Rojer sat up straight in his chair. “Honest word?”
Cholls smiled. “Honest word. We have a number of masters who can teach the art. I’ll send the lot of them to Deliverer’s Hollow, and assign them to follow your word.”
Rojer blinked.
“It’s not entirely unselfish of me,” Cholls said. “Whatever stories you give us now will do for a short while, but Deliverer or no, this is the defining event of our time, and the tale is still unfolding. The Hollow is clearly at the crux of it, and I’ve wanted to send Jongleurs there for some time, but with the flux at first and then the refugees, no one has had the stones to go. If you can promise safety and board, I’ll…persuade them.”
“I can guarantee it,” Rojer said, smiling.
SECTION 3
JUDGMENTS
CHAPTER 19
THE KNIFE
A FEW WEEKS AFTER Renna’s night in the outhouse, there was a visitor to the farm. Her heart jumped at the sight of a traveler on the road, but it wasn’t Cobie Fisher, it was his father, Garric.
Garric Fisher was a big, burly man, much like his son in appearance. In his fifties, he had only a few streaks of white in his thick curly black hair and beard. He nodded curtly to Renna as he pulled up in his cart.
“Your da around, girl?” he asked.
Renna nodded.
Garric spat over the side of his cart. “Run and fetch him, then.”
Renna nodded again and ran into the fields, her heart pounding. What could he want? Had he come to speak for Cobie? Did he still think of her? She was so preoccupied that she nearly crashed into her father as he emerged from a row of cornstalks.
“Night, girl! What in the Core’s gotten into you now?” Harl asked, catching her shoulders and shaking her.
“Garric Fisher just rode in,” Renna said. “He’s waitin’ for you in the yard.”
Harl scowled. “He is, is he?” He wiped his hands on a rag and touched the bone handle of his knife as if to reassure himself of its presence, then headed out of the fields.
“Tanner!” Garric called, still sitting in the cart when they came into the yard. He hopped down and held out his hand. “It’s good to see you lookin’ well.”
Harl nodded, shaking hands. “You, too, Fisher. What brings you out these ways?”
“I brought you some fish,” Garric said, gesturing to the barrels on the cart. “Good trout and catfish, still alive and swimmin’. Toss some bread in the barrels, and they’ll keep a good while. Reckon it’s been a while since you had fresh fish out here.”
“That’s real thoughtful,” Harl said, helping Garric unload the cargo.
“Least I could do,” Garric said. He wiped his sweaty brow when the work was done. “Sun’s hot today. Long trip out and I’m mighty thirsty. Think we might set a spell under the shade of your porch afore I head back?”
Harl nodded, and the two men went and sat on the old rockers on the porch. Renna fetched a pitcher of cool water and brought it out with a pair of cups.
Garric reached into his pocket, producing a clay pipe. “Mind if I smoke?”
Harl shook his head. “Girl, fetch my pipe and leaf pouch,” he said, and shared the pouch with Garric. Renna brought a taper from the fire to light them.
“Mmm,” Garric said, exhaling slow and thoughtfully. “That’s good leaf.”
“Grow it myself,” Harl said. “Hog buys most of his smokeleaf from Southwatch, and they always keep the best and sell him the stale dregs.” He turned to Renna. “Girl, fill a pouch for Mr. Fisher to take back with him.”
Renna nodded and went inside, but she hung by the door, listening. With the formalities done with, the real talk would begin soon, and she didn’t want to miss a word.
“Sorry it took me so long to come,” Garric began. “Meant no disrespect.”
“None taken,” Harl said, drawing on his pipe.
“Whole town’s buzzing about this business between the kids,” Garric said. “Got it from Hog’s daughter, or summat. Goodwives ent got nothin’ better to do with their time than gossip and rumormonger.”
Harl spat.
“Want to apologize for my boy’s behavior,” Garric said. “Cobie’s fond o’ tellin’ me he’s a grown man and can handle his own affairs, but grown is as grown does, I say. Wern’t right, what he done.”
“That’s undersaid,” Harl grunted, and spat again.
“Well, you ought to know that after you sent him runnin’ home with his tail between his legs, I caught wind and stepped in. I promise you, it won’t happen again.”
“Glad to hear it,” Harl said. “I were you, I’d beat some sense into that boy.”
Garric scowled. “I were you, I’d tell my daughter to keep her skirts around her ankles, steada puttin’ sin in the mind of every man passes by.”
“Oh, I had my words with her,” Harl assured. “She won’t be sinnin’ no more. I put the fear o’ the Creator in her, honest word.”
“Been more ’n words, it was one of my girls,” Garric said. “I’da caned her backside raw.”
“You discipline your way, Fisher,” Harl said, “and I’ll do mine.”
Garric nodded. “Fair and true.” He drew on his pipe. “That sophearted Tender woulda married them, they made it to Boggin’s Hill afore you caught ’em,” he warned.
Renna gasped, and her heart skipped a beat. She covered her mouth in fright, holding her breath for a long moment until she was sure they hadn’t heard her.
“Harral’s always been too soft,” Harl said. “A Tender needs to punish wickedness, not condone it.”
Garric grunted his assent. “Girl ent been sick none?” He made it sound casual, but Renna could tell it was anything but.
Harl shook his head. “Still got her moon blood.”
Garric blew out a breath, clearly relieved, and suddenly Renna realized why he ’d waited so long to come. Her hand strayed to her stomach, and she wished her womb had quickened, but she ’d only had Cobie’s seed once, and Harl was always careful not to spend in her.
“No disrespect,” Garric said, “but my lazeabout son’s got prospects for the first time in his life, and Nomi and I aim to find him a proper bride, not some scandal.”
“Yer son ent got no prospects at all, he puts his hands on my daughter again,” Harl said.
Garric scowled, but he nodded. “Can’t say I’d think any different, it was one o’ my girls,” He tapped out his pipe. “Reckon we understand each other.”
“Reckon we do,” Harl said. “Girl! Where’s that leaf?”
Renna jumped, having forgotten all about the pouch. She ran to the smokeleaf barrel and filled a sheepskin pouch. “Coming!”
Harl scowled at her when she returned, and gave her a slap on the rump for being slow. He gave the pouch to Garric, and they watched him climb into his cart and trundle off.
“Do you think it’s true, Mrs. Scratch?” Renna asked the mother cat as she nursed her kits that night. They scrambled over one another in a great pile, fighting for the teats as Mrs. Scratch lay out behind the broken wheelbarrow in the barn where she’d hidden her litter. Renna called her Mrs. Scratch now, like a proper mam, though as expected the tabby that got the kits on her had made scarce since the birth.
“Do you think the Tender would really marry us if we went to him?” she asked. “Cobie said it was so, and
