Flight of the Nighthawks (4 page)

Ellie readily agreed for all of them, and slipped her arm through Caleb's, leaving the boys to follow. They went to the table where four men were filling flagons of ale and then passing them out as fast as possible. Ellie declined the strong drink, instead accepting Zane's offer to fetch her a fruit-scented water. Tad volunteered to bring her something to eat, and she declined until she saw him wilt, so said, “Perhaps something light, until we all sit down to eat?”

He ran off, and Caleb sighed. “What are we going to do with those two?”

“I don't know, but something. They sit around all day with little to do. They're not the sort to take to strong drink…yet.”

Caleb understood. Stardock Town was big enough to support a fair amount of commerce and a little bit of industry—an ironmonger had opened a shop the year before, working ore brought down from the foothills—but most of the work was done by family members. There were always more men than work to be done, and without fathers to teach them a craft, Tad and Zane were growing up without skills. They were becoming wild and feckless.

He knew them both to be bright, able young men, but without a direction to their lives, they were in danger of becoming lost. More than one younger son had ended up as a bandit, or working hand to mouth in the city.

Caleb was pondering the matter when Marie reappeared. He nodded to her and moved away from where Zane was anxiously awaiting Ellie's favor. He kept his voice low so that the boy couldn't overhear, and said to Marie, “I mistook your meaning before. I thought you meant that you were worried about the boys today. I see what you mean now.”

She studied his face, then said, “Do you?”

He nodded. “Let's keep an eye on them for now and try to have some fun. We'll speak of this later tonight.”

She nodded, then forced a smile. “Dance?”

He took her by the hand and said, “It would be my pleasure.”

They danced to several tunes then fell upon the heavily laden tables. After filling their platters with food, they found a quiet corner on the steps of a shop closed for the festival. Caleb set down the platters and left Marie for a moment to fetch two flagons of ale. When he returned, she said, “Where are the boys?”

“Over there,” he said, pointing to a spot on the other side of the town square. “I've not let them out of my sight.”

“How do you do that?”

He smiled. “I'm a hunter. Besides, they're hard to miss.”

She nodded, and spoke with a mouth full of food. “I know, just look for the trouble.”

He laughed. “No, just those two tunics.”

They ate quietly, with little conversation, and for the next hour the festivities continued uneventfully. Then a stout man mounted one of the wagons being used to dispense ale and started shouting, “My friends!”

Marie said, “Here comes trouble.”

Caleb said, “Yup,” and put aside his plate to move toward the wagon. Marie followed.

The man was Miller Hodover, and standing next to him was a young man, roughly twenty years old. The resemblance was obvious, though the man had run to fat years ago and the boy was young and fit, his shoulders still broader than his belt.

Grame Hodover was a sturdy lad, thoughtful and bright, and it was often thought a miracle that his parents could have produced such a well-liked young man.

Caleb made straight for Tad and Zane, who were standing on either side of Ellie. She looked at Caleb with relief in her eyes—she knew what was coming next.

“My friends,” repeated Miller Hodover, “I have an announcement to make. Today, I am a very happy man.” He positively beamed as he looked around the crowd.

One of the townsmen—under the influence of too much ale—shouted, “Why, you raising prices again, Miller?”

There was a ripple of laughter, and Hodover looked irked for a moment, but let his smile return. “No, Bram Connor, I'm not…yet.”

Another round of laughter followed his retort and everyone relaxed as they realized that the miller was in a particularly good mood. His well-known parsimony and love of gold were constant subjects of ridicule.

“No, my friends,” said the miller. “I have an announcement to make. This day, after one of the most bountiful harvests in memory, at a time when everyone seems to be doing so well, I wish to add to the joy of the moment by sharing wonderful news with you all.”

“Out with it, then,” shouted another voice from the crowd. “You're making me thirsty!”

Throwing the speaker a black look, the miller smiled again. “I would like you all to know that this year my son, Grame, will be wed to Ellie Rankin.”

He motioned to where Ellie stood between two boys, who looked as if they had just been poleaxed. Zane stood with a furrowed brow, as if he couldn't quite understand what had just been said, and Tad stood openmouthed, obviously unwilling to believe it.

Ellie was halfway to the wagon when the boys started after her. Caleb reached out and grabbed each by their collar and hauled them back. “Don't go making a fuss now,” he said in a low, menacing tone.

Tad threw him an angry look and Zane drew back his fist, but Caleb merely pulled upward, lifting the boys onto their toes. “Don't even think about it.”

Zane reconsidered, and let his hand fall to his side. Marie said, “If you stoneheads really care about Ellie, you'll be happy for her. Now, the first one to start a fight will have to answer to me. Is that clear?”

Both lads said, “Yes, Ma,” nodded, and Caleb let them go.

The townsfolk had gathered to congratulate the engaged couple, while Tad and Zane continued to pout. Caleb indicated that Marie should join the throng, and said, “Come with me, boys. I've got something special for an occasion such as this.”

The boys looked like they were about to argue, but one glance from their mother caused them to nod and follow Caleb obediently.

He led them to a wagon behind the one that had carried the ale casks. Night was fast approaching and the festival was becoming more raucous. One of the teamsters sat on a buckboard, watching the town bestow its best wishes on the newly betrothed. The man was not a local, so he felt no need to join in, and remained contented with eating and drinking ale.

“Thomas,” said Caleb, greeting him.

“Evening,” said the wagoneer.

“You have that box up there?”

“It's under that tarp, Caleb.”

Caleb found the box and pulled it toward the rear of the wagon. Drawing out his large hunting knife, he used the stout blade to pry open the lid, exposing a dozen bottles of amber liquid. He picked one out and held it up to the lantern light.

“What is it?” asked Tad.

“Something I discovered on my travels down in Kinnoch County.”

“Looks like brandy,” said Zane. “The color, I mean.”

“Not brandy, but you've a good eye.” Caleb turned, and sat on the back of the wagon, letting his feet dangle. “Brandy's just boiled wine, this is something else.

“In Kinnoch they have a way to distill a mash of grain, slowly cooking it over fires fed by peat, and then the brew is aged in casks. When it's made badly, it can peel the paint off a warship's hull, but when it's made well—” He bit the cork and pulled it out.

With his free hand he felt around in the box and produced a small cup of glass. “You can't drink this out of clay or metal, boys. It'll foul the taste.”

“What is it?” asked Tad.

“They call it whiskey,” said Caleb, filling the small glass to the top.

“That's not very much.” Zane's eyes narrowed as he regarded the tiny vessel which held no more than two or three ounces of liquid.

“A little is more than enough,” said Caleb, tipping the contents of the glass into his mouth and swallowing. “Ah,” he said. “You try it.”

He produced another glass and filled them both. “You can learn to sip this later, boys. Just toss it back and swallow for now.”

The boys did as instructed, and an instant later both were coughing furiously, with their eyes watering. Zane said in a hoarse voice, “Damn me, Caleb, are you trying to poison us?”

“It takes a little getting used to, Zane, but you'll grow to love it.”

“It burns like a hot coal,” said Tad, wiping at his eyes with the sleeve of his tunic.

“Give it a minute,” said Caleb. “It'll warm your gut.”

Zane smacked his lips. “Not that I think it's good, but let me try another.”

Caleb poured again and the boys drank. This time there was no coughing, but their eyes continued to water.

“I think I'll stick to ale,” said Tad.

“I don't know,” said Zane. “There's something about it I rather like.”

“You're a young man of promise, Zane Caffrey,” said Caleb.

Laughing, Tad said, “Whoa. I can feel it going to my head!”

“The Kinnoch men say it ‘has a kick,' and they know of what they speak.”

“What are you going to do with it?” said Tad, indicating the other cases.

“I'm taking it to my father, as a gift. There's not a lot that's new to him, so I thought he might enjoy this.”

“Why are you giving us this?” asked Tad. “I mean, thank you, but why?”

“To take your mind off an imagined slight,” said Caleb. “If I let you drink alone two things would happen.” He held up a finger, while he poured them another drink. “Firstly, you'd receive no end of teasing from the other men in town who know how you've been butting heads over Ellie for nearly a year. Secondly, you'd just pick a fight with Grame.”

The boys quickly drank the whiskey and seemed to be getting used to it. Caleb filled their glasses again. “Here, have another.”

The boys finished their fourth drink, and Tad's eyes began to close. “You're getting us drunk. I can feel it.”

Caleb filled the glasses yet again and said, “One more should do it.”

Zane asked, “Do what?” as his speech began to slur.

Caleb jumped down from the wagon bed. “Get you too drunk to pick a fight.” He pushed Tad, who wobbled as he tried to compensate for being slightly off balance.

“Come along,” said Caleb.

“Where?” asked Zane.

“Back to your ma's, and into your beds. You're going to pass out in five minutes and I don't want to carry you.”

The boys had never drunk anything as potent as the whiskey before, and they followed Caleb quietly. By the time they had reached their home, both boys were unsteady on their feet.

Caleb ushered them inside and when he had seen them onto their sleeping mats, he left and returned to the festival. It took only a few minutes to find Marie, and when she saw him, she said, “What did you do with them?”

“Got them very drunk.”

“As if they needed any help doing that.” She looked around anxiously. “Where are they?”

“Back at your house, sleeping it off.”

Her gaze narrowed. “They haven't had enough time to get that drunk.”

He held up the whiskey bottle. It was nearly empty. “When they just tossed down five double portions each in fifteen minutes, it does.”

“Well, at least they won't be troubling Grame and Ellie,” said Marie.

“Or us,” Caleb said with a smile.

She said, “I don't care how drunk they are, Caleb, if they're in the house, then you're not.”

He grinned. “I already have a room at the inn. If we head over there now, no one will notice you come upstairs with me.”

She slipped her arm through his. “As if I care what people think. I'm not a maiden trying to catch a young suitor, Caleb. I'll grab happiness where I can, and if anyone cares, it doesn't matter.”

Caleb pulled her close to him and said, “And those who do matter don't mind.”

They skirted the edge of the crowd and made for the inn.

 

Their lovemaking had an urgency to it that Caleb had not experienced before, and afterward, as they lay with her head on his shoulder, he asked, “What troubles you?”

She knew that one of the reasons why they had been drawn to each other was his ability to read her mood so accurately. “Tad asked me if we were going to wed.”

Caleb was silent for a moment, then he let out a long sigh. “If I were the marrying kind, Marie, it would be you.”

“I know,” she said. “But if you won't stay, marry me, and be a real father to the boys, you have to take them with you.”

Caleb moved out from under her and levered himself up on his elbow. Looking down at her, he said “What?”

“You can see how it is for them, Caleb. They have no future here. I had to sell the farm and that coin won't last forever, even if I grow most of my food in the garden. I can make do alone, but feeding growing boys…And they have no one to teach them farming, and no guild to teach them a craft. Every other lad was apprenticed to a farmer, trader, sailor, or guild two years ago at the Choosing, but my boys stood alone at the end. Everyone likes them, and had they means to help, Tad and Zane would be apprenticed by now, but there just isn't enough work here.

“If you don't take them with you, they'll become layabouts or worse. I'd rather lose them now than see them hanged for robbers in a few years.”

Caleb was silent for a long moment. “What would you have me do with them, Marie?”

“You're a man of some stature, despite your homespun garb and leather hunting togs, or at least your father is. You've seen the world. Take them with you as servants, or apprentices, or take them to Krondor and find them work there.

“They have no father, Caleb. When they were little a ma was all they needed—to wipe their noses and hold them when they were scared. We did a lot of that after Zane's folks were killed in the troll raid. But at this age they need a man to show them what to do and what not to do, to knock some sense into them if need be, and to
praise them when they do well. So, if you won't wed me and stay here, then at least take them with you.”