Chapter 468: Water and Its Worth

Chapter 467: Water and Its Worth

Jim drew a slow breath before addressing the matter that had brought them to this pass.

"As fer yer request," he began, "the one touchin’ upon our understandin’ you, an’ them folk what came wiv ye. I reckon that’s a matter the people of Gallowshill ought ter settle fer themselves."

Lyria listened without interruption.

"Don’t mistake me, Your ’Ighness. I’m not about ter lower me guard, merely because ye’ve told me a few things concernin’ yerself. I still don’t trust ye. An’ I ain’t about ter stand before me own people an’ tell ’em they ought ter trust ye neither not when I can’t rightly say I do so meself."

Jim rubbed his thumb across the knuckles of his opposite hand, his expression grave.

"But I can be upfront wiv ye," he said to Lyria. "I’ll speak ter ’em. I’ll encourage ’em ter consider wot ye’ve said, an’ perhaps think twice afore they decide they know everythin’ there is ter know about ye an’ yer companions. I won’t promise they’ll listen, mind. Nor will I promise they’ll take kindly ter the suggestion."

"That is f-fair," Lyria r-replied.

Jim’s brows rose slightly, and she offered him a small, tired smile.

"I w-would n-not ask you to m-make p-promises on b-behalf of p-people whose t-thoughts and f-feelings you c-cannot c-command. They m-must be p-permitted to f-form their own j-judgements. Nor w-would I ask t-them to t-trust u-us without r-reason. I-if we are to e-earn their c-confidence, t-then it m-must be t-through w-what we do, rather t-than w-what we s-say."

Jim regarded her a further moment, and something in his expression eased, though the guardedness remained.

"Well, at least we agree on that much," he told her.

"I d-daresay it is a b-beginning."

"Perhaps."

He settled back against the couch, then glanced towards the window. The conversation had drawn on rather longer than he had anticipated, and the weariness of the day was beginning to make itself felt in his limbs. He suspected the princess was no less fatigued, though she seemed determined not to acknowledge it.

"As fer the cleanin’ supplies," he continued, gazing back at her, "we’ve got a little somethin’ stored away. Not much, I’m afraid, but I’ll see that yer people get wot we can spare. An’ I’ll do wot I can ter make yer stay a little more harmonious, at least fer the present time."

Lyria nodded.

"But I reckon," Jim continued, "we ought ter leave the rest of our conversation fer another occasion."

"W-why s-so?" she asked him.

"Due respect, Your ’Ighness, but ye don’t look ter be in the proper state fer conversation of this kind," he told her. "Ye’ve been workin’ in them fields fer hours, same as the rest of us. An’ from wot I saw, ye weren’t exactly standin’ about givin’ orders all day. The work’s hard enough when the ground’s firm beneath yer feet, let alone when ’alf of it’s threatenin’ ter swallow ye whole."

There was a beat of silence, and Lyria perceived it was as though Jim wrestled with what he was about to say and when he did speak, his countenance bore the look of a man who had just swallowed one of Kathryn’s herbal tonics.

"Truth be told," he said, "if yer people hadn’t come ter work alongside us, we’d ’ave got nowhere near as far as we did. The lower fields were in a terrible state, an’ the middle ones weren’t much better. We might’ve managed ter clear everything, had that accident not occurred."

"I am g-glad w-we were a-able to a-assist."

"An’ now, if ye’ll pardon me sayin’ it, I reckon ye ought ter eat, wash, an’ get some rest. I am sure ye’re tired an’ I don’t imagine yer companions are in much better condition."

Lyria could not deny that she felt weary indeed. And she was soiled besides, particularly after all the labour of the day.

"Besides," Jim continued, "I suspect the honest conversation ye asked of me weren’t solely concerned wiv me opinions of nobles, was it?"

Lyria stared at him.

For a moment, she seemed uncertain whether to answer, and then a small smile touched her lips.

"You a-are r-rather p-perceptive."

"Comes of havin’ ter listen more’n I speak, I reckon."

"I d-aresay t-that is a m-most useful q-quality."

"Useful enough, though it ain’t always appreciated."

He rose from the couch with a quiet groan, one hand pressed against the small of his back before he straightened fully. Lyria began to rise as well, but he gestured that she should remain seated.

"There’s no need ter get up on me account. I’m no grand lord who’ll take offence if ye don’t rise the moment I do."

"I w-would not p-presume to t-treat you w-ith d-discourtesy."

"An’ I wouldn’t presume ter expect it of ye."

His answer drew a faint smile from her, and for the first time since their conversation had begun, the room seemed a little less burdened by the weight of all that had passed between them.

Jim moved towards the window and looked out upon the fields.

"One thing I ought ter warn ye of, though," he said, turning back towards her. "Washin’ may prove a trifle troublesome. We ain’t got much water ter spare, least of all ’ot water. Wot we’ve got is needed fer drinkin’ an’ cookin’, an’ after the storm, there’s precious little left over fer anythin’ else."

He shook his head, the familiar frustration returning to his features.

"There was a solution ter that difficulty once, but it’s been blocked since the storm. We ain’t ’ad the time ter find a way around it, wot wiv the ’ouses an’ fields needin’ our attention besides."

Lyria grew still at his words.

Duke Valenridge’s words returned to her with startling clarity — the water warmed by the earth itself, the hidden passage among the rocks, the place upon which the people of Gallowshill had long depended for bathing and other such needs.

Could this, then, be precisely what Jim meant?

She took care that her thoughts should not betray themselves upon her countenance. If the spring were indeed the very solution of which he spoke, then she might have discovered an opportunity to render the villagers assistance, without demanding anything whatsoever of them in return.

"R-regarding that..." Lyria began.