Chapter 4: Silent Inn

chapter 4 already! another mostly serious one...don't worry, i'll write a funny one soon

anyway, here goes nothing!

Silent Inn

Silent Inn did not live up to its name. First off, it wasn’t an inn at all, but a tavern, the biggest and most respectable drinking establishment in the town of Birkley, in the county of Brikhamshire. Secondly, it was nowhere near silent. With hours ranging from before sunrise to far past sunset, and usually staying open on holidays, someone was always there. This was where men and women, young and old, would gather to share news, discuss whatever was on their minds, meet with friends and family, and most importantly, to drink. Beer and ale were served in equal abundance as tea and coffee; other drinks, such as wine, whiskey, and ale, were also available, as well as delicious food homemade by the proprietor’s wife, Millie Dorin, whom many affectionately called Aunt Millie.

There was always something to discuss; even if the only thing to talk about was the weather, they would come and talk. Today it was averagely full, for there had been few interesting tidbits of news recently, other than the funeral, and that topic had been pushed around quite a bit. The continuous drone of voices, punctuated by occasional bouts of laughter, filled the room today.

“Oy, where’s Jed today?”

“Didn’t you ‘ear? He’s down with summat ‘er other. His wife won’t let him out o’ the house.”

“Ah, a shame that is. Who’s gonna feed ‘is pigs?”

“His wife, o’ course!” This brought a few chuckles, which for the slightly drunken fellows meant a loud guffaw.

At a table across the room, the discussion was different, if no less humorous to those in the near vicinity.

“So I says to him, if you want the meat, you kill the pig!” Three of the women at the table broke into helpless laughter, and many of the rest chuckled for a minute or so.

At the bar, a small crowd surrounded a man who was telling a stupendously funny joke.

“And then the man says, ‘Hope you’re okay, sir, cuz that dog sure aint!!’” Everyone around him broke into uproarious laughter, some leaning on the counter for support, tears streaming down their faces.

At a small table, near to the middle of the big room, a slightly more serious conversation was taking place.

“Stephen, you’re shanorte ceremony is…next week, isn’t it?”

“Aye, Owan. Seventeen on Adulya next.” Shanorte, meaning “adult” in the ancient tongue, signified a youth’s coming of age. 17 was when youths became adults. Women were of marriageable age, and men, with the master’s approval, could end their apprenticeship and start their own business if they felt so inclined, or perhaps partner with the former master. The ceremony took place on the person’s birthday, and rarely were there double ceremonies; people with the same birthday tended to be different ages.

“Got yer eye on any fair maiden?” said Trevorr, who was 18 already, and married.

Stephen O’Connor only grunted. In fact, he did have his eyes on someone. Marie, daughter of Lord Richard. He had met her several years ago, when she came into town with her father. After that fateful encounter, he took every chance he got to see her. As a blacksmith, he was asked to shoe Lord Richard’s horses on occasion. And, on occasion, Marie came with the horses to assist with the shoeing. She would talk with him, and they gradually became friends. But a strange feeling lurked always in the depths of Stephen’s heart. He could not describe it, but whenever he saw Marie, his heart fluttered with joy, and when she smiled or laughed, it nearly flew from his chest. And whenever she left, his heart sank just a little.

He knew of Philip, and knew that Marie liked him. This made him a bit jealous, but seeing that smile on her face, even if it wasn’t for him, lifted his spirits. But the day she came into town wearing the black of mourning and with her hair cut short, along with her father who bore news of a funeral, his heart fell deep within his chest. What had happened, to make her so sad? Her eyes lost their spark, and her face was downcast. When the story was told in full, he understood: Philip, along with three other men who were acting as guard for Lord Richard, had fallen in a bandit’s attack.

They had the same birthday, Marie and Stephen. The Shanorte Ceremony would have been a double for the first time in five years. But now, with Marie in mourning, she would not have a Shanorte. She would not even consider marriage until her mourning was over, and only she knew how long that would be.

“She looks at Stephen with those liquid fawn eyes…anyone would fall for that gaze. She’s obviously smitten.” Stephen was suddenly brought back from his brooding. “What?” His obliviousness brought several chuckles, then Owan, the village healer, explained.

“We were just talkin’ about Rachel O’er-the-hill. If you haven’t noticed, she has her eyes on you.”

“Huh. I didn’t notice.” He sipped at his drink thoughtfully.

“Hah! Right. You didn’t notice her fawnin’ looks in yer direction?” A fourth man at the table, John, interjected loudly.

Defensively, Stephen responded, “No, I didn’t.”

John backed off, saying, with not a little hint of sarcasm, “Right. Okay. Whatever you say, Stephen.” Picking up his drink, he took a long draught, then said, “I mean, it’s not like I notice when pretty girls make eyes at me.” He ducked as a handful of peanuts flew at him. “Alright, alright! I’ll stop!” he managed to say through his chuckling.

Stephen sat back, glaring at John. They were friends, John and Stephen, since childhood. John was far more outgoing than Stephen, but Stephen stuck up for him when he got into trouble, which was often. He had not admitted to John of his feelings for Marie, but he knew that when he did, John would keep it all secret. He was not the type to betray someone’s trust; though he was outspoken, he most definitely was not a gossip.

The conversation drifted off onto other subjects, but Stephen’s attention was elsewhere. The other men at the table noticed that and respected his silence, though they could not help but draw him in on certain inside jokes. Stephen laughed with them when they wanted him to laugh, but mostly he drank his ale, green eyes staring into nothingness. He stared, and thought. He would tell John soon, but not yet. For now, he wanted to think about these feelings. Think, and wait on the lady.