Page 48 of The Shadow of Breninsol
Han shook her head as her foot kept an even up and down action while the wheel kept spinning. “Not with Rin ill.”
Eleanor nodded in understanding. She’d have to be satisfied in waiting, otherwise she’d have to find the flower herself. Apothecaries were her only other reliable option, as she doubted the manicured noble gardens held any. But women weren’thealers in the Kingdom of Solas, and if she became too frequent a visitor to the only apothecary she somewhat trusted, the guards would arrest her before she could take a breath outside.
“I’ve forgotten again,” Haesel moaned to her aunt.
Han flicked her eyes towards her spinning wheel and her basket of wool on the floor. “Wait a minute, Sellie.”
Haesel ignored her aunt and came up to the table holding up her knitting. “Can you show me?”
“If…” Eleanor looked at Han, who nodded her permission. “Sure,” she replied to a beaming Haesel.
“She’s right-handed,” Han supplied.
Ducking into the covered stall, Eleanor settled on Haesel’s mother’s stool, positioned the girl between her knees, and re-wound the excessively long yarn. Eleanor quickly checked the stitching and found a few minor flaws in her knitting, but she didn’t want to disappoint the girl again. Eleanor held the small needles in each hand, with the cobalt yarn unravelling from the girl’s bag across her body. “This hand stays still,” Eleanor said, waving her left hand. “While your right, it does all the work. Got it?”
Haesel nodded.
Eleanor did a few slow stitches for Haesel to watch, but her forehead furrowed in confusion.
“Okay, imagine this needle is your sword,” Eleanor said, shaking her right hand.
Haesel twisted her head around as her copper brown eyes widened. “A sword?”
Eleanor nodded. “Yes, and the wool is your enemy.”
A snort escaped Han, but she kept an even spin on the wheel and an eye on the stall front.
Haesel returned to her yarn with a grin. “Okay.”
“You need to stab them,” Eleanor said, while pushing the needle into the yarn loop behind the stagnant needle. “Stranglethem,” she wrapped the yarn around the needle, “drop the body.” She pushed the needle through to the front of the needle. “Dump the body out the window,” she finished by pushing theswordup, so the yarn slipped off the stationary needle. “And same again,” Eleanor said as she started stitching, repeating herself as she made each slow stitch.
Han chuckled as Eleanor continued reciting the words, while slowly going through a few stitches, then Haesel added her smaller hands to the needles.
“Stab them…strangle them…drop the body and…and dump the…body out the window,” Haesel repeated eerily in her much younger voice.
“I swear there’s supposed to be something about a rabbit.” A deep amused voice came from the stall entrance, making her startle at the sudden arrival of the pair of city guards.
They both wore the well-known bronze and beige armoured uniform of the city guard: a bronze breastplate, stamped with the king’s crest, that stopped halfway down their chests, showing a clean long beige tabard, interrupted by a strong thick belt—with another crest on the buckle—which held their tassets in place to cover their thighs and hold their swords. Bronze armour covered them from their feet to their knees, and padded beige gauntlets covered their hands to their elbows. Any sign of a guard’s officer ranking was stamped in chevrons on their bronze pauldrons on their shoulders.
“Good afternoon, Eleanor, Han, and Haesel,” the two city guards greeted, setting them at relative ease.
“No. This is my sword now,” Haesel replied adamantly, correcting their rabbit comment.
As both men’s lips tightened in a shared response, Eleanor caught a glimpse of their eyes, identical in their mirrored mirth, gleaming beneath the bronze of their helmets. The guard on theleft had three chevrons on his right arm’s pauldrons, identifying which of the pair was Ryland.
“Sergeant Ryland and Becker,” Eleanor greeted.
“Anything I can help you with?” Han asked, ever the trader.
Ryland coughed into his fist to hide the laugh he couldn’t contain. “We saw Eleanor and thought we’d come say hello.”
“Your day’s that boring, is it? Not got a thief to chase?” Eleanor teased.
Ryland grinned, which looked more threatening with his bronze helmet in place. “There’s still time.”
“My thanks for the yarn, Han,” Becker said, breaking Eleanor from her thoughts. “I’ll be back when you have that Bellwen Black Mountain wool you were talking about last time.”
“Might be a few more markets until that happens, I’m afraid. With the winter being so bad I’ve heard they’ve lost most of the flock—only one ram made it through. The merchants are trading what they’ve got left, but our usual supplier is refusing to sell to us. It’s not the first time he’s done that. I think it’s time to find a better supplier…” Han trailed off with a sigh.
