The Improbable Adventures of Scar and Potbelly: Ice Terraces of Crystal Crag (14 page)

“We would hate to trouble you ladies,” Scar said. “But if you could help us we would be very thankful.”

“We will do what we can,” Elora assured him.

“He lives outside of town, or so we hear,” Scar explained. “May have been an adventurer in his younger days.” He lowered his voice. “He goes by the name, Matlin.”

“Matlin…Matlin….” mused Elora. She turned to Namma, “Do you know him?”

“I do not think so.” Standing, she turned about. “Corra.”

Two tables away, a lady whose hair had just begun to gray looked up from her tea. “Yes?”

“These boys are looking for a man by the name of Matlin. Do you know him?”

Corra shook her head. “Sorry, Namma. I don’t know anyone by that name.”

“Maybe they’re looking for Matlin, Garreth’s boy who works at the mill?” a man four tables away asked.

Namma shook her head. “No. The man they are looking for lives outside of town, and is an older man.” She turned back to Scar. “Was that correct?”

“Yes,” he replied though he felt acutely uncomfortable with so many people knowing their business and who they were after.

Conversations sprang up throughout the tea room as every table tried to figure out who it was they searched for. At a table near the front, a very old man said, “Used to be a Matlin living off Timber Line Hill. Mean as a snake and belligerent when he spoke.”

“Didn’t he die?” another man asked.

“Don’t know,” the old man said. “He could shoot that bow of his, I remember that.”

About that time, Yorlen appeared with a tray bearing six pots of tea and the box of tea leaves. He went to their table first and set the pot down in front of Elora, and the box of tea by Scar.

Potbelly grabbed the box and opened it. It didn’t look as if any tea had been used. He cast Yorlen a questioning look.

“You don’t need many leaves per pot,” he explained. “And each can be used many times before it becomes bland.” As he moved past, he added, “The few leaves I used will be more than adequate to serve those here tonight.”

He deposited the remaining five teapots on other tables, then announced to the rest that more were brewing.

“Shall we?” Elora said excitedly.

“Let’s,” replied Potbelly. Indicating the pot, he said to her, “Will you do the honor?”

She first poured a very small amount of milk in the bottom of each cup to protect the interior from the hot water, then took up the teapot of Tieguanyin Tea. The dark liquid mixed with the milk creating swirls; the steam rising from it put forth an aroma reminiscent of fresh picked berries of summer.

Careful to hold the cup properly, Scar gripped the handle and sipped the tea.

“Now that is good.”

Elora sipped and she smiled. “It is all I ever thought it could be.”

Similar exclamations sounded from the other five tables enjoying the tea.

Potbelly on the other hand sipped it and all he could think was he’d like an ale to wash the taste from his mouth.

Scar sipped again, then put his cup down. “Now that Matlin the gentleman spoke of, the one living out of town, do you suppose he is still there?”

“I don’t know. But now that I think about it, I do seem to recall stories of the man who lived up past Timber Line Hill. Odd sort if my memory serves.” To Namma she asked, “You remember him, don’t you?”

“Was he the one who was a bit on the crazy side? Never one to be around regular folks. Always keeping to himself.”

Elora nodded. “That’s right.” To Scar, “You might try him. He may be the one you seek.”

“Thank you.” He sipped the tea again. “This is really remarkable.”

“You have given us something to talk about for years.” Then to Namma, “Won’t Gert and Babbs be envious when they find out?”

Scar took one of the napkins and removed five leaves from the box and set them upon it. He folded it and handed it to her. “Why don’t you have your own tea party and invite them?”

“Really?” she asked. Smiling, she took the napkin. “Thank you so much.” To Namma, “They are going to be so excited.”

“Being new to this area,” began Potbelly, “could you perhaps direct us to Timber Line Hill?” He glanced to Scar then added, “The evening is growing late and we shouldn’t arrive on his doorstep at too late an hour.”

“Certainly.”

Elora then gave elaborate directions complete with back stories on many of the properties they would pass along the way. By the time Scar and Potbelly had the meat and bones of the directions committed to memory Yorlen had delivered the rest of the tea to the tables.

“I bet he’s kept some for himself,” Namma said mischievously.

Scar considered going into the kitchen and pouring it out when Potbelly suddenly stood.

“Good evening to you, ladies,” Potbelly said.

Scar stood and nodded. “It was a pleasure to spend the evening in the company of such two lovely, and intelligent ladies such as yourselves. It is an evening I will cherish all my days.”

The two ladies blushed.

“I hope you come back,” Elora said, “now that you know about tea?”

“Perhaps,” replied Scar. “One can never tell. Fare well.”

Many of the patrons added their salutations as the pair departed from the tea room. Even Yorlen had a friendly “Good bye,” for them.

Outside, Potbelly said. “I need an ale.”

Scar spat. “Me too. Tea is ghastly stuff.”

“Thought you loved it?”

“Not in the least,” Scar replied.

“But you went on and on about it.”

“That was for the ladies’ benefit. Sweet old dears,” he said. “Reminded me of two aunts I had when I was younger.” A wistful grin came over him. “Some of the best memories of my boyhood.”

Potbelly nodded knowingly. “I see.”

“It paid off, didn’t it?”

“Hopefully. Let’s go find Timber Line Hill.”

Two doors down from the tea room sat a tavern; boisterous, odorous and with mayhem in the air. Just what they needed.

“An ale or two to wash the taste from our mouths,” Scar said.

Walking in the front door, they found a fight already broken out near the back, a bevy of women looking for company, and an atmosphere nearly choking with smoke consisting of both the legal and the not so much kind. Potbelly sighed and said, “This is more like it.”

Scar laughed, slapped him on the back and they forged their way to the bar,

“Two ales!” Scar hollered.

The barkeep glanced his way, nodded, and arrived shortly afterward with two mugs overflowing with froth.

Slapping down the coins, he grabbed his and drained it in one go. Potbelly did likewise. They both slammed their mugs on the bar; Scar’s landing a split-second before Potbelly’s.

“Another round,” Scar said. Then to Potbelly, “You pay this one.”

Ale arrived, they downed them and asked for a third.

A woman came to the bar and nestled in close to Scar. “You’re new in town,” she said.

Another appeared on the other side of Potbelly. She linked her arm through his and leaned against him.

Scar turned to the redhead next to him. “Just got here.”

“Are you looking for company?”

He smiled as he knew exactly the kind of company she meant. “Not tonight. We have business that must be attended.”

Her face pursed into a pout. “But I’m so lonely.”

“Me too,” the girl attached to Potbelly sadly said.

“I’m sure any number of these louts in here will be happy to see to your entertainment.”

The girl ran a finger along Potbelly’s bicep and then across his pecks. “But you are manlier than they are.”

Potbelly laughed. “True enough. But like my friend said, we are otherwise occupied.”

They continued to work their charms while Scar ordered a fourth round for themselves and another for the girls. Once finished, he wiped his mouth on his sleeve, then said, “It’s been nice, girls. But it’s time we were on our way.”

Potbelly had to physically disengage the one wrapped around his arm.

“Goodnight, ladies,” he said.

They showed a bit of cleavage and hinted at hidden delights, but Scar and Potbelly returned to the street.

“Man that was hard leaving them,” Scar said.

“You’re telling me.”

As they headed down the road, from the alley next to the tavern, two armed men watched them leave. The two girls that had tried enticing them emerged from the tavern and headed their way.

“It didn’t work,” the red head said.

“Obviously,” said the older of the two men. “Did they say where they were headed?”

She shook her head. “No. Just said something about business to attend.”

“What kind of business?”

“They didn’t say,” the brunette that had glommed onto Potbelly replied. “Can we have our coins now?”

The man eyed her. “Anything else they may have said?”

“Nothing, I swear.”

He searched her eyes a moment, then pulled out a small purse. “If they should return for a dalliance, send word to
The
Cask and Candle.
Ask for Garrock.” He tossed it to them.

Redhead grabbed it; they bobbed their heads and then beat a hasty retreat.

“Stew, round up the men and send word to Garrock that they are in town.”

“Aye,” replied Stew, a younger man in his early twenties.

“I’m going to follow them.”

As Stew hurried down the street to carry out his orders, the older man stepped out from the shadows.

The directions Elora supplied led them to the northwestern edge of town. There they found the small park with the statue of some lord she mentioned, whose name and deeds they had already forgotten. Just down from it began the small road leading up to
Timber Line Hill. Somewhere beyond the summit they would find the home of Matlin.

“This better be the right man,” Scar said.

They paused before turning onto the road for Scar to pull a small lantern from his pack and light it. Adjusting the wick to provide just enough light to see their immediate vicinity, he signaled for them to continue.

Turning onto the road, Potbelly replied, “From what Tork told us, and the fact that Elora’s directions and recollections were similar to his, he has to be.”

“So all we know is that he’s probably as old as Tork, employs a bow, and doesn’t like visitors.”

Potbelly nodded. “Could be interesting, us dropping in on him unannounced like this.”

“We’ll make it worth his while.”

“If we even have time to make an offer before he kills us.”

Scar rolled his eyes. “He’s not going to just up and kill us without knowing why we are there.”

Potbelly had reservations but in the face of Scar’s surety, kept them to himself.

They passed half a dozen houses during the first mile. All but one were dark. They made certain they were extra quiet when passing the one with light so as not to alert any as to their passing.

Past the homes, the road continued for a stretch through thick woods. Narrowing and growing slightly wild, the road developed a good supply of ruts. The spot where a stream crossed was near to being a quagmire. They were forced to skirt through the woods around it in order to make it across.

The light from their lantern cast shadows among the trees. Creatures of the night scurried away at their approach. More than once an animal was startled from their path causing its sudden appearance to prompt both men to take hold of their hilts.

“Jumpy?” Scar asked.

“Cautious.”

Scar chuckled and dodged to the side to avoid the swipe Potbelly aimed at him.

The forest closed-in the farther up they climbed. Limbs stretched across the road and in their way.

“Think this guy is even up here?” Potbelly asked. “It doesn’t look as if anyone has used this road for a long time.”

“Looks can be deceiving. Remember the house on Hook Hill?”

“You have a point.”

The road narrowed to such an extent that it forced them to ride single file. Scar kept the lead with the lantern and Potbelly brought up the rear. They crossed another stream and came to a halt when the trunk of a large tree blocked their way. It had fallen some time ago. Still thick with branches, the leaves that it once held were long since gone.

“I think this says he isn’t up here.”

Scar held the lantern up and glanced back to Potbelly. “Not necessarily.”

“Who doesn’t keep their road clear?” Potbelly asked. “A man’s got to get to town.”

“They said he liked his privacy,” Scar argued. He gestured to the tree. “This may just be his way to ensure it.”

Potbelly did not look convinced.