The Sinking Inn (Part 2)

Inside, as you might imagine, the room was misshapen and odd. The roof and beams were at absurd angles, but the floor had been raised or levered up and was at roughly the angle one would expect for easy use by its inhabitants. There was a blazing fire at one end of the room which I quickly strode to and continued my inspection of the place while warming up. At a table not far away from me sat an old man,  his chin resting on the the handle of his cane. A flagon of ale sat on the table and a dog lay curled at his feet. It seemed that both were fast asleep. 

The Innkeeper, a burly man with ruddy cheeks and a gruff countenance, eyed me from behind the counter as he cleared the last of some cups up on to the shelf behind him. To his left was a door that I imagined led into the kitchens and at the far end of the room a set of stairs led up on a treacherous angle to the rooms above. There were candles set about, a lantern fixed over the bar and, atop the entrance door, the head of a boar that seemed to be about to fall and would surely kill the next entrant. Indeed,  it might have been me, in fact, should I have shut the door too harshly when I came in. 

The overall effect of the room was to leave one almost giddy as attempts to make head or tail of the proper perspective of it were useless. At this time, a young, plump girl entered from the kitchen with another tray of dishes and, spotting me, placed them down and approached. She smiled and her cheeks, that seemed to have two apples positioned in them, raised up and down as she spoke.

“G’evenin’ to ye, sir.” she said, wiping her wet hands on her apron. “Is there anything I can get for ye?”

“Yes,” I replied, “Can you tell me if a traveller might find lodging for the night here and perhaps a plate of food?”

“Well, as to the room, sor, we can certainly find that for you. I’m afraid the only food that’s left now though is some stew and perhaps a scrap of bread or two.”

“The stew would be welcome,” I assured her, “and perhaps some ale.”

“We have the finest in the world,” she proclaimed proudly and smiling again turned to fetch it. 

“Oh, and if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, I have a horse outside that needs shelter as well as I.”

At this the barkeeper joined in. “There’s a stable out to the  back of the place that would do. There are oats and water and blankets there, but it will cost you extra coin.”

“I would expect no less,” I answered and wasting no time, I exited the tavern and took the poor animal, now limping more noticeably, to his room for the night. When I returned, I walked over to the counter and asked of the inn man if there was a local smithy that might look to my horse.

“Aye, there’s a smithy. By name of Corban. I’ll send a boy for him in the morning, if that would suit you.”, he said.

“It would suit me fine, and I thank thee.”, I replied.

At that moment my stew and bread arrived and the maid placed it on a table across from the sleeping ancient. Thanking her, I sat down and began to eat voraciously. Here’s the thing, though. Hungry as I was and in need of nourishment, I was amazed immediately as to how little flavour there was to be found in the dish. I could see the pieces of lamb, the chunks of potato and the carrots swimming around in the dark broth, but it tasted as if it had been nothing but water. The odour of it was transfixing though and made the mystery of why it tasted so thinly even greater. When the ale arrived, I grabbed this up and poured a good quantity of it down my throat. Expecting the warm, sweet savour of a fine ale to be the result, I was mystified to find that I might as well have drunk down a beaker of water. 

I considered complaining to the inn keeper but thought the better of it, reasoning that they might refuse me the room above if I complained overly. Besides, even though tasteless, the food had filled me anyhow and I had no more hunger. The ale, too, was having its desired effect and I was slightly hazy. A combination, probably, of the ale and my long ride in the cold air. I would have to find my way to my bed soon, I thought.

Looking up, I realize that the old man was now awake and was staring at me. When he saw me look over he winked at me and beckoned me to his table. Being the polite sort, it was beyond me to refuse, even though all I really wanted now was to climb upstairs and nestle beneath some fine down quilts. I got up and joined him.

“Welcome to the Sinking Inn”, he said as he pulled a piece of bread from off of his bowl and tossed it down to the hound, who was now awake also and stirring beneath him. “Have you come far?”

“From Gimroy by the coast road,” I replied.

“That’s odd,” he said. “I know many of the folk of Gimroy. I don’t recognize you from among them.”

“I’m not a citizen there. I came by boat this morning and am making my way to Trethmondy on business.”

“Important business and all, I would say, to make you take to the roads on this chill night.”

I realized that he was probing for more information, that sating his curiosity, spurred on by the boredom of his rural existence probably, was what he was after but I wasn’t of a mind to discuss my dealings, especially with him and especially in my weary state. I decided to change the subject.

“This Inn is a peculiar place. I’ve never seen the like,” I said, glancing around.

“Aye, it’s true,” the old man said, his tone a bit petulant that I hadn’t sufficiently answered him. “You’re not likely to see another like it.”

“I’ll warrant that’s true,” I said. “What happened to it? Is it the ground around it that has given way?”

“Yes, I think that’s it,” he said. “At any rate, it’s been like it since I can remember, and that’s a long time. But time is odd that way, isn’t it? Sometimes I can remember things that happened when I was but a young lad and then there’s other times when I can’t remember what I had for my morning meal.”

“Would you allow me to freshen your ale?” I asked, feeling warmer and more friendly now that my ale was gone. 

“You’re a kind, gent. Ta very much,” he answered.

I rose up and approached the barman. “Two more ales, if you please, inn keeper,” I asked of him.

“Of course, sor. I’ll bring them right over to ye.” he said, turning to me.

“Thank you, kindly. And would you mind asking your girl to bring more bread. I am still somewhat hungry.”

The barman looked at me queerly. “Gorl?” he asked slowly.

“Aye, man, the girl that first served me when I came in.”

“Thar’s no gorl, sor.”

“How do ye mean, no girl? Did she leave for the night?”

“No one’s left, sor. There is no gorl. But I will bring ye more bread if that’s what yer wont.”

I was perplexed but decided not to pursue this matter as it was clearly the result of a misunderstanding, probably stemming from my mishearing his odd accent. I returned to the table where the old man awaited.

“That’s very odd,” I ventured as I sat down.

“How’s that?” said the old man.

“I asked the inn keeper to have the serving girl bring us more bread, but he said that there was no girl. Very odd.”

“Well, it’s true. Morgan’s had no serving girl since the one who quit last winter and left for the city with a stranger that passed through.”

I looked him over wondering whether I was now the victim of some local prank that these people had cooked up between them and visited upon unfortunate strangers venturing in. I know this had happened to others before in similar circumstance. But I figured that there was no use in going into it as, if I was right, it would just provide further fodder for more merriment at my expense. I looked down and noticed that a large chunk of the bread the old man had tossed down onto the floor still remained there, uneaten. Probably, I supposed, because the dog was gone and had left it for the mice.

“It seems your dog has gone to relieve himself,” I said. “Hopefully not inside, as the inn keeper doesn’t look like the sort to take that very favourably.”

The old man looked at me over the top of his ale flagon. “Dog?” he said.

(Part Three... the conclusion... soon)