Coldmarch
Page 12
‘Sorry,’ Cam said. ‘I just—’
‘And Cam is right,’ I spat. ‘Split, I would ask that you be nicer to him if you’re going to be our guide.’ I turned to Shilah. ‘You too. What happened with Leroi wasn’t Cam’s fault. And I can promise that Cam misses him more than you do.’
Silence fell, the echo of my harsh words turning to dust.
Split went back to scratching his thigh. ‘We just can’t forget who the enemy is here. The Tavors have an especially cruel history when it comes to your people.’
I gently spun Cam and pulled up his sunshirt so I could show Split the whipping scars running all the way up and down my friend’s back. The taskmaster who had brought down the multi-tailed whip had shown no mercy in her swing. The blow was intended for me, but Cam had thrown himself on my back like a shield, and had paid the price in blood.
‘He’s not the enemy,’ I said, letting his shirt fall back. ‘This here is family. Maybe not by birth, but by deed. So, if you want to shepherd us, then you shepherd all of us. Walking North alone wouldn’t be that difficult considering it’s one simple direction, and we have a compass.’
The muscles in Shilah’s jaw tightened, but then she gave a solemn nod. ‘You’re right, Spout.’ Then she turned to Cam, her chest rising as she breathed deeply. ‘It wasn’t your fault. And I know you care about our people. I’m sorry.’
Cam turned slowly, putting the parasol back above his head, but not quickly enough to hide his embarrassed expression.
Split bowed low. ‘I apologize, Meshua.’
‘And don’t call me that,’ I snapped, feeling as though sand was caught in my chest, grating all of the delicate places. ‘That’s not me.’
Shilah gave me a satisfied nod and a wink, her hand teasing the end of her braid.
Split held his crossbow and snapped his fingers. Picka stopped nuzzling Shilah’s hand and started dragging the cart into motion. Shilah caught my eye, and I nodded back, touching my fingers to my lips as she had behind the first Coldmarch door. I was immediately confused as to why I’d made such an odd gesture in that moment.
Shilah didn’t return the finger-kiss, but she did wander next to me as we crossed the final stretch of road, every once in a while touching my elbow to remind me that she was there.
‘You trash-slinging, knuckle-licking, faht-in-a-jar, sorry excuse for a swindlah,’ the barkeeper said in a heavy Marlian accent as soon as the door sealed behind us. His voice was heavy on the vowels and crackling with cold tones. ‘You think after ten yeahs you cans just waddle back to me place without wiping yer feet? On second thought, don’t wipe, the grime on yer shoes is probably cleanah than you is. Those slaves are probably cleanah than you is.’
Every patron in the room had gone silent. The metal tables were populated mostly with middle-aged Nobles, and the glares were unanimously so foul that my stomach dropped. As far as welcomes went, it felt as if we’d just stumbled into a nest of starved taskmasters, and I was ready to grab the back of Split’s shirt and tug him back out to the sands. We could always refill our waterskins from the underground river, and what was a few more days without food rations? According to Shilah’s map, the City of the Shade wasn’t too far east.
Split turned and gave me the kind of nod that said ‘go along with it’, cleared his throat, puffed out his chest, and announced: ‘And what’s it to you, you Wisp-pinching, mud-baking, piss-serving barmaid?’
‘You think yer still welcome heah, you clotted wound of a High Noble? With yer craggy nose.’ The innkeeper squirted extra venom into his tone as he cleaned a glass with a dirty rag. His grey hair was slicked back with the kind of expensive grease that would need to be reapplied every few hours to maintain its hold. ‘I’m surprised yer welcome anywhere with the worthless shite you pass off as merchandise.’
Split paused and scratched his thigh. I spotted a large Cold Bellows waiting in the corner, and even though the tavern was somewhat chilled, I could feel sweat on my forehead. I scanned the tables for suspicious faces that might recognize me. Lord Tavor and the Vicaress both would have put out a serious ransom on my head, and if word of a reward had reached this tavern before us, then any of these people had the potential to be carrying a very lucrative dagger. Whatever supplies Split had wanted to pick up at the inn didn’t seem worth our heads on pikes.
Shilah leaned closer to me, her fingers brushing the back of my hand. ‘I told you. Let’s get out of here.’
‘Just stick close to me,’ Cam said, standing a little taller and fixing his glasses so they were straight. ‘These are Nobles. I know how to deal with Nobles.’
Shilah looked unimpressed, but she didn’t step away.
The Pedlar squirmed as he worked up a response to the barkeeper. ‘Guess I’ll go try my luck at your mother’s house. I’m always welcome there. And I have it on good authority that she quite enjoys my … merchandise.’
A few men at a corner table chuckled, but were swiftly quietened by a wave of the innkeeper’s rag. The mood of the room became tense again, enhanced by the flickering candles around the tables. I looked to Cam for some guidance, but he seemed at a loss for a plan too.
The barkeeper slowly set down the glass he was polishing. Although his words were ripe with disdain, there was something at odds sitting in his eyes. His glance flicked back and forth from Shilah and me, to Split’s face, almost as if trying to convey some important secret. ‘Ah, you must be the one who sold me mother that “disappointing needle” she carried on about in her last lettah. I thought maybe she’d been trying her hand as a seamstress. Makes more sense she was speaking of yer little needle.’
‘Oh, yeah?’ Split swallowed hard. ‘Well, from what I hear. You— your ale— I heard you …’ Gritting his teeth, he threw his hands up in defeat. ‘Leaky puss in my sunburns, you got me.’
The crowd erupted, thrusting their mugs into the air. Patrons slapped hands, clapped one another on the back, and a few Wisps even changed hands, rolling from one side of the table to another. A group of High Noble girls in fine silk dresses sat at a table in the corner, uninspired by the exchange of insults; rather they seemed eager to finish their round of violently coloured drinks for a different reason. A fancy red-headed Noble girl sat in the centre, a perfectly white sundress hugging her curves, and she was already eyeing Cam, giving him a flirtatious little wiggle of her fingers from the stem of her crystal goblet.
Cam was quick to flatten his golden hair, keeping a straight face.
The barkeeper broke into a huge smile, gesturing to himself proudly. ‘You had ten years to plan yer attack and still I bested you!’
‘I was distracted, Gilly!’ Split tried calling over the noise. He pointed at the rest of our group, as if the presence of two Jadans and a Tavor explained it all. ‘I’m distracted, got a shipment I’m transporting. Yer win doesn’t count.’
Gilly raised a glass in triumph, not a single grey hair on his head shifting out of place. ‘Course it counts, you boot-licking husk of a limp lizard.’
The crowd burst into sounds of celebration again, draining mugs. A toothless man at the bar smirked wildly, his black tongue dancing across the gaps in his gums. The dirty patron looked as if he might embody the exact opposite smell of rosemusk, yet there was a House Erridian sigil prominently displayed on his chest. If the ragged Erridian wanted, he could have bathed in pretty much the same kind of perfume as the Khat.
Split sighed audibly. His disappointment sounded real, but his eyes were speaking in a language of their own, hurling something important back across the bar to the innkeeper. He gave a double-tug of his earlobe. ‘Fine, Gilly. You earned it.’
‘Hey, Pedlar!’ a wrinkly patron in the back of the crowd slurred over an empty mug. ‘Didn’t I know you once? You the one who sold me a rusty compass that barely ever worked?’
Split scratched at the scruff on his chin. ‘Ain’t you the one who shorted me two Drafts on that deal when you tossed a velvet bag at my feet and ran away cackling?’
The Pedlar bent over and spoke to us so low that only we could hear. ‘Remember, be smarter than you were in those damned caverns, and keep quiet. If anyone asks, you’re slaves that I’m transporting to the City of the Shade. And, Tavor,’ he cleared his throat, ‘you’re a distant nephew, and you’re interested in renting Shilah for the evening.’
Shilah’s upper lip curled back into a snarl at this proclamation, and her almond eyes bulged wide, as though she wished to murder everyone in the room – starting with the Pedlar.
Split held up his hands. ‘Okay, okay, sorry.’ He lowered his voice, an evil smirk forming at the corner of his lips. ‘Tavor, you want to purchase Spout for the evening.’
Cam had been eyeing the redhead at the table, who was now seductively running her fingers around the rim of her goblet, so it took a moment for Split’s comment to register. When it did, Cam’s smoulder flopped into horrified mortification. ‘No— what— how come—’
Split chuckled. ‘We need authenticity, Tavor. And from what I understand that is an authentic desire with the overly spoiled Nobleboys who get bored with young women. I call it the “too many figs” syndrome. Seems to me like a small lie to pay to keep your friend safe.’
Shilah shrugged, giving Cam an innocent look. ‘Happens plenty in the Drifthouses.’
Split’s eyes once again wandered to the Coldmaker bag around my chest, an unreadable expression crossing his face. I could see his fingers tense up slightly.
‘Seems fair,’ I said, reflexively clutching the bag tighter. ‘Just go with it.’
Cam went to protest, his face redder than his burns, but Split was already shuffling through the tables, working his way across the room. Gilly wiggled out from behind the bar, and when they reached each other, they embraced heavily, but only for a second. The innkeeper took a step back, cocked his fist, and sent a blow soaring into Split’s stomach.
Split’s loud oomph gave the room another small cause for celebration, but from where I was standing, I noticed that as he was hunched over, Gilly quickly whispered something in the Pedlar’s ear. A few mugs were raised at a corner booth, but at this point most of the Noblemen had already turned their attention back to each other. Card games were resumed – I recognized a few matches of Conquer – goods were examined, and dice were tossed alongside harmless insults. The young girls at the table hadn’t reacted to the punch, as they were too busy gathering in a tight giggling dome, decidedly not looking our way.
I fell into slave stance, nudging Shilah to do the same, the way we used to have to stand on our street corners. Bend at the knees, shoulders in, slouching. She reluctantly put a crook in her perfect posture, and did not appear happy about it.
Split was clutching his stomach, laughing and enunciating so the whole room could hear. ‘Your punch about as strong as your ale, Gilly.’
The innkeeper slicked back his shiny hair, focused on Shilah and me. ‘So yer gonna be making bad decisions later, then, Peddlah?’
Split nodded to the small door beside the bar, his eyes urgent. ‘I only come here for the bad decisions.’
The quip sounded like something practised. Split hadn’t told us if Gilly was also a Shepherd or simply a sympathizer, only that the man would refill our supplies without need for payment or delay. To me it didn’t matter what Gilly was, because that sort of support from Noblekind deserved to be repaid in full; and when I had my army of Coldmakers I’d come back and make the innkeeper rich. So much so that he could reapply the silvery grease to his hair every hour for the rest of his life and never run out.
Gilly gave a serious nod, adding a Wisp to his Cold Bellows and cranking the place a shade cooler.
‘I poisoned one o’ the barrels,’ he then announced to the tavern. ‘Any of yoose lot try stealing my ale and I’ll be able to tell by the blood welling out of yer eyes.’
‘I like poison,’ the toothless man at the bar muttered, his gums flapping wildly.
‘I’m aware of that, Roland,’ Gilly said, opening the side door Split had been so focused on and closing it tightly once he and the Pedlar were both inside.
I glanced around the room using only my peripheral vision, a skill I’d honed during the years when it was necessary. Mostly the crowd looked to be weary travellers, grateful for the time out of the Sun and a stomach full of something stronger than water. There were, however, a few dubious Nobles who’d gravitated towards the shadowy sections of the tavern. Not far from where we were standing one older man with a pair of coloured glasses had a cage full of spiny skinkmanders. They were set on the table before an eager cohort, the buyer examining the scuttling creatures from a safe distance.
The lighting was dim, so it took me a moment to realize, but behind the table, standing hunched just like Shilah and me, was a battered Jadan about my age. He was skin and bones, and even though his complexion was a shade darker than mine, I was still able to notice all the scars around his wrists. A Closed Eye was embossed over his uniform, and the lines on his face spoke of a permanent frown. And if the oppressive symbol on his chest weren’t humiliation enough, the side of his neck had been branded with the ‘unusable’ symbol: a triangle with a line through the middle. This symbol on the neck let other Nobles know that he’d been purchased outright by a merchant.
The man in the coloured glasses sneered and snapped his fingers, my shackled kin sweeping around the table and bowing low. It was difficult to pick up their conversation out of the din. I could sense Shilah trying to hone in as well.
‘Yessir,’ the Jadan said, completely devoid of personality and life.
‘Take one skinkmander out for our guest here, Sunpillow. So he can see that the fangs haven’t been milked.’
Hearing the derogatory term ‘Sunpillow’ made my blood boil. It wasn’t the first time I’d come across the word, but ‘Coldleech’ was the more popular slur in Paphos. I understood that each city had their own special insults for Jadans, but now that I knew the truth of things – at least the partial truth – the name made me tense up. Especially because of the way the merchant tossed it about so casually.
‘Right away, sir,’ the Jadan said. ‘If you want me to get the tongs from the wagon—’
The man smiled from behind his coloured glasses, head slowly turning. He drummed his fingers against the table, making the skinkmanders more frantic. The little lizards buzzed about the cage, whipping their spiny tails at one another’s hard carapaces. ‘Did I say get the tongs, Sunpillow?’
‘Nossir.’
‘What did I say?’
The crook in the Jadan’s back deepened. ‘You said take one out for our guest.’
‘So why would you suggest tongs? Do you want to ride to the City of the Shade in the crate again?’
‘Nossir. Pleassir.’
Only the merchant and the buyer were at the table, and the buyer sent his hands up defensively. I didn’t see any visible rashes anywhere on his skin, making me think that he must have been interested in purchasing the skinkmander venom for someone other than himself. Even Leroi hadn’t understood why it was that only Nobles were affected by diseases like firepox when Jadans weren’t, or why the cure for such a disease was found only in such a ferocious little lizard.
The buyer gave a nervous chuckle. ‘It’s okay, I don’t want to—’
‘Nonsense.’ The man in the glasses sat back, giving a go-ahead motion. Fingers were snapped multiple times, emphasizing his impatience. ‘You should feel confident in your purchase, good sir!’
The Jadan reached out a trembling hand, slowly flipping open the lock on the lizard cage. The skinkmanders started hissing at his approach, the spines on their tails rais
ed and sharp and ready to draw blood. And before I knew it, the seller had removed a cudgel from somewhere beneath the table, raising it above the Jadan’s hand.
‘It’s them or me gonna sting you, boy,’ the seller said, entirely composed, brushing the cudgel gently against the Jadan’s cheek.
The buyer sat back in his seat, face flushed. ‘I don’t think that’s … Gilly doesn’t allow—’
The man in the glasses gestured to the ceiling with his blunt weapon. ‘It’s Gilly’s bar, but the Crier’s world. And our Lord and Creator wants the lessers disciplined. Decree of Unworthiness, good sir! Now hurry up, Sunpillow, or I’ll stick your whole head in that cage.’
Shilah tensed up, but there was nothing we could do without drawing incredible amounts of attention to ourselves.
Cam was already halfway to the table.
‘Hold on,’ my friend nearly shouted. ‘Don’t put your hand in that cage, slave!’
Dice games were halted, heads were turned, and conversations died immediately. A whole troop of curious eyes turned towards Cam. The toothless man called Roland even stopped reaching over the bar, his dirty hand holding a mug beneath one of the taps.
Cam realized his misstep, but instead of backing down he puffed up and wagged his finger at the room, snapping at everyone at once. ‘About your business, fools! This doesn’t concern you!’
Cam spoke with such force and authority that even I slumped a little lower. The redhead in the tight outfit practically swooned, whispering something to her group of friends.
I moved forwards in Cam’s wake, head down. Shilah did the same, only less demure.
‘Cam,’ I hissed out of the corner of my mouth. ‘Cam, stop.’
But he seemed determined. Cam gave a curt bow when reaching the table, quickly brushing the Jadan’s hand aside and closing the cage. One of the skinkmanders leaped up and whipped a tail at Cam’s fingers, but the bars were tight and thick, the attack rebuffed with a metallic clang.
‘And who might you be?’ Glasses said, pushing his eyewear tighter for further anonymity.