*
They returned to the Smuggler’s close to nine o’clock. The bar was as busy as usual, though people were beginning to filter home early; they had spent the whole day fixing whatever the storm had thrown at their property, and had only ventured to the pub to out-awe their fellows with reports of their battered estates.
Boen and Eryn served themselves and sat alone, away from the exaggerated storytelling.
Mrs. Sayer, the ‘buck-toothed widow of the Combe’, as Eryn called her, looked over to the two of them. She beamed a rabbity smile at Boen, scowled at Eryn, and then turned back to her writhing children who, to the consternation of everyone, were as boisterous as rutting fox. Eryn rolled her eyes and turned to her pint.
‘Why does she hate you so much?’ Boen said, indicating at Mrs. Sayer.
‘Oh, I said something to her a while back that she didn’t agree with.’
‘What?’ He leaned closer.
Eryn shook her head. ‘Nothing. It doesn’t matter.’
He let it go. An awkward silence lingered between them; he wanted to say something though nothing in his mind seemed important enough to interest her – apart, of course, from the murderer.
‘The man that ran from Kelly’s? I didn’t say before but he mentioned my name.’ He said, staring into his pint.
‘No he didn’t, Boen.’ She sighed, and looked around the pub as though to find somebody else to talk to.
‘Ok, he didn’t, but… Look, it’s not as easy for me to talk to people as it is for you!’
‘What do you mean by that? Why’s it any easier for me?’
He leaned forward, keeping his voice to little more than a whisper. ‘What I mean is… well, you’re Eryn, beautiful, perfect Eryn!’ He paused, and almost began to lose his nerve. He hadn’t thought the words could sound so insulting, but he was far beyond the point of no return and so leaned a little closer. ‘People talk to you because they’re thinking of plumbing you. You just have to sit back and be talked at. You don’t have to bother trying! Me, on the other hand, I’m the greasy little turdlinger everyone avoids like the pathogen…’
‘That’s not…’ Eryn was burning with embarrassment.
‘Yes it is! You don’t need to lie. I have to spend an hour beforehand thinking of things to say to you, and you’re never interested…’
Eryn glowed. Leaning on her elbow she tried to shield her face from the rest of the room.
‘And another thing, I hate it when you ignore me when other people are about; people who you know are attracted to you. It’s so… hollow. I’m sorry I’m not as captivating as George, but maybe if you could take your eyes off his arse for a minute you might find something I have to say interesting!’ He slumped back in his seat, purged. He reached forward and held onto his tankard, though didn’t drink from it for some time. ‘Sorry…’ He said quietly.
Eryn didn’t look at him; she shook her head and gazed at the bubbles in the bottom of her pint. Boen stole a glance, her eyes were watering. ‘Oh…’ Was all he could say, feeling guilty that he had brought her to the brink of tears. A small part of him, however, was satisfied that he had liberated his opinions and, to be honest, he was even more satisfied to have said something heartfelt that had caused such emotion.
She wiped her eyes with her thumb and looked up at him. She was shocked by his frankness; it felt as though her father was talking down to her for being too merry with those he didn’t approve of.
She cleared her throat. ‘I’m sorry!’ she said weakly, and cleared it a second time before saying in a stronger voice, ‘you’re right… I shouldn’t ignore you when the others are about. I promise I’ll include you in the things we...’
‘I don’t want to be included in the things you lot get up to.’ He retorted.
‘Well… what is it that you want?
He was quiet for a moment, Baron was moving around the room, silently collecting empty tankards. When he reached them, he flicked his chin at Eryn and frowned at Boen. ‘You troubling her again?’ he sneered, looming over the table. Boen said nothing.
‘He’s OK, Baron.’ Eryn said, and placed a hand softly on her brother’s arm. ‘We’re just talking about Kelly and Boen’s pa. They were best friends.’
Baron kept his eyes on Boen, but withdrew. ‘I haven’t forgotten…’ he said, pointing a handful of tankards at Boen before moving on.
‘Forgotten what?’ Eryn asked when her brother had gone.
‘Nothing,’ Boen replied, screwing his face.
‘Come on, you owe me after calling me a cow-bag.’
‘I never said…’
‘You did in so many words. Now, what did you do?’
‘Nothing, well, I put some laxatives in his drink a few months back.’
‘You never did!’
‘Ask him where he disappeared to on Mayday.’
‘He said he spent the day at the cliffs.’
‘That’s as maybe. Did he tell you what he was unloading at the cliffs?’
Eryn smiled, and just as her lips were about to part and bare her teeth, the whole tavern seemed to simultaneously gasp. Eryn looked towards the bar: Semilion, her father, was staring at the foyer. She followed his gaze; her heart faltered and as dread overwhelmed her the smile melted away.
Chapter Five.
South-easterly wind.
Nineteen knots.