Holding to that hope he ate the last of the steaks, cleaned both plate and pan, and walked out to the old barn. The supply wagon was waiting, the four horses harnessed. Finbarr’s youngest brother, Killon, was waiting there.
‘You want company for the trip?’ asked the young man.
‘That would be good,’ said Kaelin, knowing that Killon was wooing a Black Mountain girl, the daughter of a widow who ran a small laundry in the centre of town.
With Killon beside him Kaelin eased off the foot brake and slapped the reins to the backs of the horses. They pushed into the traces and the empty wagon rolled forward on the long road to the Black Mountain settlement.
‘Be careful if you plan to tackle Grassman,’ warned Killon, as they got onto the open road. ‘You don’t want to be shooting any Varlish.’ He grinned as he said it.
‘I didn’t bring my pistols,’ said Kaelin.
‘It’ll do no good to report him to the beetlebacks. A crook the man may be, but he has friends in high places. Captain Ranaud, for one. He’s a cold, hard man.’
‘I’ll just speak to him,’ said Kaelin. ‘I’m sure he’ll see the error of his ways.’
The problem had begun several weeks ago, when Kaelin checked out the sacks on the wagon, and found the supplies did not tally with the check list. It was Finbarr who had brought them in. ‘It is always the same,’ Finbarr told him. ‘The trader, Grassman, is a thief. His weights are crooked and he does not allow anyone to stand by and count the sacks as they are loaded. He will say that no highlander can enter his yard. We’re all thieves, apparently.
When the wagon is brought out it is always one or two sacks short. But what can we do? The last Highlander to complain to the beetlebacks found that Grassman refused to sell him supplies. There is no other dealer in salt, white sugar and dried fruit in Black Mountain. One man tried to set up a business, but he was thrashed by friends of Grassman, and quit the town.’
‘I’ll go in for the next supplies,’ Kaelin had said.
It was a pleasant ride into town. The sky was clear, but the breeze carried promise of autumn, cool and fresh. The track they followed made for easy travel, though in winter it would be hazardous, Kaelin knew, for it dipped sharply as they came to the valley in which the town was situated. In winter supplies would be brought in by pack ponies, adding greatly to the price of sugar, salt, and other essentials.
Black Mountain was not a large settlement. Fewer than a thousand people lived there, the stone houses clustered around the river and the three mills. From the high trail the first building to be seen was the fort and barracks, housing the two hundred beetlebacks. It was constructed in a great square, with a parade ground and an inner keep. The keep was stone built, a large round tower with no windows for the first twenty feet. There were slits, known as ‘murder holes’, through which musketeers could shoot at any attacking force. The outer walls of the fort were of timber. They were not high – no more than twelve feet – but a deep trench had been dug around the perimeter, and entry to the barracks was across a drawbridge. It was an old fort, built to withstand the attacks of sword-wielding clansmen. A modern army, equipped with cannon, would blast away the walls in minutes.
Killon was whistling one of Jaim’s songs as they eased the wagon down the final slope, crossing the first of the river bridges.
‘Will she be expecting you?’ asked Kaelin.
‘No, I’ll surprise her.’ Killon was a slender young man, slightly round-shouldered, and though he was only in his early twenties his hair was thinning at the crown. He had an honest, open face, and a quick, nervous smile. ‘We’re going to Walk the Tree at the Winter Feast.’
Kaelin found himself thinking of Chara, and envying Killon Ustal’s happiness.
At the town’s outskirts Killon leapt down, and, with a wave, set off at a lope down one of the narrow cobbled streets. Kaelin rode on to the warehouse. Stepping down from the empty wagon he handed one of Grassman’s loaders his order sheet and allowed the man to drive the wagon through the gates. He waited until the man returned, the wagon full, then checked the contents. Then he climbed the wooden steps to the ramshackle office occupied by Arus Grassman.