I came home with Timothy on the passenger seat beside me. Nettle's gleaming bike was already standing by the old barn we sometimes rented out for local events. She was herself standing talking to some of the old hunters who had gathered around a table outside. Smoke rose from Basil's pipe as he puffed an amused mouthful out.

Nettle laughed heartily to the joke herself. She waved as we approached.

"Timothy, tell these old fools that you are not a good-for-nothing, even as you have lived in the capital for all your life." She beamed at him.

Timothy smiled amusedly at the old man. Basil winked at Nettle in a way she apparently found charming.

"I think," Timothy said slowly, "that being useful in any sense has a lot to do with where you live and how well you have adjusted to your surroundings. If we were transported back to Breasinghae, I would know my way around for sure. Here, though..." He shrugged and flashed a smile. "Here I am learning. Also called a state of good-for-nothing."

Then he bowed. Even with the old oversized T-shirt and baggy pants there was a surprising amount of elegance to the gesture.

The men burst into laughter.

"I like you, Timothy," Basil announced. "Come by our way one of these days, I'll teach you how to handle a rifle. You might not be out there shooting deer any time soon, but you are surely an amusing fellow to have around. And please slow down, that chattering is going to give me a major headache."

Timothy blinked.

"They go hunting when it's the season. In autumn. Basil just offered you could use their practice grounds." Nettle explained. "I would, by the way, love joining," she informed the men.

Basil puffed his pipe.

"I offered it to the young Timothy here. You study in the autumn. What good is the ability to shoot if you are not here when it's game?"

Nettle rolled her eyes.

"As if you would take me even if I stayed here."

Basil didn't say anything, just looked at Timothy questioningly, ignoring the young woman staring daggers at him.

Timothy smiled and shook his head. "I am afraid I might use my time better learning how to handle the hoe first."

Basil puffed another lungful.

"You don't want to. That's the case, isn't it? Just say it out loud. Are you afraid of guns or the game?"

Timothy was saved from answering by my father coming to serve tall beer pints on the table. The day was warm and water had condensed into a pearly sheen on the sides of the tall glasses.

"Children, welcome. Plume is waiting for you indoors, he got here first. Timothy." He extended a hand for him. "Beer?"

Timothy had a polite smile fixed on his face.

"Maybe a soda? I don't drink."

I opened my mouth in surprise. Color rose on Nettle's cheeks. She liked her drinks.

"What do you mean, don't drink?" Basil asked from his seat. "Of course you do, what kind of a man doesn't enjoy a drink in good company? Boy, dear, have one with us."

Timothy turned to him again with his polite smile that seemed to conceal all human emotions. I couldn't guess if he was embarrassed, or annoyed by the situation. He opened his mouth to answer the old man who had his eyebrows raised in clear opposition. Basil was truly annoyed and wasn't trying to hide an ounce of it.

"Soda it is then," Moth said. He laid a hand on Basil's shoulder and looked down at the old hunter. "Would do better for all of us, alcohol dries up the body."

"Says my wife." Basil muttered.

My father patted his shoulder.

"Bramble, son, come help me carry the drinks and maybe something to snack on. The fridge in the main pub is malfunctioning. Something funny with the door. I moved everything to the house."

Surprised, I followed my father to the main house while Timothy and Nettle went inside the pub building to look for Plume. I didn't bother leaving my shoes by the door and changin to slippers, as I normally would, but followed Moth's example and simply walked through the entrance to the tiny kitchen.

He lifted bottles of beer and soda on the wooden countertop.

"Should sand and oil the tables one day, don't you think?"

I muttered my agreement to this question that was a statement really. Moth weighed the soda options. We had a few bottles of off-brand coke and a cheap apple-flavored option.

He uncorked the apple.

"What do you think of this Timothy, son?" he asked. "He seemed polite."

I shrugged.

"You've heard it before. Mom seems to like his help. Apparently he can cook. Unlike her previous au pair. But I have to drive. And he doesn't seem any good at anything... practical. I watched his attempt at making the firewood the other day. When Orion came to bring a load of birch. Some of the logs are too big for the wood stove and it's better to hack them smaller before they are stacked for drying. You know what I mean."

"Mmm..."

I took a seat.

"He lacks some basic things. And I don't mean he doesn't have the strength or precision to use the small ax mom has for making firewood. She can make them, and showed Timothy by example.

"I mean he has never held a tool before. I get he doesn't need everything in the big city he is from. And that he has studied and whatnot. But apparently he has done nothing with his hands. Nothing useful or creative, not played an instrument nor painted miniature models.

"I just don't get him. Nettle seems to like his company, but I don't understand why. He is not witty, or strong, and can't really do anything. Though that doesn't seem to bother mom either. The three of them can talk whole evenings away about odd things, and Timothy doesn't seem to get bored by any of the village gossip, he seems to like all that elf nonsense.

"And that nephew of his can't be much younger than Timothy himself.

"It's just not what I expected. That's all. He is left-handed too, did I mention?"

"No, you didn't. Why don't you take these inside? I'll bring the soda in a second."

I received a loaded tray with three opened bottles of beer and a huge porcelain bowl of potatoe chips and three smaller containers for dips.

"Whose is the third drink?" I asked. "Plume's?"

"Mine."

"Oh. Right. I can take the soda too."

I offered the tray towards my father, but he only shook his gray head.

"I'll be right behind you."

I didn't stay to argue.

I found Nettle and Timothy inside the pub easily enough. Plume was with them. The trio had settled around a big table, where Nettle sat opposite the men who shared a couch. For some reason Timothy's expression was still merely polite.

Plume was leaning over the table and engaged Nettle in a conversation about... where the new metro lines should be drawn in Breasinghae?

And Nettle seemed fascinated, though I wasn't sure she had ever been to the capital city. Timothy was politely nodding at right intervals. Behind his poker face it was impossible to tell what he was thinking of the subject.

"In the north they already have the stations excavated. But of course now there is the tram trail going through there. And in the Noth-East are located tons of people who commute with bus connections..."

Timothy joined in then.

"But they are building the underground connections now, aren't they? I think the city council approved the plan. It was in the news at the beginning of summer."

"Really? Well, that is beautiful. Please, sit with us, Bramble."

I distributed the drinks, noting Plume's cup. I frowned at it. Wasn't it a bit too hot for a cup of tea? And what was in that cup anyway? It didn't seem like he had touched the contents. And I didn't blame him. It looked suspicious. Oddly purple in color, with little flakes reflecting light.

Had father spiced up a cup of milk with food flavoring and confetti? What was in that cup? And why wasn't Timothy acting naturally? He wasn't quite leaning away from his partner on the sofa, but they weren't sitting close to each other either. Had they argued over something? A love quarrel?

Moth interrupted my musings when he placed the opened apple soda in front of Timothy and drew an extra chair for himself to join our gathering.

"Well, Timothy, tell me about yourself," he said. "I hear you speak French. What else do you know, when you are not a good-for-nothing in our beautifully overcrowded capital? What did you do, before you came here? Tell me something interesting."

Timothy focused his colorless eyes on the old man.

A hint of a genuine smile played a corner of his lip up a fraction.

"Something interesting..."

Then, quite suddenly his eyes flitted to Plume's cup on the table. He turned to his friend.

"Plume, mind exchanging drinks? You don't seem to enjoy your choice today. How about a soda?"

Plume blinked. Then his features drew into a wide smile. There seemed to be an inside joke going on between the two.

"Please, Uncle. You are right. I am regretting my choice."

"I can bring you a new drink, it's on the house..." my father started.

But Nephew and Uncle had already swapped drinks and Timothy had turned to regard Moth again. Or rather, he looked into his cup. Then he took a sip and licked his upper lip clean.

"I am afraid I have nothing interesting to tell. I am just your average young student with study troubles who has decided to spend some time in the countryside."

Moth had gone pale. He looked shocked for some reason. Of course it was uncommon for a customer to complain about drinks – especially free ones – but surely both Timothy and Plume seemed now content with their respective liquids. I still didn't know what was in the cup, but maybe it was some new city beverage? Flavored soymilk or something.

Timothy took another gulp.

"You have a surprisingly wide selection of drinks."

"It was a speciality just for today. I hear some people in the big cities are drawn to it."

Well. That was it then.

My question answered, I turned my head to give Timothy and Moth space to chat and intended to ask if Nettle had painted any new art pieces, as she was quite skilled with oils. But soon noticed I was left in between two very odd drink related disputes.

While Timothy and my father were having their chat over the odd city substance in Timothy's cup, Nettle was almost desperately trying to exchange her own beer with Plume's soda. They were whispering over the tabletop.

I leaned closer to listen in on what Nettle was just saying.

"...tell you it's spi..." She suddenly stopped speaking, becoming aware of my presence.

She straightened in her seat and smiled at me.

"Hi Bramble. How's life?"

Right. I looked at Nettle smiling at me with a too wide grin, and suddenly would have preferred Timothy's ever polite smile.

"I think I'll get some air," I muttered.

I grabbed a fist full of chips and my beer and got out, leaving the odd atmosphere inside. Basil had stuffed his pipe with fresh tobacco and the men welcomed me to sit around their table. I declined the offer with a wave as I wasn't in the mood for company right then. Instead, I headed to the toolshed where I had a corner reserved for personal projects.

I was sure no one missed me for half an hour or so.