“It’s fine.”
“Supper in an hour.” She put his ale down and returned to the kitchen.
The man puffed on his pipe. “Do you like steamed pudding?”
“I do. It’s a favorite of mine,” Natto said, telling the truth for once.
“Then you’re in for a treat. My daughter’s won ribbons at the fair for her puddings.” He lowered his voice. “It’s the suet that does it. Fresh from the plant, every day.”
“I see.” Natto’s ale caught in his throat. He liked a good suet pudding as much as any man, but until now had not really considered its origins. “You make a lot of it?”
“Aye. Hoof disease hasn’t hurt my business none.” He smiled, showing a few more teeth than Natto had expected. “You know what they say, ‘all’s not butter that comes from the cow.’”
“Um. Yes. You’ve been doing this a long time?”
“Since I was a lad. Learned from my Da, and he from his on back to—” he waggled his pipe at the uncountable years. “Yourself?”
“I’m in—revenue,” Natto said. Another semblance of truth. He took money in, but not for the benefit of the government.
“Never was much with figures, me. My Sponda keeps track of the accounts, since her Ma passed.” He ducked his head in a moment of remembrance then took a long and hearty swig of ale. “Ready for another?” he asked.
“Can’t say that I’d mind.” Natto drained his mug.
Ian was a friendly host, although his conversation ran mostly to the weather and odd facts about cattle, neither of which interested Natto. But the ruddy man saw to it that their mugs stayed full. Natto felt a familiar and pleasant glow by the time Sponda brought out their supper.
“Here you go,” she said, setting the platter down. It held a golden-brown mound nearly the size of a man’s head, giving off a wonderful savory steam.
Ian cut into the crust, and the gravied meat and grain spilled out, redolent of onions. He placed a generous portion onto Natto’s plate. “There now. Tell me if that isn’t the finest pudding you’ve ever had.”
Natto would have replied, but his mouth was already full. He nodded enthusiastically, and a few minutes later, asked for another helping of both pudding and ale.
When he was sated, Natto sat back in his chair. Sponda cleared the table, refilling his ale once again.
“Da?” she asked.
“No more for me,” her father said. “I’m off to bed. Dawn comes early.” He patted her cheek and went upstairs.
Sponda filled a mug for herself. “You liked the pudding, then?”
“It was magnificent. What’s your secret?”
“Well, suet and tallow are our bread and butter,” she answered. “Though I suppose few in the capital have had butter since the troubles began.”
“True enough. It’s gotten too dear for the likes of me.”
“We get a bit, now and then, from farmers who still have herds, but even here it’s become scarce.” She looked thoughtfully at him, then nodded to herself. “Da says he doesn’t miss it much,” she continued. “Says he’s more of a greaves and drippings man.”
“They have their place,” Natto agreed. He took another pull on his ale. “You should move to the capital. A cook like you would be in high demand.”
“Perhaps I will, some day,” she said with a hint of a smile. “Now, tell me about your journeys. We don’t get many visitors, and it must be so interesting, traveling all over, in search of—” She paused to wipe an errant crumb from the table. “I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten what it is you said you’re after.”
Natto’s ale-fuzzed brain almost blurted, “The French Pearl.” He stopped himself, but could think of nothing else and “Hidden treasure,” was what came out of his mouth.
“Treasure? Really?”
“Well, in a manner of speaking.” He tried to recover. “That is to say, assets that have not been properly reported, or—” He gathered what were left of his wits. “—uncollected revenues. Very important, especially in times like these.”
“Silly me,” Sponda shook her head. “Here I was thinking you meant chests full of pearls and jewels and gold coins.”
Natto almost spilled his ale. Was this the opportunity he had been waiting for? “Those would certainly be of interest to—to my superiors. As an innkeeper, you must hear all sorts of stories. If they turn out to be of use, there might be a generous reward.”
“I see.” She stood still for a moment, then smiled as if she had just remembered something. “You know, there is an odd fellow on the outskirts of town, and there are rumors—”
“Yes, yes. What sort of rumors?” Natto sat up eagerly.
“Well, I don’t like to gossip,” she said. “But he’s rather secretive about what he does in his cottage. Strange lights and eerie noises, all times of the day and night.” She leaned toward him and lowered her voice. “Some say he’s a wizard.”
“Really?”
“Some say.”
“Where is this cottage?”
“I’ll show you, after breakfast.” Sponda looked back at the kitchen. “But now, I’m afraid, I’ve got the washing up to do and a few things to prepare before morning.”
“Then I will say goodnight,” Natto drained his ale and stood on his second attempt.
“I hope you sleep well,” Sponda said, and again her mouth twitched. It was most unbecoming.
ANNA CAME INTO the kitchen as Sponda was drying the last of the plates. She put her arms around the innkeeper and kissed the back of her neck. “How was supper?”
“The pud came out well. Yours is on the table, under the cloth.”
“And the stranger?” She sat down and picked up a fork.
Sponda made a face. “He’s not a spy. Just a common thief.”
Anna raised an eyebrow, her mouth full.
“While I was out talking to you he opened the cash box. Nicked back what he’d paid me, and three coppers besides.”
“Ah.” She swallowed. “I’m a little relieved, though. Why do you think he’s here?”
“It wasn’t just chance. He’s looking for something. Every time I said the word pearl, he jumped out of his britches.”
“Really.” Anna sat quiet for a minute, then smiled. “In that case, I think we ought to give him one.”
NATTO SPENT A restless night. He was up several times to relieve himself, not uncommon after an evening of drinking, and every time he crawled back into bed, his bare legs itched like the devil. Chafed from two days of riding? He was miserable, and thoughts of the mysterious wizard flittered through his head as he tossed and turned.
At first light he heard the father rise and lumber down the stairs in his hobnailed boots. Natto buried his pounding head in the pillow and tried vainly to fall asleep, but gave up after another hour. He used the chamber pot again—it had become rather full—and put on his trousers. Downstairs, breakfast was laid out on the counter: tea and oatcakes with jam. They were plain fare, hearty and filling, and he had two helpings.
He hadn’t seen the red-haired woman, so when he’d finished, he picked up his plate and cup and took them to the doorway. “Lady?” he called.
He heard the noise of a door shutting at the back of the kitchen, and a moment later she appeared, pulling off a heavy cloak. “Sorry,” she said. “I was out back, um, checking to see if the hen was laying.” She saw the dishes in his hands. “Here, let me take those for you.”
“Can you show me the odd fellow’s house?”
“What? Oh, yes, him.” She glanced toward the back door, then hung her cloak on a hook. “Give me fifteen minutes to put away the breakfast things.” She gestured to a skillet and a mixing bowl. “Did you pass a pleasant night?”
“Not really,” Natto said. “A lot on my mind, I guess. My duties and all.”
“Sorry to hear that. Care for a fresh cup of tea?”