Chapter Three

When Bev awoke the next morning, there was a chill in the air. She walked by the window, stopped, then turned to get a closer look.

It was still dark, but it appeared there was a thick blanket of snow over…well, everything. Bev dressed and put on a warm sweater and her trusty boots as she quietly descended the stairs, Biscuit sleepily at her heels. Downstairs was frigid as well, as the fires from the night before had long since gone out. She worked quickly to light the kindling, and just as soon as the flames were high enough to give off heat, Biscuit curled into a ball and fell asleep in front of it.

"You keep sleeping." Bev shook her head. "I'll do all the work."

She walked to the front door, pulling it open to see how much snow had actually fallen. Her brows rose as she gazed out at the still-dark road. Six inches, at least, and based on the fluffy flakes falling from the sky currently, there would be more to come.

"Well, I'll be," Bev muttered, closing the door to keep the chill out.

It wasn't unheard of to get snow before the solstice in Pigsend, but it certainly made things more difficult for her traveling guests. She hoped, for their sake, the snow ended quickly and the day warmed up.

She made a second fire in the kitchen and set to her daily chores, checking on Sin and the Wersts' horse and giving them some hay and oats. Even the walk from the kitchen to the stables was difficult with the high snow, and Bev couldn't imagine trying to get back out on the road in these conditions.

With that in mind, and knowing that those parents especially could use a pick-me-up, she doubled her usual batch of bread dough, intending to set some aside for cinnamon rolls for later that day. She had more cinnamon sticks on hand to make her traditional solstice wassail, made with ale, cinnamon, and cloves, but she could spare a tablespoon. She usually left the sweets to Allen Mackey, the local baker whose shop was next door, but it was hard to resist a cinnamon roll made with her bread dough.

The dark sky didn't brighten much as the sun came up, and the snow hadn't stopped either. Her guests were moving about upstairs, and she hated to think how each of them would react to being stuck in Pigsend. The smell of yeast and bread dough woke Biscuit, and he pushed the kitchen door open to sit next to the fire, yawning loudly.

"You're awfully lazy today," Bev said. "Did those kids wear you out yesterday.?"

He stretched out by the fire and fell asleep.

"Guess that answers that," Bev said.

Someone was walking down the stairs, so Bev wiped her hands on her apron to greet them. Allen hadn't been by with his basket of breakfast pastries yet, but she could at least offer the early riser a cup of tea.

Unsurprisingly, it was the Mysterious H. Bev hesitated to say good morning at all, especially since he was already dressed for the weather, but she thought it sporting to at least warn him of what he'd encounter.

"Heavy snow fell last night," she said, causing him to freeze in the middle of the room.

"What?" he said, his voice muffled by the coverings over his face.

"I said there was a heavy snowfall last night," Bev said softer. "And it's still coming down. Might make things more difficult. You're welcome to stay and see if it'll melt off."

"No."

He turned and walked to the door, pulling it open and stopping short. Perhaps he hadn't understood what heavy meant, because he stood in the doorway, contemplating if the calf-deep-and-still-falling snow was worth trudging in.

Evidently, he decided it was, because he took a large step outside, closing the door behind him.

"Well, good luck to you," Bev muttered.

It was early, and she didn't hear movement upstairs yet, so she pulled a piece of blank paper from her stack beneath the counter and began brainstorming her menu for the Witzel solstice party. Ida had invited forty people, though more would probably show up. It would be a lot of food to prepare, and most of it needed to be done the day of, but there were ways to make her life a little easier.

Allen would be making the ginger cake and shortbread, and Bev was excited to taste what the baker would come up with now that he'd found his groove. Ida and Vellora would bring the solstice log, decorating it with fragrant spruce leaves to fill the front room with an earthy, festive scent. They'd be giving each of the farmers a small bag of the ashes to spread in their fields for the next year in hopes of another excellent season. They'd also provide the pork to be cooked, which would take most of the day. Wim had once put together a schedule for when he'd hosted parties for the Witzels in the past, and Bev made a mental note to go upstairs looking for it later.

The rest of the meal would be rounded out with nuts and winter berries, along with some late winter squash she'd been keeping in her salt cellar, potatoes, and lots and lots of rosemary bread.

Bev chewed her lip. The bread could perhaps be baked the day before, but as to the rest of it…

The front door flew open, nearly sending her off her stool. She put her hand to her heart, looking up as the Mysterious H came storming back in, his pants soaked up past the knees. He said nothing to Bev, but marched back upstairs and slammed the door.

"Well, I guess that answers that question," Bev muttered.

~

It seemed the Mysterious H wasn't the only one deterred by the snow. Abigail looked like she was going to cry, as did her husband, though the little boys were eager to get out and romp around in it. Bev promised them both a cinnamon roll apiece if they'd check on the animals for her (leaving out that they'd already been tended to)—earning a relieved sigh from the weary parents.

"Thank you again," Abigail said, clasping Bev's hand. "You've got a way with kids."

"Well, it'll give Biscuit a break from them for sure."

Allen arrived with his basket of breakfast muffins, much to the joy of the little boys and their parents. Bernie, from room one, came walking down the stairs talking with Estera, from room two, and they both seemed unbothered about the snow.

"I can't say I'm mad to spend another night here, if that's the case," Bernie said, taking a muffin.

"Me either, especially if these muffins keep coming," Estera said.

Paul, the husband of the clergyman from room three, made it down before Wallace, and was very curious to know if Bev would charge them full price for another night.

"Since, well, it's not within our control that we're still here," Paul said.

"Let's cross that bridge when we get there," Bev said with a kind smile. "I'm sure we can work out something."

The sun was all the way up by the time Wallace, Paul's husband, and Collin, the bard in room four, came down. Wallace looked like those ales had really taken their toll on him, and Collin had the same question about the next night.

"Let's all see what happens," Bev said, holding up her hands. "I'm headed out to check on a house down the road, so I'll be happy to let you know what things look like. Believe me, I don't want any of you missing your engagements, but if it's not safe, it's not safe."

~

Even with Bev's knee-high leather boots and warm socks, it was tough to walk down the street. The Weary Dragon was one of the last buildings in the village of Pigsend, and the closest farm was a fifteen-minute walk on a good day. Today, Bev found herself huffing and puffing as her feet sank into the frigid, wet snow.

Behind her, Biscuit was struggling to keep up, leaping over the snow before disappearing into the white.

"Go home, B," Bev said, wiping her sweaty brow. "It's too cold for you to be out here like this."

But the loyal little laelaps kept behind her.

Finally, Bev had to stop and catch her breath, leaning against a fence post. Behind her, she could still see the thatched roof of the Weary Dragon. She'd perhaps gone half a mile at most.

"This might not happen today," she muttered to Biscuit. "I feel bad, but you know, those goats are probably fine."

"Bev? Is that you?"

Bev rose from the fencepost and squinted at the house behind her. There was a tall, lanky figure on the porch, wrapped in a dramatic cloak and scarf. Ramone Comely, the local sculptor, waved. They were of average height, with thick arms and legs, perhaps from years of sculpting stone. Their curly dark brown hair, flecked with gold, was barely visible under a matching hat, and their golden skin was pale from the cold wind.

"Ramone? I really haven't made it that far, have I?" Bev asked. Ramone lived only two houses down from the inn.

"Seems a bad day to be out and about," they said, struggling to cross the distance between the two of them. "Why don't you come in for a cuppa?"

Any other day, Bev would've declined, as she needed to get back to the inn, but she was in need of a break from the difficult walk. "That would be lovely, thank you." She picked up Biscuit and trudged toward the sculptor. "What a day, eh?"

"Miserable." They sniffed. "Come, come. I've got a new blend I've been dying to try."

Ramone's artistic flair was all over their tiny little home, from the canvas paintings on the wall to the sculptures, vases, and other pottery sitting on every shelf, nook, and cranny in the place. Bev didn't want to put Biscuit down for fear he might break something.

"Sit, sit," Ramone said. "I've just put on a kettle."

Bev sat on the oddest couch she'd ever seen—it was painted with a floral pattern, with two armrests, but the back was missing.

Biscuit lifted his snout in the air and sniffed, wagging his tail.

"Don't you be looking for any magic in here," Bev muttered to him.

In the kitchen, the kettle whistled, and Ramone bustled about, getting things ready.

"So you said this is a new blend?" Bev asked.

"Yes. I buy in bulk from Etheldra's shop and like to make my own concoctions. A pinch of this, a dab of that. I've offered my blends to her, but she's only interested in the basics. Boring, if you ask me."

Bev nodded as the sculptor reappeared with two large mugs. "Did you make everything in here?"

"I did," they said proudly. "Just little things to keep my hands busy in-between the larger projects."

Bev nodded. "How's the dragon fountain coming?"

Their face darkened. "Don't ask."

"Apologies," Bev said, ducking her head. She wasn't familiar with the ins and outs of artisans, but Ramone had always been a bit dramatic.

"It vexes me, the design," they said, pulling a dragon fountain miniature from beneath their chair. "I can't get a clear picture of what I want."

With a huff, they tossed the miniature behind them, and it smashed into a thousand pieces.

"Sorry to hear that," Bev said, sipping the tea. It was fruity, with a hint of dried peach and something else she couldn't put her finger on. "This is quite good, Ramone. You've got a knack for this stuff."

They beamed, playing with their hands. "I'm not good with social things, you know. But I've always liked you, Bev. You seem like good people."

"I try to be good people," she said, glancing out the window. The snow had started again. "I wish this weather would change. I've got an inn full of travelers eager to get to their destinations, and I don't think they're going anywhere tonight."

"Perhaps not," Ramone said with a sigh. "It must be fascinating, meeting all those people from everywhere."

"Sometimes," Bev said, thinking of the reclusive H. Had he decided to brave the elements again? "Actually, one of my guests knocked over the vase you gave me. Would it be possible to get another one?"

"Which one did you have?" they asked with a frown.

"Well, it had a wyvern on it, and—"

"Actually, never mind," Ramone said, waving their hands. "Let me make you a new one. I insist. It'll be a nice distraction from all this…fountain business."

"If you want," Bev said. "You know, it's funny. I have a clergyman and a bard who are both headed to Kaiser Tuckey's place. Didn't you used to—"

In a flash, Ramone yanked the mug from Bev's hand and rose with a furious look on their face. "Get out."

"I—what?" Bev blinked, confused. "What did I say?"

"You uttered that ghastly name in my presence. Get. Out."

"Ramone, I'm so sorry that I—"

"Get. Out."

~

Bev stumbled back toward the Weary Dragon Inn, having to carry Biscuit through the snow. She felt positively awful for offending Ramone so carelessly, but she couldn't have known about the sordid history (whatever it might be) between the artist and their former patron.

She breathed a sigh of relief when she came closer to town, and found that a wonderful citizen had at least shoveled some of the roads to make walking a bit easier. She put Biscuit down and he shook himself, continuing to the inn. Bev had just opened the door to let him inside when something caught her gaze.

Vellora and Ida were standing in their front window, reading a folded piece of paper and looking quite distressed. Bev hesitated. She didn't want to be nosy, but something tugged at her to check on them. After all, she did need to place her order for dinner…

She knocked on the door and poked her head inside. "Everything all right?"

Vellora hid the paper, but Ida waved her hand at her wife. "Hush, Vel. Yes, Bev. Come on in. We were just…" She licked her lips. "Well, we were reading what someone thought to be a good joke, I'm sure."

"It's not a joke, Ida," Vellora said. "This sort of thing is serious."

"What is it?" Bev asked.

Vellora paused for a moment then, after another encouraging look from her wife, handed Bev the letter. "We found this strapped to a rock on our back step this morning."

Your secrets are no longer safe.

Put 50 gold coins in a bag on your back step by nightfall or I will tell everyone what I know about you.