“They haven’t been touched in days,” Bren went on. “I hang them for the motywrens that pass through here this time of year.” Ainsworth tried desperately to keep his attention on the bartender’s words instead of wondering just how he managed to hang the bird food so high. “But they haven’t stopped by yet. Because there have been people here, and they are sensitive to noise. You don’t see those birds in towns, cities, or even small settlements. I usually see them every year.” He held his book tight across his chest. “But this year, I fear they’ll pass us by.”
“Oh, I…” Ainsworth started. He felt the expectation in the air that he should apologize…but for what? For helping Honey’s business flourish? “I didn’t realize you were a bird-watcher,” he said instead.
Bren nodded, continuing to look up at the birdless tree. “I spent decades as a youth working in a dwarven community of miners in the Questquite Mountains of the Pavaigin Highlands. I didn’t see the sky much then, so I’ve been fascinated with the creatures that inhabit it ever since I got out. Funny that, isn’t it?”
Ainsworth was astonished when he felt a tug of recognition at the name. “Oh, the Questquite Mountains. Where they harvest the…?”
“Seunore, aye.”
“Remarkable!” Ainsworth exclaimed. It was the very ore that wasground into dust and used to assist in the magical bindings of spells to items such as his own infinite parchment, and it would be used, if the application went well, to bind the Transportation Circle to the land upon which they stood.
Bren stooped to pick up the litter, and Ainsworth joined him. “Remarkable? No. But it was honest work, and it’s what everyone in my town ended up doing. But the mountain was dangerous, and at the rate we were made to harvest the ore…” Bren shook his head at the memory. “Suddenly we weren’t getting breaks. The work got harder but our pay stayed the same. I’d leave every day too exhausted to do anything but feed myself quickly and then sleep.
“One day, I found myself wondering: What was it all for? We were miserable. Friends had been lost to drink or better prospects, and I couldn’t tell which one I despaired of most. When I finally managed to get the rest of my team organized and speak out against the conditions we worked under, I was sacked.”
“Oh. I’m terribly sorry, Bren.”
“Sorry?” The barman looked incredulous. “It was a blessing in disguise!”
“How so?”
He huffed and wiped a bead of sweat from his brow. Apparently, the short stroll had exerted him. “All I had ever known was work—backbreaking work. I thought you had to be the best at what you did, and I always sought to please my superiors and exceed my colleagues.”That sounds familiar,thought Ainsworth. Although his work, of course, was not the kind for which the wordbackbreakingcould be used. “I followed that work around for a while, too. Mostly mining, then some time at a blacksmith’s. I never made enough coin to start my own business, and I didn’t come from the sort of wealth that would’ve allowed it. I spent a few months wandering after throwing down the hammer. Thought I’d try and see the world before my knees gave out. I never intended to conquer Mount Vengeance or anything—I’m not a fighter, me—but I had heard whispers of it and was curious to see it, maybe even catch a glimpse of the dragon. Well, a few days from here, I woke up with my back inagony; I’d had the nerve to sleep in a slightly uncomfortable position. You’ll know what I mean soon enough.” He winked. Ainsworth did not want to know what this suggested about his already temperamental neck and upper back.
“When I finally managed to start moving and saw smoke coming from a chimney, I thought the pain had me hallucinating. But it was the Misnich Inn, and even though I didn’t have enough coin for it, I was granted a few weeks to recover. I haven’t left since.”
“Goodness,” Ainsworth said. “And how long ago was that?”
Bren shrugged. “Don’t really remember. Forty years or so?”
“You’ve been here that long? You must have known Honey when she was just a child, then!” Ainsworth exclaimed. “What was she like? I imagine she was quite the spirited young girl.”
Bren hesitated. “I’ve known Honey for…a long time, yes,” he said.
“And her mother and father, too?” Ainsworth inquired gently.
“Is prying into people’s family lives part of a scholar’s job?”
“No, of course not!” Ainsworth said hurriedly—although he supposed that, depending on the research topic, it was. “It’s just, well, my parents passed away, too, so I was wondering…Never mind, it isn’t important.”
Bren placed the litter from the picnic in a pack he wore and then stooped, gently, to gather some small fallen branches. He put them in a leather pouch hanging from his belt. “I didn’t mean to snap, lad—and I’m sorry to hear that. Perhaps she’ll share that part of her life with you in good time. Anyway, I’m saving these to make a small bird-hut for Spin’s garden. Think she’ll like it?”
“I— Probably, yes,” Ainsworth said. He resisted rolling his eyes at the change of topic.
Bren seemed to read his thoughts, for he added, “There is much you do not know about Honey, and much I am not willing to tell if she isn’t.”
Ainsworth raised a brow, and his chest seemed to tighten. What, exactly, did Honey have to hide? “My. How cryptic!”
Bren folded his arms and huffed. “Well, you’re telling me youdon’t have anything squirreled away about who you are? That you’ve told us absolutely everything about yourself?”
“Fair point,” Ainsworth responded coolly.
“Right, then. And about what’s bothering me—it’s all the guests. You don’t seem to understand the way of life we had here. You’re going to return us to the backbreaking, ambition-seeking, money-fueled lives we ran from.”
Ainsworth resisted pointing out that Quiddle, at the very least, was still money-fueled. And he did not know enough about Spin to speak for her motives. “Well, that’s all very heroic of you, Bren,” he said, “but the inn must survive financially!”
“It was doing just fine without your help.”
Ainsworth threw up his hands. “Really? From what little I saw of the books, the outgoing expenses have, for some time, far exceeded the income generated from guests. Even with my coin, I cannot see—”
