Dungeon 42

Village Business

Chapter 102

After nearly a week of work passing out potions in disguise, things in the village were going along pretty well for Elim. He’d even gotten an audience with the village council. He’d made his case for a voluntary quarantine and now it was a question of them making up their minds.

“Just to help ya’ll understand I’m serious, I’m leaving the village after this and taking my family. Sickness is coming and most here can’t do the same,” Elim offered, regarding them with a steady gaze.

“You need to protect yourselves now,” Elim added when the muttering began to test his patience.

Elim didn’t mind them needing time to think. What he resented was being made to wait on a hardass bench while they hemmed and hawed, like they needed a witness. They were free to take a couple days, so long as he was excused.

“How would a quarantine even help?” Mitter asked. He was the village's best blacksmith, the runner-up being his son. A son Elim had left limping for days after the brute put hands on June at a fete. That they were not friendly was an understatement.

“Keeps people out along with the sickness. Might keep’em from spreading it further on or even persuade the Earl not to burn this place to the ground,” Elim offered.

“And you’d know about that?” Mitter asked bitterly.

“Enough. Men talk and it's the Earl’s soldiers who do the burning if it comes to that,” Elim replied simply. That got the rest of the council talking again, this time in more urgent tones.

“What disease could it even be?” Mitter asked the group, clearly not believing any of it.

“Does it matter? A village east of here got burned for goat pox when I was a girl and that never killed anyone,” old Madam Inot asked sharply. Elim, having never heard of goat pox, sent a message to 42 on the point, but hoped to be free before he received a reply.

“Respected elders, might I be allowed to go while you think on this? I’d rather be home just now,” Elim asked after a while. That got him some glares, but Bromwell Three Toes, whose feet he’d never seen, waved him off. As headman of the village, it was his right to do so, and even if it wasn’t, Elim was off like an arrow freed from a bow.

Elim had been telling the truth, he’d rather be heading home, but he wasn’t. His feet were taking him to the Holt family house. They were chandlers by trade. Why they insisted on being called as such was beyond him. A candle maker was a candle maker.

Though they tended to be a bit unpleasantly proud, Elim didn’t much mind the Holts. They’d taken him turning down a marriage with their eldest girl Aalid well after he was widowed. Something which couldn’t be said of everyone.

“Elim? What are you here for, lad?” Doris called. She was sweeping the porch of the store that made up the front of her family's home. Space wasn’t at such a premium in Selton that anyone bothered with a second story, unlike in the towns.

“Jus’ comin’ to say thank you, Mrs. Holt. My ma told me you sent cheese and a few things around when she was feeling poorly,” Elim said, mostly honest. He genuinely was thankful and the handcart full of goods he’d taken out of the inventory was full of things he intended to express it with. The lie was in the notion of it being his only motivation. Even discounting 42 and the plan to distribute the potion-laced cider, he was there on a mission. A mission to get a slice of pie.

“I’m just glad she’s feelin’ better. Fete wouldn’t be the same if she weren’t around to lose,” Doris said with a grin. Elim couldn’t help laughing at that.

“Come ‘round the back and sit in the kitchen, you might not be family, but you're close enough,” she added.

“Mrs. Holt,” Elim said, letting a little warning slip into his voice.

“Oh, shove off! Growling at me! Aalid’s ‘trothed to the baker's boy, Oter. You’ve missed your chance,” Doris said, looking a bit gleeful. Elim couldn’t help but laugh at that. Last he’d seen of Oter, the young man was red-faced and hiding behind a tree out of fear of the village girls. Still, Aalid was a smart one and kind enough. They’d likely be just fine as husband and wife.

As Elim let Doris lead him around the back of the house, he couldn’t help a smile. It hadn’t been often, but often enough, he’d come around to play with her second son Nicholas before he’d been sent off to a cousin to learn a trade. Nicholas had made the mistake of mentioning soldiering around Doris and she’d all but tied him and his luggage to the horse that night.

“They wedding at the fete?” Elim asked. It wouldn’t be hard to scrounge up a gift or two given who his employer was.

“I’d like for it, but her cold will need to break first and be gone a while. Wouldn’t do to get half the village sick,” Doris said. Elim paused, frozen a moment in the back door that led into the kitchen.

“Look at you, gone pale. Isn’t anything serious, we’ve all had it. Was only your ma who got a bit unlucky with the blue veins, but even she pulled through,” Doris said, patting him on the arm. Elim nodded mutely, recalling what 42 had told him. Blue veins was the body rejecting bloody mana fever. Those who got it and would die just took sickly for a bit, entirely unaware of the dread thing that had taken residence in their body.

“You know, be that as it may… I’ve got something a bit special that I think wouldn’t go amiss,” Elim said, stepping back out to the cart. He took out the basket of goods from under the cloth cover, discreetly adding something from the inventory.

“Oh Elim, lad, that's too much,” Doris said, clucking her tongue.

“Add it to Aalid’s dowry or one of her sisters,” Elim said, waving the matter off. He pulled a particular jug out of the basket, looking back toward the door furtively.

“So, mind you don’t tell anyone, but while I was away we did a bit of work for a church of Tima. Nothin’ grand, mind you, but they felt it worth repaying, so they passed this on,” Elim explained. He offered the jug of Mirth of Tima cider to Doris, who just looked confused.

“Nice of ‘em,” Doris said as if she didn’t quite believe it. Which in fairness she shouldn’t, since Elim was lying through his teeth. He’d paid good coin for it and only been able to justify the expense because 42 had said it did in fact fall under his food expenses, bless her.

“Not sayin’ it does anything, but you know those holy types. Might be a bit of luck for the house if you all have it with dinner. Maybe invite Oter and his master over,” Elim said conspiratorially. Doris looked at him narrowly, but had already shifted her hold on the jug possessively. No matter what else she might decide, he definitely wasn’t getting that back.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you're after, boy,” Doris said harshly. Elim blinked, genuinely taken by surprise. There wasn’t a snowball's chance in a forge she knew what he was about, so only the gods knew what wildness she’d cooked up on her own.

“They're too young for a pledge, but I’ll keep Bess in mind for my Laury when they get to be old enough. Never hurts to have friendly relations between families,” Doris said, preening a bit. Elim opened his mouth, then closed it again as what she said sunk in.

“True enough, and you're right about them being too young,” Elim said with a nod. He wasn’t about to go and have his daughter pledge to anyone, not until she was old enough to pick for herself. Betrothal usually happened around sixteen with marriages around eighteen, he liked twenty better, but he’d just have to see how things went.

Elim could remember with poignant clarity how his own mother had warned him to get to know June better before jumping in boots first. He hadn’t listened and he didn’t exactly regret it, but wished he’d done it different all the same.

“Elim, are you listening?” Doris asked rather sharply.

“Beg your pardon, was just thinking about… the future,” Elim offered a bit weakly. His mind had been on the past, but he wasn’t about to share that.

“Ah, grow’n’ up yourselfs almost as hard as watch’em do it,” Doris offered.

“Now, what were you saying before I rudely drifted off?” Elim asked, summoning what he hoped was a winning smile.

“Nothing much. I was just thinking you ought to bring your family and that new woman who's been staying with you ‘round for dinner. Only I’m a bit worried, I’d like to make my good pie, but I’m low on some things,” Doris explained, looking a bit put out. Elim nodded sagely in agreement, not that he cared, until her words sunk in.

“Pie?” Elim asked.

“Otar really loves it and I think it would go with the cider. Only I’m low on sugar and eggs, I wasn’t planning to buy any until just before the fete,” Doris explained.

“Oh, come now. That's nothing to worry about, just tell me what you need and I’ll pop ‘round and get it for you. Least I can do, all things considered,” Elim said quickly.

“If you're sure?” Doris asked, looking pleased but concerned.

“Definitely, we're near enough to family, you hardly need to ask,” Elim said with his most winning smile. He was probably six kinds of a bastard for playing on her misunderstanding about Bess and Laury, but he genuinely needed the pie to happen. If that meant compounding the lie, so be it.