A tense silence stretched between them for a moment, and Ainsworth suddenly became aware of his still-damp hair and clothes. He had expected his reception here to be a warm one once he had proclaimed himself to be from the Skarrow Library. He was used to people bending over backward to accommodate his study needs, not adding more hurdles for him to traverse.
Finally, Honey gave a clipped laugh. “Not that I’d do that.”
“Thank you,” he said with a sigh of relief.
“It would be Ashe who would refuse your stay instead,” she said, eyes drifting upward.
He felt his face heat. This innkeeper was utterly infuriating! “But why would you deny me? Surely you would not refuse the chance to place your establishment in the history books? Forever and officially known as the resting point for great heroes before they embark upon their quests? It’s— It’s an honor! Anyone in your position would be clamoring for this kind of recognition!”
“I suppose they would,” she said in a small voice. “Do you think less of me that I am not?”
Ainsworth considered her for a moment. This was an individual who preferred honesty, he decided. He raised his chin before answering. “Yes. Yes, as a matter of fact, I do.”
A flicker of hurt flashed across her features, and he worried for a moment that he had judged incorrectly. But she soon composed herself and gave a curt nod. “Fair enough. But I’ll admit, I am intrigued by your project. Even though no one who has stayed here has ever actually gone on to tackle the mountain.”
“I find that very hard to believe,” he said. And it was true. Honey and the staff had to have misunderstood the intentions of their guests. Why on earth would anyone come all the way out here only to turn back? Surelysomeonehad conquered the mountain before; itwas merely circumstantial that no one had documented it yet. His own great-grandfather had presumably met his end on this very quest! No, he would not dwell on their frankly ridiculous assertions about the resoluteness of the adventurers who ventured here. Perhaps, Ainsworth thought, the staff were partaking in a joke, hazing the sophisticated city-dweller who had come to speak with them. They’d soon learn that he did not take kindly to his valuable time being wasted!
“Nevertheless,” she said, “I will sign your form, and you have free rein to conduct your research. I only ask that you don’t distract my staff from their duties too much. Although I can’t promise they won’t bother you.” Her teeth flashed in a pointed grin.
“Thank you. I greatly appreciate it,” said Ainsworth.
Honey gave a curt nod before an uncomfortable silence descended. He suddenly worried he had made a bad impression on a person whom he would most likely see every day. But such a worry was quickly quashed as she shouted to Quiddle to start preparations for a stew large enough for all the staff and the “soaked scholar.”
She turned to him. “I’ll show you to your room now. Will you join us for supper?”
It was as good an offer as he was going to get, so he accepted gladly.
Chapter 3
The next morning,Ainsworth emerged from his lonely room aching and stretching. His bed (one of three in the room, and the one he had deemed the best of a bad bunch after much testing on his part) was better than sleeping on the ground, but it was not quite enough to undo the damage from all the camping on his journey here. No wonder so few people knew of this place—the beds weren’t exactly a luxurious send-off for the last night before a grueling quest. He certainly would not recommend them if he were an adventurer.
Closing the door behind him, he noted the eerie silence of the inn’s upper level. Four rooms were dedicated to traveling adventuring parties, the smallest (his, for now) featuring three beds and the largest, eight. The upstairs landing where he stood was spacious yet made oddly cramped by the proliferation of furniture. A set of armchairs and side tables with stained-glass lamps just waiting to be lit occupied the mezzanine-like space that overlooked the hall below. Potted plants were dotted among them, vibrant and lush despite the low light, or the fact that there were no guests for them to impress. Perhaps he could curl up on one of the inviting armchairs and do some writing with a glass of wine later, but such a space seemed begging to be filled with patrons, sharing one last drink and exchanging pleasantries before retiring for the night.
He headed down the stairs, hand gliding across the smoothbanisters sprinkled with dust, as the noise of the kitchen somewhere below and behind him gently filtered out from its closed door. Beyond that, he knew from Honey’s brief explanation, would be the staff’s sleeping quarters, with a small communal garden at the back. Ainsworth wrinkled his nose at the dust, then suppressed a sigh as he spotted the weather outside—unchanged since yesterday. He could not imagine what on earth the staff could grow out here under such conditions.
He lingered by the bottom step, wondering if he should continue forward into the tavern area to await Honey or seek out some of the other staff. Without anyone to interview, and without Honey guiding him to the documents he had requested, he was at a loss. Frustration rose alongside the growl in his stomach. Oh, how he wished to get started!
Before he could make a decision, the kitchen door swung open behind him. Bren had eaten his dinner the previous night behind the bar, perched on his stool, so Ainsworth hadn’t realized until now how, well,burlythe dwarf was.
As Ainsworth raised a hand in greeting, the barman said: “G’morning. Best come with me if you want some eggs before Quiddle gets to ’em.”
“Good morning, Bren. Perfect. I’m famished.”
Bren grunted in what Ainsworth assumed was assent before he beckoned him into the tavern. Honey sat at the table closest to the hearth, which hosted, to his delight, a healthy fire. Last night they had conversed there—Honey, Quiddle, and Ainsworth—making small talk and pleasantries; Ainsworth mostly shared the conditions of his travel. He did not want to push Honey so soon after their fairly fraught conversation. Best keep work-related discussion to work hours, he had decided, which he would soon establish with the staff.
“Just us again?” Ainsworth asked after bidding Honey good morning. She looked up from the scrolls stretched in front of her. From what he could determine, it was a ledger of some sort, full of numbers.
Smudges of ink trailed across her forehead as she brushed her hairfrom her eyes, and Ainsworth felt the corner of his mouth twitch. “Yes. Quiddle will make and serve breakfast. Ashe might come in, but she doesn’t often join us for meals.”
“Was she out there all night?” Ainsworth glanced at the front door. Were the mountain’s beasts so much of a threat this far down?
Honey shrugged, her gaze returning to the work in front of her. “She comes in and out as she pleases. I don’t expect Alvea, Spin, or Ruraidh to return for a few days. If only you had known, you could have waited in Wenslykirk and gotten a ride in their cart! It’s a bit swifter than heading here on foot.”
Just his luck. The staff members Honey mentioned, he recalled, were the absent chef, gardener, and housekeeper, and they had made a supply run to the nearest town.
Well, he was here now.
Ainsworth walked over to Honey’s table and removed the silken handkerchief from his blazer pocket. “Here, you should use this.”
