Louis looked around to see if anyone was watching as he approached the mayor’s house. He wasn’t doing anything wrong, but for some reason, he felt like he was. The boy took a deep breath and took his hat off before knocking on the door.

“Good morning, Mister Fuller,” Louis said when the mayor opened the door.

Ogden’s bushy eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Louis, this is unexpected.”

The overweight man paused to stroke his double chins. “I don’t owe Winston that much money, do I?”

Louis blinked. “Oh no, Mister Fuller, that isn’t why I’m here. I’m here about those books.”

“Yes, you did mention something about them the other day, didn’t you?” Ogden mused. “Well, come on in.”

Louis knocked the snow off his shoes before following the mayor into his house, shutting the door behind him. It was a small one roomed building. The dying embers lay in a sooty fireplace and an unmade bed stood in a corner. A single chair and a small table were placed in front of the fireplace.

“Behold, the library,” Ogden grinned as he waved his hand expansively at the four books that populated a crooked bookshelf.

Louis walked up to the bookshelf, and his eye was immediately drawn to a book titled ‘The War of Retribution. A Story of Betrayal.’ He picked it up and began leafing through it.

“That one’s told from a Carthun perspective,” Ogden remarked and made a face. “I wouldn’t believe a word of what’s in there.”

“Then why do you have it?” Louis asked.

Ogden shrugged. “Carson happened to have it on his last trip up for the winter a few years ago, and I thought it would help pass the time. That was when Greg was still running the inn.”

Louis then took the book titled, ‘The Return of Evil.’ “Is it alright if I borrow these?”

“Sure,” Ogden replied.

“Say,” Ogden ventured as Louis moved towards the door. “Why the sudden interest in history?”

“Oh, the visitors had me wondering,” Louis replied absently.

“Did they talk about the wars?” Ogden ventured.

“In passing,” Louis allowed. “Thanks for the books, Mister Fuller.”

“You can hold on to them for as long as you want,” Ogden said. “I’ve read them plenty of times.”

Louis thanked the mayor, and as he trudged through the ankle deep snow back to the Happily Ever After Inn, he noticed that a wisp of smoke wafting out of the kitchen chimney and hesitated. He considered taking the front door, but quickly dismissed the idea. He needed to get the books safely to his room in the kitchen somehow.

“You’re being ridiculous,” Louis muttered to himself. “You’re not doing anything wrong.”

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

He walked with determined steps towards the kitchen with the intention of walking it, holding the books for Winston to see, but as he approached the door, he hid them under his clothes.

“Good morning, Mister Weaver,” Louis said with forced cheerfulness as he opened the door.

“Good morning, Louis,” Winston said. He had a quizzical look on his face as he watched Louis make a bee line for his room. “Did you go out for a morning walk?”

“I did,” Louis said as he entered his room. He quickly hid the books in one of the drawers before coming back out into the kitchen, feeling as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

“That’s rare,” Winston remarked. “What were you so determined to hide in your room that you forgot to take your jacket off when you came in?”

Louis’ jaw dropped. He tried to think of something to say, but his brain refused to work.

“Just tell me it wasn’t stolen,” Winston sighed.

“It wasn’t, Mister Weaver,” Louis said sheepishly. He took a deep breath and decided to come clean. “I just borrowed a couple of books from Mister Fuller.”

“What are they about?” Winston asked as he returned his attention to the vegetables he’d been washing.

“The wars,” Louis replied and cringed as Winston’s hands stopped moving.

“Oh.”

“Are you really the Great Enemy?” Louis blurted, asking the question that had weighed heavily on him since the night with the dragon. Everything about what happened after they’d closed the inn had seemed so fantastical that Louis was now ready to dismiss it as a dream. Winston shuddered as he took a deep breath, and Louis feared he might have crossed a line.

“I am,” the landlord admitted, at length. “Or rather, I was.”

He then levelled his gaze on the boy. “There are some things that I would have done differently if I had the chance, but on the whole, I believe I did what was best, and would do it all again.”

“It’s just so hard to believe,” Louis breathed.

“I suppose it is,” Winston agreed. “What will you do now that you know about my past?”

Louis blinked. “Nothing, I suppose. I don’t think anything has changed between us. You are the same Mister Weaver I’ve known for the past three years.”

“That I am,” Winston said softly. “I hope that nothing will change between us.”

“I don’t see why it has to, Mister Weaver,” Louis shrugged.

“Perhaps you might think differently when you finish reading those books,” Winston remarked. “If it does, I hope you bring your concerns to me first.”

“I doubt whoever wrote those books knows you as well as I do,” Louis said with a twinkle in his eye.

Winston looked around as though looking for someone before breaking into a short laugh. “He really does love stirring the pot. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s lurking somewhere observing his handiwork.”

“Do you mean Mister Huntsman?” Louis ventured.

Winston nodded. “I have the feeling he foresaw this when he spoke of my past while he knew you were listening.”

“What if I had told everyone I could about who you were?” Louis wondered. “What would he have done?”

Winston shrugged. “As I said, I get the feeling he just wanted to stir the pot and see what floated to the surface.”

The innkeeper paused and smiled before continuing. “I think you left him a little disappointed, Louis.”

“Well, it serves him right,” Louis sniffed indignantly.

“It does.” Winston agreed. “If you want to read your books, I can make the preparations for lunch by myself.”

“Oh no, Mister Weaver,” Louis said. “I’ll get started on polishing the silverware.”

Louis pulled out the heavy box containing the inn’s silverware and heaved it onto the table. “Do you think we’ll be busy this afternoon, Mister Weaver?”

“I doubt it,” Winston remarked. “Everyone’s saving their pennies to come by in the evening. I’m thinking about offering a discount on beer until the end of winter.”

Louis made a face as he got to work polishing the silverware. “They’re just leeching off your generous nature, you know.”

“That they they might well be doing," Winston smiled. "But I don’t mind."

“Say, you’re rich, aren’t you?” Louis ventured after a short pause.

“I have enough to get by,” Winston allowed.

“Then why run this place?” Louis asked. “You could buy a huge estate and have servants serve you hand and foot for the rest of your life.”

Winston chuckled softly. “I suppose I find it more fulfilling to serve than to be served. Maybe that will change when I get older.”

“Do you think I could take over the place when that day comes?”

Winston’s smile broadened. “I’ll think about it, though I must warn you that I won’t be giving this up for a while yet.”