Tuesday Tidbit: Jerwood Town

Harald and his charges arrive at the next job.

Before they departed the temple, Harald sought out the temple’s record keeper. “Does the Lady of Light have any wood claim north or east of Jerwood?”

The priest clerk tapped her nose, then held up the finger. She disappeared between shelves, one leg dragging. He heard rustling, and she returned with a rolled, tanned hide. He held one side as she unrolled it on the table, then set four heavy leather bags on the ends. Her right arm and hand moved as awkwardly as her leg. She met his eyes and tapped two red-shaded places. He leaned close and studied the map.

Jerwood sat on a small hill with forest on three sides. Grey marked the lands belonging to the Scavenger’s temple, red for Rella, solid light green for Korvaal and dotted green well to the east and north marked the boundary of Valdher’s lands. All cultivated fields fell under Gember’s hand, and Donwah owned the waters. Besides the Gheel, well south of the town, he saw four streams that flowed into the main river. Hills began east of the woods and flowed off the edge of the map. He memorized the rough locations, then studied one little area. “Ma’am, might I have a little more light?”

She smiled with half her face and bright a mage-light closer. “Thank you.” Both Donwah and the Scavenger claimed a spot not far from where Jormund had described a possible mill site. Harald frowned to himself. Salt spring? Or something less good? He would have to ask. Count Ealdred had not studied the maps properly. Or was he one who planned to violate the laws and then pay forfeit later while claiming ignorance?

Harald straightened up, trying not to twitch as his lower back reminded him of age and lifting one heavy beam too many. “Thank you. That answers many questions.” She smiled once more, again only half her face moving, then rolled the hide and returned it to the shelves. He left another small offering and departed.

The Lamp had crossed the peak of the sky when Toglos asked, “Did you learn what you sought, sir?”

“Aye. Our employer overestimated how much land is his alone. And there is a place on the stream Jormund recommended that has claims from both m’ Lord Scavenger and the Lady of Waters.”

The journeyman stared at the way ahead of them. After they rounded a bend in the road, he asked, “Spring, sir?”

“Don’t know. The map keeper is god-struck, has understanding but not speech.”

Toglos made Korvaal’s sign. “Ah.”

They reached Jerwood with a hand of light left before the gates closed. A low wooden wall or high fence marked the edge of the town, with a much sturdier and elaborate red and grey gate of stone and baked stone where a branch of the road entered the town. Toglos urged the four boys into a line of sorts as they and a few others waited for a small group of schaef and two great hauler carts to depart. The gate did not allow for passage both ways at the same time. Why not? Harald saved the question for later. Perhaps the builder had run out of materials or funds, and preferred a smaller but more ornate entry than a large, plain one. He’d seen houses and shops like that.

One of the guards, a man past middle age and slightly stoop-shouldered, beckoned. Harald gestured to Toglos and the others as he pulled his seal out of its pouch. “Master Harald Tolson, called Halfpaw, here under contract to build a new grist mill for Count Ealdred. With my journeyman Toglos Ahlson, and apprentices for Leofric.”

The guard took Harald’s seal and studied it. A second man in slightly finer clothes joined him. The seal glowed for a moment, then faded. The scribe nodded twice and bustled back to inspecting a seal imprint on what looked like a very small bale of fleeces. The guard returned the seal. “Enter, Master Harald. I’d recommend staying at the Green Vulpen or the Paired Wheels for now. We,” he waved at the other guards, all busy doing their jobs, “will inform Lord Ealdred that you are here. Master Leofric’s workshop is outside the town, but he keeps space on Well Street, two doors east of the Golden Plane.”

“Green Vulpen or Paired Wheels, and Wall Street near the Golden Plane. Thank ye, and Marsdaam smooth yer road.”

“Radmar turn His Wheel in yer favor.” He gestured for them to pass, and Harald and Toglos guided the quartet of apprentices through the gateway and down a street almost as broad as the road they had just left.

Everything looked almost new, the wood only a few years weathered, paint still bright on signs and walls. All the heavy building beams hid behind plaster, and at least one building in each cluster sported a roof of baked clay or grey plate stone. He nodded. Wise to start thus, limiting the spread of fire if anything of man could. Scents of cooking, spilled wine and beer, a whiff of earth coal, wood smoke, and a bit of dung reached his nose, the smells of a town. Tanners must be well away from the place, since it lacked flowing water within the borders. Or had the count and temples ordered that no tanning be done yet? It wasn’t his problem unless it made leather and boot repair too dear.

“That must be the Green Vulpen, sir,” Toglos said, chuckling as he pointed with the top of his staff to the wall painting on white plaster over a door.

“Aye.” The creature, dog-like but heavier and with longer claws, bore a coat the green of a good schaef meadow in late spring. A brilliant red tongue hung from jaws filled with bright white fangs. “We stay here.”

“Yes, sir.”

Harald went in through the open door of the inn. He waited for his eyes to settle in the dimmer light. “Aye? Ye want ale, ale and food, or just a doss for the night?” a man asked from off to the right. Harald turned that way, and saw a man so thin that Harald’s own travel staff carried more flesh.

“Small beer for four, ale for two, food, and space this night and the next, perhaps longer for two.” He’d need to find sleeping space closer to the work site, once work truly began. He could not walk so far when the Dancers came to him.

The man tapped beside his nose, then nodded once. “Can do. Got space up the stairs, not usin’ it for storage now. Back of the chimney makes one wall. You got bedding and blankets?”

“Aye.”

“Maude!” the man called, looking over his shoulder. A young woman almost as thin as the man emerged from behind a half-door. “Six for upstairs. Show ’em the space, and the washin’ place.”

“Yes, Father.” Toglos and the boys had come in, and they all followed Maude up the stairs. She unlocked a door and opened it. He could just see a small room, clean and plain. “We store bedding and some food here in the summer, when we have fewer guests,” she said.

Harald nodded, and the boys happily shed packs and cloaks. It wasn’t truly warm, but it wasn’t as cold as night in the open had been.

“The wash buckets are here,” she said, pointing to four in the corner. “I’ll fill them now, so you have them later. Town rules are don’t toss water out the window. It goes in the gutter when fires are uncovered. The night soil boxes are there,” a corner with worn-out blankets around it. “A collector will get them when you leave in the morning. There’s also jakes in the courtyard for evenin’ and mornin’, before the doors lock at cover-the-fire time.”

“Thank you. Do guests have fire duty in the walls?”

“Only after a week’s stay, once you learn the place. Until then, if there’s a call of fire, stay here, out of the way, unless the fire’s within two buildings distance of the inn, please, sir.”

That was different, but sounded sensible. Harald nodded. “We’ll do that. Thank ye, and may Marsdaam smooth yer path.”

“Radmar turn the Wheel in your favor, sir, and food will be ready in the common room soon.” Maud dropped a small curtsy and hurried off.

Harald and Toglos let the boys pick their places. They all set their packs as close to the wide stone chimney as possible, well away from the door. Bedding followed. By right, he should have claimed the warmest spot, but Harald preferred to be between apprentices and the exit. Not that any of them had shown signs of seeking out trouble, but some habits were best preserved. Toglos knew better than to wander, especially in a strange town at the start of winter. He’d heard about Ceol’s fellow journeyman, back in the day. The watch tended to thump first, then ask strangers their business and why they were not indoors like proper men.

As he’d hoped, once the boys ate and had two tankards of small beer, they began yawning and trying to fall asleep at the table. Harald made sure they got to the chamber, then had a second tankard of ale. The ale wife had added something warming, perhaps a bit of ground spice root, to the batch. Harald watched without watching the men coming and going around him. They all wore the clothes of craftsmen in the trades, although none wore a master’s chain. He shrugged and sipped. He didn’t wear one, either. He wasn’t one of the trade lords of the northern cities. Several of the men gave him curious glances, but no one spoke or scowled in his direction. He drank the rest of his ale, left a quarter silver for Maude, and visited the jakes before going to bed.

(C) 2024 Alma T. C. Boykin All Rights Reserved