Scarred (part 8 of 14)

Writers: Yvonne
Date Posted: 16th September 2007

Characters: Larstad, Thorril
Description: Thorril catches up to Larstad to see what the Smith's been up to
Location: Amber Hills Hold
Date: month 5, day 26 of Turn 4

"I hear that you met with my Brandymaster late this morning, Journeyman." Thorril poured a second cup of klah from the pot on the fire and handed it to Larstad. The Journeyman's belly growled - he hadn't eaten breakfast because he'd woken so late, and lunch was still a candlemark away. "I confess I am surprised - I hadn't thought that you would waste daylight in the hunt for my thief."

Larstad lifted the mug to his lips and let the steam curl through his eyebrows. "I had a touch of illness last night." "Oh? Shall I send for a healer?"

The Smith shook his head. "No thank you, Holder Thorril. It is a minor complaint and one that I deal with on a semi-regular basis."

"Mmm." Thorril replaced the klah on the fire and returned to his desk. He gave Larstad a hard look, then harrumphed. "You told me yesterday that you knew how the thieves broke into my ageing room.
How did they do it?"

"Simple enough." Larstad shrugged. "The last time casks were added, someone snuck inside by hiding in one. A child, most likely. Then, later that night, the child pushed the top of the barrel off and unlocked the door from the inside."

"A child...! Preposterous." Thorril stared at his klah as if it would provide a vision of the past for him. "But the thief would still have to have a key, as the door was locked!"

"Not necessarily. The door can be locked from the inside."

"But then there would have had to have been someone inside to lock it, and the room was empty. Is there another door?"

"Most assuredly not, Holder Thorril. That room has one entrance and exit."

Thorril tapped his forefinger on the desk. "Well, then how'd they scorching lock the door behind themselves?!"

Larstad smiled and tapped the side of his nose with a forefinger.
"That is a secret that I should like to keep for myself, for the time being. The fewer people that know, the easier it will be for me to find the evidence I need to positively finger one man. I would rather not have a repeat of last night's fiasco."

The Holder snorted. "Last night was not a fiasco. I have my laws, and I am bound to them just as my holders are."

"Last night was a fiasco. From your replies I can deduce that no one availed themselves of your tender mercies?"

Thorril's expression darkened. "Do not mock me, Journeyman. Your churlishness grows less and less amusing."

"I'll take that as a 'no', then." Larstad couldn't quite help the smug little smile that curled across his face. "I may already be too late, if your thief has disposed of the tools of his trade. And in that vein, I ought to be investigating, rather than sitting here with you."

"Be off with you, then." Thorril waved a hand at Larstad as he stood, as if he hoped that he could brush the Smith away with the gesture like he could swat at flies. "Don't bother me again unless you have something pertinent to say, or you wish to investigate the ageing room a second time."

"As you wish, Holder Thorril." Larstad bowed deeply and left the Holder scowling into his klah.

**At least the meeting wasn't a complete waste of time,** Larstad thought as he shut the door behind himself, **Spreading the bad mood did wonders for my own ill temper!**

~*~

The Brandymaster's apprentice, Gavrin, was hard at work in the coopery, making casks. He was a large man with thick wrists about Larstad's age, or perhaps a little older. His hair was beginning to turn grey at the temples and his trousers had a very prominent patch on the knee. Gavrin glanced up when Larstad darkened the door, but his only verbal response was a grunt. "I didn't know that the Brandymasters were coopers as well," Larstad said.

"Gotta make a living somehow," Gavrin growled, reaching for a chisel, "since brandy is seasonal."

"Ah yes. You've got to wait for the grapes and the wine and whatever else you use to make your goods." He watched as Gavrin peeled a slow curl off the oaken stave, then lift the wood up to the light to examine his handiwork. Of all the non-Crafters, the coopers had to be one of the most highly skilled. "Do you have a moment to talk?"

"Don't seem like I have much choice."

"Not really," Larstad agreed amiably. His head still hurt from the poison, or whatever else had been in his brandy the night before, but annoying Thorril - and now Gavrin - made things suddenly seem so much brighter. "Do you like your work?"

"Coopering or brandymaking?"

"Both."

Gavrin grunted and set his chisel against the wood. "Both."

"Which do you prefer?"

"Aren't you going to ask me whether I stole that brandy?" Gavrin peeled another long, fine strip off the stave. The wood curled like a little girl's hair and was translucent in the sunlight from the open windows at the edge of the room. An unusual addition - Larstad wondered if there were slate shutters on the outside. "Did you?"

Gavrin grunted. "No."

"You don't seem overly concerned about it's loss, considering that it's your handiwork."

"It's Merton's handiwork, and you're right, I'm not." Gavrin lifted the stave up to examine it a second time. Apparently pleased, he reached for a stave on the worktable beside him and held the pair together. They fit together seamlessly. "They're gone, and I give my blessing to anyone with the balls to steal from Thorril."

"From the Hold, you mean."

Gavrin shook his head. "No, from Thorril. Most of our profits go into lining his pretty pockets while the rest of us merely scrape by.
Unless it's a necessity, like food or maintaining the taps, he doesn't give us much. Whoever stole that brandy obviously had enough of watching him prance around with his pretty wife and pretty clothes, mouthing off about his pretty laws."

Larstad hid a smile. "You don't much like Thorril, then?"

"Is it that obvious?" Gavrin sighed. "Look, I didn't steal that brandy. If I had stolen it, I'd have taken my family and run for the hills long ago. I'm too old to apprentice at the Vintner Hall properly, but I'm sure that I could find work there... and they'd be delighted to have me."

"I'm sure. Barley Hill's brandy's reputation precedes it, and you've got the skills to make your way through Pern. Why stay here, then?"

The cooper shrugged. "Merton. He's a good man, and what's more, he's good to me and my wife. He doesn't nearly get his due around here anymore, and I'm not going to betray him and screw him over any more than he already gets. Like Ravelon did."

"Is it just you and your wife?"

Gavrin's expression was stony. "I have a son. He's just turned five.
Why?"

"If you did steal the brandy, how would you have done it?"

"I have no idea." The cooper set the two staves aside and reached for another piece of oak to fit to the unformed barrel. Larstad smiled. "Try."

"I'd steal a key, but they're both well guarded. So I guess I'd tunnel through the walls or something."

The Smith raised an eyebrow. "You know as well as I that the Hold is built on bedrock. I know that you're smarter than that."

Gavrin set down his staves and turned his full attention to Larstad.
An angry line had appeared on his forehead and he glared at the Smith with enough heat to scorch Thread. "What do you want? If I was the thief, which I'm not, then do you really think that I'd be stupid enough to brag to you about how I'd broken into a room that is well-nigh unbreakable?"

"Then who do you think stole it?"

"Oh, for-" Gavrin rose, the anger fairly radiating off him. "I don't sharding know! And quite frankly, whoever was smart enough to fleece Thorril is welcome to it! I _wish_ it was me - then I might get the sharding respect I deserve!"

"Thorril thinks it was you."

The apprentice's face suddenly drained of colour. He checked himself, then managed a small, grim smile. "I'm sure that he does. Thorril and I don't see eye to eye. He'd like nothing better than an excuse to get rid of me."

Larstad canted his head to one side. "Why would he suspect the Brandymaster's apprentice is a thief, hmm? You've got as much a stake in the brandy as Merton or Thorril."

Gavrin looked down at the table. He picked up a stave and ran his fingers along the grain, although Larstad suspected that he wasn't really looking at it. "Dragons don't change their hides, Journeyman.
And... if you'll excuse me, I've got a lot of work to do. My wife and I are to visit her sister this week, and I have to complete this before we can go." "Of course." Larstad rose and turned to go. He paused at the door to look back, but Gavrin was already back at work. His chisel took a slow, even curl of wood off the stave that fell slowly to the floor at his feet to join its brethren. The cooper's shoulders were stooped beneath the ratty old shirt he wore and he suddenly looked much, much older than Larstad had first thought. The light from the windows glinted off the chisel in his hands, and as the Journeyman turned back toward the door, off the back of Gavrin's neck.

Thin white scars peeped out from beneath the Brandymaster's apprentice's shirt. **Whipping scars,** Larstad thought. He shuddered and left the room.

Last updated on the September 17th 2007

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Scarred (part 8 of 14)