hug, taking a few extra seconds before facing Mama’s inevitable assault.
I sank into my chair and threw my hat at the rack and missed and didn’t give a damn. My joints ached, my head was stuffed with cotton, and I was thinking it was time to remind one and all whose hospitality it was they were abusing.
“Where I’ve been is working. Same for my associate. She answers to me, and I don’t answer to anybody. She and I are going to drink a beer. You can have one, or you can not, or you can leave. But I’m not about to be yelled at or have my staff yelled at by the general public. Is that clear?”
Mama made strangled snuffling noises, but stood her ground.
“Gertriss, our beverages. And bring the folding chair for our guest. If she’s staying. Are you staying, Mama?”
Mama surprised me. “You knows I am, boy. And, boy, I reckon I’ll have one of them fancy beers. Seein’ as we’re all drinking to excess these days.”
I heard glass tinkle as Gertriss pulled another Biltot out of the icebox.
“I didn’t know you liked beer, Mama.”
“I reckon there’s lots you don’t know about me, boy.” Gertriss came in, beers and chair filling her hands, and Mama helped her without a word, save for a single “thank ye” that was neither dripping with sarcasm nor delivered in a hiss between clenched gums.
“Mama’s being polite, Gertriss. I think we’re in for some bad news.”
“That you are, boy. Miss. I reckon your boss has done told ye about the Sprangs?”
Gertriss nodded. She hadn’t touched her beer. Mama guffawed and drained a quarter of hers in one loud draught.
“This ain’t half bad.” Mama wiped her lips. “Go on, drink it. It ain’t like you’re a little ’un no more.”
Gertriss nodded and took a sip.
“I done wrong, to both of you,” said Mama. “I told things I hadn’t ought to have told. I done it thinkin’ I was protecting you, niece. I didn’t have no way of knowing it would bring them Sprangs all the way here, to do what they come to do.”
I shut my mouth by filling it with beer.
“Mr. Markhat knows you didn’t mean any harm.”
Mama took another expert swig of my uptown beer. “And what about you, child of my sister? You have a right to be angry. And a right to say so.”
Gertriss clenched her beer so hard her knuckles went white and shook her head.
“You didn’t kill anyone, Mama. I did that. That’s why they came.”
“We both knows why you kilt that man, child. Neither of us blames you.”
I nodded. “He had it coming. I’d have killed him myself, had I been there.”
Gertriss was shaking. She couldn’t speak. I wasn’t surprised—she’d been with me for more than a year, and we’d never discussed this in any but the most oblique terms. Getting it out wasn’t going to be easy.
“I still can’t believe I ever agreed to marry…him.” She spoke in a whisper, after a long bout of shaking. “I never…loved him. But all the other girls were married, and there weren’t many men left, and I’d given up on coming to Rannit, did you know that, Mama? I hated Pot Lockney. Hated the pigs. Hated it all—but I was afraid. Afraid of leaving. Isn’t that stupid?”
“No, child, not at all,” said Mama. Her voice had no rasp, no bluster. “I was afraid too. They sold me to a tinker. Did you know that? Nine years old, and sold to a man my grandfather’s age, because I was stunted, and had the Sight. I really ought to send a pox upon them.”
Gertriss laughed despite herself. I raised an eyebrow at Mama. She didn’t respond, so for all I know that story was the truth.
“So when Harald started coming around, I went out walking with him. I knew what he was. I’d heard the stories. But he was sweet. Brought me flowers. Said I was pretty.”
“He was right about that,” I said.
Mama shushed me with a glare.
“He said he’d buy us a farm. Said I could raise the swine, and he’d herd the cattle. Said we’d have a big fine log house and two
I sank into my chair and threw my hat at the rack and missed and didn’t give a damn. My joints ached, my head was stuffed with cotton, and I was thinking it was time to remind one and all whose hospitality it was they were abusing.
“Where I’ve been is working. Same for my associate. She answers to me, and I don’t answer to anybody. She and I are going to drink a beer. You can have one, or you can not, or you can leave. But I’m not about to be yelled at or have my staff yelled at by the general public. Is that clear?”
Mama made strangled snuffling noises, but stood her ground.
“Gertriss, our beverages. And bring the folding chair for our guest. If she’s staying. Are you staying, Mama?”
Mama surprised me. “You knows I am, boy. And, boy, I reckon I’ll have one of them fancy beers. Seein’ as we’re all drinking to excess these days.”
I heard glass tinkle as Gertriss pulled another Biltot out of the icebox.
“I didn’t know you liked beer, Mama.”
“I reckon there’s lots you don’t know about me, boy.” Gertriss came in, beers and chair filling her hands, and Mama helped her without a word, save for a single “thank ye” that was neither dripping with sarcasm nor delivered in a hiss between clenched gums.
“Mama’s being polite, Gertriss. I think we’re in for some bad news.”
“That you are, boy. Miss. I reckon your boss has done told ye about the Sprangs?”
Gertriss nodded. She hadn’t touched her beer. Mama guffawed and drained a quarter of hers in one loud draught.
“This ain’t half bad.” Mama wiped her lips. “Go on, drink it. It ain’t like you’re a little ’un no more.”
Gertriss nodded and took a sip.
“I done wrong, to both of you,” said Mama. “I told things I hadn’t ought to have told. I done it thinkin’ I was protecting you, niece. I didn’t have no way of knowing it would bring them Sprangs all the way here, to do what they come to do.”
I shut my mouth by filling it with beer.
“Mr. Markhat knows you didn’t mean any harm.”
Mama took another expert swig of my uptown beer. “And what about you, child of my sister? You have a right to be angry. And a right to say so.”
Gertriss clenched her beer so hard her knuckles went white and shook her head.
“You didn’t kill anyone, Mama. I did that. That’s why they came.”
“We both knows why you kilt that man, child. Neither of us blames you.”
I nodded. “He had it coming. I’d have killed him myself, had I been there.”
Gertriss was shaking. She couldn’t speak. I wasn’t surprised—she’d been with me for more than a year, and we’d never discussed this in any but the most oblique terms. Getting it out wasn’t going to be easy.
“I still can’t believe I ever agreed to marry…him.” She spoke in a whisper, after a long bout of shaking. “I never…loved him. But all the other girls were married, and there weren’t many men left, and I’d given up on coming to Rannit, did you know that, Mama? I hated Pot Lockney. Hated the pigs. Hated it all—but I was afraid. Afraid of leaving. Isn’t that stupid?”
“No, child, not at all,” said Mama. Her voice had no rasp, no bluster. “I was afraid too. They sold me to a tinker. Did you know that? Nine years old, and sold to a man my grandfather’s age, because I was stunted, and had the Sight. I really ought to send a pox upon them.”
Gertriss laughed despite herself. I raised an eyebrow at Mama. She didn’t respond, so for all I know that story was the truth.
“So when Harald started coming around, I went out walking with him. I knew what he was. I’d heard the stories. But he was sweet. Brought me flowers. Said I was pretty.”
“He was right about that,” I said.
Mama shushed me with a glare.
“He said he’d buy us a farm. Said I could raise the swine, and he’d herd the cattle. Said we’d have a big fine log house and two
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