Chapter 484: The Town’s Ills, Corvin’s Insensitive Comments

Chapter 483: The Town’s Ills, Corvin’s Insensitive Comments

Lyria’s POV

Baldwin chuckled, a low, rasping sound that seemed to come from somewhere deep within his chest.

"I like ye, Yer ’Ighness," he said. "Ye’ve a fire in ye, an’ I ain’t seen the like in a long while."

I inclined my head, though I confess I was somewhat taken aback by the compliment. "I a-ppreciate that, Baldwin."

He laughed again. "’Umble too, eh? Now that’s a rare thing in a noble, if ye don’t mind me sayin’ so."

Before I could fashion a reply, his countenance shifted. The amusement faded from his weathered features, and he leaned back in his chair, his hands falling from the table.

"Now then," he said, "surely ye’ve all seen the state o’ the town fer yerselves. The storm destroyed a good majority o’ it, that much is plain enough. But even afore the storm, this town were already goin’ downhill. We’ve suffered from bandit attacks afore, though we fought ’em off well enough. But that ain’t the ’alf of it."

"We lack water," Baldwin continued. "Proper drinkin’ water, that is. The town’s only got the one well, an’ it ain’t nearly enough fer everyone. Though thankfully we found the—"

Duke Valenridge coughed at once. It was loud and sudden and unmistakably deliberate, and every soul at the table turned towards him.

"Are you quite well, Your Grace?" Marquess Silverwyn asked him, with some concern.

Duke Valenridge waved a hand dismissively. "Perfectly well. I suffer from severe coughs upon occasion. It is nothing to be alarmed over."

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing.

Duke Thorncrest pressed a hand to his mouth, his shoulders shaking with suppressed mirth.

Baldwin, for his part, seemed momentarily bewildered. He looked from Duke Valenridge to the others, his brow furrowed, and then he shook his head and went on.

"As I were sayin’," he said, "water is our first concern. Proper drinkin’ water..."

"The second," Duke Valenridge said smoothly, before Baldwin could proceed further, "would be the buildings, I presume? Their repair, and perhaps the construction of better ones, that the people might be properly housed?"

"Aye," Jim replied. "We’ve very few ’ouses still standin’ in this town. That’s why so many are sleepin’ at me residence, an’ at Baldwin’s too. Apart from the damage wot the storm done, there simply ain’t enough ’ouses ter go round."

He gave Duke Valenridge a long look as he spoke, and I wondered whether Jim had understood what His Grace had just done, and why.

Ursula sighed loudly, as though vexed by the turn of events. Which I supposed she was, for she had no wish for us to learn the true state of the town nor help, had she? She was of the opinion that they might manage by themselves, after all.

"Since we’re speakin’ o’ problems," she said, "then I’ll give ye one. Food. There ain’t none. The fields from which we get our food are ruined, as most o’ ye saw fer yerselves this mornin’. We’ve no farm beasts, save about two chickens, an’ they’re sick now, an’ we ain’t got nothin’ ter treat ’em wiv, so we’ll ’ave ter kill ’em. There’s only the one cow in the ’ole town wot gives milk. The only cow we ’ave. We’ve a few sacks o’ potatoes we managed ter ’arvest afore the storm, but everythin’ else were wiped out. No grain. Nothin’."

She paused, then added, "We’re all starvin’."

Then she turned and fixed her gaze upon Corvin.

"’Ence why everyone in town, regardless o’ rank, were served ’orridge."

Corvin’s face flushed a deep crimson.

"It is not my fault," he said stiffly. "Why do you regard me as though I had caused it all?"

I shook my head at the insensitivity of the remark, for he had been the very one complaining of the food. Even when we were served that evening, he alone had found cause for complaint.

"Because ye, my lord, made a ’ole scene of it, as I ’eard," Ursula replied. "People in this town eat but the once a day. Only the children eat twice. But ye nobles was given food twice. Aye, it were porridge, but it were all we ’ad ter give. The bread ye was served this evenin’ were wot little we ’ad in the town, an’ wot we’d kept fer future need."

Corvin’s jaw tightened. "And would it not have gone stale by then? Was it not better that you served it now, rather than when it should have turned unsafe for consumption?"

"It matters not if it be stale," Ursula said to him, and her speech roughened with every word, the aitches vanishing from her lips altogether. "That’s wot we got. Long as it keeps food in our bellies, we planned ter make do wiv it, an’ not a word o’ complaint. An’ ’ere ye sit, a grown man, cryin’ over a bowl o’ ’orridge, when there’s ’ven some bairns in this town goin’ ter bed wiv nothin’ in ’em at all. Wot sort o’ lord does that make ye, I’d like ter know? ’Ave ye no shame in ye, none whatsoever?"

Corvin had nothing to reply to that, thankfully for I belived if he did speak he would render us more unfavourable to the town, and so we all remained silent a while, until Lucian spoke, breaking it.

"I can help with the fields," he said, and all attention turned towards him.

"I am certain everyone here knows that Eastmere has fields of its own," Lucian continued, "and some of them I have worked upon myself. That is why I was able to labour so freely in the lower fields earlier today, even going so far as to employ methods we use in my territory."

He paused, then added, "Though I must admit that, while I was able to help a little, I also observed that upon these fields, not every crop can be grown. Especially given what the storm has done to them."