The Scribe(47)

“They’re beehives,” Althar informed her. “The boxes are covered in mud because bees are fragile in winter. Sealing the structure, it keeps them warm.”

“So where are the bees?”

“Inside. When winter is over I’ll open the hives and then we’ll have honey again before long.”

“I love honey.”

“Who doesn’t?” he said, laughing. “The little creatures sting like bastards, but they give us enough honey to sweeten our puddings for a whole season. And not just honey. You see that old honeycomb?” He went over to one of the chests that appeared abandoned and lifted the lid. “It’s pure wax. Ideal for candles.”

“I didn’t see any candles in the cave.”

“That’s because we sell nearly all of them. We only burn them with good reason: when we’re sick and whatnot. God created night so we could sleep, otherwise He would have made us like owls.”

Theresa wondered if she might take some wax to fill the tablets she still had in her bag so she could practice her writing. However, when she suggested it to Althar, he roundly refused.

“But I’d return it to you intact,” the young woman argued.

“In that case, you will have to earn it.”

They closed the lid and walked back toward the cave where Leonora welcomed them with an appetizing hare stew. They all ate together, for Hoos was already up and about, and they drank heartily to celebrate their successful hunt. When they had finished, Althar said he was delighted with the return from the new traps, and announced that he would stuff Satan that afternoon, a task he would do alone because of the considerable patience it required. Before he set off, he told Theresa he would let her have some beeswax if she could find some suitable eyes.

“Eyes?” she asked in astonishment.

“For the bears,” he explained. “The real ones rot, so we need false ones. Some amber would be perfect, but I don’t have any. I’ll have to make do with whatever round pebbles you can find at the river.” He took some stones from his bag and showed her. “Like these, more or less, but smoother. Varnished with a little resin, they’ll appear genuine.”

Theresa nodded. When she finished washing the dishes, she told Leonora that she intended to head to the river.

“Why doesn’t Hoos go with you? A bit of fresh air won’t do him any harm.”

He seemed surprised at the suggestion, and Theresa was surprised that he gladly accepted. They left the bear cave together, but soon she walked on ahead, keeping her distance until they reached the stream where she bent down to search among the stones.

“This one might do,” said Hoos.

Theresa took the pebble he held out and compared it to one she had chosen. She was loath to admit that Hoos’s stone was smoother and more uniform.

“Too small,” she objected, and gave it back, barely giving it a second glance.

He put it in his bag. Looking at Theresa, he remembered again the day the young woman fled the cabin. He continued to observe her closely, the delicacy with which she examined the texture and color of the stones. He watched her fingers move deftly over the pebbles to feel how smooth they were, how she wetted them to bring out their color, delicately tested their weight, and categorized them according to some system that only she seemed to know. At that moment, she turned around and he saw her eyes blaze like amber.

He was deep in thought when Theresa lost her footing and fell into the river. Hoos ran to help her and, as he pulled her out, he felt his chest constrict followed by a strange burning sensation. They finished collecting the stones and made for the cave. Hoos asked about the pebbles she had collected, and she said she was quite pleased with what she’d found. They walked on in silence until they reached the beehives.

“In the winter they cover them in mud. It stops the bees from dying,” Theresa declared.

“I didn’t know that.” He did not mention that his chest was throbbing.

“Neither did I,” she admitted with a smile. “Althar told me. He seems like a good man, don’t you think?”

“We are here thanks to him.”

“See that chest over there?” Theresa pointed to the abandoned chest. “Althar said I could use its wax to fill my tablet.” She approached it and lifted the lid.

“What’s a tablet? Some kind of lamp?”

“No,” she laughed. “A flat box, the size of a loaf of bread. Well, there are bigger ones, and smaller ones, too. Mine is wooden and once it’s filled with wax, I use it to write on.”

“Aha!” said Hoos as if he understood—though he was none the wiser.

“When I’m finished drying off, I’ll go to the cave where Althar keeps his trophies. That place is amazing! Do you want to come with me?”

“I’ve done enough walking for one day,” he complained. “You go. I’ll lie down for a while and change my bandages.”

“Hoos…”

“Yes?”

“I don’t know why I stole it from you. I am truly sorry.”

“It’s all right. Just don’t do it again.”

Theresa changed her clothes before setting off for the cave of trophies, but not before she had inspected the stones and chosen four lenticular pebbles of a similar size. She thought that once they had been painted they would without a doubt resemble real eyeballs.