Nigel Smith was a stout man with thick arms and an ample belly. His hands moved quickly as he all but inhaled his meal, bread, slices of smoked meat and cheese, washing it down with mouthfuls of fruity Estos ale. The tavern was empty except for the town blacksmith, who had the good sense to turn up after the lunch crowd had left to claim his free meal.

Louis watched him out of the corner of his eye as he scrubbed the floor and wondered what his boss wanted to talk to him about. He also fretted about the state of their stores. Would they have to stop providing dinners? What really worried Louis was that Mister Weaver would probably continue offering meals until their stores had run out completely, forcing them to tighten their bellies and live off alcohol until the first wagon came up the mountain in spring.

Eventually, the last slice of smoked meat disappeared into Nigel’s mouth. He drained the remains of his glass and pushed his chair back from the table before letting off a contented belch. “That really hit the spot, Winston,” he called out, “Thank you for the meal.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” the landlord replied from behind the bar. He continued polishing glasses for a few minutes, allowing Nigel to savour the contentment that came from a warm, full belly. When the blacksmith finally sat upright on his chair, Winston stepped out slowly from behind the bar. “Could I have a moment of your time?”

“Of course,” Nigel grinned. “What’s on your mind?”

Winston made his way across the room and stood in front of Nigel with his hands folded in front of him. “Well, I’ve heard that you were going down to Estos tomorrow.”

“Yes, my mother’s feeling a little poorly, so I thought I’d pay her a visit,” Nigel replied, knowing better than to invite the landlord to sit down. “The winter’s rough down in the plains as well.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Winston said, bowing his head slightly, “I’m sure having you by her side will make her feel much better.”

“Is there anything I can do for you in the city?” Nigel ventured.

“As a matter of fact there is,” Winston said as he produced a piece of paper from his apron, “I would be much obliged if you could deliver this to Carson Stockley.”

Nigel raised an eyebrow.

“It’s a list of provisions that I need delivered, at once,” Winston continued as he handed the piece of paper over.

Nigel raised an eyebrow as he read the list. “You know old Carson isn’t going to bring a wagon up until spring. Certainly not to deliver a few sacks of spuds.”

“Oh,” Winston blinked. He searched his apron and quickly produced another slip of paper. “I also want him to procure these two bottles.”

Nigel let off an impressed whistle. “I don’t know what these are, but they do sound fancy. The price you’re offering is even fancier.”

The corners of Winston’s mouth curled up into the briefest of smiles. “Tell him my need for these bottles is time sensitive, and that I expect a complete delivery. I need the provisions and the bottles within two weeks of today, or I shan’t need any of them at all.”

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Nigel looked at Winston incredulously before breaking out into boisterous laughter. “Well, for this much gold, I’d wager that an army wouldn’t be able to stop old Carson from coming up the mountain with what you’ve ordered.”

“I hope you’re right,” Winston allowed.

“You’re not giving him much time, are you?” Nigel ventured, “It’ll take me at least three days to get down to Estos.”

“It’s not as though he’ll be busy at this time of the year, will he?” Winston pointed out.

“Are you really going to buy more bottles for the top shelf?” Louis ventured once Nigel had left.

Winston looked up at the shelf behind the bar and frowned. “I suppose it is getting a little full. I might have to move another bottle or two upstairs to my private collection.”

“Don’t you think you should be a little more careful with your money?” Louis blurted.

He cringed as he prepared himself for the admonishment that he was sure was coming. When it didn’t, he looked up to see Winston looking at him quizzically. “Whatever do you mean, Louis?”

“I mean you’re essentially spending over four hundred gold coins on six sacks of potatoes and three sacks of carrots!” Louis exclaimed, “That’s worth more than what the mine produces in a week!”

Winston blinked in surprise. “And how did you know how much I’m spending?”

Louis looked away as he felt his cheeks colour. “I might have peeped over your shoulder when you were preparing the order list.”

“Then you ought to know that I’m also buying a side of salted beef and two bottles of whiskey,” Winston remarked, “I’m buying the whiskeys at fair value, plus a fair commission, I should point out.”

“What good is buying all this quality liquor if you never sell any of it?” Louis asked, deciding to strike while the iron was hot. The landlord was normally dismissive about the top shelf and now that he was willing to talk, Louis decided that he was going to get as many answers as he could.

A smile crept across Winston’s face. “That is the beauty of these vintage liquors, he said as he looked up at the top shelf, “Collectors are always after them, and their value tends to increase as time goes by. In fact, old Carson’s been pestering me to let him sell a part of my collection on my behalf... In exchange for a hefty commission of course.”

Louis frowned. “They’re increasing in value? How? Vineyards and distilleries make more with each harvest, don’t they?”

Winston chuckled softly. “Perhaps you’ll understand when you grow older.”

“What about your prices then?” Louis demanded. He had often felt that the townspeople took advantage of his boss, who he had grown quite fond of. “And your generosity?”

Louis feared he had gone too far when he saw the mirth disappear from the landlord’s face. The old man sighed heavily before looking the boy in the eye. “I’ve amassed quite a fortune over the years. More than enough for me to live off. I have no children…”

He looked around the empty room. “The people who come in here, our guests, are the closest thing I have to family. What’s wrong with spending a little of what I have to look after my family?”

“Some of them are just taking advantage of your generosity, you know,” Louis sniffed.

“As many families are wont to do,” Winston remarked with a fleeting smile as he looked out the window.

“I want to build a comfortable place where people will come to share their joys and their sorrows,” Winston said absently, “That was always his dream.”

“Whose?” Louis asked.

He then turned to Louis and smiled warmly. “An old friend’s.”

Louis gave Winston a confused look. “And why are you living his dream?”

Winston held his smile and shrugged. “He is sadly no longer with us, but we made a promise.”

“If you say so, Mister Weaver,” Louis said as he went back to his scrubbing, knowing better than to press his boss about the war. There always was an air of melancholy about the old landlord when they were alone together.

“Whatever,” he muttered to himself as Winston disappeared into the kitchen to begin work on dinner, “If he wants to waste his money on these ingrates… well, that’s no business of mine.”