Free Mama's Boy and Other Dark Tales by Fran Friel

witch's debts. I'll be lucky if I can ever rent this hovel of a shop again, knowin’ what yer bitch of a mother had been doin’ here."
    Will pulled a sweater over his head, shrugged back into the heavy coat, and shoved his hands in the pockets. He felt a fold of paper—Mister Worthing's letter. He remembered the words, Be the man that would make her proud. He turned to face the angry man.
    "Sir,” he said, trying hard to steady his voice, “I'm deeply sorry for the trouble I've caused you. I'll work hard and pay off all the money owed you. It's what my mother would want me to do."
    The man rolled his eyes and scowled, but Will thought he saw a flicker of softening in his hard expression.
    "Come on then. The missus will be none too happy with the state of ye."
* * * *
    He was right. The innkeeper's wife, Missus Cavender, was loathe to have a young boy to look after as well as running the only inn found in the Village of Eastville. But after a good scrubbing, a bit a food, and a full night's sleep, she put Will to work. He was true to his promise to work hard. Aside from her displeasure with his constant wearing of the heavy wool coat, the Missus seemed pleased with him. And from Will's perspective, Mister Cavender and his wife gave him a warm place to sleep and breakfast and supper. Compared to being on his own, he found his lot quite tolerable.
    Thoughts of his mother often crept into Will's mind and darkened his heart against the villagers of Eastville, but in those moments he touched Mister Worthing's letter in his pocket to remind himself of his duty. After such a painful stretch in his young life, many months passed with Will content to live day by day, honoring his mother's memory.
    His tenth birthday came to pass at the inn and the missus offered a sweetcake with his supper by way of celebration. She'd become fond of him, though Will could tell her husband did not share the sentiment. To Mister Cavender, Will's presence simply marked a debt being paid.
    Late one night, a ship anchored at the docks. The rough crew came ashore, as they always did, to the Eastville Inn for a meal and a warm bed with feminine company, if it could be had. The innkeeper stayed up late drinking and singing with the men, his long-time acquaintances in trade, the kind outside of the King's jurisdiction.
    The missus ran herself and young Will ragged, keeping the ale flowing and serving heaping platters of meat and potatoes to fill the seemingly bottomless stomachs of the sailors. She held her tongue when the wagering began, but she knew her husband's weakness. Soon her worries were realized when the ship's mate began a drunken rant.
    "I shoulda known ye haddena silver a’ hand. Pay up ye thievin’ bastard, before I gut ye fer me supper,” he shouted. He unsheathed the dagger from his belt, twisting it slowly as he pointed at the innkeeper's girth.
    Always quick thinking, even saturated with drink, the innkeeper didn't blink at the threat.
    "I've got somethin’ far better than a few coins, mate. I heard you're short of hands after the last haul to the Carolinas. Crew took quite a beatin’ with the fever is what I heard."
    The ship's mate bristled at the comment, leaning forward he pressed the tip of his dagger against the innkeeper's gut.
    "Cheat me, and now ye insult me. Aye, a guttin's too good for ye."
    "Aw, now don't be frettin', Mister Rutt. You know my word is good. Look here.” He pointed to the exhausted boy carrying a heavy load of greasy dishes back toward the kitchen. “There's your prize, man."
    "What are you on about? That bairn can narey hold a stack of plates. He's no use to me."
    "Oh, but he's a pretty one, ain't he, mate?” asked the innkeeper with a wink.
    The ship's mate took another look at the boy as he pushed through the kitchen door.
    "Aye, he is that, but that still ain't no rightful settlin’ of our wager. Add tonight's meal and lodging to the pot and I'll not carve a hole in yer bowels this time."
    Missus