Propolis by Non Bramley

Author:Non Bramley [Bramley, Non]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781916385504
Publisher: Unusual Books
Published: 2020-04-05T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

On the morning Asif left for Tingale the rain eased and the sun broke through black cloud, filling the world with colour and light. It was hot and wet, the air felt like a fever.

Down on the quay I nodded to my apprentice as he stood unsteadily on the deck of the Fire Fly, the vessel that would take him to Tingale.

‘That’s Gunnar’s boat,’ I said to Olaf who was there to oversee the bartering over the price of the journey.

‘Yes, he jumped at the chance. You’ve made him very happy. Your money means he can be out on his beloved sea again.’

I swore softly, cupped my hands and shouted to Asif. ‘Be back quickly. No loitering or you’ll feel the back of my hand, boy!’

‘Such harshness, Reeve. The lad’s buying books for the children, spending his own coin too.’

‘He’s a fool but at least he’s out from under my feet.’

The plump young woman who’d been witness to my conversations with Gunnar, called out and waved to Olaf.

‘Who’s that?’ I asked him.

‘Anna Butter Neck, she’s married to a cripple but they’re as happy as songbirds,’ he said, waving back.

‘What happened to her man?’

‘Fell out of a tree. Broke his legs and they never healed right. They’re very poor.’

‘She doesn’t look it.’

‘We look after our own. They’ll never starve or go about in rags.’

‘Children?’

‘No. But I think they’re enough for each other.’

‘What’s her man’s name?’

‘Lief the Lame. Her grandfather lives in the woods. He’s a strange soul but he keeps them in firewood; they don’t freeze.’

Anna had taken over Gunnar’s little business selling eggs and milk for the day, perhaps longer. The world, as far as Gunnar was concerned, had come right again. He must have talked his fearful wife around.

‘Olaf Flat Nose; Anna Butter Neck; Gunnar the Bald; Lief the Lame … it’s an odd way to name people, isn’t it?’ I said.

‘Not for us. We don’t have family names the way that you do. It’s our tradition that a boy is named after his father, so I am Olaf Olafsson, and a girl is named after her mother, so Anna is Anna Annasdottir. The firstborn’s usually given the same name as their parent, which means that in my village there were many, many Olaf Olafssons. We use nicknames to tell which Olaf we’re talking about.’ He smiled. ‘And I do have a very flat nose.’

‘What was Gudrun known as?’

‘Gudrun the Stinger,’ Olaf said. ‘Because of her bees, mostly because of her bees.’

‘And Briet?’

Olaf looked uncomfortable. ‘It’s not kind. They call her Briet Mooncalf.’

I’d already missed low tide, when the sands between Piskelli and Tresgo were exposed enough to walk the short distance between them. The next low tide would be that evening, too late for me. I would walk to Piskelli tomorrow and be back in time to meet Asif and hear his news. In the meantime I would think.

I was irritable. I’d missed something – I knew it. Something in plain sight.

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