[Envinyatar]

‘Pegram, is it?’ said Derufin, standing up from his chair. He came round to where Jinniver sat at the end of the table and stood near her, his grey eyes fixed in a cool stare at the man who hovered near her. The air between the two siblings was thick with anger, and he did not like the underlying current of fear he had felt from Jinniver when her brother had first made himself known. ‘Don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of meeting you. I’m Derufin, a friend of your sister.’ He nodded courteously at the man, but did not extend his hand. ‘We were just about to discuss her plans for the garden she has contracted to do for my wife-to-be. Quite a green thumb your sister has, knows her plants well. And she has an eye for design that is quite pleasing.’

He pulled out a chair, offering the seat to Jinniver’s brother. ‘Sorry to cut into your reunion with her,’ he went on, motioning for Buttercup to bring another mug and a fresh pitcher of stout. ‘But there are only a few days left to finish the project,’ he said sitting down next to Jinniver. ‘Three, in fact, before my wife and I move into our cottage. A shipment of plants arrives tomorrow, and we need to coordinate how all the work will get done.’ He turned to the young woman. Her face seemed a little less flushed; the cheeks’ high color fading to dull streaks of red along the bones. ‘The lads can help you over the next few days if you’d like. The work on the cottage is mostly done, and Andwise and I can finish the touch up painting ourselves.’ ‘Think that will be enough help for your project?’ he asked her, pouring Pegram a mug of ale, and topping off hers and his. ‘If not – I do know that Cook’s helper . . . Ginger, has a deft hand at planting.’

Derufin sat back in his chair, giving Jinniver the time to consider what he’d said. He fished in one of the side pockets of his vest and pulled out his soft leather pouch of pipeweed. Unbinding the flap, he opened it, letting the rich, heavy aroma float in the air. ‘Longbottom Leaf,’ he said, filling his own pipe and then offering the pouch to his tablemates. Ferrin and Fallon, sitting at the far end of the table looked longingly at the pouch. With a grin, Derufin passed it down to them

A brief silence ensued as all who had dipped into Derufin’s pouch filled and tamped and lit their pipes. The twist of white smoke curled up lazily from Derufin’s pipe as he drew on the mouthpiece. ‘What sort of business are you in,’ he asked Pegram, casually. ‘Begging your pardon, in advance, if I seem too forward - but if you’re anything like your sister, I would easily guess you are prospering . . .’