Once inside the inn, he asked for the innkeeper and a mug of milk. It would be a while before he drank more ale. The innkeeper listened to his needs and hurried off to gather everything. The young girl brought him heavy dark bread and preserves, along with a slab of butter. She also brought sliced beef and two types of local cheese, both of which tasted better than any at the palace.
He smiled at the lie he’d told the guide about other messengers. But it was no lie that if the guide did not do his bidding exactly as Edward wanted, he would find himself in deep trouble. He tore off another chunk of bread and slathered butter thickly, edge to edge.
“A good morning to you.” A villager he couldn’t remember a name for, called.
“And to you, too.” The greeting was made without demand or expectation. Edward turned back to him, “I’m going up the valley and don’t know the way. Would you know of someone who could spare a few days to show me the way?”
The unknown man shrugged, “You just follow the road, sir. Only one road going that way, but if you want, I can go see if Potter’s oldest boy can spare the time to show you the way.”
Remembering how Tomas has charged and overcharged for every part of the trip, and not wanting to be taken advantage of again, he said, “Do you have any idea of the cost?”
The man cast him an odd look before answering. He sounded just a little angry. “Sir, you asked for help. There’s no charge for helping a man who needs it.”
“I see. Didn’t mean to offend.” Edward looked down at his plate of food. Last night one small silver coin had paid for food and drink for twenty, or more. Inside his purse was ten or fifteen more silver coins, half that many in gold, and only a few coppers. One gold exchanged for three hundred silver coins of the same size. He glanced around and made a quick calculation. One of his gold coins would probably buy the inn, the contents, and pay the wages for the staff for a hundred years. One coin. Yet, the good people of Nettleton asked for nothing to help him.
The other man stood. “I’ll go ask Potter, now. If his boy goes with you, he’ll be here in a short while. If he cannot, I’ll ask around and get somebody else here quick as I can.”
Edward’s fingers tingled with the urge to reach for a coin, but he resisted. The old man did the favor because he wanted to, not because he would get paid. He tore off more bread and made a promise to himself. When he became Earl, he would sneak back to Nettleton for a few days, now and then.
A short while later the innkeeper returned. He carried a blanket and clothing under one arm and a cloth sack in the other hand. The door opened and a boy old enough to have a scruff beginning to grow on his cheeks entered. He walked to Edward and stuck his hand out. “Call me Tangos, sir. I’ll be glad to take you up the valley.”
The innkeeper beamed at Tangos and said, “I’ll go pack more food for you. This one will eat enough for two.”
“You have a horse?” Edward asked the boy who was so excited he danced from foot to foot.
“No sir, but don’t you worry, I’ll keep up.”
“Nonsense. Go tell the stableman to ready a mount for you. I’ll settle with him shortly.” Edward watched the innkeeper carry empty mugs to a tub where he washed them and lined the clean ones up neatly on a shelf. He had washed mugs the night before, too. It looked like a part of the job the innkeeper preferred to do himself. Customers want a clean mug. The way to ensure that happened was to take on the chore himself. Another lesson learned.
Edward smiled as his fingers found two silver coins in his purse and placed them in the dregs of wine left in the bottom of his mug. Swill or not, he had enjoyed himself in a way that was both new and invigorating. He waved to the innkeeper, knowing that as soon as he left the innkeeper would grab his mug and wash it. Hopefully, Edward would already be down the road before he found the silver. “We’ll be off, soon.”
“You’re always welcome here at the Red Dog, sir,” the innkeeper called over his shoulder.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The Slave Master slapped his knee in disgust as he pulled his horse to a stop on the heavily forested hillside. “We’ve been played for idiots.”
“Maybe we missed the cave.”
“That woman back there lied. I can feel it. She knows where the boy is, and she sent us on a wild chase to nowhere.”
The Weapons Master placed his hands one on top of the other on the pommel of his saddle and snorted. “Now why in the world would she do that? Do you think she’s the mother of the brat? Or does she take care of him? I don’t think so. Besides, the others backed her up.”
“Not really. I’ve been thinking about that, too. They didn’t contradict her, but they didn’t agree or add anything to her story, either. She lied. Let’s go back and beat the truth out of a few of them.”
They turned their horses and headed for Nettleton at a gallop.
Miss Ann spotted the King’s men at the same time as the innkeeper. They all knew the men would return—and they’d be angry. She locked the door to her store and hustled around the corner to the blacksmith, then to the stable. One by one, the people who had been present when the washerwoman provided the King’s men the wrong directions disappeared.
The Slave Master rode to the front of the Red Dog and shouted, “Where’s the washerwoman?”
An old man peered through a slit in the door before stepping into sight. “She lives in them trees over there past the foundry. Her place is right beside the little stream where she has good water.”
The Slave Master glanced around. “Seems like I’ve heard that before. A place on a little stream.”
The old man shrugged and reentered the inn as if he didn’t care to speak anymore.
The Weapons Master spurred his horse. They rode together, and upon entering the trees found a small cabin and several outbuildings. No smoke rose from the chimney. No fires under the tubs used for washing. The door to the shed stood open, and no clothing hung from the many lines.
“Gone?” The Weapons Master asked, more to himself than out loud.
“Someone will know where she went, as well as where to find the boy.” He spun his horse and headed for the inn, his temper barely in check. “We can offer a reward or beat it out of them.”
The Weapons Master nodded and said, “Today I prefer to keep my coins in my purse.”
They strode into the inn together and stood, barring the doorway. Five men were inside. Two at one table, two at another, and the innkeeper. The Slave Master ignored the men at the table and looked directly at the innkeeper. “Where’s the washerwoman?”
“We don’t know where but we think she is hiding from you.”
“From us because she lied about the boy?”
One of the old men playing a dice game said, “What do you want with him, anyway? He’s a good boy.”
“That’s our business. Where is he?”
When nobody answered, the Weapons Master advanced on the innkeeper and shouted, “How would you like to wake up in the morning and find this place burned to the ground?”
The innkeeper stood his ground, but said nothing. Facing irate customers, and those making unreasonable demands were part of the job.
The Slave Master glanced at the two old men and turned his attention to the other table. Two younger men sat there, farmers from the looks of them, and they already looked scared. In two steps he stood at their table. “Tell me where she is.”
They shook their heads at the same time, fear evident in their movements. “You’re telling me you won’t tell, or you don’t know?”