Chapter Four

Bev read the letter three times, trying to make sense of it. "What secrets are they talking about?"

"Clearly, Ida's magic," Vellora said.

"Now, we don't know that, honey," Ida said, a little tersely. "It could be your past, for all we know."

"Not when you've been walking about town carrying large trees three times your size," Vellora said.

"I don't think we should jump to conclusions," Bev said, folding the letter and putting it on the counter. "Or get overly bent out of shape without good reason. If Ida is the 'secret,' then who are they planning to tell?" Bev cracked a smile. "Everyone in town knows about Ida's strength. It's honestly laughable, isn't it?"

But Bev was the only one smiling.

"Then perhaps it's someone who isn't from Pigsend," Ida said softly.

"Either way, why would they threaten us unless they had good reason?" Vellora countered. "They may know something we don't."

Bev slid the letter over to Ida. "Then you should bring this to Sheriff Rustin. Have him investigate."

Vellora snorted. "And he'll do what?"

"He's been so helpful before," Ida replied.

"Yes, but this is…well, this is very clearly an attempt at blackmail," Bev said. "Which should be in his wheelhouse as a law enforcement officer."

The two butchers stared at her dubiously.

"Fine. What are you planning to do?" Bev asked.

"Well, I figure there's a slew of new folks staying at the Weary Dragon," Vellora said, cracking her knuckles. "Might be a fine day to walk over there and threaten a few people."

"You aren't going to threaten my guests," Bev replied dryly. "Without reason, of course."

"I mean…" Ida snatched the letter from Bev and read it again, worrying her bottom lip. "Maybe it's not anything serious. Maybe someone's playing a little solstice prank on us. That's a thing, right?"

If it was, Bev had never heard of it, and based on Vellora's eye roll, it didn't look to be.

"Look, it makes sense that it's someone over at the inn," Vellora said, taking the letter from her wife. "Ida dropped that huge solstice tree off yesterday all by herself. Maybe someone saw her and thought they might try to make some quick coin."

"Well, who could it be?" Ida asked. "Did anyone strange check into the inn yesterday?"

Bev nodded slowly. "Just one. A man who came in after dinner and refused to give his name."

Vellora straightened, seemingly ready to walk out the door and throttle the man.

"But," Bev said loudly, "he was very eager to leave this morning. Someone who's blackmailing the local butcher wouldn't be so keen to get on his way before he got his gold."

"Maybe he said that to throw you off," Ida said.

Bev shrugged. "If he's still there when I get back to the inn, I'll keep an eye on him. But I don't know if you two have been outside yet. The roads are practically impassable. I couldn't even make it to Herman's house. Had to turn back." She decided against mentioning her disastrous tea with Ramone.

"Well, that's perfect, isn't it? We can smoke the guilty culprit out." Vellora rubbed her hands together.

Bev thought it would've been better had people been able to leave, but she didn't feel like arguing with the butcher. "There's a priest and his husband. I could possibly see them trying to score quick coin, but they seem nice enough, and I can't imagine a cleric blackmailing anyone."

Vellora snorted. "You'd be surprised."

"Who else?" Ida asked.

"A family with three kids under five, a traveling bard—another possible suspect. Then there's Estera and Bernie. I haven't had a chance to talk with them too much." She paused. "They didn't seem too upset about the snow, to be honest. They might be a good place to start."

"So we'll go over and ask some questions," Vellora said with an evil grin.

"No, you'll stay here." Bev turned the letter over again, staring at the handwriting. "You know… Maybe I can get some handwriting samples from the guests who are still around."

"How will you do that?" Ida asked.

Bev shrugged. "Maybe… Maybe I'll break out the old guestbook Wim used to keep. He liked to have people sign their names, where they were going, and how long they planned to stay, but I found it cumbersome to keep asking people, and some folks didn't like to divulge all that information anyway. They rarely did it. But if I can find it, I'll ask each of the guests to scribble a bit in it." Another pause. "Maybe I'll say it's for posterity because of the freak pre-solstice snowstorm. I need to locate his solstice plans anyway."

Ida brightened. "That's brilliant!"

Vellora didn't look convinced. "I still say I should head over there and roll some heads. They don't know who they're messing with."

"Darling, if they wrote this note, clearly they do," Ida said with a brief smile.

"We'll get to the bottom of this," Bev said. "I promise. You won't need to pay anyone anything. And when we do find out who's responsible, I'll let you put some good ol' fashioned fear into them. Sound good?"

~

"Bev?"

Bev wasn't two steps out the door before Vellora met her on the shoveled street. The tall, muscular butcher seemed to have shrunk in stature as she approached, her shoulders hunched and her gaze turned to the road.

"What is it?" Bev asked.

"Look, I just…" She rubbed her hands together. "Goodness, it's cold out here."

"Go back inside," Bev said. "I told you I'll handle it."

"Yes, but…" She finally lifted her gaze to meet Bev's. "Look, I need you to understand the importance of getting this right. If someone were to take Ida away… I don't know what I'd do with myself. I have to protect my family. Even if it means packing up my wife and skipping town."

Bev let out a breath. "I don't think it'll come to that."

"You don't know," Vellora said. "I mean, we can't be sure she's a druid or whatever—"

"Dryad," Bev said. "And you're right, we can't be sure of that. But I think you're focused on the wrong thing. Who's there to tell? Everyone in Pigsend knows who Ida is. Everyone's seen her carrying hundreds of pounds of beef across town without breaking a sweat."

"Exactly," Vellora said. "So clearly, they know something we don't."

"Or they're trying to scare you into giving them money," Bev said gently. "I know you're worried, and you have every right to be, but think about this clearly. The only queen's folk in town right now are Rustin, who can barely do his job, and Mayor Hendry, whose loyalties tend to…well…" Bev motioned to the air. "They're not always so strong, depending on the wind, you know?" She glanced at the inn behind her. "So if it is someone from out of town, they probably don't realize the kind of people we have in Pigsend. We don't turn on our neighbors like that. They probably didn't account for this snowstorm, either. There's nobody coming in or out on these roads."

Vellora's shoulders loosened. "I suppose you're right. But I'd still like to know who sent it so I can…thank them for it."

"And as soon as I figure that out," Bev said, waving the letter, "I'll let you have a crack at them. Just try to keep your head on straight until I do, okay?"

"I don't want anything to happen to my family," Vellora whispered, shaking her head. "I love Ida with everything I have and…" She swallowed hard. "She's all I have, actually."

"You have me, too," Bev said, squeezing her arm, which was covered in goosebumps. "Now get back inside before you freeze to death. As soon as I have an answer, I'll let you know."

~

"How's it looking out there?" Bernie asked as Bev walked through the door.

"Is it okay for us to leave?" Paul pressed.

"Well, I'll tell you the good news and the bad news," Bev said, hanging up her cloak. "The good news is that someone's been kind enough to shovel a path through the main streets of the village. So if you'd like to get out and stretch your legs, you can do so. The bad news is that beyond the city…" She sighed. "I couldn't even make it down the road to the farmer's house."

A chorus of groans echoed from the group, and Paul and his husband began whispering together.

"So I suppose we should go ahead and pay for another night, huh?" Byron asked, reaching into his coin purse to pull another gold. "I don't think Abby's going to want to take the baby out in this weather."

"Perhaps not," Bev said, debating if she should charge full price or not. "Look, why don't we call it a silver tonight for anyone who's stuck."

Paul, Collin, and Estera looked visibly relieved, while Abigail walked up to her husband and elbowed him roughly.

"No, we insist on paying full price, especially since we have the littles," she said.

Byron seemed to want to argue, but instead slid over a gold coin.

"Well, I appreciate it," Bev said. "But it's not necessary."

The conversation ended abruptly when the boys ventured too close to the hearth and pokers, and both parents scrambled over to retrieve them. Bev took the coin and placed it in her purse, knowing it was better not to argue with guests.

"I think we'll wait to see what the weather does," Paul said, after a moment. "I'm sure the warm sun will melt some of the snow."

Bev glanced at the clock—it was already midday, and more snow looked to be on the way. "Whatever you feel comfortable with."

"I'll stay another night," Bernie said, walking over and sliding a silver coin across the counter.

"Me too," Estera said, though she took a bit longer to locate a coin. "No use in delaying the inevitable."

"Anyone else?" Bev asked, glancing at Collin.

"I think I'll wait, too," Collin said, sheepishly. "Hope springs eternal, you know."

"Obviously there's no rush," Bev said. "I doubt anyone's going to be coming into town looking for a place to sleep tonight, so there's no danger of losing your room." She put her coin purse on her hip. "Now if you'll excuse me for a moment, I've got to…uh… I'll be right back."

~

Bev retrieved a broom and her trusty glowing stick—a tree branch covered with mushrooms that glowed in the dark—and headed up to the second floor, lost in thought. It would've been easy to point fingers at Estera, Bernie, and the Werst family for being eager to stay, but it was as easy to say that the clerical couple and the bard were acting coy but really meaning to stay.

She tilted her head up as she walked toward the end of the hall until she reached the square frame on the ceiling that hid the attic ladder. With the broom handle, she pushed the inside of the frame up, letting a long rope down. Bev tugged hard, pulling the attic door down, along with the attached wooden ladder—and a thick veil of dust.

"Well," she coughed, waving the air in front of her face to clear it, "at least I brought the broom."

She stuck the glowing stick in the back of her pants so she could hold on to the rickety ladder with both hands. The attic was pitch black, as predicted, and the mushrooms lit up immediately. She pulled the stick from the back of her pants and held it aloft, revealing a dust-covered space filled with boxes and crates.

"Now, where'd I put that stupid thing…"

Bev hadn't a clue what was up here—it had been filled with boxes and sealed crates since she'd arrived five years ago. She'd always promised herself one day, when things were quiet, she'd spend some time going through them and getting rid of what wasn't needed. But this place had a habit of being out of sight, out of mind until she had a reason to venture up here.

She had an inkling of where the old guestbook might've been stashed. When Wim died, Bev had gathered all his personal effects and placed them in his steamer trunk up here, mostly because she was too distraught to part with her mentor's things. She'd probably put the guestbook in there, too.

She walked the length of the attic, squinting in the dark until she saw the steamer chest. It brought back memories, as it had been at the foot of Wim's bed as long as she'd known him. She walked over, kneeling in front of it, and opened the top slowly.

She wasn't sure what she was expecting—perhaps a faint whiff of that earthy ale smell—but she was disappointed when it was more of the same musty odor. She cast the glowing stick over the steamer trunk and smiled. There were Wim's three pairs of pants, his white shirts, his well-worn boots. Some books he'd kept in his room. His favorite ale tankard. The simple things of a simple man who'd enjoyed life as it was.

Bev rubbed a bit of irritation from her eyes; must've been all the dust up here.

Wim would've been furious with her for getting so sentimental when there were chores to be done, so she rustled through the trunk in search of the guestbook. Her fingers closed around a thick, heavy leather-bound book and she smiled, pulling it out and bringing her glowing stick closer. She flipped through the dust-covered pages until she found a page bearing her own handwriting from five years ago.

Room Six

Purpose of Visit: Unsure

Duration of Visit: Unsure

Destination: Unsure

Bev had to laugh. Those first few weeks in Pigsend were a bit of a haze, floating between meeting all manner of new people, learning how to tap the ale casks and pour the perfect pint. It wasn't until much later that she learned that there'd always been one person working at the Weary Dragon, which wasn't ever so busy that a beverage wench was needed. Wim had taken pity on a lost soul.

Bev had spent her first years in room six, until Wim died and she'd moved into the innkeeper's space. Even now, she got a pang of nostalgia walking by the door.

"Bev?" Wallace's voice echoed from the open attic door. "Are you up there? I've convinced my stingy husband it would do neither of us good to leave in this weather, considering our ages and current health. So we'd like to pay for another night."

"Coming." She pulled the book from the chest and dug a little more until she found Wim's solstice plans. There was a by-the-hour list of what needed to go into the oven when, from the pork to the bread and even a mention of shortbread and ginger cake from the Mackeys. She folded it and tucked it inside the book, picked up the glowing stick, and closed the steamer trunk. Perhaps when the solstice was over, she might find time to go through everything up here. There was no telling what other treasures she might find.