Chapter 3

Beth managed a few hours sleep, slumped up against the table on the floor in front of the banked hearth. Loud voices approaching woke her and she had just gained her feet when the cook entered, followed by the master of the house. Neither looked particularly happy.

“See! Just lying there! Stopping me from doing my job!” The cook angrily gesticulated towards Beth’s charge.

The master of house looked at the boy with disgust. “Why is that thief even alive? Kill him and throw the corpse into the street.”

“I shall do no such thing and besides, to be a thief you have to steal something, and so far, he hasn’t.” Beth angrily retorted.

“Don’t talk back to me girl. This is my house...” The owner snarled

Rastillian entered and summed up the mood in the room with a glance. Without a word, he pulled out a dagger and handed it hilt first to the owner, who looked down at in confusion. “What do I want with this?”

“You want the child dead, you kill him.” Rast calmly stated.

“What!”

Rast continued to hold out his dagger. “You heard.”

“Get out of my house!”

“We will do, after you settle the bill.”

“I’m not paying. There was no evil spirit, just a street ruffian.”

Rast shrugged. “You paid us to sort out a problem, it’s sorted. You either pay us as agreed, or we will take our pay in goods. I’m not sure of the value of items, so we may take more than we need to. But rest assured any excess over our fee, we shall return to you.”

“Get out!”

“After payment.” Rast casually dropped a hand to the hilt of his ever present sword. “Or you can try to, you know, throw us out...”

The client went pale and stormed from the room as the other members of the group filtered in. Arkage pointed a thumb over his shoulder after the departing client. “He looks pissed.”

The child was still out for the count on the table. “Can he be moved?” Rast asked of Beth.

“I would prefer it if he weren’t.”

“So, yes?”

Beth sighed “Yes, but slowly, gently don’t put any pressure on the stitches as it was a deep wound and his body hasn’t had enough time to start sealing the wound.”

Rast nodded. “Arkage, go get the cart.”

The client stormed back in with a small pouch and held it towards Rastillian with a sneer.

Rast opened the drawstring and upended the pouch onto the table at the child’s feet. Slowly, deliberately, he placed a finger tip on a coin and slid it clear of the others. Pressed his finger on another and slid it to join the first. The kitchen was strangely quiet with the only sounds being the crackling of the hearth and the slide of coin across the table. “Looks like the amount is going to be short.” Rastillian slid the last coin over. “Well, what do you know. It was indeed short.”

Beth and the band, along with the cook and the kitchen servants who had arrived, all turned to look at the client. He snarled and stormed from the room for the second time. Rast carefully slid the coins from the table into the pouch. Arkage followed the client out of the room, off to retrieve their cart.

A servant appeared and nervously handed over another pouch to Rast. He tipped out that one as well and counted the contents. The somewhat pale of pallor spoke. “His lordship demands his money pouches back and your immediate vacation of his premises. And, um, states that you never darken his door ever again ... And that you leave by the servants access.”

Rast snorted and transferred the contents of both pouches to his own, handing the two empty pouches back to the servant.

Beth wasn’t surprised in the slightest, when Rast carefully picked up the child and led them out the main entrance, causing curtains to twitch in the windows of the surrounding houses.

The child woke when Rast lifted him, but apart from whimpering with the pain, said nothing, eyes wide with fear. Arkage had appropriated some straw from somewhere for the back of their cart and Rast laid the child gently upon it and they headed back to the inn that was their base.

“Put him in my room.” Beth commanded. Rast carried the child up the stairs into Beth’s room and gently laid him down upon her bed. Beth pulled over the only chair and sat next to the child as she undid the clasps on her satchel.

The child’s eyes flickered fearfully from Beth to the three men ominously standing at the doorway. Rast turned to Awnlee, “Pop downstairs and ask the barkeep for breakfast.” Awnlee nodded and left the room.

Beth checked her stitches. “What’s your name?” She asked of her patient. The child said nothing. Beth pulled a clay jug out of her bag, unstoppered it, and tipped some of the liquid out onto piece of cloth and set to cleaning the white paste from the child’s face.” Do you have a mum or dad?” After a moment, the child shook his head. “Do you have a name?”

The child said nothing, for a moment, and then nodded. “Thomas” he whispered.

“Well, Thomas. Ever been shot by a crossbow before?”

“No. It hurts.”

“Well let’s try and keep it to a once in a lifetime thing, shall we?” The boy nodded earnestly. “So, Thomas, would you like to explain to me what you were doing?” The boy looked nervously towards Rast and Arkage. “Don’t mind them Thomas. They’re there to ensure my safety. They won’t hurt anyone unless someone tries to hurt me. You’re not going to try and hurt me, are you Thomas?” Thomas shook his head. Beth pinched his cheek. “Good boy Thomas. Do you have any brothers and sisters?”

“I had a brother and two sisters.”

“What happened to them?”

“Tom was caught stealing in the market and hung. Men took my sisters. I don’t how what happened to them, I’ve not seen them since.”

“Do you remember anything about your parents?” Thomas shook his head. Beth finished cleaning his face of the white paint. “So, what’s with all the white paint, chains and ‘wooo’ noises?” Beth lifted both hands and wiggled her fingers is she went ‘wooo’.

“It was Drish’s idea.”

“What was the idea?” Beth gently asked.

“I would get into houses, move stuff around, moan a bit...”

“How did you get in?”

“Chimneys, windows, through the thatch in roofs ... Anyway I could really.”

“And once in, make out as though you were a ghost or a spirit?”

“Yeah.”

Beth laughed disarmingly. “To what purpose?”

“Umm...”

“It’s okay Thomas, you can tell me.” The door opened and Awnlee entered carrying a wooden tray laden with food, a jug and stacked mugs. The other two immediately piled into the contents.

Beth waited patiently for them to grab plates and fill them full of food. Awnlee placed the considerably lighter tray upon the rickety table.

Beth picked up a plate and looked at Thomas “Hungry?” A nod. Beth put some food on a plate and handed it to the boy. She took the last plate and added some food for herself. “Do you need a hand?” Thomas shook his head. Beth waited for him to finish a few mouthfuls. “The ghostly get up?” Beth gently prodded.

“It was Drish’s idea. I was to scare the owners for a few nights, then Drish would just happen to be passing and offer to, you know, get rid of me for a fee.”

“Ahh. Except that the owners sought help elsewhere, or Dish never turned up?”

“He did. But the householder refused to pay for, errr, my removal.”

“Ahh, I see it now. And the wife obviously got fed up and took matters in hand herself. How many Ghosts have you played?”

“A few...” Thomas said hesitantly.

“Well, it’s certainly a novel way of making money. As long as someone doesn’t shoot you.” The boy nodded. “And what do you get out of it Thomas?”

“Huh?”

“How much do you get paid, for your ghostly work?”

“I get to sleep in the houses and eat any food I find.”

“So Drish doesn’t even pay you?”

Thomas shook his head. “Should he?”

“Where does Drish live?”

“I dunno. He’s always in the Travellers Rest.”

“Rest and heal Thomas.” Beth said as she stood and walked out of the room.

Rast sighed, caught Awnlee’s eye and nodded over his shoulder to the door. Awnlee nodded and also left the room, stopping off at his own to pick up and strap on his word.

Downstairs, Beth walked over to the barkeep. “How do I get to the Travellers Rest from here?”

Half way to her destination, Beth realised that she hadn’t brought her mothers daggers. She thought about turning back but decided against it. You couldn’t use what you didn’t possess. Unsurprisingly, the Travellers Rest was in the least civilised part of town and didn’t even possess a door. Just a tatty piece of heavy cloth. Beth entered and walked over to the barkeep who was cleaning a dirty rag with a tankard. “Drish?” The barkeep nodded towards a table. Three disreputable looking men of age with Beth sat on one side of a table opposite a slightly better attired fourth. Beth approached the table and addressed the less scruffy fourth. “Drish.”

Drish looked up at Beth. “I don’t remember paying for a whore.” He turned back to his fellows. “Aww did one of you get me a whore? That was so sweet of you.” He languidly turned back to Beth. “You are a fair bit older than I usually have, but cunt is cunt. You can start by getting on your knees and sucking my cock. At your age, you could probably drive a horse and cart through your cunt, so I hope your arse is tighter. Only one way to find out I suppose...”

Awnlee stepped through the cloth door and spotting Beth, started to head over. Awnlee’s entrance was blocked from Drish’s view by Beth but his pals clocked the new arrival.

“Well, what are you waiting for cunt, it’s not going to suck itself...”

With no thought or plan other than the immediate, Beth swept up the pewter tankard in front of Drish in one hand and slammed it side on straight into his face. Tankard and nose crumpled as the contents of the mostly full vessel erupted out of the top, covering everyone at the table, including Beth, in cheap wine. Drish’s head whip lashed back and forward. Beth grabbed his hair in both her hands and slammed his stunned head once, twice against the top of the table, she let go and the unconscious Drish slipped from the bench onto the floor.

Drish’s associates collectively made to rise, but the movement of Awnlee’s hand to the hilt of his sword and his slow measured shake of his head, stopped them. Beth looked down at the crumpled form and immediately felt guilty. She dropped to a knee and placed two fingers against the side of his neck searching for a pulse. With relief, she found one. Standing, she looked at the three very quiet lackeys. “You know a young boy, Thomas?” They nodded. “This whole exorcism shit or whatever it is you have going on. It stops and it stops right now. You understand.” Three heads nodded. “Good. Because if I have to come back to this shithole you won’t need makeup to be ghosts. And make sure that piece of shit knows as well, when he wakes back up.”

Beth finally registered the fact that cheap wine was dripping from her hair. “Ahh shit.” She turned and headed to the door, noticing Awnlee for the first time. “Not a word. Not one fucking word.” Awnlee raised a finger and drew it across his lips.

Awnlee watched Beth leave then cast a last contemptuous look at Drish and his pals before he turned and followed Beth back to their own inn.

As Beth climbed the stairs, she started loosening the ties on her tunic and was about to remove it as she entered her room, only to spot Thomas and remember that she wasn’t alone. She paused and met Thomas’s somewhat fearful gaze. “Turn and face the wall Thomas.” Gingerly, Thomas did as he was told and Beth pulled the soiled tunic over her head. She poured some water from the jug into the bowl and soaked a cloth and washed her face and chest. The cold water stiffening her nipples. Beth wiped her hair as best as she could, not keen on having to go through the hassle of fully washing it. Pulling the last clean tunic she owned, over her head, she swapped out her leather leggings for her other pair. Nothing for it, she was going to have to do a washing. “You can look again.” Thomas flopped back onto his back.

Rast looked up from his journal, laying the ink stained feather aside as his door was knocked “Yes?” Awnlee popped his head in. “Any issues that we need to deal with?” Rast asked him.

“Nope all good. I doubt there will be issues.”

“Really?” Rast said with surprise “Thanks for watching over her. I will catch up with you later.” Awnlee Nodded his head and retreated. Rast snorted with surprise and picked up the quill to resume his writing.

Her second pair of leather trousers were a little bit tighter than they were last time. The waist was still the same, but her thighs and calves had bulked out a bit with muscle, with all the walking that she had been doing lately. The regular sword practice wasn’t helping matters either. After Lacing up her boots she reached up to the rafters and pulled down some of the bunches that were ready. Retrieving her mortar and pestle, she set to grinding the herbs to dust.

“Are you a witch?” Beth looked over to Thomas.

“Yes, and if you don’t obey my every command, I shall turn you into a toad.” Thomas’s already pale face managed to go even paler and his quizzical look turned to one of fear.

“Don’t be a daffty. I’m teasing. I’m a healer. These herbs help people pretending to be ghosts who manage to get shot by crossbows.”

“Oh. How?”

“Well the bunch over there, when ground and applied to a wound, helps to deaden pain. That bunch helps to ward off infection. That one promotes healing.”

“What about that one?”

“That one?”

“Yes.”

“It doesn’t do anything other than smell nice.”

“Oh.”

Beth carefully poured the ground herbs into a small leather pouch already containing the same herb. Carefully cleaning both pestle and mortar, Beth started on another bunch. depositing the ground result into yet another pouch.

“You have a lot of pouches.” Thomas observed.

“There are a lot of herbs.”

“Oh.”

Gathering the satchel with her dirty laundry, she added the pouches of freshly ground herbs. “Stay in bed. Try not to move.” She told Thomas. Opening her door she stepped into the corridor.

“Beth?” Rastillian shouted from his room. He never missed a thing. Beth opened his door. “You off to the market?” Rast asked.

Beth nodded “Do you need anything.”

“No, I’m good thanks. “ He pulled out a purse and counted out some coins and placed them on the table, nodding his head to them. Beth walked over and picked them up slipping them into her own pouch, watching as Rast leafed through the pages of his journal to one with her name at the top and carefully noted down the amount to the bottom of a small but growing column.

Leaving the inn and heading towards the artisans quarter, Beth looked for the shop of a seamstress that had been recommended to her. Stepping inside, she patiently waited her turn, ignoring the curious looks of the other female customers who whispered amongst themselves about the ‘lady in the breeks’.

“Yes. How can I help you?” Beth explained her need for another robust pair of trousers and a leather tunic. “A dress and cotton tunic would be faster and cheaper my dear.”

“Indeed they would, but neither adjust well to my lifestyle.” Beth thought of all the times she had pushed through thorn bushes to get at the precious flowers within. Cloth tunics were quickly torn and provided little protection against thorns. She could hack her way in closer with a sickle, as most did, but Beth never understood the logic of butchering a plant to farm it, forcing the plant to heal itself before it could flower again. That just increased the time between flowering.

“You’ll be wanting thin soft leather then?”

“No, thick is fine. Double stitched with shoe thread.”

“Are you sure you don’t want normal thread. It’s cheaper dear, and easier to sew-it will speed up the time until your garments are ready.”

“No. I made that mistake last time. The thread rots too quickly and you end up needing the seams, re-stitched.”

“If you keep your clothes dry and avoid the rain, that won’t be a problem dear.”

Beth laughed, “Avoiding inclimate weather is not really practical, nor possible most times. Shoe thread please, seamstress.” The seamstress led her behind a curtain and helped her to disrobe. With a piece of marked string that hung round her neck and dangled down her front, the seamstress took Beth’s measurements and noted them down with chalk on a slate.

The cost was not cheap, nor had Beth expected it to be. She paid the money and arranged a time to pop around in a few days for a fitting. Next stop was washers square. A well near the riverside, where the women drew water and rented large tubs to wash their clothes. There was a mangle to remove most of the water from clothes prior to being hung. Lines crisscrossed the air above the square, festooned with damp clothes, some of the washerwomen smiled and nodded at Beth as she entered.

The woman in charged smiled at Beth. “Tub seventeen is free Beth.”

“How is your husbands cough?”

“A lot better, thank you. The tonic you supplied has worked wonders and he is even back at work, and out from under my feet.” Some of the surrounding women laughed “The extra money coming back in again will help.”

“It does indeed. You have no idea how much a difference the extra income makes, until it stops.”

“Unless the good for nothing drinks it all before he gets home...” One of the nearby women grumbled. There were quiet grunts of agreement to that.

Beth pulled water from the well and helped herself to some water from the kettle above the fire. She dumped her clothes into the tub and pulled a bar of soap out of her bag and rubbed it against her wet clothes, once she was satisfied as to their cleanliness, she rinsed her clothes out and ran then though the mangle.

The washerwoman didn’t charge Beth for the use of the equipment, but then Beth hadn’t charged her for her husbands medicine. Beth didn’t have the patience to wait for her clothes to dry on the line like the others, nor the desire to indulge in chat with the other women while she waited. The topic of conversation always seemed to end up about Beth’s private life and how they had a son that would be just perfect for her...

Beth knew a nearby smith that didn’t mind her hanging up her clothes to dry, whilst she popped round to Foster with ingredients for his soaps.

There was an unusual crowd outside of the smith’s forge. Beth squeezed and wriggled her way through the crowd. A man, a peddler by the look, was blowing into a reed or bamboo, it was hard for Beth to make out at this distance. The peddler was blowing bubbles and somehow rolling the bubbles on the smiths outside anvil. The smith himself stood nearby, arms crossed with a fascinated expression on his face.

Beth pushed her way through the crowd up to the blacksmith. “What is it? What is he doing?”

“He says that it is ‘glass’.”

“Glass?”

“Uh-huh.”

The peddler stopped with the ball and left it to the side and started to make, Beth wasn’t sure what and neither did it appear, anyone else, as he bent and teased the ‘glass’. There was something familiar about the form as it started to take shape. Where had she seen the shape before...

“THAT’S A SWAN!” Beth suddenly shouted into the fascinated crowd. Faces turned towards her and she felt her face become hot. The peddler caught her eye and smiled, nodding his head in confirmation.

“What’s a swan?” The blacksmith asked her. Beth wasn’t absolutely sure, as she had never seen one, but her mother had. It was in her book.

“It’s like a goose, sort of.” The peddler finished the swan and started on another animal. One that the crowd recognised. A horse. Her shoulder was starting to ache under the weight of her bag of wet clothes. Reluctantly, she moved away, through the forge into the house beyond.

The smith’s wife was sat on a stool, trying to embroider. Two bairns asleep on the bed next to her. Out of habit, Beth quickly checked them over. They appeared to be doing fine.

Marylyn took in the bag. “Wash day Beth?”

“Uh-huh. Do you mind?”

“Not at all Beth. You know you are welcome here anytime.” The house backed onto the back of the forge fire. A room with huge doors either end and a smaller one on the wall leading into the house ‘proper’, lay between furnace and house. In summer and warm days, the two large gable entrance doors were wide open to let a breeze flow through and the trapped heat dissipate. In winter and cold days, the two gable doors were shut and the door to the house opened to let the forge heat flow into the house.

It also made a very good drying room and multiple lengths of rope travelled the length of the room at head height. There were several lines of hanging clothes already and Beth added to them. She pulled her damp bag inside out and pegged it up as well, keeping hold of her oilcloth satchel.

“I have some tea on the stove if you want.”

“I’ll not say no...” Beth said with a smile. She had never seen a stove before she had stepped into this house. They were apparently quite the thing in blacksmith’s houses and of those of wealth. They worked best, Marylyn had said, if they were fed with the same fuel as the forge. They could work with wood, but it didn’t work as well, was smokier and needed fed more often.

Marylyn lifted two fired clay cups down and filled them with tea. Beth had always eaten from wooden plates and drunk from wooden cups. Marylyn made them herself. She had explained to Beth how, something about leaving the clay to fire in the forge overnight when the forge was banked. Beth had neither followed nor understood but had just smiled and nodded anyway.

Marylyn poured the simmering tea into the cups and passed one to Beth. Taking an appreciative sip, Beth carefully put the cup down, frightened that it would break, even though Marylyn had insisted they were quite robust and started to unbuckle her satchel.

“I have mint and ginger?”

“Oh! You have ginger!” Beth nodded as Marylyn reached up to a high shelf and carefully lifted down two small pots. A piece of good quality cloth was placed over the top of each pot, held in place by a fired clay plug lid. Beth carefully unwrapped the skin holding the mint and added some to the ground mint all ready in the pot. The other pot was empty and Beth carefully unwrapped the skin holding her ground ginger and poured some inside.

Marylyn carefully put the clay pots back as Beth equally carefully folded the skins back on themselves, trapping the contents, holding the skins tightly wrapped with leather thongs. “That is some ability the peddler has.” Beth commented.

“Oh you have no idea! Wait to you see this! He made me this as a thank you for using the forge.” Marylyn put her cup down and moved over to another high shelf and gently lifted down a bundle of rags, which she proceeded to gently unwrap.

Curious, Beth walked over for a better view and gasped aloud when the item was revealed. “Oh my! That’s beautiful!”

“It is. Isn’t it.”

“Can I?”

“Yes, but be careful of the thorns, they really are sharp.”

Beth gently lifted the single glass rose. She touched a finger against a thorn out of curiosity and quickly retracted it. She looked at the little bead of red on her finger. It really was sharp. “How did he get the petals so red?”

“He blew some red powder on the glass as he was making it, and the glass turned red!”

“Wow!”

“I know!”

Beth immediately thought of the colours within her herb collection and wondered if there was a deal to be made.

“I know that look...” Marylyn said with a wry smile.

Beth laughed and finished her tea. “How long is he staying?”

Marylyn shrugged. “He said it depends on trade.”

“I think I need to have a word...” Beth laughed again “And I have a delivery to make to Foster for his soaps.”

Marylyn pulled a couple of coppers out of her purse and handed it over to Beth. “I need another bar. They will know what my favourite is if you say it’s for me.”

“Okay. I will see you later.”

“See you Beth.”

The crowd outside -and the smith- were still enraptured with the craftsman. Beth waited till he had finished another animal and approached. “Swan lady.” He said with a smile.

Beth had never heard an accent like his before. He must have come quite a distance. Maybe via one of those large wooden floating houses that she had forgotten the name of. “It’s Beth,” she said with a smile. “I saw the gift you made for Marylyn.”

“Ahh, a pretty flower for a pretty woman.”

Beth turned to look at the smith and turned back to the peddler “I wouldn’t say that quite so loudly if I was you...” Though the smith didn’t appear that annoyed about it. “Marylyn said the colour was made by blowing coloured powder at the piece?”

“Yes, that is correct.”

“What is the powder made off, are you looking for some more?”

The peddler moved some of his pieces further away from the curious fingers of some young children. His attempts at selling his wares didn’t appear to be proving very successful. Reaching into a large travelling bag, the peddler pulled out a bound leather roll. He undid the leather strap and unrolled the package. Beth’s jaw dropped open. The leather roll revealed, at quick count, about a dozen tubes of ‘glass’. Each sitting in its own little pouch within the roll. “Where did you get that!”

“I made it.”

“You made it?”

“Yes.”

“Can you make another one and how much?”

“We discuss later, yes?”

“Okay. What is in those...?”

“Vials.” The peddler supplied.

“Vials.”

The peddler pointed to each ‘vial’ and named the ingredients. Most of the contents she had never heard of, and the few that she did, was because of her mothers book and the fact they were known differently here. She could definitely sell some of her inventory to him. One of the colours she knew, but didn’t have, as the flower had no known medicinal value. But it was easy enough to harvest.

“Could you make a bottle, with a flat bottom, and a stopper with one of your animals on top?”

“Yes.”

“How much to make it right now?” It was expensive and used almost all the money in her pouch, but she handed it over anyway.

The peddler set to creating the bottle, making Beth and the crowd gasp, when he placed the bubble of glass on the anvil and proceeded to hit the bottom and the sides with one of the smiths hammers, squaring the vessel off. “What animal do you wish?”

Beth shrugged, unsure. “One of your choosing.”

He formed, what was obvious from the get go, a bird. When it came to the wings, he opened the vial of red and tilting it over and gently blowing against the opening, a light dusting of red gently wafted out onto the glass, which turned red and elicited another gasp from the crowd. He made both wings red and set the top aside. Beth reached out for it and the peddler stopped her. “It must cool first.” He looked into the crowd. “Anyone want to commission a piece?”

A woman raised a hand and asked for a dog. The peddler asked for a breed. The woman replied and he set to work. He was fast, nimble with his hands. The woman seemed delighted and handed over the fee. Another woman asked for a broach in the shape of a flower. They haggled a price that suited both. Before he started, he turned to Beth “You can take your piece now.” It was still slightly warm to the touch as she lifted the two pieces and carefully placed them in her apothecary satchel.

Beth’s walk was quick and excited as she made her way through town. It was getting close to closing time when she arrived at Foster’s. The women inside seemed to be more interested in gossiping than in purchasing goods. The girls behind the counters waited patiently for the sales. Foster’s wife Navarre was there, chatting to a very well to do lady. Beth caught her eye and Navarre politely ended her conversation. “I have something that may interest you...”

“You haven’t found another lovely smelling plant have you?” Navarre said with a laugh. Beth gently laid her satchel on the countertop and undid the buckles. She reached in and brought out the glass container. Navarre gasped and raised a hand to her mouth. “Where did you get that?!”

“I bought it.”

“Where!” There was another gasp as one of the customers spotted it and started walking over, the move attracting more attention. Navarre picked up the vessel, and imperiously stalked from the room, Beth trailing after her as Navarre led them to a stock room. As soon as Navarre was happy that they were alone, she looked at the glass container in greater detail, repeatedly removing and replacing the glass bird stopper.

“I’ll sell it to you.” Beth teased.

“How much?” Beth quoted the price the peddler had charged her. “Deal” Navarre said without hesitation.

Beth laughed, “I thought you would.”

“Where did you get it?”

“A peddler makes them. He is staying with Marylyn, the smiths wife at the moment. He is just passing through. That reminds me.” Beth removed Marylyn’s coppers from her purse. “She wants a bar of her usual?”