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“GOOD, THAT’S GOOD NEWS! You may help me now. Could I trouble you for information about the area you lived in?” Garty asked. The young man wiped his hands on his trousers again and licked his lips. He must be thirsty, Garty reckoned, or uneasy.
“Come to my quarters for a drink?” Garty asked. The innkeeper would not disagree. He needed pertinent information.
The young man shook his head.
“Not allowed!”
His eyes shift from left to right.
Garty observes this man is trying to behave according to rules. Or he had a threat?
“That is fine, Ted. I was wondering if you can help me?”
He holds the charcoal map aloft for Ted to see.
“This little map with the X. What area is it?”
Ted turned the slip of paper around.
“It’s upside down. See: A-shape marking is a hill. Then a winding road. It is a map of this region. Just a few miles away.”
He points to where Garty had traversed before.
“Hunty’s Dale!”
“I remember that name.”
“X is near the corner. The rolling fields are along the way.”
Garty detects a lull, and waits.
“Can you show me the way?”
“Follow Hunty’s Dale for four miles, come to a wood. The quick strokes here.”
He returns the map.
“I appreciate your help.”
He crosses Ted’s palm with a florin, and Ted beams.
I appreciate his insight.
“I’ll tell you anything you need to know.”
He continues sweeping.
“I ask to finish this job by sunset.”
“May I see my horse for a few minutes?”
“Yes, indeed! I have finished cleaning his stall.”
He steps away.
Garty felt his mood through a touch.
“Tomorrow, dear friend, we will ride!”
Horse and man gaze as the sun sank.
Garty produced his surprise, a round, pink, apple, wiping it on his sleeve, holding it in his palm. Brill had no hesitation in picking up the apple with his big mouth open and his teeth flashing. Garty rubbed the saliva of his horse on its neck, patting him as he did so. The horse grunted with joy.
“Now it’s time for me to eat. We shall meet again tomorrow, dear friend.”
Garty left and followed the spice of savory cooking.
“What has my lady cooked up for supper?”
He hurried to the dining room to enjoy his meal.
Early morning, Garty was lying on his bed when he heard a loud knock. He groaned.
“I’m coming!”
He pulls on his only shirt. It was a dismal yellow from age. Holes had spread under the arms.
Garty made a promise to repair it with a needle and thread.
At the door was Mrs. Bouchée herself, carrying a tray of fresh bread, coffee in her favorite silver pot, and a large jug of her freshest apple juice.
“Up already, early bird.”
She likes early risers, Garty noticed. He smiled.
“Yes, I did wake up early. It is a beautiful morning, fresh and inviting.”
“They are already waiting in the dining room and a few outside.”
Her smile was engraved over the past days.
“Contrary to my beliefs, these folk are honest and more than willing to spend their reward on my establishment, so I am happy to refresh their bodies as their needs arise! How long I can keep it up. God only knows?”
“Mrs. Bouchée, you have been more than gracious to me and locals. I have an idea.”
Garty took the tray.
“A sign.”
He picked up a piece of yellow parchment.
It said:
“To patrons: no rewards for information necessary from 12:00 noon. Thank you. Garty Musdo.”
Mrs. Bouchée inhaled a deep sigh. She is bobbing her head, so Garty is optimistic as he waits for her utterance.
“It’s a simple message. We can relax with a nice jug. I found this new apple and cinnamon recipe.”
“Nice.”
Garty posted the message in front of the inn.
Those waiting became quite agitated. Some read the words aloud. For those who could not read.
“Look, no reward. Is our word not good enough?”
One woman shouts.
“Yesterday, hordes were paid. Now, we shall get nought...!”
She gathers support.
This will not go down well. It had seemed like a good idea. Now it had backfired. His money would run out by today.
He turns to the group, reading.
“I’m Garty Musdo.”
He had to pacify them.
“You shall be paid for information.”
That settled them down. He relaxes for a time.
By mid morning, Garty had interviewed the last person.
“Acknowledge you for taking the trouble and time.”
Garty placed a groat in his palm and closed his ledger.
The man rises.
There were five or six shillings in his coffers.
He searches for reasons.
He can think of none, except he is almost out of cash.
Walking along the cobbled pathway towards the bank, Garty stares at the ground. Now deep in thought. What shall he do if the bank manager refuses? Passersby greet him. His heart pumps. He is a king’s fool.
He walks into the sign hanging outside the bank.
Crafted in glorious mahogany wood and gold, a fitting sign for a place to keep one’s precious treasures. Scatt bank. He takes a breath. An open sign. He pushes the door.