Page 1 of A Suitable Brat
Part One
Westinclosedhiseyesand inhaled deeply, exhaling moments later as he listened to the hum of conversation around him and the rattle of crockery from the direction of the kitchens.Steam from different fragrant teas drifted his way, mingling with the Maareshetal blend he’d chosen, the cress spice from his bath oils, and the wine enjoyed by someone at the table next to his.Laughter sounded from the direction of the inn’s bar, rising high and then falling low enough to allow him to hear, or imagine he heard, the faint fall of rain on the roof high above him.
The rain was going to get worse, or so Westin’s wrist insisted.The ache hadn’t yet turned to pain, but it tugged at him, drawing his focus from the soothing, familiar sounds of Solace House.
An outguard’s life was often one of discomfort.An old injury shouldn’t rankle so much.
He shifted slightly in his chair and took another breath, counting slowly before he released it.Maareshetal teas were too bitter for some, but that was only when consumed too quickly.Boiling water was poured over the leaves, and then they were supposed to sit, the tea growing smoother as it cooled enough to be drinkable.That was why Westin had ordered it; to give himself the time to seek the peace that had so far eluded him.
Even his costly bath hadn’t offered the sort of calm he’d expected.The rush of distant rain didn’t seem to be doing much either.
Exasperated, Westin opened his eyes to stare at the teapot and cup on his table.There were some in the Outguard who found ways to calm themselves with activity, often fighting, but sometimes routine or mindless tasks: kit repair, chopping wood, even mucking stables.
Westin had no desire to do any of those things and, while Solace House was known to be accommodating, he doubted they wanted him messing about with the staff’s assigned duties.
Any might feel conflicted in his place, he told himself, then sighed and took a sip of his tea, though it was too early for it to be enjoyable.Perhaps he’d spend the money and get a different tea, something less fussy and more easily consumed.
He glanced around although he had already looked the place over for trouble a few times, an Outguard habit that might stay with him even once that life was behind him.
He gave one of the open booths a frown it didn’t deserve, then moved his gaze up to the high ceiling above the main floor of Solace House, then back down to where food and drink were offered at the many tables or in the booths that lined the walls.Chandeliers kept the room bright despite the darkness of the rainy evening, illuminating the bar and the door to the kitchens, the wide, welcoming entranceway, and the stairs leading to the rest of the inn.
Solace House occupied a strange space.A day’s ride or a few hours by boat outside the capital and situated near enough to the river to lure all manner of travelers, it was considered by most to be under the jurisdiction of the current ruler, like the capital itself.However, it actually stood on the border of two territories, not including that of the capital, although the powerful noble family who governed the larger of the territories seemed to have no interest in fighting over the strip of riverfront land or in claiming the rents from the inn.
That could change of course, beat-of-fours being how they were.But the smaller noble family with the better claim was a peaceable one, and since the patch of land wasn’t suited to farming, the more powerful beat-of-fours likely didn’t consider it worth fighting over.Or perhaps they pitied the smaller, weaker Corilyeth, as much as nobles could pity one another once ambition got involved.
Over centuries, the Corilyeth had been leveled by opportunistic rulers and their territories reduced.The landlords of Solace House they might be, but they were wise enough to leave the inn alone and to be generous to the owners, letting them run it as they saw fit and not collecting any rent.
The owners of Solace House had put that money right back into their inn, earning it quite the reputation.Visitors could ride from the capital or stop for the night on their way in or out of the city.Some went out of their way to do so, or to journey from farther territories specifically to spend time in the inn where the chandeliers and lit windows promised warmth, comfort, and, of course, solace.
Solacemeant something different to each visitor.Solace House offered nicer beds than most inns.Nicer food, nicer drink.More varieties of tea or wine.One could visit to have a pot of tea or a meal, or to spend the night, or to spend several weeks.There were also hot baths, with an array of luxurious soaps and oils on offer.But of course, the main draw of Solace House was the conversation.
Conversationin Solace House could mean talk or it could be a polite phrase for whatever the customer was truly interested in.
To be fair, that was often still talking.Or really, someone to listen.At tables, or behind curtains in the booths on cushioned bench seats, or even upstairs if someone paid for a room.Talking, with someone to truly listen,wasthe desired activity for many, at least according to Hely, which Westin could believe.Many people, in this inn or out of it, were desperate for company and for someone to listen to them.Sometimes, that meant spilling their problems to outguards.Outguards, in turn, then needed someone to listen as well, and many of his friends in the guard seemed to view Westin as a reliable conversation partner.A comfort and a good listener.
Westin didn’t mind.But he appreciated that the workers at Solace were paid and paid well to do so because listening could take a lot.
Of course, some customers came to Solace and wanted other forms of peace or comfort, or perhaps not comfort at all.But that was up to the worker and rarely happened on a customer’s first visit.
Paid friendship, some might call what was offered.Some wanted company, and someone to listen, and perhaps touch, whatever that entailed.Some found that within Solace House, though many found that with friends, as outguards often did, for much of an outguard’s time was spent alone or with strangers, and friends encountered on the road or in the capital were a great source of such companionship.At least, so it was for many.
Westin took another sip of his tea and realized he’d missed the moment it would taste the best.But since it was still drinkable, he had some more.He had no call to be sighing over some tea.He was in a warm, bright room, surrounded by people who were trying desperately to shed their troubles for a few hours.He’d had a wonderful bath, and a decent cup of tea, and might get a good night’s sleep since he’d paid for a room.He could have pressed on despite the rain and reached the capital tonight.The palace guards would let in an outguard no matter the hour, although in truth, it would be so late by then that it would almost be morning.
And… a night of hard travel hadn’t suited him.Not anymore.Not if he didn’t have to.He’d rather be warm, and the bath had seen to that.
Yet, with that problem resolved, his mind still could not settle.
He hadn’t wanted to reach the capital, that was the truth of the matter.Though he’d only bought himself a day.A night and a day to reconcile what he wanted with what he must do.Perhaps another day if the rain turned to storms that would slow traffic along the river.Westin’s aching wrist said that was a possibility, and he shivered at the idea of traveling in cold, driving autumn rain.
Westin was old for an outguard.Over forty years reached was about the age to realize that wandering the country in every kind of weather, under every kind of condition, was no longer worth the pay.Most his age settled into the barracks to teach, or had already left the Outguard years before, or retired to serve a noble family known to be kind.
“You waited too long,” Hely observed in his familiar, calm tone, touching Westin’s shoulder as he passed him on his way back to the bar or the kitchens.“Your tea won’t be good.I’ll bring you a new pot.”
“No need to bother.It’s fine as it is,” Westin called after him, watching Hely step behind the bar with the confidence of someone who called Solace House home.
A visitor at another table swung a look in Westin’s direction, probably for his raised voice because Solace House was not a rowdy place, or possibly because Westin was slightly underdressed in just a shirt and trousers after his bath; no sign of the travel cloak or heavy cloth gambeson that most outguards wore for protection and to identify them to anyone in need of help.
But the visitor continued to stare, and Westin briefly wished for his cloak and armor back, only to wonder just what was wrong with him if he was already so unsure of himself.Twenty years in the Outguard and he’d forgotten how to simply exist in an inn as himself.Or perhaps something of the Outguard remained in his manner or his weather-roughened face, and the visitor had something they wanted to share.
