Read Online The Fork-Tongue Charmers by Paul Durham - Free Book Online Page B

A woman bustled past, balancing a full serving tray of empty glasses on her round belly with one hand. She paused at the sight of the children, blinked in disbelief, and abruptly dropped her tray onto a table. The woman’s hair was as white-blond as Folly’s except for a single streak of silver that she pushed behind her ear.
    â€œRiley O’Chanter!” Faye Flood exclaimed. “What in the Shale are you doing here?”
    Before Rye could answer, Folly’s mother threw her arms around her and pressed her tight. Faye’s stomach was as hard as a melon and, when she saw the look of concern on Rye’s face, she waved it off.
    â€œDon’t worry about my little shelf,” she said, rattling her fingers on her belly. “Flood babies are a hardy lot. More important, how did you get here?”
    Folly jumped in excitedly. “I went to find her. There was a storm—”
    â€œRat in the jacks! There you are, Folly,” Faye interrupted. “I’ve hardly seen you the past two days, love. Your chores are piling up.”
    Folly’s face fell.
    â€œWe’ve got freebooters in port,” Faye continued, with a nod to the crowd of sailors circling the brawlers. “There are bar rags and linens in need of washing. You can play with your friends after you’ve finished.”
    Folly frowned at Rye with a look that said I told you , and slumped off.
    â€œAs for you, Riley dear, Abby is around here somewhere.” Faye glanced about.
    But Rye’s gaze had already found her. Her mother’s face seemed even more lined with worry than it had just days before, but to Rye she was still the most beautiful woman in the whole village. Rye felt her eyes well up with tears.
    Abby opened her arms wide. Rye stepped forward and buried her face in her mother’s shoulder. She didn’t let go for a long while.
    Rye started to ask questions, but Abby just pressed her head back to her shoulder and held her close. Once Rye had settled, Abby eased her toward the Mermaid’s Nook, the secluded corner of the inn that housed Rye’s favorite table. Rye set her walking stick on the carved tabletop and sat down.
    â€œMama,” Rye said finally, “the Willow’s Wares?”
    â€œDon’t give it another thought,” Abby said quietly. “It was just a building. No more than brick and wood. What’s important is that we are all safe now.”
    â€œAre we?” Rye asked.
    â€œOf course,” Abby said.
    â€œBut we were attacked this morning.”
    Rye explained their encounter with the sniggler and detailed the Constable’s announcement on Market Street. Abby listened intently.
    â€œAnd this,” Rye added, unfurling the crumpled parchment in her pocket.
    Abby looked over the Earl’s proclamation. Rye watched her mother’s grim face. Abby was silent.
    Finally, Abby spoke. “Do I always look that cross?” She arched a playful eyebrow.
    â€œSometimes,” Rye said, but she was not calmed by her mother’s jest. “The Earl is searching for us,” she said matter-of-factly.
    Abby nodded. “It seems so. Not that he’ll find us easily.” She gave Rye just a hint of a knowing grin. “No one here knows our names.”
    The correct answer when asked about someone’s identity at the Dead Fish Inn was always, Who? Never heard of him . Abby tossed the parchment into the roaring fireplace.
    â€œBut why come after us now?” Rye asked. “Does he believe this new Constable will protect him?”
    Abby shook her head gravely. “That I don’t know. But if Longchance seeks trouble hard enough he’s sure to find it sooner or later. I expect your father will be here shortly. When he arrives . . . he, your uncle, the others . . . will be certain the matter is addressed.”
    Rye looked across the inn to where Bramble had joined two men at the bar. They sat casually over numerous empty