Cedar Vale (1/2)

Writers: Estelle
Date Posted: 5th May 2019

Characters: Lorican
Description: The search for Jilmon draws to a close
Location: Elsewhere on Pern
Date: month 10, day 7 of Turn 9
Notes: Takes place at Cedar Vale Hold

The light was fading, but Cedar Vale Hold was showing no sign of
quieting down as the elderly farmer navigated his cart and draft beast
between workers carrying crates of goods between the hold and the docks.
A drudge was placing big baskets of glows around the main hold building,
which looked to be as much tavern as hold. Lorican could smell roasting
meat and cookfires, and saw a girl with a tray of drinks weaving between
outdoor tables where traders were deep in negotiation.

When they stopped outside, the smith carefully got down from the cart
and stretched, rotating his shoulders with a grimace of pain as his sore
muscles protested at the inactivity. His headache had passed, though,
and he felt refreshed in mind if not in body.

"Need a hand unloading?" he asked. It was only polite after being
transported so far, but he couldn't help regarding the load of heavy
grain sacks with reluctance.

The old man laughed. "No, you save your strength. Once I've negotiated a
price, the holders will do it. Be going back tomorrow, early, if you
want a ride?"

"Thank you. I'm not sure I'll return the same way, though, I'll need to
be heading homeward." Lorican pointed to the docks, where two men were
loading freshly cut planks of wood onto a wide, flat riverboat already
piled high with goods. "You think they take passengers?"

"They'll take anyone with the marks." He grinned, showing a gap-toothed
smile. "Well, then, if I don't see you, good luck, journeyman."

Lorican raised a hand in farewell and watched as the farmer guided his
cart around towards a storehouse, where a man in a faded forest-green
tunic had emerged carrying a slate. It looked as though most of the
people here were travellers like himself. Woodsmen bringing in carts of
logs for the sawmill, hunters with their catch tied to poles and
riverboat crews from the docks outnumbered the holders.

He found another man in a green tunic and explained that he was a
journeying smith, on his way back to the coast, and looking to stay a
night or two.

"Right, I'll let the Holder know, see if he's got any jobs need doing."
The holder pointed. "Go on inside and ask at the bar. There are
dormitories where you can get a bed for the night, and a few private rooms."

Inside, the hold was crowded and raucous, the customers - mostly men,
but a few women - squeezed on benches around rough wooden tables made
from crates and barrels, drinking and playing cards or dice. Sawdust was
scattered on the floor, soaking up spilled beer and not quite masking
the sour smell of drink and unwashed bodies. Lorican had got used to the
sailors' tavern back home so he wasn't as daunted as he might have been
when he was fresh from the Hall, but he was known there. Fortunately,
they seemed to be used to strangers.

At the bar, he caught the server's attention and asked if they had
somewhere he could stay.

"Yes, we've got bunks free, or you can sleep on the benches in here, if
you want to save the marks. Or, there's a private room, but it's a large
one, for a family. Our single room's taken." The prices he quoted made
Lorican wince, but he supposed they had a lot of customers here at this
big trading post who were flush with marks and little choice of where to
stay.

"A bunk will be fine." He exchanged marks for a round wooden token with
a number painted on it, which he guessed must correspond to his bed.

"Up the stairs, door on the left. Keep anything valuable with you, we
aren't responsible for it. Dinner's in here, roast wherry and
vegetables. You want some?"

"Yes, thanks, and a beer." He waited for the tavern keeper to pour his
drink and then turn away towards another customer. "Oh, by the way. Do
you have a harper here at the hold?"

The man glanced back, raising an eyebrow. "Not at the moment, but he's
expected any day now. You need one for something?"

"Just a legal matter I wanted to ask about."

He waited to see if Lorican would elaborate, then shrugged. "Leave it
with me. If Journeyman Alim shows up, I'll pass the message on. He's
popular, these last few days," he added.

"The harper?"

"You're not the first to ask. Most folk just want to hear him play and
sing." Without saying any more, the barkeep turned back to his other
customers.

Lorican felt a brief twist of excitement and fear. Had it been Jilmon,
asking for the harper? He - and the letters - might be in the hold at
this very moment. Maybe in that single room...

He found a table in a quieter corner and sipped at his drink while he
waited for the food to come. Bearing in mind the bartender's warning
about valuables, he kept one foot firmly on his tool bag, but no-one
troubled him. The meal, when it arrived, was surprisingly decent, the
wherry tender, the vegetables less so but cooked through.

After a while, the old farmer came in and greeted him, but said he'd be
sleeping outside in his cart, since he didn't trust that it'd still be
there in the morning if he left it unattended. Lorican didn't blame him.
He was starting to think that Jilmon would be right at home in this
place. Already, he'd watched the tall, burly guard who stood silently by
the door escorting out one man who was so drunk he could hardly stand,
and another pair who were loudly accusing each other of cheating at
cards. After they'd been put out, he heard shouts outside, and - he
thought - the dull thud of fists on flesh.

Though he waited until it was full dark, there was no sign of Jilmon,
nor any reduction in the rowdy drinking and gaming. Lorican wondered if
he should show someone his picture - perhaps one of the barmaids - but
he suspected they'd want marks to talk and he didn't have an endless
supply. Instead, he decided, he would go upstairs and check on those
private rooms. If the thief was staying here, he might well have taken
one, just as he had at Lynsferry. He clearly didn't want to be seen.

Upstairs, he found the dormitories and identified his bed, a bottom bunk
with a faded but clean mattress and a folded blanket. A few of the other
bunks were occupied, but it looked like most of the guests were still
downstairs.

The private rooms were up a second flight of stairs, further from the
noise of the bar, though he could still hear it faintly. At the top of
the stairs, he stopped and got his bearings. There were two doors close
together, and if he'd got the layout of the building right, the left one
should be the smaller room.

Lorican reached down and felt for the handle of the belt knife, easing
it in its sheath. He closed his eyes, breathed in, out. He had to get
the letters. Just a skinny little thief, who'd likely soil himself in
fear at seeing the man he thought he'd killed at his door. But the truth
was, he had no idea what would happen.

He knocked.

For a few moments, there was no sound from the room. Then, Lorican
thought he heard a groan, and a rustling of sheets. His fingers curled
lightly around the hilt of the knife.

Last updated on the May 10th 2019

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Cedar Vale (1/2)