The Beastly Sound of Silence by Mandy Munro

I lean against the glass cabinets where my best whisky is kept and take a moment to smile. Dewgrass nights in the tavern are always noisy and full of life. The men work hard sowing the fields and fishing the lake, and I work hard feeding the men without wives and pouring the drinks for those pretending they don't have responsibilities at home.

It is difficult to believe it's been two years since Da died. Two years of turning down almost weekly offers of marriage.

I'm pretty, in an ordinary kind of way, not the type to turn heads in the street, but now I'm a woman of twenty-two Evensuns with the key to Village Discord's only tavern, it apparently makes me desirable.

Tomlin, a fine fellow of marrying age with a property and a crooked nose, is blowing kisses at me. I laugh and shake my head.

Where do I find a man who asks nothing of me but gives everything of himself?

"Another round, please, Hope?" Jonas smiles sloppily and burps.

I pour the ale, gazing at his friends seated at their usual table. Jonas is on his third drink; he'd arrived late. My strapping cousin, Litken, is on his fourth, and weather-worn Jarrod is on five. Jarrod runs his hand through his curly brown hair and wets his lips. He's undressing me with his eyes.

I shudder and look away. He doesn't bother hiding his stare these days.

I put the three pints onto a battered metal tray and push it across the bar. "Six shucks, Jonas." He's swaying that much he's making me feel sick.

Jonas fumbles for the purse at his belt. The shine on his nose is almost as bright as the glow from the oil lamps. I sigh, then lean forward and whisper. "Go home after this. Lotti will thank you."

Jonas gets a calloused finger inside the worn purse, opens it wide and places four shucks on the counter. "You mean Lotti will thank you," he mumbles. He blinks, trying to do the calculation.

There are only a few shucks left in his purse and I put my hand over the coins. "That's payment enough."

Jonas hiccoughs and nods.

"Can't you pay your due, Jonas?" Jarrod is leaning back in his chair with his feet on the table. He grins belligerently. "If you marry me, Hope, you'll never want for anything."

I pull out the smile I reserve for idiots, ingrates and arseholes who don't respect me.

Litken shoves Jarrod's boots off the table and Jarrod's chair slams onto all fours. "Shut it, Jarrod. Hope's too good for the likes of you. Any more of that talk and I'll chuck you out again."

Jarrod's neck is red as he jumps to his feet growling, but Litken is a whole head taller and built like a bull. Jarrod sits down.

I pull the iron key on its chain from beneath my laced bodice. "You know how it goes, Jarrod. Three times thrown out, three years dried out." It wasn't an idle threat. The tavern key is nethered to my will and Da's before it.

"Yeah, you don't want to be like Taylo," Jonas slurs.

Da had thrown Taylo out of the tavern just before Da took ill and died. Even now, if I pour the ale, it turns to water before it touches Taylo's lips.

Jarrod sips his ale; anger simmers in his grey eyes. I've rejected thirty plus proposals, yet he still doesn't accept I won't marry him.

The tavern door bangs open, and wind gusts through the bar. I glance out the window at the lake as I run to shut the door. Dark clouds are brewing in the evening shadow-light and the mist shrouding the phantom island at the centre of the lake, swirls heavily. I reach the door and jolt as something brushes past me, but that's impossible.