Against The World

Chapter 63: A Place at the Table

The roof tiles were blue.

This had not been apparent from the samples.

In the council room, they had looked grey. Sensible. Unremarkable.

On the completed washhouse roof, beneath a clear morning sky, they were distinctly blue.

I stood beside Eleanor and looked up.

“Were they meant to do that?”

“Keep the rain out?”

“Be blue.”

“Yes.”

“You did not mention it.”

“You approved the sample.”

“It was raining.”

“The tiles were still blue.”

Beside us, Evelyn studied the roof with evident satisfaction.

“I like them.”

Eleanor nodded.

That settled the matter.

The washhouse stood at the edge of the newer homes, close enough to serve three streets without making anyone carry wet clothing across half the city. Inside were broad stone basins, a drying room, and two of Sera’s enclosed stoves.

Outside, four women were examining the covered benches.

One sat down.

Then she leaned back, closed her eyes, and said, “Good.”

Of all the inspections we had arranged, that seemed the most conclusive.

Opening the washhouse taught me several things.

The first was that people had strong opinions about hooks.

The second was that anyone who had carried a full washing basket knew more about doorway placement than I did.

The third was that Evelyn had already heard most of those opinions.

“The lower pegs were your idea?” I asked as we stepped inside.

“Ressa’s. Her mother cannot lift her right arm above her shoulder.”

“And the shelf?”

“Three different people asked for somewhere dry to put babies.”

I looked at the broad recess beside the benches.

It was well away from the stoves and the water channels, with a raised wooden edge and space beneath for baskets.

A woman was already spreading a blanket there.

Her baby watched us with deep suspicion.

“That one looks like your father,” I murmured.

Evelyn pressed her lips together.

“Do not say that when Mother arrives.”

The baby sneezed.

I took that as permission to move on.

At the far end, Sera had opened an inspection panel in one stove. Two attendants listened while she explained the flue lever.

I could feel the heat within the masonry.

For a moment, I considered adding a little more.

Then one of the attendants adjusted the draft, and the fire settled into a steady, efficient burn.

I left it alone.

Outside, Eleanor was arguing with Aldren about a gutter.

It was a small argument.

The roof existed. The water supply worked. Nobody was standing beneath a collapsing wall.

I found myself enjoying it.

That afternoon, Melody came to find me in the training yard.

She was dressed for travel.

A rolled cloak hung over one shoulder, and a small leather pouch rested at her hip.

“Going somewhere?” I asked.

“White Fern.”

I lowered the practice sword.

“Trouble?”

“No.”

She seemed to notice how quickly I had asked.

“Tessa sent word. Someone who knew my mother is visiting.”

Alistair took the sword from my hand without comment and stepped away to put it on the rack.

Melody watched him go.

“I would like three days.”

“Take them.”

“Eliza has the escort roster. There is no gap.”

“Good.”

“And the recruits know what they are doing tomorrow.”

“Do they?”

“They know what they are supposed to be doing. Alistair can explain the difference.”

I smiled.

She adjusted the strap on her shoulder.

For once, she did not immediately have something else to say.

“Do you know this person?” I asked.

“Not well. I was small.”

Her fingers touched the pouch.

The little wooden rabbit Tessa had given her was inside it. I had seen her take it out once, when she thought nobody was looking.

“What are you hoping to hear?”

She looked toward the open arch.

Beyond it, two kitchen boys were carrying a basket between them, arguing over whose end was heavier.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Something I haven’t heard before.”

I nodded.

“That sounds worth three days.”

Her ears lifted slightly.

“I thought so.”

She turned to leave, then glanced back.

“You should still practice.”

“I was practicing when you arrived.”

“Then there is hope.”

She left before I could answer.

Alistair returned with a different sword.

A heavier one.

I looked after Melody with renewed appreciation for her timing.

The first message from the hearing arrived four days later.

Merrow and Jalen had reached their lodging safely.

The proceedings had begun.

Mary brought the letter to the small sitting room where Evelyn and I were eating lunch.

She waited until I had put down my spoon.

“Both have given their first testimony.”

“How did it go?”

“Merrow says the room was cold.”

I waited.

Mary glanced down.

“She says the clerk was patient. Jalen was allowed to sit.”

“And Voss?”

“Present.”

There was more beneath it.

An account from the accompanying clerk, written in narrow, careful lines.

Voss’s advocate had asked Merrow whether Greykeep paid her.

She had answered yes.

He had asked whether she held a position granted by its king.

She had answered yes again.

Then he had asked whether she felt gratitude toward me.

Mary paused.

“What did she say?” Evelyn asked.

Mary read.

“‘He opened the gate. That is why I can be here to answer you.’”

I looked down at my bowl.

For a while, nobody spoke.

The advocate had continued.

Merrow had answered what she knew, corrected him twice, and refused to guess how many company wagons had remained in Bellcross after she fled.

Jalen had described the western lane.

The blocked exits.

The bench fittings he had seen before the fires.

When asked for an exact date, he had said he could not give one. He remembered the work because he had complained about the poor timber.

A wheelwright’s account placed the delivery within the same week.

“The court accepted the certified records for examination,” Mary said. “The challenge to their handling failed.”

“Good.”

It was a small word for the relief I felt.

“There is no decision yet.”

“I know.”

“More witnesses tomorrow.”

Evelyn reached for the letter.

“May we write back tonight?”

Mary handed it over.

At the bottom, beneath the formal account, Jalen had added a line in a different hand.

The lodging door sticks in damp weather. I have asked before fixing it.

I laughed unexpectedly.

Evelyn read it and smiled.

“Eleanor will approve.”

We wrote back after dinner.

Evelyn told them about the washhouse and the first families moving into the next completed row of homes.

I told Jalen that Eleanor wanted to know whether the sticking door was a hinge problem or a swollen frame.

Then I stopped.

“What?” Evelyn asked.

“I keep trying to think of something useful to say.”

She looked at the page.

“You have.”

“About a door.”

“He wrote to you about a door.”

That was true.

I added that Bellcross’s school letter had arrived safely, and Abigail’s class was preparing a reply.

Then I wrote that their rooms would be ready whenever they returned.

I left it there.

Evelyn sanded the ink.

Our elbows touched as she leaned across the desk.

“You are taking up most of the table,” she said.

“I am the king.”

“I have seen the charter. It does not specify elbow room.”

I moved my arm.

She kissed my cheek as payment.

It seemed a reasonable arrangement.

Melody came home the next evening.

She had a bag of dried mushrooms for Beatrice, a repaired strap on her cloak, and a story about her mother stealing a pie.

I had not expected the last part.

“An entire pie?” I asked.

“A large one.”

We were sitting near the kitchen garden while the light faded. Evelyn had brought tea. Mary had brought correspondence and, under pressure from the rest of us, set it aside.

“She was fourteen,” Melody said. “Apparently the trader had refused to pay her brother for unloading his wagon.”

“So she took payment?”

“She took the pie. Then gave half of it to the trader’s wife.”

Mary lowered her cup.

“Why?”

“She said anyone married to him deserved something sweet.”

Evelyn laughed first.

Melody followed.

I had heard her laugh hundreds of times, usually at my expense.

This one lingered.

“Who told you?” I asked.

“The wife.”

That finished the rest of us.

When the laughter eased, Melody took the wooden rabbit from her pouch and set it on the bench.

“She remembered this too. My mother bought it with the first money she earned guiding a caravan.”

She turned it gently.

“One ear was crooked even then.”

“Are you glad you went?” Evelyn asked.

Melody nodded.

Then she looked at us.

“I told them about Greykeep.”

“Did you mention the king’s military brilliance?” I asked.

“I mentioned the sheep.”

Mary had to put her tea down.

The days grew warmer.

Work began earlier in the mornings. Windows stayed open through supper. The market acquired a flower seller, though her stock depended heavily on what her sons could find along the southern hedges.

I bought a small bunch on my way back from inspecting the bridge approach.

By the time I reached Evelyn, three blossoms had lost their petals.

She accepted them as though they had come from an imperial garden.

“Did you carry these all the way up?”

“Yes.”

“You could have asked someone for paper.”

“I discovered that too late.”

She found a narrow jug and arranged them on her desk.

One bent sideways.

She left it.

That evening, I found the fallen petals pressed between two sheets of scrap parchment.

I did not mention it.

My birthday was nine days away when Garrick came through the gate carrying a fishing rod.

I stared at him.

He looked at me.

“Do you have an hour?”

“I think so.”

“Find out.”

Ten minutes later, Evelyn sent me out of the council room with my coat.

Garrick had brought a second rod.

We walked to a quiet stretch of river below the city, accompanied at a respectful distance by two guards who appeared pleased with the assignment.

For a while, we caught nothing.

Garrick seemed content.

I began to understand that fish might not be the point.

“Helena says you are trying to keep the birthday small,” he said.

“A supper.”

“She has accepted that.”

“That sounds reassuring.”

“She has strong views about how much can happen at a supper.”

I watched my line.

“Should I be worried?”

“No.”

He paused.

“You should eat lightly beforehand.”

Across the river, a bird landed on a low branch and shook itself.

Garrick adjusted his grip.

“Evelyn used to insist on choosing my birthday gifts herself.”

“What did she choose?”

“A stone, once.”

“A good stone?”

“Very smooth.”

“Do you still have it?”

He looked mildly offended.

“Of course.”

I smiled.

“She told me you kept every letter she sent when she first came here.”

“I did.”

“Even the unfavorable ones?”

“Especially those. They were more informative.”

I glanced at him.

He was watching the water.

After a moment, he added, “They became less informative toward the end.”

“How so?”

“More about whether you had eaten. Less about whether your walls could withstand a siege.”

I felt myself smiling again.

Garrick noticed.

He let me.

Then my float vanished.

I pulled too quickly, tangled the line around the end of the rod, and lost whatever had been considering the bait.

Garrick watched the result.

“We shall begin with that,” he said.

Evelyn was in our rooms when I returned.

She looked up from her book.

“Did you catch anything?”

“Your father has identified several areas for improvement.”

“That sounds successful.”

I sat beside her.

For a moment, I simply watched the fire.

Then I said, “Caroline used to make a terrible fuss about my birthday.”

Evelyn closed the book.

I had not planned to say it.

The words had been with me since the river.

“She always woke me too early. Even when we were old enough to know better.”

“Did you do the same to her?”

“Worse.”

Evelyn smiled.

I told her about a cake that had leaned, about Caroline insisting the candles were arranged incorrectly, about one birthday when rain had ruined every plan and we had stayed inside doing almost nothing.

I remembered being disappointed at the time.

Now I would have given a great deal for an hour of it.

My voice faltered.

Evelyn took my hand.

We sat quietly until I could continue.

“I am looking forward to this one,” I said.

“You’re allowed.”

“I know. I just wish I could tell her.”

Evelyn leaned against me.

“What would you tell her?”

I looked around our rooms.

The flowers.

The little wooden house.

The horse beside it.

My wife’s book resting open on her lap, one finger still marking the page.

“That I’m all right.”

My throat tightened again.

“That there are people here.”

Evelyn’s hand closed more firmly around mine.

After a while, she asked, “Would you like to write it?”

“She wouldn’t receive it.”

“No.”

I thought about that.

Then I nodded.

Evelyn brought paper from the desk and sat beside me while I tried to find a beginning.

Eventually, I wrote her name.

The next line came more easily.

You would like her.

Evelyn read it over my shoulder.

She did not say anything.

She only moved a little closer while I told my sister about my wife.

Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!