The Scarlett Inn

A faux-medieval tale that I wrote for my fiction class last semester. I hope to use this as a prologue to a larger fantasy novel.

On my thirteenth birthday, Hops presented me with a dagger, his mud brown eyes uncomfortably avoiding contact with my own.  He scratched at his greying beard nervously as I took the simple, shiny blade from his hands.

“Keep it out of sight, but easily accessible,” he warned.

I nodded, closely examining the dagger with eager eyes. The handle was practical, carved simply from ebony. The slender steel blade shone in the candlelight.  It was light in my hand.

“Not the ideal gift for a young girl, but necessary for one so pretty,” Hops continued, looking only at the blade.

I knew what he meant, but I saw no reason for his embarrassment. When my mother left me at the Scarlett Inn, I was only six years old. Hops hired me on in exchange for room and board. He was curious but he never asked me where I came from or why my mother left me. I think he assumed she was a prostitute or some other unwed mother. His guess was as good as mine.

Hops was a good man, with a kind heart and a generous nature, even if he wished it were otherwise. At first I did small jobs, like washing and refilling glasses, sweeping the floor, and washing the windows, but in time Hops trusted me the art of brewing his ales. As I grew older, the men tipped me more when I smiled at them, and sat on their laps. I was a barmaid, but I could sense the direction my career was taking. Hops never stopped them, needing their gold more than a clean conscience. He was my employer, not my father. I never blamed him.

“Don’t ever let them hurt you, Aislin.”

“Thank you, Hops, really, but I can take care of myself,” I replied. I thought the dagger was lovely, but I never intended to use it, at least, not the way Hops meant. I always felt safe at the Scarlett Inn. Being located just outside of Bittercress, one of the smallest towns for days, our customers consisted of mostly travelers, merchants and hunters. Thorne was a sizable kingdom, and Bittercress was lucky to show up on any decent maps, but the Inn always attracted good people in need of good food and good company.

To appease Hops, I kept the dagger in my boot until I was fifteen and then I started wearing it in a leather holster attached to my garter. By then men were paying for more than my smiles and I was grateful for the gold they supplied.

One night, in the thick of spring, a group of hunters came to stay. Four of them were regulars that came every year from Bittercress. They were jovial men who loved to tell long, exaggerated tales of their hunting trips and sexual exploits. A fifth man joined us that evening, a traveler from Gallberry.  He listened to the exaggerated, bawdy tales, but he drank more than he spoke.

I went around the table, pouring ale into their mugs, flirting with each man; leaning too far over the table, touching their arms, laughing at their jokes.

“Aislin, my dear, you grow more beautiful each day,” commented the butcher, who went hunting to stock his shop.

“He’s right,” jumped in his partner, a tanner who used the skins for leather products, “Fairer than any girl I’ve ever seen.”

The traveler, quite drunk by this point, slammed his mug on the table, ale sloshing out the top.

“I’d like to have my way wi’ther,” he slurred, “Show her a thing o’two about real men…”

Drunken men always reveal their true characters. Unoffended, I put my hands on my hips.

“And you think you’re qualified for the job?” I asked.

The butcher erupted into big, bellowing peals of laughter.

“You better watch your tongue about her!” he warned, “Aislin’s pretty as a doll but she’s as fierce as a wildcat! Everyone in these parts knows she keeps a dagger tucked away for fellers who try to take advantage!”

I nodded, slamming my right foot on the nearest stool. I pulled my skirts up to reveal the dagger that was fastened to my bare thigh. I made direct eye contact with the traveler and winked salaciously. His face reddened and he looked away.

“Men can pay but they must do as I say,” I recited, much to the enjoyment of the hunters.

“And if they don’t have to deal with Hops,” the butcher continued excitedly, “And gods have mercy on your soul if it ever comes to that! Right, Hops?”

Hops simply grunted as he polished his own knife. The hunters burst into uproarious laughter and I giggled.

“Just be glad someone warned you so quickly,” I whispered playfully into his ear before retreating into the kitchen.

The Inn had steady but calm business through the rest of spring and through the scorching summer, nothing too exciting until one autumn night; a traveling singer came to town.  He was an effeminate boy, older than me but not a man fully grown. He had hair to his shoulders and pale blue eyes reminiscent of winter sky.

I poured him a pint and sat next to him, eager to hear his stories. He spoke of villages and towns I’d never even heard of, landscapes I could only dream of and people I longed to meet. He claimed to have sung for the lower members of court only a fortnight ago.

“The women were pretty, although not as pretty as you,” he said with a wink, “And the men were handsome and noble, wearing only the latest fashions! Ladies and men alike wear vibrant dresses and dance every day, stopping only to drink! Would you like to see it someday, what’s your name?”

I laughed. Court sounded like a mystical place, but not a place for me. I wouldn’t know what to do with myself. I didn’t remember much of anything from before I came to the Scarlett Inn and I’d never travelled farther than Herring, which was only two days’ ride away.

“Aislin.”

“I’m Corbin Sweetreble.”

“Your mother gave you that name, did she?” I mocked.

“She might as well have,” he replied with a grin. He jumped out of his seat, and twirled theatrically before bowing in front of me, “Shall I sing for you, milady?”

“I’m no lady.”

“I’ll sing just the same,” he smiled.

He had the sweetest singing voice I had ever heard; soft and delicate as a young child’s. There were moments during the ballad that I was sure he was singing higher than I ever could. Once he finished he explained that he was a countertenor, meaning that he could sing as high as most women. Corbin was fascinating, but Hops didn’t like him.

“There’s something unnatural about him,” he grumbled. He wasn’t wrong but I didn’t mind. The next morning, Corbin followed me around like a puppy while I did my chores. He seemed eager to have someone to listen to him as intently as I did. He talked and talked and talked about his family, his travels and his music.

“Hops is a bit of a surly gentleman, isn’t he? Is he your father?”

“No he isn’t, but you leave him alone. He’s a good man. He lost his wife in childbirth before I was even born, never remarried. He’s rough around the edges but he’s soft as goose down inside. Don’t tell him I told you,” I said with a laugh.

He followed me out to the stables which held more ale barrels than horses. I filled a giant pot with water and sat it on the fire. I needed it to boil before I started brewing more ale. It was a long process but I had to start somewhere.

“I used to travel with this fellow Glenn. He looked like an angel and played the harp better than one. But he ran off with Harmond Harmony a few towns back,” he said, his voice heavy with melancholy, “But I don’t miss him though. I sing better without him. He was too rigid with tempo.”

I nodded as I collected the malt and oats from the pantry, amused by how animated Corbin was while he told stories. I crushed the malt into a coarse powder while he talked about this beautiful partner he didn’t miss at all and then mixed it in with the oats.

“He’ll never be as successful with ole Harmony as he could have been with me though, that’s for certain. Harmony will only ever be known for his handsome face. His voice is puny.”

“I can only imagine. I’ve never even heard of Harmond Harmony and here I’ve heard all about you,” I replied suggestively. I poured a small amount of boiling water into the lauter tun, and the water vapor rose up in dancing billows.

“You bet your boots you have,” he continued, oblivious that I had been taunting him. While he prattled away about the various rivalries between travelling singers and balladeers, I poured all my malt and oat mixture onto to the water. I added more and more water until the mixture looked like a thick porridge. I put a lid on the pot and turned to Corbin.

“I have to let this sit for a while. Can I get you anything?”

“No nothing but as I was saying, the reason I’ve come here is to prove that I’m a better performer than Glenn and Harmond Harmony.”

“And how do you intend to that here?”

“I intend to sing for the Prince.”

I laughed, and wiped my hands on my apron.

“I’m serious, Aislin. He’s supposed to be coming here in only a matter of days.”

“Here? Where’s here?” I asked, suddenly curious. Did he mean the village of Wheatgrass, which was just under a day’s ride away and had no amenities to speak of? Or did he mean the sleepy town of Bittercress, which was barely made it on the maps?

“The Scarlett Inn, of course! Haven’t you heard the news? Prince Idris is making a journey across the kingdom, visiting small villages and towns, checking up on his people, throwing big feasts and parties. You know what they say about him? Once his father finally dies of the fever (God Rest His Majesty’s Soul), he’ll bring us into a golden age. You know why they say that?” he asked.

“I’ve heard things, from the men at the Inn. They say he’s both a scholar and a soldier.”

“He serves justice with an iron fist but tends to his people with a loving hand. He feeds the hungry, they say. They say he saved a baby from a burning house! He’s also incredibly handsome. I saw him once at court a few years back. Even though he was a distance away I could tell he was the handsomest man in all of Thorne!”

Ordinarily I would have blamed Corbin’s enthusiastic statements on his excitable personality but he wasn’t saying anything I hadn’t heard before. Could the Prince really be coming to the Scarlett Inn? I knew I had to tell Hops right away, he’d never forgive me if the Prince showed up and he wasn’t able to prepare.

Once Corbin and I told Hops, He immediately started barking orders.
“Aislin, I want you to scrub every corner of the largest room we have and clean the linens. I’m going to butcher another hog and start prepping the meat for dinner. Finish brewing the ale and then send word out to the villages that there will be a royal party here. Work fast. And Corbin, stay the hell out of the way.”

After cleaning the suite, I went back out to the ale and stirred the mixture. While the linens dried, I drained the wort from it and let it cool overnight. Hops and I were frantically cleaning the Inn up while also serving our regular customers. When morning came, I had to pitch yeast into the wort and shake and stir the mixture. I needed one more day to do things properly, but I didn’t have that kind of time. I went ahead and boiled my oak chips. I cheated, knowing that it didn’t make a noticeable difference, not once you were drunk anyway. If the Prince really did come to town and threw a party, we would be in need of more barrels of ale for after he left. Hops came to inspect my work.

“Aislin, listen, I want you to be careful when they arrive. Don’t look at me like that, girl, I’m serious. These men are soldiers; they aren’t like the men you’re used to. Promise me you’ll look after yourself.”

“Fine, I promise.”

The next day Prince Idris rode in with a party of fifteen companions, all fellow soldiers. I greeted them at the stables, offering to help them tend to their fine horses. The Prince dismounted his dapple grey stallion. He was young, barely on his twentieth year, with eyes the color of moss, dark hair and fine bone structure. I could see why the kingdom fancied him the way they did. He studied me for a moment before handing me the reigns to his horse and I led the rest of the men inside.

Within two hours the Scarlett Inn was the busiest I had ever seen it. The Prince feasted on the best stew Hops had ever made; pulled pork, carrots, potatoes, leeks, onions and spices with fresh bread and butter.

“Send another round all around, Mr. Hops!” The Prince cried, dropping an open coin purse on the bar, gold coins toppling out.

              His men had pushed many of the tables out of the way and were dancing with the eligible women and girls from nearby towns. Corbin, several pints of ale into the night, had abandoned his beautiful ballads and was now bellowing bawdy drinking songs. I sat my pitcher of ale on the bar and soaked up the festive sight.  I had never seen such a lively party; I was in awe of it. Efrin, the Prince’s right-hand man, leaned up against the bar, grinning at me like he knew some kind of delicious secret.

“I want you to dance with me.”

He’d been paying close attention to me all night, always staring and licking his lips. Every time I’d dart my gaze away, I’d catch the Prince smiling at me. The attention was flattering but I had promised Hops I would lie low and nothing about Efrin seemed quiet.

He extended his hand out to me. I couldn’t refuse without being rude, so I took his hand. There wasn’t a sober soul in the place. We didn’t talk while we danced, it was too loud and I doubted we had a single thing in common. When the song changed, he pulled me aside towards the open window. The night’s breeze was cooling.

“It’s awfully hot in here,” he said.

“I’ve never seen it so crowded!”

“I’ve barely noticed the crowd. I haven’t taken my eyes off of your all night,” Efrin cooed, running his fingers through my hair before cupping the left side of my face.

“You have the most beautiful face,” he said, “The prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen; the color of sapphires.”

“Thank you, sir,” I said, my blush genuine. Men weren’t just willing to pay for me; they were willing to earn me. I spent most nights being courted by men. They respected me in their own way, and I respected them. I should have been used to being appreciated, but compliments from lonely travelers are different than compliments from members of court.

He put his hand on my hip, pulling me toward him. I could smell the drink on his hot and moist breath on my neck.  His arm slipped around me, grabbing a fistful of my skirts.

“I’ve wanted you ever since I saw you,” he whispered. His grasp on me was inappropriately aggressive given our setting. “I’d pay as much as you’d like.”

I placed a hand on his chest, gently pressing him back.

“I’m flattered, truly, but should we not dance some more? I’d be a terrible hostess to leave such a party so soon and I-“

Efrin pushed me back too hard, causing me to trio over my own feet.

“I do what I want and what I want is to have some alone time with you,” he said, his tone low and firm. I looked up at him fearfully. I had clearly aggravated him. My next words had to be chosen carefully in order to gain control of situation again. Before I could speak, Prince Idris came up and laid a heavy hand on Efrin’s shoulder.

“What’s going on over here?” he asked. He had a calmness to him that was fitting for a future king. “Looks like someone has had too much drink, eh Efrin? Go dance it off.”

I looked past the Prince and saw Hops stowing away his own knife. He had been watching the whole time and had not liked what he had seen. The Prince placed a hand on my shoulder, smiling broadly.

“Sorry about him. He acts like he’s never seen a woman before just about every time he drinks,” he explained. I smiled, trying to regain composure. I rarely lost control of any situation and did not like the feel of it. “Although, Miss Aislin, a closer look at you and I can understand how one could feel as such. You are most beautiful.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” I replied, my cheeks flushed. “Care to dance?”

“Only if afterwards we go someplace quieter,” he said, taking my hands and leading me back to the dance. Any apprehensions I had about Efrin hardly seemed applicable to the Prince himself.

After we were good and winded and I was feeling drunk on the music and the Prince’s affections, he kissed my hand tenderly.

“And now, someplace quieter, perhaps?”

I nodded and lead him through the crowd toward the staircase that was against the back wall. Hops caught my eye as I headed that way.  He raised his eyebrows, clearly impressed. I grinned and he winked in response. I was, admittedly, a little nervous. I had done this countless times before over the years but never with someone as important. I doubted there was anyone more important in all the land.

I lead the Prince to the suite that I had prepared for him.  After lighting the candles on the wall, I let the heavy maroon curtains down.

“Is there anything I can get for you, Your Grace? More ale, water, anything?” I asked.

He merely shut the door behind him, shaking his head and unbuttoning his frockcoat. His directness surprised me but I took his frockcoat and hunt it on the hook behind the door. My usual ease, my natural flirtations had all left me. I felt awkward and unsure. One day, and one day quite soon this man would be a king. He was young and handsome; the most loved figure in the whole kingdom.

“I’ll admit, I was jealous when I saw you with Efrin. The most beautiful girl in the room should be dancing with me.”

“You should have asked me,” I replied, putting on my usual act the best I could; my hand on my hip, a slight smile on my lips.

“Perhaps,” he said quietly, not smiling. He approached me slowly, staring at me in a way that made me feel very small.

He grabbed my wrist and twisted me into him, pressing his mouth against mine. He tasted like stale ale and sweat. Grabbing the back of my head, he twisted his fingers in my hair. His other hand was on my arm, his fingers digging into my flesh. I pulled back gently, indicating that he was hurting me but he did not relent. I tried harder but this time he yanked my head back by my hair. I yelped.

“Are you trying to resist me?” he asked, his eyes blazing with clear excitement.

I shook my head the best I could. My eyes were watering from my hair being pulled so tightly.

“You’re hurting me,” I gasped. The corners of his mouth twitched upwards into a sadistic grin. I didn’t understand what was happening. He dragged me by my hair to the bed, and I struggled to keep my feet on the ground. Not once in sixteen years of life had anyone laid a malicious hand to me. Hops had never saw reason to discipline me and the only time customers had ever hurt me they either hadn’t meant to or I regained the upper hand. The butcher in the spring hadn’t exaggerated; Hops and I had a reputation and we upheld it.

“Take off your bodice.”

He commanded me with the air of a spoiled child rather than a future king. I hesitated. His seeming pleasure at my distress was causing panic to breed in my chest. My dagger felt red hot upon my thigh, as if it were searing through my skin to the bone. Never let them hurt you, Hops had said. The Prince slapped me across the face, sending me sprawling to the floor. While hunched over, I unsheathed my dagger, not thinking of the dire consequences. He pulled me to my feet, eager to confront me again. I tried to pull away but he slammed me up against the wall. My head crushed into the wood with a sickening thud. Wild with fear, I clenched my teeth and closed my eyes as tightly as I could before slashing his left thigh with a force mightier than I had expected. He let out a mighty cry, releasing me from his grasp. I had only wanted to get him off of me, but now that I had done so I realized my mistake. I crawled away from him

“You stupid b***h,” he screamed, grabbing at his leg. Blood sprouted from the wound like water from a fountain. I had never seen anything like it and I watched in breathless horror as it squirted into pools on the ground. The Prince staggered back, falling over. I knew nothing of anatomy but it seemed his leg was not as harmless a target as I had expected.

I used my dagger to cut a long, thick strap from my skirt. I knelt next to him, frantically trying to tie off the wound.

“Get away from me,” he ordered. I realized that if he survives he’ll have me killed, and if he dies, I could expect much worse. I imagined both scenarios in my mind and the only one that had any hope for my survival was the one in which he died. I couldn’t let myself think that way, so I continued to try and stop the bleeding. No matter how much pressure I applied, the blood flow wouldn’t stop. The color was draining from his face. I tried to keep him awake while I attempted to stop the bleeding but within ten minutes, while Corbin’s loud, vulgar tunes rose above the din below, the Prince fell unconscious, pale as freshly fallen snow.

I didn’t know if he was dead or not but I knew that he would be and there was nothing that I could do to stop it. I had killed the Prince. I knew had to leave, if I stayed, his men would kill me in a heartbeat.

I untied my apron, wiping his blood off of my hands. I picked up my dagger from the ground and fled the scene, taking the hidden staff staircase that led straight to the kitchen. I grabbed a potato sack and stuffed it with some leftover potatoes and carrots that Hops had left over from the stew. I ran a quick escape plan through my mind; I’d grab some provisions, potatoes, carrots, dried beef from the meat cellar, I’d grab my cloak, and a horse from the stables and then I would ride as far as I could.

I grabbed a lantern and hurried out to the meat cellar, hanging it on a hook for light; I searched for the dried beef amongst the hanging carcasses. We kept the jerky to sell to travelers who needed extra provisions for their journeys. I hated to steal from Hops but I knew we had plenty.

“What are you doing out here, Aislin? I thought you were entertaining the Prince?”

I was so startled I nearly jumped out of my skin. Hops was standing in the entrance, his own lantern in hand. I didn’t know what to say or where to even start. His eyes darted from the bloodstains on my skirt to the knife in my hand. His face darkened. I realized that while I could run away as best I could, some of this would surely fall on Hops. Tears burned at my eyes. I felt like a raging tempest, unpredictable, frantic and deadly.

“I didn’t let him hurt me, Hops,” I choked out.

He said nothing, but he slowly approached me, putting a large, fatherly hand on my shoulder. He paused for a few moments, looking as guilty as he did the day he first gave me the knife except this time he looked me straight in the eye. Of all the people I thought I was supposed to protect myself against, the Prince had never been one of them. Neither one of us had foreseen this, but Hops seemed to shoulder all the responsibility. I could see it in his eyes and the way he held his shoulders.

“You take the finest horse in the stable, Aislin,” he said gruffly, “And hurry.”

I nodded, taking my sack of food and running back to the stables.

“Hey Aislin!” The drunken slur of my name echoed across the yard. My heart plummeted into my stomach and I thought surely I would purge it. I spun around and saw Corbin standing outside the side door of the Inn. He stumbled out to me.

“I needed a breath of fresh air,” he slurred, “It’s hot in there.”

I nodded, afraid that if I spoke, the lump in my throat would choke me to death.

“You okay?” he asked, his eyes fell on my hands which still had blood crusted to them, and then to the stains on my skirt. He cocked his head like a puppy that’s heard a command it didn’t understand.

“I have to go,” I whispered. He squint his eyes but I could almost see the sobering of his consciousness.

“Right,” he responded, returning close to normalcy. “I understand,” he said before running back to the party. I should have ran back to the stables but I hesitated, just as he rejoined the party, I heard his voice rise above all the others,

“Ohhhhh my mother said to me/that a soldier I should be/but I had no love of war/I only wanted me a w***e!”

Everyone laughed and joined in the singing. I wiped the tears off of my cheeks with a trembling hand before racing back to the stables. I chose an inconspicuous bay stallion, tacked him, and then rode off into the woods.

I wondered what would happen when they found the Prince lying in a pool of his own blood. Would they mourn his dead in quiet sadness or would the kingdom erupt in a violent uproar? What would happen to the ones I left behind? Would Hops be held accountable for my desperate actions? What would happen to Corbin?            

I stifled sobs of despair and panic as I thought of the terrifying thing I had done. Prince Idris was the most beloved man in the kingdom. His reign was supposed to bring upon a golden age for our people. We were supposed to become more prosperous than ever. I would be the most hated, the most reviled, the most hunted person in history; I would be the w***e who killed Prince Idris. Desperate, I took off away from home, toward gods know what.

Author's Note

I want to know what you think of the pacing? Do you get a sense of the world?

Reviews

[VALORMORE DE PLUME]

I knew you had true talent. This is evident in this short story. a good prologue to a continuing saga. As a reader I was kept engaged throughout. clever and witty read.

[Jordan Bryant]

Thank you so much!! I have been plotting out the rest of the saga, so I'll be sure to post the rest!

[VALORMORE DE PLUME]

Write On my new friend! Send me friend request on facebook I would be honored to accept.