the inside of his lip.
“
There is a small room upstairs at the back that you can use and you will have your meals in the kitchen with Joe. I expect the place to be kept to my high standards; the tables, floor and entrance are to be cleaned daily. We have a few come for their midday meal most days. They come and go through the afternoon before they start staying for supper. Later the place fills until well into the night when we may have to help the last few to get on their way home. You will have to see that each man receives what he requires, as their mugs empty fetch them another. There are 5 rooms for guests, the best overlooks the street, you will need to keep them clean and attend to the needs of any guests. You will get 5 coppers a week for yourself but if the patrons like you, you may do very well for yourself. You shall have one day to yourself each week.
”

In trying to absorb everything he was saying Rhyla belatedly realised that he was offering her the position. When he seemed to have run out of instructions
,
she nodded slowly and responded,
“
Yes, sir. I understand
,
you won
’
t be disappointed in me. I
’
m a hard worker.
”

“
We shall see. Now go fetch your things, there is a lot to do before the midday meal.
”
He dismissed her with a wave of his hand as he turned towards the kitchen.

Wasting no time she returned to Mistress Arnolds
’
hostel to collect her few belongings; a bone comb, small knife, flint and steel and two dresses, all gifts from her friends
given to her
before she left the village of her childhood only ten days previously. Bundling them all in her light cloak she bid Mistress Arnold a hasty goodbye.

With the great list of chores awaiting her return, Rhyla quickly set about cleaning out the fireplace and laying fresh kindling should the evening turn cool. The rooms were in a fair condition but she carefully went though each one before cleaning all the floors. Finally she set to removing the layers of grime from the front window. By Master Drake
’
s expression it was not something he had ever considered doing himself. Instruction on the different wines and ales was concise and barely completed as the first customers of the day appeared for their midday meal.

From there the pace slowly increased. At first she remembered what each gentleman ordered and with Master Drake
’
s guidance, ensured they received the correct order. But as night drew in she had to concentrate harder and harder as the few tables of midday had progressed to standing room only. She smiled warmly at every patron and several commented on her presence. Most contented themselves with the local ale but some preferred the wines of the northern valleys, others called for the fortified wines of neighbouring Fortina or the harsh spirits of the Gayndarian plains.

The men were generally well dressed, some of finer cloth than others but never the rough wo
ollens of working men. Rhyla noticed
a scattering of jewelled rings and buckles of all shapes, sizes and metals securing leather belts and invariably
,
both swords and daggers at their waists. It was not hard for her to assess each man by his build, the calluses of his hands and the way in which he carried himself, to know if he could truly use his blade or if it were merely a fashion piece.

She quickly learned to watch her step as mugs and platters of food weighed down her tray. Once the evening meal had passed she waited for the crowd to thin out but it seemed that barely a handful departed, and they were replaced by at least as many. With the call for games to be brought to tables she knew the men wer
e settling in. As the hours passed
and the consumption of liquor continued
,
she soon realised that a quick step was required to avoid the unsettling pinch from a patron, which invariably brought forth raucous laughter from the successful individual
’
s friends. Determined not to let it distress her, Rhyla fought the rising colour in her cheeks and proceeded with her work without saying a word.

The days following her new life as a tavern maid required a great deal of adjustment for Rhyla. Every morning
was
spent in preparation for the evening to come. As the first week came to an end she realised that several of the patrons returned every few nights. She began to recognise them and over the weeks gradually learnt their preferred refreshment. Groups of young men often came in together, a few appeared at times in uniforms she assumed to be from the Palace guardsmen, at other times they were in more ordinary attire. Some had scars
or the odd limp, to match the
physique of a trained fighter. And s
ome she could not help noticing. One in particular delayed
her briefly as she was taken in by vibrant blue eyes glancing up at her from beneath a heavy black fringe. Those eyes made her breath catch before she could recover her senses and return to work.