Milo and Nathan motioned Roo aside and Nathan said, ‘Are you planning on staying long?’
Roo glanced to where Erik sat studying his nephew, fascinated by the little life before him. ‘Erik mostly wanted to see his mother and you,’ he said to them. ‘I’ve got some business. We’ll be gone in a week or so.’
Nathan whispered, ‘Better sooner than later, Roo.’
Roo nodded. ‘I know. Mathilda von Darkmoor.’
Milo put his finger alongside his nose and nodded once, indicating Roo was correct in his surmise.
Roo said, ‘But Freida threatened Mathilda’s boys’ inheritance. You’re telling everyone that the baby’s Rudolph’s, aren’t you?’
‘Yes,’ said Nathan.
‘But it’s as plain as the nose on your face who his sire is, Roo,’ said Milo, looking fondly across the room at his grandson. ‘There are no secrets in this town. By now the Baron surely knows the baby exists.’
Roo shrugged. ‘Maybe, but I overheard Manfred talking to Erik –’
‘When?’ demanded Nathan, his voice an anxious whisper.
‘In the death cell. The night before we were to be hung. He came and told Erik there was no hard feelings; he said Stefan was a swine.’
Nathan shook his head. ‘One thing to say that to a man you count dead the next day, another to a rival to the title of Baron.’
Roo said, ‘I don’t think that’s a problem. Manfred said there were other bastards, not just Erik. Seems the old Baron loved the ladies.’
Milo nodded. ‘That’s truth. I hear there’s a lad over in Wolfsheim who looks a lot like Erik.’
‘Well,’ said Nathan, ‘see if you can’t get Erik away as soon as possible. We’ll do what we can to protect little Gerd, but if Erik’s presence calls undue attention to the baby …’
‘I’ll see what I can do,’ said Roo. ‘I have business, and the sooner I get it done, the sooner we’ll leave.’
‘Anything we can do to help?’ asked the smith.
A calculating look entered Roo’s eyes. ‘Well, now that you mention it, I could use a reliable wagon – but one that’s not too dear, you understand.’
Milo’s eyes rolled heavenward, and Nathan laughed at the obvious ploy. ‘Gaston’s still the only place you’re likely to find a wagon,’ said the smith.
Erik glanced over to where his friend stood talking to the smith and the innkeeper, the three of them smiling while Nathan laughed at something Roo said, and shook his head with a smile of affection. Roo saw the gesture and returned it, as if to say, ‘Yes, it’s good to be home.’
Roo was out at first light, only slightly hung-over, making his way to the outskirts of town.
‘Gaston!’ he cried as he came into sight of his destination. The building was little more than a run-down barn, made over to a sort of storage building, with a small shed attached to the front. A sign hung over it, crudely painted hammers, crossed as if they were a noble’s swords.
As Roo reached the door to the shop, a head stuck out and a narrow-faced man of indeterminate years regarded him. ‘Avery?’ he exclaimed, half-pleased, half-irritated by his manner. ‘Thought you hung,’ he observed.
Roo stuck out his hand, ‘Wasn’t,’ he replied.
‘Kind of obvious,’ returned the man named Gaston. He spoke with a slight accent, one common to those living in the smaller backwater towns in the province of Bas-Tyra, but he had lived in Darkmoor since before Roo had been born. He shook Roo’s hand and said, ‘What you need?’
Roo said, ‘Got a wagon?’
‘One out back for sale. She not much to look at; need a little work, but she sound.’
They walked around the building, a combination carpentry shed, tannery, and tinker’s shop. Gaston was master of no trade, but adept at fixing all manner of things, and the only source of repair for those without sufficient funds to pay the local smiths and carpenters. If a poor farmer had a scythe that needed to last one more harvest, he brought it to Gaston, not the forge where Erik used to apprentice to old Tyndal and then Nathan. Roo had heard Erik comment that Gaston might not be a fine smith, but he was solid on the basics. And Roo’s father had always taken his wagons to Gaston for repair.
They moved to a low fence, composed mostly from scraps of wood Gaston had found here and there, and Gaston opened the rickety gate. It swung open on stiff, loud hinges, and Roo entered the yard where Gaston stowed most of his property. Roo halted a moment and shook his head. He had been in the yard countless times; nevertheless he was amazed whenever he saw the colossal collection of refuse Gaston lay claim to: scraps of metal, a shed full of cloth, and a huge covered stack of wood, all organized in a fashion known only to Gaston, but one which Roo knew was flawless. If Gaston had what you needed, he knew where it lay, and could put his hands on it in moments.
‘Saw your papa.’
‘Where’s he now?’ asked Roo, not entirely interested.
‘Sleepin’ off a drunk. He came back from a run down to Salador. Six or seven wagons, I don’t remember, but they got there in good order and were paid a bonus, then he picked up a cargo and came back full, so he blew off a bit last night.’
Gaston hiked his thumb over his shoulder to a bundle of rags under one of two wagons nestled against the lee side of the barn. Roo went over and found the bundle was snoring. He recognized one of the two wagons as his father’s. It was as familiar to Roo as his own pallet had been at home. And truth to tell, he had slept in it about as often. When his father got into one of his drunken rages, Roo had often hidden under the canvas tie-down and slept the night there, rather than risk a pointless beating.
‘Too drunk to walk three streets home?’ said Roo, kneeling and pulling back the topmost rag. The stench that struck him as he did made him wish he hadn’t. Not only hadn’t his father bathed in some time, his breath hit Roo full on as he snored in obvious stupor.
‘Gak!’ Roo moved back a couple of steps.
Gaston scratched his chin and said, ‘We had a few, truth to tell. Tom was buying, so I weren’t going to leave him lying there in the street. I bring him over here; I wasn’t going to take him all the way home, by damn.’
Roo shook his head. ‘Not likely.’ He regarded the snoring face of his father. The old man seemed smaller somehow. Roo wondered at that, but knew that he would seem large enough if he was awakened before he bestirred himself.
Then Roo laughed. He wasn’t a boy any longer and his father hadn’t towered over him in years. Roo wondered, if his father tried to strike him again, would he cower as a child would before an enraged parent, or would he act without thought and break his father’s jaw?
Not willing to put that to the test, he said, ‘We’ll let him sleep. He probably didn’t miss me when I was gone, so I doubt he’ll be glad to see me now.’
Gaston said, ‘You shouldn’t go saying that, Roo. He was right enough upset you were going to be hung. Said it more than once. Thought thirty years’ hard labor was fair, he said.’
Roo shook his head and changed the subject. ‘The wagon?’
‘She be over there,’ said Gaston, pointing to the one that sat next to Roo’s father’s. It was a serviceable wagon, though in need of some repair and a lot of paint.
Roo quickly inspected it, ensuring the axles and wheels were sound. He said, ‘We need to replace some of the fittings on the tongue, but it’ll do. How much?’
Gaston and Roo began haggling and after a minute a deal was struck. It was slightly more