Chapter 57: There Are Secrets Here
Later that morning, Greaves found his way to the blacksmith’s forge.
It was a natural place to gather information, blacksmiths usually knew everyone in the village, heard all the gossip, understood the economic structure of the community.
The blacksmith was a massive man, probably in his late fifties, with forearms like tree trunks and a face weathered by years of heat and smoke. He looked up from his work when Greaves entered.
"Can I help you?" he asked, his tone neutral but not unfriendly.
"I’m a wool merchant," Greaves said, launching into his prepared introduction. "I’ve been told Ashford has some quality sheep operations. I’m hoping to establish some direct trade relationships."
The blacksmith returned to his work, striking metal with practiced precision.
"Might be. Might not be," he said. "Hard to say."
"Is there someone in particular I should speak with? Someone who knows the local wool business well?"
The blacksmith didn’t answer for a moment, his hammer continuing its rhythmic work.
Then: "Most folks handle their own business. Wouldn’t know who to direct you to."
"I see. Well, what about the village itself? How long has it been established? Are there any old families, or families that have come more recently?"
"Families?" The blacksmith’s hammer paused for just a moment. "What do you want to know about families for? You’re a wool merchant, not a genealogist."
"Just curious about the community," Greaves said, keeping his tone light. "It helps to understand a place when you’re conducting business there."
The blacksmith set down his hammer and looked at Greaves directly.
"My advice?" he said. "Conduct your wool business. Don’t ask questions about families. Don’t ask about who’s been here long or who came recently. Just ask about sheep and wool, finish your business, and move on."
It wasn’t quite a threat. But it was close.
"I mean no offense," Greaves said calmly.
"None taken," the blacksmith said. "Just giving you advice. Take it or don’t. Your choice."
He returned to his work, effectively dismissing Greaves.
***
Over the next two days, Greaves conducted more interviews.
He spoke with the baker’s assistant. ("Nothing unusual about Ashford. Quiet place. Good bread.")
He spoke with a woman who worked at the market stall. ("Don’t know much about families. People mind their own business.")
He spoke with an older man who worked at the mill. ("Been here my whole life. Village doesn’t change much.")
Each conversation followed the same pattern:
Surface response: Polite, brief, focused on practical matters. Yes, there’s wool trade. Yes, it’s a quiet village. Yes, everyone minds their business.
Subtext: Don’t ask too many questions. Don’t dig into things that don’t concern you. Leave us alone.
And underneath that subtext, Greaves sensed something deeper.
Not hostility. Not fear, exactly. But a kind of... caution. A collective agreement among the village to keep certain things private.
There are secrets here, Greaves thought as he sat in his room on the evening of the second day, reviewing his notes. Not secrets everyone knows. But secrets that certain people know. Secrets they’re protecting.
He wrote in his notebook:
Day Two in Ashford. Village atmosphere: Outwardly pleasant, inwardly guarded. Residents cooperative on surface-level matters but evasive when questions venture into personal or family-related territory.
Multiple residents have discouraged further inquiry, using language suggesting potential consequences for asking "wrong questions."
Pattern suggests: (1) There are secrets the village is collectively protecting, (2) Not all villagers are comfortable keeping these secrets, (3) The secrets relate to families or individuals, not general village matters.
Next steps: Continue observing. Identify which villagers might be more willing to talk. Determine what information is being protected and why.
***
By the third day in Ashford, Greaves had shifted his strategy.
Rather than continue asking direct questions, he began to simply observe.
He sat in the market square in the morning, watching who interacted with whom. He walked the village streets in the afternoon, noting which homes seemed lived-in, which seemed isolated. He spent evenings in the tavern, listening to conversations without actively participating.
And slowly, a more nuanced picture of the village began to emerge.
Most residents seemed genuinely kind to one another. He observed them helping with harvests, sharing food, caring for elderly members of the community. It was the kind of village where people looked out for each other.
But there was a line. A boundary beyond which certain families, certain individuals, were not discussed.
Greaves noticed that whenever someone mentioned "outsiders" or "newcomers," the conversation would shift. People would suddenly become very interested in other topics....the weather, the harvest, prices at market.
And whenever anyone asked Greaves directly what he was doing, his investigation seemed to be making them nervous.
***
On the third evening, Hal approached him in the tavern with a subtle message:
"You’ve been here three days now," Hal said, polishing a glass. "How much longer do you plan to stay? Wool business usually doesn’t take this long."
"I’m being thorough," Greaves said. "It’s important to understand a community before establishing trade relationships."
"Understanding and investigating are different things," Hal said quietly. "And some communities prefer not to be investigated."
It was a warning, more direct than the others.
Greaves understood the message.
The village knew he was asking questions about more than just wool.
And they wanted him to stop.
***
That night, in his small room above the tavern, Greaves composed a brief message to Cedric.
My Lord,
Arrived in Ashford three days ago. Initial observations suggest the village is hiding information about certain residents. Residents are evasive when questioned about families or individuals, suggesting collective agreement to maintain privacy on these matters.
Village appears protective of a particular family or individual. Exact details unclear, but pattern suggests significance.
Will continue investigation despite local discouragement. Will report findings within the week.
—Greaves
He sealed the message with cipher and arranged for a village courier to carry it to the capital, paying extra for discretion.
Then he settled into his bed and prepared himself for what would come next.
The village didn’t want him here.
But he wasn’t leaving.
Not until he found what he’d come to find.