Chapter Twelve

Etheldra's mysterious warning aside, Bev did need to get back to the inn to check on things and start dinner. As she crossed the snowy street, she conceded she was farther from the truth than ever, but she resolved to do her best to get to know each of her guests better.

But all that went out the window when she pushed open the front door to the inn to absolute chaos.

The boys were chasing a barking Biscuit while screaming and being chased by their father, and the baby was crying in his mother's arms as she scolded both the boys and her husband for running too much. Wallace had already gotten into the ale, and his husband Paul seemed to be mid-argument with Collin, who had his lute in his hand. Bernie was in the corner, looking disgruntled by all the noise and holding his book to his chest. And, of course, the Mysterious H was nowhere to be seen.

Bev put her fingers to her lips and whistled loudly. The boys and dog stopped running, the baby stopped crying, the two men stopped arguing, and all eyes swept to Bev.

"That's better," she said. "I do apologize for being gone most of the day, but we can't have the inn descending into madness." She pointed to Biscuit. "You, to the kitchen." She pointed to the boys. "You two, sit down by the fire and let your father deal with you." She turned to Wallace. "You, no more ale this evening. You've had more than you've paid for, and if you don't stop, I'll have nothing for the solstice party in three days." She turned to Paul and Collin. "And as for you two, what in the world could be your problem?"

"He dared ask me to pay for the infernal music he's been playing," Paul said.

"I've been playing for hours, whatever his husband wanted," Collin said. "And I deserve compensation for my work."

"Then you should've presented those terms up front," Paul replied haughtily. "Because I surely would've enjoyed the last few nights without having to listen to your off-tune voice and poorly played instrument."

Collin's expression darkened, and Bev stepped between them to prevent the situation from escalating. "Collin, Paul is right. If you wanted to be paid for your playing, you should've said something before you started playing. Paul, if you don't like the music, go upstairs."

"But I can hear it—"

"I don't care. Both of you are about to be sent to your rooms without any supper if you don't cut it out," Bev snapped. "I'm sorry we're all stuck here another night, but it's no excuse for everyone losing their minds. Now can I ask the two of you to behave while I finish getting dinner ready?"

They glared daggers at one another but nodded. Paul turned to grab his inebriated husband by the shoulder and practically dragged him upstairs while Collin retreated to the corner and started tuning his lute, and nearly everyone in the room looked ready to break the darn thing in half.

"Collin," Bev said lightly. "Why don't you come help me with dinner? We'll say that's your payment for this evening, huh?"

~

In truth, Bev didn't need help with dinner, but having Collin peel potatoes was an efficient way to keep him from causing more problems in the main room and also to have a bit of a chat with him. Of all the suspects, he certainly had the most to gain from blackmailing the butchers—but Bev didn't know how desperate he was for gold.

"I hate peeling potatoes," he whined, sitting on Bev's stool and grabbing the nearest spud. "Are you sure the roads are impossible to travel on? Bernie said a soldier came and went. Estera left."

Bev watched his face carefully. "No one's keeping you here, Collin. If you'd like to try your luck, you can. Kaiser Tuckey's house isn't that far away."

He sighed. "You know, this gig was supposed to set me up for a few months. At least through the winter."

"You and Bernie have the same mindset, it seems," Bev said. "Have you had a chance to talk much with him?"

"Oh, yes. We've had a lot of time since there's not much else to do," he said. "We've been to many of the same towns. He's about as well-traveled as I am, though his line of work seems a bit more haphazard."

At least Bernie's story is consistent.

"He was telling me the same. I told him if he was looking for some money, he should check in with the librarian. He's lacking his usual end-of-year help."

Collin spun around. "He is? Do you think I could help him? It might be less exhausting than dishes or peeling potatoes."

Bev chuckled. "I'm sure you could ask. Can't say it would pay much, but it might get you a night or two off."

"Oh, the dream." He sighed.

"You know," Bev began slowly, "I'm not a bard or in the music business at all. Can't carry a tune to save my life. But…" She eyed him. "I would think a man like yourself would at least ask people to pay before striking up a tune."

"Typically, I start playing, people offer suggestions, and at the end of the night, they tip handsomely for my efforts," he said. "But I supposed I should've known the cleric and his husband were stingy."

"Yes, they seem pretty consistent in that arena," Bev said. "I think Paul is about to make his husband join you in the kitchen."

"Would be better than all the drinking he does," Collin said. "I've never seen a man put away as much ale as him."

"Me neither." And Bev had seen some people drink some ale. "So…is music the only thing you do for a living? It seems like a bit of a low-income job."

"When you're stuck at an inn, it can be," he said. "But you play a little bit here and there, hoping a wealthy benefactor will hear your music and hire you to play a gig at their house. Sometimes, it's a birthday party. Sometimes, it's the solstice. Sometimes, it's a weekday, and they want to show off to their friends. But you can get fifty gold pieces for a few hours of playing. Do that enough times, and you don't have to work that much."

"Sounds nice," Bev said. "Are you at that point yet?"

"Kaiser Tuckey was my first big gig," he said with a sigh. "And he's got a lot of rich friends who were going to be at his house. But…" He shook his head. "Maybe it wasn't meant to be."

"Any other prospects to make you money?" Bev asked. Sure, it was a pointed question, and she doubted he'd come right out and say, "I'm blackmailing your neighbors," but it was late, and she was running out of steam.

"Sounds like the librarian might be my best bet at this point," he said, sadly. "Or I could return home and go to work for my father in the tannery. I'm sure he would have a great laugh at my failure. Never wanted me to play an instrument. Thought it was a waste of time." He glared at the ceiling. "You know, Paul reminds me a lot of him. Judgmental and rude."

Bev nodded, hoping that by staying silent, he might offer more than he was.

"But really, I should be charging the guy in room five more money," he said with a sigh.

"Room five?" Bev turned to him. "What are you doing for him?"

"Well, he gives me a quarter of a silver to bring him a bowl of dinner after everyone goes to bed," he said. "Started last night, but I'm sure he'll want the same tonight."

That certainly explained the extra bowl she'd found this morning. "I see. Do you know why he doesn't want to come down and eat with everyone else?"

"Haven't a clue. Maybe he's afraid of people, or maybe he doesn't like kids." He shrugged. "Either way, I'm slowly working my way up to a full silver."

"Collin, love," Bev said, putting her hand on his shoulder, "you really should be charging people more. Or getting the money up front, at least. A quarter of a silver is hardly anything. Why not charge him a whole silver? Then you won't have to do dishes."

The young man nodded as if the idea hadn't occurred to him at all. "You think he'd pay?"

"I think that if he wants to remain anonymous, he'll pay any price you tell him," Bev said. "So in this case, you have the upper hand."

"Oh." He blinked, mulling over the idea. "You know, that kind of makes sense."

Bev squeezed his shoulder, a little sorry for him.

"Wish I'd thought of that before I started doing all this work," Collin said, looking down at the stack of potatoes he was working his way through. "Maybe I should be a bit smarter about these things. My dad was right, I guess."

She watched him, torn between feeling awful for him and wondering if this was another brilliant show meant to hide his true intentions. Perhaps he secretly loved cleaning and peeling potatoes and was pretending to slough his way through it to keep her from suspecting him. And played until the wee hours of the morning because he enjoyed it, not because he expected to get paid. It was all so very plausible.

"What else did Bernie say about that soldier?" Bev asked, after a long pause.

"Just that he bought him a cuppa, and the soldier left shortly afterward," Collin said. "Said he was in Estera's regiment."

Bev started. To her knowledge, Estera had only divulged her soldier status to Bev. "Oh? She told you she was a soldier?"

Collin nodded. "First night we were here. I was walking by her room as she was unpacking—had the door open. Saw the soldier uniform and asked her about it. She told me she was a part of a group looking for illegal magic and that she was glad she wasn't with them, as they were sleeping in tents in an empty field north of here."

Bev carefully ran her knife through the meat, processing what he'd said. Not just soldiers—soldiers looking for illegal magic. Concerning to say the least. "I see."

"Guess it makes sense one of them would venture into town looking for something warm after all this snow." He shivered. "Glad I never took up with the queen's service. Too much time spent outdoors and harassing people."

"It's not all bad, I hear," Bev said, hoping for mild conversation about it. "So…Estera really told you all that? She didn't even want to say what she did to me."

"To be honest, I think she was hoping for… Well, you know, I have that effect on women." Collin glanced at Bev. "Er…some women. Young women. They see the lute, and they take a shine to me."

"And I'm sure you've never used that to your advantage," Bev said with a knowing look.

"In what way?" Collin asked.

If he was a brilliant mastermind, he was hiding it well, because the blank stare he gave her was awfully convincing.

"So, who else knows that Estera's a soldier?" Bev asked. That might be the clue she was looking for to narrow the suspects.

"Oh, well, probably everyone now," Collin said with a small laugh. "When she hightailed it out of the inn after that butcher harassed her, I told the folks here I thought the butcher was a kingside soldier looking for revenge."

Bev winced. That certainly didn't help things at all. "I see. She isn't, by the way. Just…a case of mistaken identity."

"If you say so." Collin hopped off the stool. "Anything else you want me to do?"

Bev inspected the potatoes and found half of them still contained scraps of skin. But she needed some time to think about what he'd said.

"Look, why don't you go upstairs and negotiate a new price for bringing him dinner?" she said. "Make sure you charge him what you deserve this time."

"What if he doesn't pay?" Collin said.

"Then bring the stew back to me, and we'll give it to Biscuit," Bev said, earning a tail wag from the dog at her feet. "And if the Mysterious H wants to eat, he'll have to come down himself."

~

Bev made quick work of the unfinished potatoes, her mind engrossed in thought. So everyone at the inn knew that Estera was a soldier—and not just any soldier, but part of a special magic-hunting regiment camped out to the north of here. Vellora had been right. The blackmailer knew far more than they did.

But the timeline didn't quite make sense. Estera had arrived before the first note, and Vellora had threatened her before the second note. Had Collin met Estera, discovered she was a magical hunter, seen Ida carry in the tree with her magic, and devised the whole plan on a whim—maybe once the snow fell and his chances of a big gig with Kaiser Tuckey went up in smoke?

As much as she wanted to believe it, she was having a hard time. Collin was either an incredible actor or completely innocent.

"Biscuit," Bev muttered to the laelaps at her feet, begging for a scrap of potato skin. "What do we think about Collin?"

He tilted his head, almost curious.

"I mean, is he thick or do we think he's capable of blackmail?" Bev asked.

Biscuit had no answer.

She finished cooking dinner, plated it up, and brought it out to the front room with a fake smile on her face. The crowd was subdued—Wallace seemed to have sobered up enough to at least look sheepish for his behavior—as they queued up to serve themselves.

"Did you get the coin from room five?" Bev asked Collin as he passed by.

"Oh, yes, sorry." He reached into his pocket and handed Bev two silvers. "And I managed to get him to pay me a full silver to bring him dinner, too!"

"Save this one," Bev said, handing it back to him. "You've already worked off your room tonight."

"Is that option available to all of us?" Paul asked, giving the musician a once-over.

"Of course," Bev said. "I've always got chores that need doing. Just say the word, and you're welcome to join me in the stables to muck the stalls or peel potatoes or scrub dishes."

Paul made a face as if none of those things appealed to him and slapped down a silver before walking off to sit at one of the empty tables. Wallace said nothing and joined him.

"I think we'd rather pay the coin if we have it," Bernie said with a chuckle as he gave her his rent for the evening.

Bev itched to ask him more about the soldier, about Estera, but she kept her tongue. Best to do that one-on-one instead of in the open room, lest one of the other guests got suspicious.

Everyone was served, and Bev made herself a small plate to eat at her counter. It was, perhaps, the quietest dinner in some time. Even the two little boys were well-behaved, and the baby was fast asleep strapped to her mother. Bev watched each person, letting her gaze linger on Collin as she debated good actor or thick over and over again.

The whole room jumped when the front door swung open. Bev held her breath—was it the soldier from earlier? But as the figure sloughed off her thick cloak and the scarf dropped from her face, Bev let out a sigh.

"Etheldra," Bev said. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"