Last Tea Shop: The Stablehand

This story was made using the solo RPG: Last Tea Shop (Classic), by Spring Villager.

The purple fog rolled in like a flood. It curled up the side of the mountain, falling over itself in a crawling tide. The dark bruised color of the mists blanketed the river in shadows, until the entire river was hidden from view.

Ild gave a sharp sniff as she looked out the window. “Tough one coming in,” she muttered to the small squeaker on her shoulder. “Lost something, I’ll warrant. May not even know what. You think he’ll stop by?”

The tiny mouse nuzzled Ild’s withered cheek, jiggling her loose jowls with a gentle squeak. The tiny whiskers tickled and caught her own as Ild gave a gentle sigh. “Well, I’d better put the kettle on.”

The kettle in question was an ancient porcelain pot. Crusts of dried mud and cracks over its lid belied its reliable nature; it had brewed tea for Ild for as long as she could remember. Grabbing the kettle from its place on the shelf, she hobbled outside to the rain barrel, pulling water from its oaken innards. Tipping the water back until the kettle was only half full, she hobbled back inside and hooked the pot’s handle over the small hook that hung over the fireplace.

“There,” she muttered, turning back to her shelves. “Now then…what shall it be…”

Ild’s thoughts were shaken by a knock on the door. Gentle as it was, the door was no younger than Ild, and the hinges had aged poorly in the pass’s weathering climate. The door rattled like ghostly chains, setting the mice scattering.

“Oh, come now,” Ild murmered as she left the shelf and moved to the creaky door. “You behave like we’ve never had guests.” With practiced ease, Ild opened the door.

A young boy stood at the door, his face a mixture of confusion and hope. “Forgive me, marm, but I —”

“Well, come on in then,” Ild didn’t bother to wait for the polite entreaty. She reached out with a gnarled hand and grabbed the boy’s arm, yanking him inside with a strength that startled the lad. The door shut with a crack, locking the purple fog outside. “Good,” she bushed her hands together. “Don’t want to be out on a night like this. Foul weather. Not a lot of travelers when there’s fog like this. Bit of a bother, really.”

“I…thank you,” the boy managed to stammer before Ild began to shout at the tiny room.

“Alright, you can see he’s friendly. Come out and say hello!”

The tiny room was still. Barely large enough for four people, the little space available was filled with cast-offs, knick-knacks, and piles of random tools, furniture, and oddities. The boy barely had enough room to stand up straight — a simple task for Ild, as she was barely half his height.

“I said, come out!”

A tiny movement in the corner caught the boy’s eye. A bone-white mouse crept out of its hiding place, and slowly climbed on top of an old wagon wheel. It stared at him with dark beady eyes, its whisker’s twitching.

“Just you, eh?” Ild clicked her teeth. “That’s disappointing. I’m sure the boy’s got no trouble with mice, do you boy?”

The boy selfconsciously brushed his hands on his ragged tunic. “I’m quite used to mice, marm. Got a lot of them in the stables, I did.”

“Ah,” Ild wandered back to her shelves, dodging the mess on the floor. “I thought you might be a stablehand. Got the smell of horses about you, don’t you, boy?”

“I reckon I…” the boy paused before clearing his throat. “Beggin’ your pardon, marm, but…am I dead?”

Ild gave a course laugh. “Nah, not yet. You got a bit of walkin’ before you’re proper dead. You just follow the path out there over the bridge, and that’ll set you right.”

The boy looked at the hobbled door and took a slow breath. “I see. Thank you, marm.”

“Now hold on a mite,” Ild reached up to the shelf and plucked down a tuft of light feather moss. “There’s no need to go rushing off right now. That fog’s quite a thick one — you’re liable to get lost if you go now. Stay a while, have some tea, and we’ll see if we can’t get that fog a little less imposin’, aye?”

The boy looked back as Ild plopped the moss into the bubbling kettle. The white mouse continued to stare at him, its head cocked curiously.

“Come on,” Ild swatted at the air, brushing the stablehand backwards. “Sit down. You been walkin’ a long time on those feet, I’ll bet. Must feel good to get off ’em, aye?”

“Aye, thank you marm,” the boy said as he sat on a creaky stool. Ild bustled forward, dragging an old side-table across the ancient wood floor. Two cracked teacups on stained saucers landed on the table, along with a small plate of dry-looking cookies.

“So,” Ild’s voice was calm as the boy’s hand shakily reached out towards the plate. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

The boy’s hand froze. Deep in his mind, the echoing voice of…someone. He recognized the voice but who did it belong to? It wasn’t his mother or father, was it? Perhaps it was one of the king’s knights? Or the horse-master? Maybe it was that girl who served the ale down at the Dog and Three Coins…

“Take a breath, boy,” the old woman’s tone was gentle.

The boy inhaled as deeply as he could, and began to sob.

His face collapsed, crumpling in on itself in agony. His wails were choked from a tightened throat, but even his clenched teeth and clawed hands couldn’t stop the sobbing from breaking free. He wept so piteously that even Ild, a woman who had seen and heard a great deal of pain in her life felt a lump in her own throat.

She waited patiently while the pains were purged from the boy’s chest, and the sobs were little more than whimpers. Then, she lifted the kettle from the fire. “There,” she nodded. “That should do it.” Walking over to the table, Ild poured the dark red tea into the two cups and set the kettle aside. “That’ll do you just right. Come on now, drink up, there’s a good lad.”

The boy was too weak to argue, his burning cheeks and stinging eyes were too much to bear. Ild curled his limp fingers around his cup and gently pushed, like she was urging a chick to fly.

His hands sagged, the weight of the delicate cup too heavy to lift. His chest still heaving with short shuddering gasps, he brought the tea to his lips.

“There’s a good lad.”

For a short time, the olny sound in the tiny shop was the boy’s breathing, interspursed with the tiny bubbling pops of sipping. Ild joined in, silently drinking her tea without the quietest sound.

At last, the stablehand’s breath quieted, his hands gripped the cup with something like strength. With a smooth and deep sigh, he leaned back against against the rickety wall.

“It’s my own recipie. Feather moss mixed with a bit of honey and elderflower. It’s a comforting brew, isn’t it? Lets you know you’re safe; the pains of the past can’t find you here. See?” Ild pointed with a gnobby finger. “The fog’s starting to lift already. You’ve got a good strong heart, doesn’t he?”

Being adressed, the mouse gave a tiny squeak before hopping from the wheel to the counter and scurrying to Ild’s shoulder. With a satisfied smile, Ild sat back in her seat.

The stablehand looked down at his empty cup. A small piece of wet moss lay in the bottom, soaked in red. “It…doesn’t hurt anymore,” he said.

“Oh, it does,” Ild said as she scratched behind the mouse’s ear, “but I’ll bet so much less as it feels like it don’t hurt. You’ve been hurting for quite a while, I bet.” She scratched at her own ear, a thoughtful look on her face. “You lost something pretty valuable, didn’t you? What happened?”

The Stablehand set the cup aside. “Oh, it weren’t worth much,” he said, rubbing his chest.

“Not coin, maybe,” Ild stood up and moved to the piles of junk that surrounded the tiny cabin. “Got a lot of lost things. They usually end up here, you know. Tell me about her.”

“She…she was my everything. I was never very good for her. I promised more than I could give. Even when I wanted to be better, I…I couldn’t. I just wasn’t…”

“Hey,” Ild snapped her fingers and pointed. “Tell me about her.”

The boy gave a slow nod. “She laughed when I told jokes. She looked at me with eyes that…they squinted in this way that…it looked like she was really looking at me, you know? Like she saw me in a way no one else did. I believed it, to. She seemed to know what I was going to say the second before I said it…When she was sad or angry, it was the worst thing in the world, but she wasn’t sad much. She worked hard, but she never complained to me. We were…she was my life.”

“Ah, is this it?”

The stablehand looked up, his eyes widening. “Yes!” He held out his hand as Ild set the pewter locket in his hands. “How did —”

“Never you mind that,” Ild patted him on the back. “It was always with you, really. This place is funny like that. Sometimes things stick around long after they shouldn’t. Sometimes it’s the good things, other times bad. Looks like this one stuck around waiting for you.”

“It was so long ago…” the stablehand shook his head in amazement. “Did…did she…”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Ild sniffed. “Not my place to know that.”

“We’d only been married three months…The boy rubbed his chest again. “Why don’t I have more regrets?”

Ild sucked on a tooth. “Well, for you, this isn’t a place for regrets.”

The boy looked around. “What…what is this place?”

Ild smiled. Never you mind. You get along, now you’re feeling better. You can see the bridge over the river from here. Keep heading that way, and you’ll get where you’re goin’ sure enough.”

The boy looked through the window for a moment before carefully putting his hand through the wooden hole. “There’s no glass.”

“Nope,” Ild patted the boy on the back. “Come on, now. Time you were off.”

“But the fog…I saw it swirling outside the…why didn’t the fog come through the window?”

Ild’s eyes glittered. “It knows better. Now come on, quit your lollygaggin’. You still got a long way to go, I’m sure. Thanks for stopping by, and good luck to you.” The stablehand was ushered around the mess and through the door, out into the cool mountain air. The Stablehand waved goodbye and carried on his way while Ild watched him go.

“Well,” she brushed her hands on her dress, turning to the suddenly assembled mice, “You can’t tell me that’s not the start of somethin’. You see the way he was rubbin’ his chest? Sword wound, I bet. I’d suspect we got more people on the way, and soon.”