Chapter 2: The Dogwood Trader's Inn

It was nearly noon before Mist sat down in the middle of the road and refused to move an inch until Mariella fed him.  Exasperated, she was tempted to leave him there, only she didn’t know the way to Arleden, or really anything she was supposed to do before the Midwinter ball, which was months away.  “Please Mist, we’ll find a nice shady tree in a little while and stop for a picnic lunch.”
         
         “Not in a little while, now.  And since when was this a summer stroll?”  Mist slapped his tail against the ground, raising small plumes of dust that caught the light and made him look fairly mystical.

         “We haven’t come that far.  And I gave you a roll earlier.”

         “My legs are much shorter than yours.  And you refuse to carry me.”

         “You also have twice as many legs as me.  And it isn’t proper for  Princess to carry around a cat.  Hold one in her lap while sitting if she is daring, but never carry.”  Mariella sniffed.

         “When are you going to get your head out of the clouds?  You can’t be a Princess where we’re headed.  Not if you want your precious Happily-Ever-After.”  Mist stopped thumping his tail and slowly got to his feet.  He shook himself to dislodge the dust, arched his back, yawned, and finally trotted lazily over to Mariella.  Fed up with the cat, Mariella glared at him.  Every remark he had made all morning was grumpy and condescending.  He seemed to be moving again, so she began to walk along the road.  “And where do you think you’re going, Princess?”  Mist’s voice trailed behind her.

         “I thought we were moving along.”

         Mist snorted.  It seemed to be his favorite response when he thought she was being ridiculous, which was most of the time.  “There’s a cart coming, and I’d prefer not to be run over.  We can probably get a lift, but you cannot be a Princess.”

“Then whom can I claim to be?”  Mariella looked herself over.  Her outfit was very simple, which she thought was appropriate; a brown skirt and matching vest with black cording over a cream blouse, which she had rolled above her elbows, and her soft leather sandals.  The long blond hair, a give away that she was a princess, was rolled up and pinned beneath a wide brimmed hat that shielded her precious pale skin from the sun.  Sure, the fabric was all the best quality, but one could not tell from simply looking it at.

“Tell them you are a merchant’s daughter, going to meet your father in the Tisila Market.  And put that locket under your shirt.  Which you should have done as soon as you got it.”  Mist curled up at her feet to wait for the promised cart. 

Mariella tucked the locket under her blouse, so only the thin chain at the back of her neck and the slight dimple in the front of her shirt showed that she was wearing any jewelry.  A moment passed, and Mariella asked, “How do you know the cart is coming?”  Mist appeared not to hear her.  She waited a moment, then opened her mouth to repeat her question, but the distant sound of hoof beats on dirt caught her attention.  She was starting to feel a bit nervous for the first time that day.  There was so much she hadn’t thought about!  If she had to pretend she wasn’t a Princess, what would her background be?  Where was she from, what sort of family, and to think of it, what was her name?  Mari, she decided.  Her sisters had often called her that when she was a child, and it felt as much her own as Mariella did.  Perhaps not a common name, but not a Traditional Princess name either. 

The horse, cart, and driver came into view around the bend.  Mariella remarked to Mist, “You ought not talk in the company of the driver,”  for which she was rewarded with the loudest snort yet.

“Do you think I’m stupid?  I’ve more common sense than that.  Or you, for that matter.”

Mariella sighed, and was spared responding as the cart driver hailed her. “Hello there my dear lady!  Need ye a lift?”  The horse stopped just in front of her.

“Thank you kind sir, I am headed for the Tisila market.  What is your direction?”

“Why, I’m headed there meself!  Hop aboard, hop aboard, and the cat too?” he cried gaily and extend a hand to help her into the front of the cart.  The man in the cart wore a happy smile on his sun-tanned skin, muscular arms showed beneath a thin white work shirt, also rolled above the elbows.

Mariella took the offered hand, large and calloused, and considered telling the man that no, the cat was not coming, but Mist leapt up beside her before she could reply.

“The name’s Tomasos, but everyone just calls me Tom.  I’m a crafter from Manassa, off to make me some dough at the market.  Who be ye?”

“A crafter?”  Mariella was intrigued.  “What do you craft?”

The man gave a hearty laugh.  “I’ll need to be knowin’ who ye are before I go on tellin’ ye my life’s story!”

“Mari.  I’m Mari.  My father is a merchant, I’m meeting him at the market.”  Mariella twisted her skirt around her finger.  She had never told an outright lie before.  Maybe bent the truth, or omitted details, but never lied. 

“Nice to meet you Mari, nice to meet you.  How about the cat?”  Tom nodded to her.

“The cat is annoying, but his name is Mist.”  A claw poked her elbow, but Mariella ignored it.  She would happily take advantage of Mist’s inability to speak.  Besides, he deserved it, and his ego could use a little deflating. 

Tom laughed again.  His cheerfulness was contagious and Mariella felt herself begin to grin.  “Aye, they can be.  I’ve got meself a dog at home, and I tell ye, they be much less annoying, dogs, very faithful and friendly.”  Mist snorted loudly.  Of course, he would still try to make a statement.  Mariella thought she heard him mutter to himself, “Dogs?  Honestly…”

“Like I said before, I’m a crafter and I craft all sorts of things.  Anything I can get my hands on.  Wood carvings, metal work, even jewelry if I have the patience, but that’s a rare thing.  What sort of merchant be your father?”

Mariella looked at her hands.  “He trades and sells fabrics.”

“Aye, that be why your clothes are so nice.”  Tom bobbed his head, not unlike the horse pulling the cart.  “I’ve not got much nice clothes, I just ruin my clothes anyhow.  They need be sturdy, rough like.”

They were bouncing lightly along behind the horse, a slight jingle coming from the back of the cart, where Mariella assumed Tom’s crafts were housed.  The sun beat down from overhead, and the birds sang from the trees, occasionally gliding back and forth across the road.  “When do you suppose we will reach the market?”

“Oh, we won’t be getting there today.  I was hopin’ to make it to the Tisila border by sundown.  Nice, cozy little inn there, Dogwood Trader’s Inn, kept up by a group of traveling traders who oft use the major road and thought an Inn would best a tent, true too, and plenty of folks cross the border at the road.  Quite a mix of folks you see in there, never a dull night, I can guarantee.”  Tom flicked the reins, and the horse tossed its head.  “Then with an early start, we should be at Tisila market by noon tomorrow. I’ll get ye there, never ye worry.”  Mariella tried to recall a map and the relative distances between places, but she didn’t get very far before her stomach grumbled loudly.  How unPrincess-like!  Fortunately, she was pretended not be a Princess right now.

“Been a time since breakfast, eh?”  Tom teased as Mist sniffed at her side.  She reached into her pack and pulled out the remaining rolls, some dried fruits, and a bit of dried meat.  Mist immediately snatched the dried meat, and Mariella pulled out another piece for herself.  She offered some to Tom, but he just smiled and shook his head.  While she was eating, Tom told of his past stays at the Dogwood.  He spoke of all sort of merchants and traders, from every Kingdom of Estovina, Manassa, Humrakin, Ratarala, a few from Shama, and even one he swore was from Yirse, which Mariella had never heard of and assumed was very far away.  He told of bards singing, witches selling brews, mysterious wizards with long cloaks and shadowed faces, and illegal trades, but I shouldn’t be tellin’ a little lady like as yeself about such thing!

The afternoon passed quickly with Tom laughing and talking, Mariella hanging on to his every word, and Mist snorting at least once an hour and sulking next to Mariella.  Just as the trio was starting to forget their last meal and yearn for a stationary seat, a bath, and a good square meal, the inn came into view in the distance, at the top of a long, gradual hill.  “Ah!” cried Tom, flicking the reins, “We’ll be there before the sun fully sets!”  The sun was beginning to fall behind the trees, casting a red glow over their faces and set the dust gathered in the black mare’s coat afire.  “It be my favorite time of day, when Lila here looks like the night sky, stars and all.”  The stars faded from her hide as Lila came to a halt at the stable entrance next-to the inn.

“Tom!  Good to see ye!  I been wondering when next ye’d grace us here!”  a voice bellowed from the doorway of the inn.  The voice’s owner, a large broad man with wiry hair walked quickly toward them. 

“Loda!  Good to see ye, too, good to see ye.  Have ye two rooms available tonight?  I be takin’ miss Mari here to meet her father at the Tisila market tomorrow.”  Tom and Loda clasped hands and clapped each other on the back. 

“Of couse!  Do I ever disappoint ye?”  Loda bellowed.  Mariella wondered at the two friends.  Tom was considerably shorter than Loda, even shorter than he looked whilst sitting down.  She assumed she and he could be the same height, he had an inch or two on her, perhaps.

“Don’t ye worry about old Lila, Mica will take good care of her.  Ye two come on in and get cleaned up, supper will be ready in a half an hour or so.  I’ll be showin’ ye your rooms now.”  Loda marched up the rickety stair to the inn and gestured them inside, his face sporting a smile to rival Tom’s.  He grabbed two keys from behind a desk and squeezed up the narrow staircase, beckoning to Tom and Mariella to follow.  It was then that Mariella thought to look for Mist, but he had disappeared.  She wasn’t much bothered, and so hurried to catch up with the two men. 

~-~-~

         A half an hour or so later, the common room of the Dogwood Trader’s Inn was bursting with life; every table was occupied, a fire crackled in the hearth, and the aroma of cooking meat and ale permeated every corner.  The Dogwood’s cook, Nimoni, was so famous for her meat pot pies and cranberry tarts, that they had grown so popular that everything else on the menu had become neglected and it was now all they served.  Nimoni cranked out pie after pie, stuffed with freshly cooked turkey meat, steamed vegetables, and potatoes.  Two of these pies made their way over to Tom and Mariella, seated at a table in the corner where they could see everyone in the room.

         Mariella cut the crust of her pie and waited for the steam to issue out as Tom chatted away, describing everyone he knew in the Dogwood, and speculating about those he didn’t.  “Most of these folk are from Rarow, that’s a border village, funny those are.  Ah, there be old Corin, drinking too much ale as usuall, he be the village blacksmith, a fine one, too.  Oh, and there be Elisa, village witch, but a good one, gives them medicines in exchange for privacy, don’t see her much in here, unless—ah there—Kris, the wizard who be runnin’ the border spells.  Not real necessary, but that’s his job.  I suppose he doesn’t get much to do at night, so he comes and drinks and catches up on the village news…and spends some time with Elisa, if ye know what I be meanin’, but of course ye don’t.
         
“Loda!  Grab yeself a pint of ale and join us why don’t ye?  No one new be comin’ in about now.”  Tom called to his friend.

         “Aye, why not, eh?”  Loda sat down with his own pie and ale.  “What ye think of the pie, missy?”  Mariella had just taken her first bite.  It had cooled just enough so that it didn’t burn her mouth, but it was a close call. 

She swallowed quickly.  “Delicious!  Not quite like anything I’ve tasted before.”

Loda and Tom chuckled.  “Course not!”  Loda cried, “Ye’ve never tasted Nimoni’s cooking before!  Ah, what a night.  Plenty of the usual crowd, and plenty of strangers, just enough to keep us amused.”

“Strangers are amusing?”  Mariella questioned. 

“Course they are,”  Loda replied, while Tom ate his pie.  “We don’t be hearin’ much new among ourselves now.  But when someone new come along, they got stories for us, all sort of stories.  Have ye any good stories Mari?”

“No, no, none at all.”  Mariella answered, a bit to quickly.  She hoped Loda had had enough ale by now that he wouldn’t notice.

“But ye must have some stories.  Everyone got stories!  I meself have quite a few good ones, but ye wouldn’t be interested in those.  All about fightin’ and things.”

Tom piped in, “I sure hope ye’re not plannin’ on tellin’ those stories here Loda!  Not for Mari.  Ye hear anything on how the craft trade goes in Tisila?”  The talk turned to trade and crafts, which lost Mariella’s interest almost immediately.  As she finished her pie and started on the cranberry tart, she caught a glimpse of Mist, relaxing on the hearth.  He glowed with the light of the fire and was eating scraps of meat, which she hoped had been given to him, not stolen.  Mariella let her thoughts wander, and they meandered to her family. 

She had been gone only a day, but she wondered if they missed her.  What her parents and sisters would think if they saw her here!  Sitting with strange, peasant men, eating pot pie and tarts!  She was behaving horribly unPrincess-like, but supposed it would be quite good practice for when she became a kitchen maid in Arleden.  She was obeying her Fairy Godmother, and so she was following the Traditional path.  Come to think of it, several of her sisters must have behaved unPrincess-like on their Traditional adventures.  Lost in thought, Mariella barely noticed when a scruffy mutt stole the last crust of pie, but Tom’s sharp intake of breath made her look up.

The inn fell quiet as a man walked in, claimed a recently vacated table and requested a pot pie and a pint of ale.  He was dressed like an ordinary traveler, but had and air of solitude and intimidating abilities, and he made the serving girl quite nervous.  As Loda jumped up, abandoning his ale to take the serving girls place, the noise of wood chair-leg on stone caused the stranger to glance their way.

Mariella gasped.  His eyes had no colored ring.  They simply went from black in the middle to white, which took up most of his eyes and appeared to lack the tint of red veins.  “A Sightless, “  Tom breathed. 

“A what?” Mariella whispered.

“A Sightless.  Very few of them around, keep to themselves, mostly.  Legends say that they cannot see what we see, but rather the magical essence of everything instead.  I don’t know if I be believing that, but there’s something not right about them.”

“I’ve never heard of them before.”

“Nay, not many have.  In the Dogwood ye hear everything, if ye come here oft enough.”

Mariella looked back over at Mist.  He seemed entirely unconcerned by the Sightless, and somehow she trusted him in this matter.  The noise in the inn slowly returned to its normal contented chatter, and Tom began to tell outrageous tales of merchants who had accidentally traded for cursed crafts that made their hair fall out or turn green, or their toenails grow so long they punctured their shoes.  Mariella couldn’t help but laugh out loud at the tale of the young man who bought a necklace from a witch, having being deceived to think that it would make him attractive to the girl he fancied, but instead made him smell like a particular flower to the birds, who landed on him and tried to eat his ears. 

Soon, Mariella was yawning, and Tom sent her off to bed.  She climbed the narrow staircase to her room, and discovered that Mist was already nearly asleep on her pillow.  “Took you long enough.  I thought I would have to drag you up here myself.”  Mariella smiled inwardly at the thought of Mist dragging her up the stairs, but allowed that he had been forced to keep silent since noon.  Which, she reflected, wasn’t such a feat since she had never heard him talk before today.  She didn’t have the energy to push him off the pillow, and she rather preferred that all the feathers stayed inside it, so she fell asleep next to him, dreaming of her Prince-to-be.