Page 88 of Seducing the Sorcerer
“Who did you say?”
“Fenn. Todd.”
“Don’t know you.”
“I know that. But I need to talk. Urgently.” Fenn racked his brain and added, “Or do I go over to the castle and have words with Lady Ballivanto and get her to ask you to open the door?”
There was a stunned silence. Then the bolt shot and the door opened. The farmer with the greying hair and the shrewd eyes stood there—the one who’d offered Fenn two coppers and a meal for the digging of the hole. He held a blunderbuss. Five or six younger men and women clustered about him. They had mattocks and sticks.
The farmer’s face changed when he saw Fenn’s good quality clothes. He lowered the blunderbuss. Then he glanced over Fenn’s shoulder and his face filled with alarm, his stringy neck working.
“That...that...the horse...” The farmer tried to back away, but his sons and daughters were crowding around him, peering out the door. The farmer took another look at Fenn, recognition and fear flashing across his face.
“You. You’re the tramp came asking for work.”
“Aye. Me.”
“Don’t want no trouble. That horse—weren’t my idea to give it to you.” The farmer’s gaze darted to the horse again. “Wait. How’d you get it to stand up like that?” He frowned. “How do you know her ladyship?”
“Friend of a friend,” Fenn said, because it was true. For his part, he’d been Morgrim’s friend. “Heard of Morgrim?”
“The sorcerer? ‘Course I’ve...” The farmer’s eyes widened, then narrowed. “You know him?”
“Said, didn’t I? Come from the Unket Tower.”
“You’re Morgrim’s man now?”
Fenn ignored the twist of pain in his chest at the man’s turn of phrase. Gods, I wish I was his man. He gave the answer that seemed best.
“Aye. I am. And I got questions concerning this here horse. Can pay for the information, too.”
Fenn put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a handful of coins. They gleamed in the lantern light that spilled out of the farmhouse doorway, silver and copper and bronze. The farmer glanced at the money and shook his head.
“All right, Mr. Todd. But put your blunt away. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know and gladly. When I found out my nephew had made you take that horse—well, I was furious and that’s a fact. Ashamed of him, I was. Aye, and of my household for going along with it. Glad I have a chance to apologise to you now.” He looked at the horse curiously. “Though the creature do seem a bit more useful now. That Morgrim’s doing, is it, eh? Horse has done well for itself, hasn’t it? Got right fat. Good grass down Paravenna way, then?”
“Ain’t bad,” Fenn said.
It was the best grass he’d seen, but he wasn’t going to say that to a farmer in the middle of a drought. More importantly, the farmer clearly thought the creature ate grass. And that it was “more useful” now. These things seemed important clues. Fenn added, “And I thank you for your apology. Wasn’t too happy being lumbered with it myself at the beginning, but, well, reckon we’ll see if your nephew did me a good turn or not.”
The farmer was nodding. “Will you come in, then, Mr. Todd, and have a bite and a sup while we talk? You can put the horse in the barn if you’ve a mind to.”
Fenn let the man show him the barn. There was a good clear area alongside the plough and he gave Squab a rub down with a wisp of straw. Not that the sacking horse ever sweated, but it seemed to enjoy the attention. He also tossed a couple of empty feed sacks at its feet. It nosed them happily and began eating.
Fenn stroked its rough flank. He wanted to say, “It’s you and me, lad. Forever. I’ll never give you up. Never let anyone take you or your magic.”
But he couldn’t promise that, so he rubbed its withers and told it how clever, how strong, how fleet and—because tonight it felt true—how beautiful it was. Then he went indoors to sit at the farmer’s table in the low-beamed, white-washed kitchen.
There was rabbit stew with barley, bread to mop up, and sliced cucumber in vinegar on the side. The portions seemed small, and Fenn made himself eat slowly and appreciatively. Times were hard and he’d become too used to Morgrim’s table where there was always enough. Everyone watched him eat, as they did in places like this. Privacy was for the rich. It was surprising how quick he’d got used to it.
“That was right good. Thank you,” he said at the end. “Especially to them as caught the meat and them as cooked it.”
“You’re welcome, Mr. Todd,” said the farmer’s wife.
She was a young woman with a red headscarf, a broad handsome face and a kind, no-nonsense manner. She held a baby in her arms. Perhaps she’d been giving birth the day he’d come and dug the hole. Her babe looked about the right age. Fenn reckoned if she or the farmer had been about that day, their nephew would never have got away with his cruel prank.
“Need to ask about the horse,” Fenn said. “It’s mine now, see? So, want to know as much as I can about it.”
Everyone nodded.
