Fleece (part 3)

Writers: Yvonne
Date Posted: 6th April 2006

Characters: Larstad
Description: Things might not be what they seem.
Location: Amber Hills Hold
Date: month 10, day 23 of Turn 3

The inside of the cot was, if anything, worse than the outside. There were only three rooms; a kitchen and two small bedrooms, one door of which was closed. The home was built around a large central fireplace and lit by the small window in the front of the house, and an even smaller one in the bedroom. Larstad squinted; it overlooked the barn and the broken shed, and the pane of glass was even dirtier than the one that overlooked the front yard.

Tevor bustled around and blew the fire in the fireplace back to life. He lit a lantern and hung it up in the center of the room, and Larstad wished he hadn't bothered. The place was a mess. There was food out on the counter and a pile of dirtied dishes on the kitchen table. Tevor pulled a mug from the pile and wiped it out with his shirt with an apologetic smile. "Sorry. Without Misya things have gotten a little... messy."

"So I see." Larstad settled himself into the chair closest to the
fire and stuck his dripping boots as close to the flames as he dared. They were soon steaming. "Has she been gone long?"

"About three weeks." Tevor put down the mug and hung a kettle over the fire. "I miss her a lot."

"Will she be gone much longer?"

"I don't think so," the cotholder said quietly. He sighed and sat
down across from the Smith and stared at his chapped hands.
Larstad studied him for a moment, then turned his attention back to the room. Hopefully the wife would return soon - Tevor was a mess without her. The dirtied dishes, the overgrown flagstones, the mud, the mess, the graying apron left on the line... the Journeyman narrowed his eyes. The apron on the line was the most feminine touch about the place. He couldn't even see any of the absent wife's clothing in the bedroom, or any colorful blankets on the walls, or vases or ornamental plates or any of the numerous touches that a woman decorated her livingspace with.

"So this is your cot, then? It's very nice, despite the mess,"Larstad said.

"Thank you."

"Have you had it long?"

Tevor shook his head. "Not really. My father passed away a turn ago, and although I've been living here all my life it wasn't really mine until then."

"Mmm. Mind if I take a look around?" Larstad leapt to his feet, and the cotholder jumped.

"I- it's really quite dirty with Misya gone, sir! I'm kind of ashamed of it. What are you doing!?" Tevor yelped as Larstad pulled open a cupboard to peer inside.

The Smith grinned broadly at him. "Taking a look around. Scared I'll find a trundle bug?"

"There's taking a look around, and then there's snooping," Tevor shot back hotly. He too rose to his feet and crossed his arms. "Please sitdown."

"Then I'm snooping." The Smith shut the cupboard and headed for the second bedroom. Tevor stepped in his way.

"Really, sir! This is uncalled for!"

Larstad grinned again and cuffed the cotholder hard enough on the
shoulder to make him stagger. "Nonsense! I'm just doing you a favour. There's a big old clod of dirt right up against the bedroom door, there - what did you say was in it?"

"There's nothing in there. It's an empty room for when me and Misya have children," Tevor snapped, rubbing his shoulder. "The kettle's boiling. Didn't you say you wanted tea?"

"In a moment. I'm not finished snooping." Larstad strode over to the door and flung it open. The room was quiet, smelling faintly of wool, and dust drifted down off the rafters. It held only a dusty dresser, a limp rag strung up over the small window that acted as a curtain, and a large bed covered in an even larger blanket. "For the children?" Larstad asked, turning back to the cotholder.

"Yes." Tevor came to stand beside the Smith. "For the children. I
never come in here."

"And yet there's dirty footprints on the floor" Larstad tut-tutted disapprovingly. "Really, without your wife here you're a hopeless slob, aren't you Tevor?"

"That's highly uncalled for! I'm an honest man just trying to make a living!" Tevor shot back. Two spots of colour had appeared high on his cheeks, and his hands were clenched in fists at his sides. "Just because I'm not as adapt at _women's_ work as you claim to be-"

"I never said I did women's work, only that I appreciate it," Larstad shot back. "And I wouldn't call yourself honest, cotholder Tevor, and nor will Lord Benaroy."

"What!?" Tevor rocked back on his heels as if he'd been slapped. "How dare you accuse me!"

"And you don't even ask what I'm accusing you of, except of living like a porcine," Larstad replied, then sighed. Stupidity was not a trait he admired, nor were liars. "Holder Tevor, you are an idiot."

"Get out of my cot," Tevor hissed through clenched teeth. He pointed at the door. "You and your lies are not welcome here."

"On the contrary, it's _your_ lies that I'm concerned about. I
haven't uttered a single falsehood since I got here, and yet _you_ have lied repeatedly. Your fleeces weren't stolen at all."

"The guards already came and checked out my story, _Journeyman_. My fleeces were stolen by bandits!"

"They were stolen by you!" Larstad turned on his heel and strode into the bedroom. Tevor cursed and grabbed his arm just as he bent and yanked the coverlet off the bed. Instead of a straw ticking, the wooden frame was filled with fleeces. "Oh look. It's your missing fleece."

Tevor's face drained of colour and he let go of Larstad's arm. He
staggered against the wall then slid down it and put his face in his hands. "Shards... shards. How did you know?"

Larstad tossed the blanket aside contemptuously. It kicked up a cloud of dust when it landed and something scuttled beneath the dresser in a panic. Nothing was worse than a weepy, spineless man... except maybe a stupid one. "You said that you hadn't heard anyone break down your shed door, but your bedroom window overlooks your shed and you'd have to be deaf not to hear someone taking an axe to it. The door, too, was too carefully smashed to be done by bandits. Then there was the fleece trapped on the door frame and the clod of earth by the bedroom door." Larstad shrugged. "You told me your wife wouldn't have wool in the cot, and that the second bedroom was unused. It was disgustingly easy to figure out."

Tevor peeked at the Smith from between his fingers. "Please don't
tell Lord Benaroy..."

"Why shouldn't I tell him?" Larstad crossed his arms and sneered down at the man on the floor. "You were trying to scam him to make back the marks you're losing from those lambs and fleece lost to your neighbour, and probably also to get your wife back, aren't you? There is no Grandmama with joint ail; I think she left you because she's not interested in being married to a poor ovine herder."

"There really is a Grandmama with joint ail, and she really did lose all her money to some Trader." Tevor sighed and dropped his hands. His skin was grey and he looked utterly beaten. "But she did leave me. She said she didn't want to live as if she was Holdless. I thought I could get the marks from the missing fleece _and_ sell them at the next Gather, too, and if I could support both her and her Grandmama she'd come back to me."

"And you'd have sold my lock too, no doubt," Larstad glowered.
Tevor had the good grace to look ashamed. "I just- I just didn't know what else to do... I'm not a bad person. I just want my wife back."

"Then pick yourself up off the floor and start acting like a man." Larstad turned on his heel and returned to his seat by the fire. The kettle was starting to whistle as he put his wet boots back up on the grille. A moment later, a sheepish looking Tevor followed him in and timidly started making tea.

"I'm begging you, Journeyman Larstad. Please don't tell Lord Benaroy I lied."

"I most certainly will tell him." Larstad watched the cotholder
closely to make sure that he didn't put anything into the tea. "You dug this hole for yourself, and you have to get out of it yourself as well. Care for your ovines and pick up a broom once and a while, for Faranth's sake. If you need marks to win her back, then go out and earn them honestly instead of ineptly trying to swindle the Lord Holder. You're a criminal - no wonder your wife thought she was living like she was Holdless."

Tevor meekly held out the cup of tea. "I guess I'm not much of a husband, am I."

"You, sir, are not much of anything." Larstad examined the cup for floaties, but finding none sipped the hot liquid. Steam curled over the rough planes on his face and tangled in his eyelashes. He smiled. "But you do make a mean cup of tea."

Last updated on the April 18th 2006

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Fleece (part 3)