Leaves had begun to fall in earnest.
Near the garden, Moss swept the roof of his small cottage with a reed broom. The dry leaves slid down the shingles and gathered along the edge before dropping into the grass.
Beyond the fence the beans had begun to yellow. A few late fruits still hung from the branches near the well.
At the front of the inn a cart had stopped along the road.
Two small donkeys stood between the shafts, their ears flicking at the falling leaves.
Crates rested in the back of the cart. Apples from the nearby orchard. A sack of grain. Bundles wrapped in oilcloth.
Ruan stood beside the wheel speaking quietly with the driver.
The door of the inn remained open behind him.
One of the crates shifted as the driver loosened the rope. The smell of fresh beef drifted from the back of the cart.
A hand reached past him and lifted the crate down before it could tilt.
The traveller with the hooded cloak set the crate easily on the ground.
The edge of a hooked beak showed briefly beneath the shadow of the hood.
"I'll carry it."
Ruan nodded once.
The traveller lifted another crate and carried it toward the open doorway. His steps were steady, careful not to disturb the loose leaves gathered along the threshold.
Inside, the crate settled onto the long table near the wall.
Outside, the donkeys stamped their hooves and shook the harness bells.
The last bundle came down from the cart.
The driver climbed onto the seat and gathered the reins.
He had just turned the donkeys toward the road when a sharp voice rose from near the wheel.
"Aargh! Watch your step, you giant!"
The driver flicked the reins and the cart rolled forward. He did not look back.
Ruan looked down.
Four small figures stood near the shadow of the cart.
Round travelling cloaks hung nearly to their feet. The caps beneath their hoods showed different shapes and colours—one wide and brown, one tall and pale, one spotted red, and one small and smooth.
The tallest of them pointed accusingly at the departing cart.
"You nearly stepped on us!"
"You nearly stepped on me," another corrected.
"Technically it would have been crushing," a third voice added thoughtfully.
The smallest one bowed toward Ruan.
"I'm sorry about them."
The four of them looked up at the inn together.
Ruan regarded them for a moment.
"You need something?"
The tallest of the four stepped forward. His cap rose higher than the others beneath the hood of his travelling cloak.
"A room," he said. "Preferably one not directly beneath the feet of careless cart drivers."
"We require lodging," another added.
The third folded his arms.
"Temporarily."
The smallest one bowed again.
"Just for the night."
Ruan glanced toward the open doorway behind him.
"I don't have rooms that small."
They turned toward each other at once.
A hurried whisper passed between them.
"We could share."
"We always share."
"Efficiency suggests a single room."
"Yes, one room is acceptable."
They looked back up at him.
"One room will suffice."
Ruan stepped through the doorway and reached beneath the counter for a key.
The smallest of the four accepted the key with both hands.
"Thank you."
They moved toward the stairs together, a slow procession of cloaks and caps.
Three of them began climbing at once.
The smallest reached the first step and climbed onto the edge of the stair like a ledge, pulling himself up with both hands before disappearing over it.
One remained behind.
He turned toward the counter.
"May I have a drink?"
Ruan stepped into the kitchen and lifted the kettle.
"Tea."
He poured into a cup and set it on the counter.
The small traveller studied it carefully.
"The cup is rather big."
Ruan said nothing.
He leaned closer and tested the steam rising from the surface.
"The tea is hot."
"Tea is meant to be hot," one of the voices called down from the stairs.
He considered this.
"That is inconvenient."
He took the cup anyway and followed the others upstairs.
***
By midday the inn had settled back into its usual rhythm.
Outside, the cart had long since disappeared around the bend in the road. Leaves drifted steadily across the path and gathered against the well.
A small pile of leaves had gathered near the garden fence.
Inside, three of the small travellers had claimed a table near the window.
Their packs were no larger than a loaf of bread. A roll of blank parchment rested beside them.
Ruan set down a small plate of bread and fruit.
One of them inspected the apple slices.
"Too thin."
"They are normal slices," another replied.
"They are inconsistent."
A third lifted the cup beside him and tested the tea with one cautious sip.
"Acceptable."
The smallest one looked apologetically toward Ruan.
"We have been travelling a long time."
Ruan inclined his head and returned to the counter.
Later, one of them appeared near the stairs.
"The sheet in the room is rough."
Another voice drifted from the corridor.
"It is not rough."
"It is slightly rough."
"It is textured."
The door closed again.
Near the hearth, the hooded traveller glanced briefly toward the ceiling where the voices had come from.
"Loud travellers," he said.
Ruan wiped the counter and set the cloth aside.
By afternoon the complaints had become quieter, though they never stopped entirely.
***
Evening gathered slowly in the common room.
Lantern light settled along the tables.
The small travellers returned downstairs together and took the same table near the window.
Dinner arrived in four small bowls.
For a while they ate without speaking.
Then one of them set down his spoon.
"This is your fault."
"It is not my fault."
"You lost the map."
"I did not lose it."
"You folded it."
"It was raining."
"You folded it incorrectly."
The argument continued in low, intense voices.
At the next table a traveller leaned slightly toward the counter.
"Sporelings," he murmured to Ruan. "They're like that."
Ruan placed another kettle beside the hearth.
At the window table the argument had reached its conclusion.
"You lost it."
"You folded it."
"You dissolved it."
"It dissolved."
Ruan approached with a tray of cups.
He set them down in front of the four small travellers.
"The tea is not too hot."
They fell silent long enough to sip.
After a moment Ruan spoke again.
"The place you're going," he said. "I can draw it."
Four heads lifted at once.
"You can?"
Ruan returned to the counter and unfolded a sheet of paper.
They gathered around the edge of the table while he drew.
Lines for the road.
A bend near the river.
A bridge.
A sheep road cutting across the hills.
When he finished, the smallest of them clapped softly.
"This is excellent."
"Remarkably clear."
"Finally accurate."
The map was rolled carefully and tied with a string.
Tomorrow they would leave again.
***
Morning came with a pale light along the road.
The leaves that had fallen during the night covered the path almost to the well.
The four Sporelings appeared at the doorway with their small packs tied neatly behind them. The rolled map was secured carefully beneath one of the straps.
They gathered near the steps and checked the knots again.
"Everything is accounted for."
"You have the map."
"I have the map."
"Do not fold it."
"I will not fold it."
The smallest one turned back toward the inn.
"Thank you."
Ruan inclined his head.
"If you see a sheep cart," he said, "you can ask for a ride."
They considered this advice seriously.
"Efficient."
"Practical."
"Sensible."
They stepped down onto the road and started along the path together.
The leaves shifted around their feet as they went.
Before long the road bent and they disappeared beyond the trees.
Ruan remained by the doorway a moment longer.
Across the yard, Moss was sweeping the fallen leaves away from the garden fence again.
By the time Moss finished sweeping, the path was covered again.