Devilʼs Brew: The Janna Chronicles 5 (25 page)

Most popular of all had been the ale, Janna’s special brew, and the barrels ran dry. Many fairgoers had come back a second, third or fourth time to slake their thirst. Hugh and Eleanor, however, had not come back at all, and Janna was glad of it. She wished Eleanor joy of the marriage, but knew that Hugh’s intended bride had divined more in their past acquaintance than she’d been told and instinct had prompted her to regard Janna as a threat. In the future, Eleanor would take care to ensure that she came first with Hugh in everything. And that was as it should be.

Many of the merchants spent the night either in their lock-ups or beside their booths at the fairground, sacrificing comfort for the security of knowing that their goods were watched and safe. But Sybil had arranged for Ossie to come up at the end of the day to fetch the empty barrels, which would be refilled and brought back to the fair early in the morning. Janna would return with him, there being nothing at the fairground for her to guard. But when Ossie arrived to fetch the barrels, the fair was only just starting to slow down and Janna was reluctant to leave so soon. “You go on,” she told the big man. “I want to stay here a little while longer, and have another look around.”

“Mistress Sybil said to tell you she needs you back at the tavern,” Ossie said stolidly.

“I won’t be long.” Janna was wild to spend some of the coins now clinking in her pocket, the coins paid to her for her own medicaments. She’d kept them scrupulously apart from the payment she’d received for the ale, and these coins she now handed over to Ossie with the injunction to keep them safe. Sybil trusted the big man, and Janna knew that he was large and powerful enough to protect the coins from any roaming pickpocket or cutpurse he might encounter on his way back to the tavern. She felt a little guilty disobeying Sybil, but the call of the fair was a siren song in her ears and she could not resist it.

First, though, she would find something to eat. The scent of fresh bread and pies had tormented her all day, and she felt quite faint with hunger. Ale there’d been in plenty to slake her thirst, but she hadn’t thought to bring anything for her dinner and so had gone without. Now her nose led her to a food stall and she stopped to inspect what there might be in the way of pies or any other delicacy to assuage her appetite. To her dismay, there was little left at all – others had gone through the fare like ravening locusts and a departing customer took with him the last pie. As Janna watched, he stuffed the meatiest part into his mouth and flung away the crust that surrounded it. The pieman barely acknowledged Janna; he was already tidying everything away, preparatory to vacating his stall. But there were still a couple of large pasties left over, looking somewhat mashed and leaking gravy through the pastry. They were past their prime, but Janna thought they’d make a tasty bite for want of anything better. She reached into her pocket, but hesitated as a furtive movement caught her eye. A grubby hand stole into view to snatch up the tossed piecrust. Janna blinked and looked again, but the hand had disappeared.

“How many do you want?” The pieman reached for the pasties; he was eager to be rid of them so that he could close for the night.

“Just a moment.” The pieman rolled his eyes, impatient at the delay. But Janna didn’t notice, for she’d already bounded around to the back of the stall in search of the owner of the hand. She was filled with pity, for she knew how it felt to be hungry. She forged on, pausing only when she found a young girl, pitiably thin, ragged and somewhat dirty, gnawing ravenously on the piecrust.

She shrank back in alarm at Janna’s appearance, but Janna held up her hand to stop the girl running away. “Wait,” she said. “Please.” The girl continued to back away, surveying Janna with wary eyes as she stuffed piecrust into her mouth.

“Would you like a pasty?” Janna asked softly. “A whole pasty?”

The girl nodded, her mouth too full for speech.

“Come with me.” Not wanting to waste time lest she find the cook stall locked and the pieman already gone, Janna strode off, not looking back to see if she was followed. But the girl was at her elbow as she asked the price of the two pasties and waited for the pieman’s response. After buying and selling on her own behalf, she’d learned something of the art of bargaining.

“Too dear,” she said, and looked down her nose at the two miserable specimens left on his board. “I might have paid a ha’penny at the beginning of the day when they were fresh and whole, but now…” She shrugged and turned her back, ready to walk away while beside her, the girl stiffened in alarm.

“You can have the two for a farthing,” the pieman said hastily. Janna hid a smile, and handed over the quarter coin. She gave one of the pasties to her companion, and took a bite of her own. For a while the two didn’t speak as they both stuffed their mouths full of pasty, enjoying the ease and comfort of a full belly at the end of it.

“What’s your name?” Janna said, heaving a contented sigh as she brushed crumbs from her mouth.

“Mary.” The girl looked up shyly. “Thank you, mistress. I never ate anything as good as that afore.”

Janna smiled. “My name is Johanna. Janna.” Her brain was working at a furious speed. Linked to her plan was a problem that had bothered her, but now it seemed that the solution might be within her grasp.

“Tell me, Mary,” she began. “How is it that you’re so hungry?” She looked more carefully at her companion, taking in the girl’s ragged appearance and bare, dirty feet. “Do you have no home? No family?” she pressed, when the girl didn’t answer her.

Mary shook her head.

“No place of employment?”

Mary’s lower lip quivered. Mutely, she shook her head once more. Janna wondered if she was a runaway. Her imagination took flight as she visualized a miserable hovel with too many children to feed. Or a great lord’s castle, perhaps, and she the lowest of the low, worked to death and beaten every day. Or perhaps the girl had been the object of an old man’s lust?

“I know of somewhere that might employ you as a serving maid,” Janna said, when it seemed clear that Mary wasn’t prepared to share any details of her life. “You’d have your meals and somewhere to sleep. Your employer will treat you fairly as long as you are honest and work hard. Are you interested?” She watched the girl carefully, hoping she hadn’t been mistaken in her. But Mary stared back without blinking.

“Yes,” she said simply. “I’ll work for anyone what treats me right. And I won’t do wrong, neither. Not if it means being booted out on me backside. ’Tain’t worth it.”

Janna continued to survey her, hoping she hadn’t been too hasty. The girl was a bit rough, certainly, but she could learn better ways. More, although she was scrawny, she would be comely enough after a good scrub and some clean clothes. Janna’s hand went down to finger the rough weave of her homespun tunic. With a bit of luck, she wouldn’t need it for too much longer.

“Do you know the Bell and Bush off the high street?” she asked Mary.

“Know of it, mistress, but I ain’t bin in.”

“You must come there after High Mass on Sunday of the week after the fair closes. Come and find me. The taverner is Mistress Sybil, and I will ask her if she’ll employ you. I can’t promise what she’ll say – but I’ll do my best to persuade her to take you on.” Janna hesitated, wondering how best to word her request. “Wash your face and hands before you come,” she said gently. “Make yourself as neat and clean as possible.”

The girl scowled, wary as a wild cat. “Why?”

“The Bell and Bush has a good reputation. Wealthy merchants go there, even lords sometimes,” she said, as she thought of her father. “Mistress Sybil won’t take you on if you don’t look respectable.”

Mary gave a grudging nod. “I’ll come,” she promised.

“Good.” Janna smiled and left her, impatient now to get on with her shopping. She could only hope that her impulse wasn’t ill-judged and that, in finding the girl a safe haven, she had also solved a problem that had weighed heavily on her mind.

She idled along past the booths, tempted by everything that came into view. She drew a deep breath as a spicy aroma wafted her way, and began to follow its source, beguiled by the scent of cloves mingled with nutmeg, caraway and cinnamon, liquorice and aromatic galangal.

A chapman cornered her with a display of silver rings on a tray suspended by a leather thong around his neck. “Sterling silver, guaranteed,” he insisted. “And a special price for you, pretty maiden.” Smiling, Janna waved him away, sure that the rings would tarnish at the first sign of moisture.

The sound of singing caught her attention, and at once she thought of Master Thomas and the jongleurs she had traveled with on her way to Winchestre. She pushed through the crowd to greet them, but to her disappointment, this troupe were strangers to her. She recognized the song, however, and hummed the tune under her breath as she walked on.

A huge dog bounded over to lick her hand, and she stopped to pat him. “Where’s your master, Brutus?” she asked softly, but he waved his feathery tail and bounded off once more. Janna watched him go, and saw Ulf deep in conversation with an expensively garbed merchant and his wife. Ulf’s pack was open and all were looking at something displayed in his palm. Janna smothered a grin as her imagination supplied the missing details: some body part from a saint, perhaps; a fragment of clothing from the holy family or a splinter from Jesus’s cradle. Ulf’s pack always contained strange and wondrous articles, some with a very doubtful provenance indeed.

A rainbow of colored ribbons caught her eye and she stopped to choose one from the tray thrust at her by an old woman. She would wear the ribbon in her hair when she dressed up in her blue gown, she decided. She might also choose another color, so that she could change the ribbons about.

The woman stepped back toward one of the booths. “Blue or green, mistress?” she asked, in a high, quavering voice. “Maybe yellow?” She picked up a golden ribbon and dangled it in front of Janna, her rough hand crushing the delicate fabric. Janna marveled that the ribbons looked so unspoiled while being subjected to this sort of treatment.

“And a pretty lace collar for your gown?” the woman wheedled. Tempted, Janna looked about for a froth of lace such as she’d admired at other stalls. But there was no sign of any such thing. Puzzled, she stared at the crone. The woman’s back was so bent, only the top of her head was visible, while her voluminous wimple covered the sides of her face. Janna felt a pang of pity for someone so old and infirm being condemned to such a chancy living. She determined to buy something to ease the woman’s hardship.

“Come see all my goods, mistress.” The woman indicated the booth behind her, stumbling over her long skirt as she turned. “I wager there’s summat to tempt you inside.”

Janna saw the tray of ribbons disappearing before she’d had time to choose one, and immediately followed after it. Although the stall appeared closed for the night, the ribbon seller unlatched the door and strode in, beckoning Janna to follow her.

Janna was over the threshold before she thought to question why the woman would have singled her out for a costly purchase of lace when she was dressed like a drudge. Her suspicions came together in a rush: the large, rough hand, the curiously pitched voice, the woman who walked like a man. But by then it was too late, for the door had slammed shut behind her.

The ribbon seller dropped the tray and whirled to confront Janna. It was dark inside the stall, but enough light leached through the ill-fitting roof and door for her to see the gleam of the knife pulled out from under the ribbons.

“At last,” Mus said softly, as he straightened to his full height.

The thought flashed through Janna’s mind that he’d tried to kill her twice before, and failed – he wouldn’t fail this time; he wouldn’t allow himself to fail. She stared at him, cursing the vanity that had caused her to drop her guard. Keep him talking, she thought. Anything to give herself time to think how to escape, even to draw breath just for a few moments longer. Life had never seemed so sweet, so precious. Fighting panic, she swiped her sweating hands down her apron, pausing momentarily as she came across the hard lump in her pocket.

“You certainly had me fooled, Mus.” She was proud of how steady her voice sounded. “Have you sold many ribbons today?”

He growled deep in his throat. “There’s not too many as gullible as you,” he taunted her.

Janna faced him, holding his gaze so he would not notice her hand slipping in to her pocket to grip the small phial left over from her sales. “So at last you have me where you want me,” she said, the tremble in her voice betraying her fear. Slowly, cautiously, she eased the stopper out of the phial. It was probably hopeless, but she knew it was the only chance she had.

Mus licked his lips as a cat licks cream. She could see how much he was enjoying himself. “Say your prayers, sweetheart.” Savoring the moment, his mouth stretched in a wide grin, revealing teeth as crumbling and decayed as tombstones. He lunged toward her, his knife pointed straight at her heart. In one fluid movement, Janna flung the bitter contents of the phial at him, aiming for his eyes. The potion meant death for insects; she had no idea what it would do to humans, but it was the only weapon she possessed.

She threw herself sideways out of his path and raced for the door, hoping that he would be too blinded to stop her. She heard a howl of rage as she wrenched open the door and hurtled outside.

Almost at once she felt his hand fasten onto her arm. She screamed, desperate to attract attention, hoping that the noise would deter Mus from attacking her in front of witnesses. But he had gone too far to stop now. She struggled in his grip but he held her fast, clamped hard against him as he raised his knife to cut her throat. Janna closed her eyes so that she would not see her own death coming. But she continued to scream and to struggle; she would not make it easy for him – she would go down fighting.

A savage bark sounded over her cries, closely followed by a loud yell. The grip on her arm loosened and she risked opening her eyes to see what was happening. The realization that she was not dead, that her assailant no longer held her captive, gradually filtered through her panic. Just as she began to relax, an arm caught her and pulled her close. Quivering with terror, she wheeled to confront this new threat.