Escana (16 page)

'You
want a hug or would you rather I brought you the head of the man that
did this to your boy?' he asked, knowing he was pushing it. 'Life is
hard, people die. Deal with it.'

From
the blaze in the man's eyes he thought he had said too much, then the
farmer caught himself, as if realising for the first time the
uncharacteristic tears that streaked his face. 'Yeah,' he sniffed.
'Bring back the bastard that did this. Then I never want to see your
face around these parts again.' He straightened up as if nothing had
happened, gaining some of his former authority. 'We can handle our
own business in these parts. Don't need no Warden interfering in our
affairs.'

Thom
let him have it, he wasn't one to acquiesce to any man but it was
preferable to an argument that led to a grief-stricken quarrel in his
guts.

'I'll
find the bastard and bring you his head. After that you'll not hear
from me nor see me again outside of the Flagon,' he said.

Harvester
nodded. 'See that you do, and bring my dogs back safely. Now get out
of my sight, I have a burial to tend to.'

Thom
made his way back to the cart, but the farmer's voice called out to
him again, forcing him to turn round.

'What?'
he asked, his patience starting to thin. As soon as he saw the
resolute look in the man's eye he knew what was coming.

'Can't
trust you with these dogs, might get hungry tracking the killer and
eat one of 'em. Looks like I'll have to come with you and see that
you don't.'

Thom
shrugged, he'd have better control over the animals if their original
owner was present. Not to mention use of his far superior
custom-built cart that had been freshly repaired. He might loathe the
man but there was little practical reason not to put up with him
while he found the killer.

'Fine,
you're with me. Just don't get in the way of my job and we'll be
fine.'

The
farmer nodded, deciding not to pick a quarrel with the harsh tone. At
his signal, the men made their way into Harvester's barn and began
making plans.

H
e
woke to the sounds of splintered wood and uproar, something
interesting was afoot.

After
dunking his
curly
head
in a bucket of water he quickly threw on his work
clothes. Taking the stairs at a run, he was just in time to see what
looked to be Thom disappearing out front with a number of stouter
men.

'Solomon
is
dead,'
Garth
muttered.

Jimmy missed a step in shock and
stumbled the rest of the way down. 'What? How did this happen?'

'They don't know yet, no doubt
Thom will get to the bottom of it. The kid that found him said there
were pieces of him near the Gray falls.' He was trying hopelessly to
reconstruct a shattered table, the great smith often forgot his own
strength when provoked.

Garth shook his head, finally
giving up on it and reaching for his coin purse. He set a healthy sum
of money on the bar. 'That's for the table, should cover it,'he said,
motioning toward the pile of coins and starting to make for the door.

'Where
did you get the money from?' Jimmy asked.

This
brought a weary grin. 'Haven't you heard? It's war! Business is
booming! I get cartloads of stuff from the frontier wars as there are
repair crews from here to Levanin and beyond with overflowing
queues.' He made his way to the door with Jimmy close on his heels,
that grin was entirely false.

'How
can so much be carted out to you? Surely there are other smiths that
need the work?'

His
bushy brows frowned in annoyance at that. 'I told you just yesterday,
every smithy is busy with the same sort of work, there's nobody I can
dump it off to. I have to get this done.'

Jimmy
cracked a smile and trailed him down the winding path into the
morning sun. 'Have to? You're Garth the smith, no one tells you when
things are to be done!'

'Go
home, Jimmy,' he muttered deeply under his beard, purposefully
lengthening his stride.

That
wasn't the response he expected at all from the usually genial smith,
it stung him more than he expected. 'Are they going to do something
if you don't meet their quota?' he said quietly to the smith's back,
his annoyance getting the better of him.

Garth
spun round, eyes ablaze and fist raised as if to strike, then he
seemed to catch himself, as if sudden awareness of what he was doing
came to him.

'Go
home,' he rumbled between gritted teeth. Jimmy didn't need a second
warning and fled back toward the Chipped Flagon.

Breathlessly
flinging the door open he made for the stairs but ended up face to
face with his father. The older man calmly beckoned him behind the
bar and started handing him dirty plates without another word.

His
father was a lean man of unimposing build, the exact opposite of the
many portly, vociferous barmen throughout the land. His hooked nose
and cavernous eyes were defining features Jimmy was happy not to have
inherited.

His
heart had just started to calm itself when Gooseman finally spoke.

'Garth
is best left alone at the moment, he is sorely tested.' He let the
silence hang at the end of the words, waiting for Jimmy to voice his
grievances. Too many questions were eating at him not to.

'I
don't understand. Why is he so hard pressed if we are winning the
war?'

Gooseman
smirked under his hooked nose. 'Ever the optimist. I'm sure your
young friends would tell you that casualties are inevitable in the
final push for victory. Not this many.' He gestured over the bar
expansively with his hand. 'Have you not been listening to the word
that comes in from travellers day by day?'

Jimmy
scoffed. 'You'll never see such a sorry lot of doom mongers. What
about the soldiers that come to rally men to their cause?'

His
father sighed at this. 'Is that what you think they are? Tell me, if
they are soldiers, why are they nowhere near the war? Why do they
need more men to fight if they're winning as comfortably as you say?'

It
was strange that such a simple question hadn't occurred to Jimmy
before, such matters seemed beyond him. 'What of Garth? What happens
if he doesn't meet the quota?'

His
bald head shook sadly at that question. 'Then they will come for
him.'

'Who
will come? Thom wouldn't stand for it. He's just one smith in a small
hamlet anyway, why would it concern anyone from afar?'

Gooseman
put his face in his hands as if desperately tired. 'I always thought
that living here in the inn with me would compensate for your
relative isolation from the world. When I hear you come out with
questions like that, I in turn question the wisdom of my decision.'

Jimmy
sensed another inevitable lecture.

'I
just don't see why it matters so much to them.'

The
innkeeper's hands slid through the thinning hair past his temples,
revealing him deep in thought.

'Think
of the war like a big machine,' he finally said. 'Every big machine
has smaller parts. You can take some parts out of machines and they
will still function to an extent. With others the slightest piece out
of alignment or absent will render the whole device useless. Garth's
job is a small but integral part in a machine that is stretched to
its absolute limits trying to cope with providing for the war.'

It
was a push, but Jimmy could see the sense of the analogy. It wasn't
the first time his father sounded nothing like a bartender when
speaking to him alone.

'So
why would they take him out if he's functioning inefficiently?' he
asked. 'Isn't some repairing better than none at all?'

'And
there you come to the crux of the matter. Garth is not valued, he is
but a small piece in a larger scheme. They have plenty of people
willing to work, but very flew places left to send them. Garth's
departure would be seamless. His replacement would be en-route with
those who seek to remove him.'

It
was then that Jimmy realised the magnitude of Garth's task. He wasn't
willingly taking outside contracts or being patriotic and helping
with the war, he had been forced into doing this.

'Why
doesn't he quit then? He could work the fields.' He knew
the
stupidity
of
the
statement
as
soon
as
he
has
asked
it.

Gooseman
chose to ignore everything but the question. 'Garth has his own
reasons. He is a proud and stubborn man, he refuses to take on any
apprentice, deeming them all unworthy. This has only made things
worse for him. If he quits, they will take everything he owns and
throw him in a prison, accusing him of treason. They'd make Thom do
it.'

He
couldn't imagine the man Garth called his best friend arresting him
for treason. Nor could he picture Thom being strong-armed into it by
the powers that be. No wonder Garth battled on, he must have known
exactly what would happen if he didn't.

'What
you have to realise is that the figures you see before you in your
life are very
small in the scale of events.
Thom
has
to
defer
to
command
just as Garth
would, however unlikely it may seem to you. There are many powers
greater in this world than those you see exercised in Escana. Even
the Urian Council is but a small bunch of local
bureaucrats
,
the real power comes from the centre of the land. Levanin. There, the
great leaders and thinkers of our time strive to knit the future of
the world in a way that pleases them. Perhaps if you travel to the
capital you will someday understand.'

There
was something different about the way Gooseman chose his words, they
were bordering on reverential. He had never seen his father speak
about anyone in such a way, it gave him pause for thought. This
wasn't a typical lecture, the tone was all wrong, nor was there any
condemnation in his voice. He couldn't shake how much that unsettled
him.

His
father clapped him on the shoulder, waking him from his thoughts.
'Ordinarily I'd have slapped you across the head for your
daydreaming, but you can be forgiven today. You can do with the rest
of the day whatever you please.'

Jimmy
nodded dumbly. It was uncharacteristically kind of his father to give
him a day off, he pushed him harder than the other staff so as not to
show favouritism. He didn't always live up to those lofty
expectations.

For
all intents and purposes people had considered Jimmy on friendly
terms with Solomon. Jimmy was willing to play on that for a day off,
if that's why he was being given it. He certainly wouldn't be
mourning the man's loss, not after everything Ella had told him.

He
cautiously made his way round to the other side of the bar, waiting
for Gooseman to call him back. He had just finished going upstairs
when he heard his father's voice.

'You
want me back down here?' he shouted in response, watching his father
approach the foot of the stairs.

'Not
at all,' Gooseman replied, idly wiping a mug. 'I just wanted to tell
you that I know exactly how you felt about Solomon and what kind of
person he was. His absence will deeply trouble me too.'

They
couldn't help but share a dark grin at the biting sarcasm. So
his
father
had known all along, why had Jimmy not suspected as much?

As
the hours went by he found his biggest problem was the constant
shielding of himself, every outward reflection of mirth he'd usually
display had to be stamped down for the benefit of those in grief. The
Chipped Flagon was a big place with many floors and all kinds of
people passed through its doors in a day, yet the shock of the sudden
death seemed to have clung to everywhere he went. Jimmy wasn't sure
how he felt about a crowd of strangers solemnly drinking to a man
they never met.

He
knew better than anyone what kind of person Solomon had been and
exactly how he should have been remembered in death, yet he also knew
the futile urge to tell everyone the truth about the man's character
was one he must fight. Better to be solemn with the rest than
alienate the customers in this time of grief.

He
e
ventually
grew
tired
of
stifling
himself
and
decided
to
seek
out
Jakob
instead,
the
look
he
had
given
him
before
fleeing
from
the
party
at
the
barn
had
left
him
worried
for
much
of
the
night.