Sword-Bound

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Sword-Bound Page 24

by Jennifer Roberson


  “A few days. Is there an hostler here?”

  “Oh, that’d be me,” he said comfortably. “Both places, you see. I’ll see to your mount. By the looks of that crest on his neck, he’s a stallion.”

  “He is.”

  “Stallions cost extra.”

  “He’s a very well-behaved stallion.”

  The smith looked at him again. He grunted. “Doubting that. Extra, like I said.”

  I sighed and agreed. Then a thought struck me. A smith would know more about what horses came through town than anyone. Even if they hadn’t seen them in the flesh, smiths undoubtedly spoke of their trade and customers—human and equine—in taverns.

  “I’m here for the horse fair,” I said. “Harith—you know Harith? East of here?—asked me to pick up two head, if I found any good ones. Mares, of course.”

  The smith pulled the horseshoe out of the coals, set it on edge on the anvil, gripped the tongs tightly closed, and began banging away to shape the shoe properly. He nodded, watching his work, not me. When he paused for a moment to examine the shoe, he spoke. “I know Harith. Good horseman. Hasn’t been running so many head now that his son’s away. Gone two years, I think it is. No matter. Young men wanting travel. Though I don’t know as how being a sword-dancer is an honest day’s work compared to raising horses.” He cast a knowing glance at me. “But no offense. You’re either that, or a hunchback. And I don’t think you’re a hunchback.”

  I ignored the unsolicited comments. “Harith just hired me on. Said his son was gone, and he needed the help.” I paused a moment, watching him; made the question idle. “Have you seen any horses with shorn manes? Wildcat got into a corral, broke one of the poles down. A few horses got out. Someone might have picked them up.”

  “Someone might have. I haven’t seen any.” He once again stuck the shoe under the coals and laid down his tongs. “Well, shall I be taking this brute, then, or will you put him in a stall yourself?”

  I assumed a blank expression, just held out the reins. He was a big, stout man who likely took no guff from recalcitrant horses. He might be a match for the stud.

  He indicated a table piled with bridles, straps, bits of iron, horse shoes and nails, a rasp. “Be putting it there.” And he told me how much I was to be putting there. He grinned, displaying a missing front tooth, as my eyebrows shot up. “Extra for a stallion.”

  I glowered at him, then pulled the saddle pouches down, dug through one, and came up with a modest leather pouch. From it I took his price, laid coin on the table. I decided I preferred that the stud be difficult, successfully difficult, just to show the smith he was right not to make exceptions.

  Grinning again, he took the reins from my hand. “Extra if he’s mean.”

  “More ‘extra?’ Hoolies, you’re not a smith or an hostler. You’re a thief!”

  “Others have claimed the same,” he said agreeably. “But there’ll be no other liveries with room so close to Marketday.”

  I figured he told the truth. But I glared at him anyway, watched him lead the stud into shadow. I changed my mind and decided I wanted the stud to be meek. Otherwise he was going to cost me more.

  With the sun nearly gone, the mud under my feet was growing cold. I walked hastily, wanting to reach the inn before I had to stop and put my filthy sandals back on. Keeping the smith’s comments in mind, I’d hung the saddle pouches over my shoulder, hiding the hilt poking up beneath my coat. I found the inn Del had described and went in.

  I made it two strides inside, whereupon a woman shouted at me. “Stop!”

  Startled, I stopped.

  She wore an apron over black homespun tunic and full skirts; a woman no longer young, with bony shoulders, thin frame. Hair, gathered into a thin coil fastened with pins, was gray-to-white, and her skin was heavily creased. Her fingers, I noticed, were beginning the characteristic twist of joint-ill.

  “I run a tidy inn,” she declared. “I’ll not have you tromping in here bringing street mud with you. Go outside, shake off that filthy coat, and wash your feet.”

  I was taken aback. “Wash my feet?”

  “There’s a pot out front on the bench and cloth. Shake off that coat, I said; wash and dry your feet, and then we’ll talk about a room while I decide whether I want your custom or not. And wipe those sandals.”

  “Whether you want my custom—?” But I let it go. I turned around, walked the same two steps outside, saw the bench she meant. Pot of water, folded cloths.

  “Shake that coat!” she called from inside.

  Shake the coat, shake the coat. I yanked it off my body, sleeves now inside out.

  Another command was issued from inside. “And shake it in the street, not on my porch!”

  Hoolies. Why had Del decided we should stay here? I had to wash my feet and there were no spirits.

  I shook the coat in the street. I beat the coat with my hand. I brushed off the coat as best I could. Then I planted my butt on the bench, grabbed a cloth, dunked it in the bowl, and began washing my feet.

  When I was done, I turned to step into the inn and found her waiting on the doorstep. “Show me,” she ordered.

  Dutifully I held out my raincoat. As dutifully I displayed my feet one at a time. I let the sandals dangle from one hand.

  “Very well,” she said. “Now, you’ll be wanting a room. How many nights?”

  “I’m not sure. But I’m here for the horse fair, if that helps.”

  She nodded once. “Extra if you can’t say how long. It affects my business, you see, not knowing who’s staying and who’s not.”

  Extra. More extra? “Are you related to the blacksmith?”

  She knitted gray-white eyebrows over brown eyes and her mouth went flat. “An odious man.”

  I wasn’t quite sure what ‘odious’ meant, but I assumed from her demeanor and the tone in her voice that it was not a good thing. I was just on the verge of saying I’d share the room with Del, but it crossed my mind that doing so might make me an odious man.

  “I’ve one room left,” she said. “It’s small but will do.” She examined me from head to toe. “Your feet may hang off the end of the bed. Just double up your knees. The mattress is clean, as is the pillow. There’s a ewer and pitcher on the stand with a towel and a nightcrock underneath. Wash up before you get into bed.”

  I nodded, sighing in resignation. “Where am I?”

  Brows lowered. “Standing right here in front of me.”

  “No—I mean, where is my room?”

  “End of the hall. Blue curtain. And don’t bother that lovely young woman in the room next to you. Green curtain. She needs her rest, she told me. Mind, I don’t approve of those swords, but a young woman will be wanting to protect herself.” She squinted at me. “If you bother her, she’s likely to skewer you. Leave her be.”

  We stared each other down. “And the other men here?” I asked. “Did you give them that speech, too?”

  “No other men but you have come in since the young woman did. But I’ll tell them when they come back from their carousing.”

  “Then you don’t mind your lodgers—carousing?”

  “Of course I mind it. I won’t tolerate it in my inn. But I don’t make any coin if I turn away every man who arrives on my doorstep. A widow’s got to live. So they may go elsewhere for their spirits, then come back here after.” She squinted her eyes at me. “Well?”

  “I won’t bother her,” I offered meekly.

  “Very well.” She gestured. “End of the hall, on your left. Blue curtain.”

  I tried to sound harmless and grateful. “Thank you.” I took a step, but she remained planted. I paused, backed up a step.

  “Do you snore?” she asked. “I can’t abide a man who snores.”

  I stared back at her. “I do not snore.” Which, of course, I did; at least, Del told me I did. I’d never personally heard it.

  “Extra if you snore,” the old woman said crisply. “You’ll wake me and any number of other lodgers.”<
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  Gods above and below. Again, extra. But I did not call her a thief, as I had the blacksmith. She was likely to charge extra for name-calling. “I don’t snore.”

  “And wash your face. You’ve mud all over it.”

  I waited for additional orders. This time, she stepped aside. With great care, I scooted my way past her and escaped down the indicated hall on the left. Even as I walked to the end, I braced myself for yet another order.

  And it came. “Don’t put those filthy saddle pouches on my clean bed!”

  Blue curtain, pulled aside in the doorway. I ducked in as quickly as I could, yanked fabric across the opening, then dropped my pouches and sandals—on the floor—with a sigh of great relief. Hoolies, what a termagant!

  I divested myself of coat. Of burnous. Of harness and sword. Fell down flat on my back on the bed in dhoti, a string of claws, doubled silver earrings, and nothing more. I lay there for a long moment contemplating things. And remembered that I was paying for a room I did not intend to sleep in. Del was, after all, right next door.

  Hoolies. I’d have to sneak!

  Chapter 29

  IWAS HOPEFUL, but Del did not appear. I badly wanted to go to her room, but the landlady had me worried about even glancing in that direction. I sat on my bed and thought about why I was reluctant to cross a small, mean-minded, old landlady, but nothing came to me. I was annoyed, frustrated, and irritated all at once with myself—and a little trepidatious. She might decide at any moment that my eye color would cost extra.

  I checked the wall between our rooms in hopes of finding a knothole, or a crack between the planks. And it was as I was squatting, examining the wall, that Del slipped into my room. She put a hand on my shoulder and startled me so much that I tried to stand up too fast, bashed a knee as I ricocheted off the bedframe, and landed on the floor in a most inelegant sprawl of arms and legs.

  Del slapped both hands over her mouth to stifle laughter, staggered away two steps. I thought she might collapse onto the bed, she was working so hard not to laugh. I climbed to my feet, brushed myself off, and gave her my best green-eyed Sandtiger’s glare. Del had mastered herself, but nearly went off again.

  I kept my voice very low. “Why in hoolies did you choose this place?”

  “Because of Tamar,” she answered as quietly. When I looked blank, she added, “The landlady.”

  “Why? She looks like she hasn’t cracked a smile in, oh, two hundred years.”

  “Did you have to wash your feet?”

  “Of course I had to wash my feet! And brush off my coat, too, and wipe down the sandals—which is a good thing, I guess, as otherwise it might be difficult to get into them tomorrow. Oh, and she wants me to wipe the mud off my face.” I paused. “Did you have to?”

  “Wash my feet? Or wash the mud off my face?”

  I scowled at her. “Both.”

  “Yes. I had mud up to my ankles. My face was clean, though.”

  “Is she charging you extra for various and sundry things?”

  Del frowned, perplexed. “No.”

  “Hah!” I said emphatically, then winced because it was louder than I wished. Would that bring Tamar-the-landlady?

  “She likes me,” Del added.

  Suspicious, I asked, “Did the hostler-smith charge you extra?”

  That frown again. “No. Why would he?”

  “Hoolies.” I was utterly disgusted. “They’re all picking on me.”

  Del nodded, smiling. “You are eminently pick-on-able.”

  “That’s not even a word.” I scratched at my face, then began brushing hard at the disguising mud.

  She said, “Use the ewer, Tiger. She’s left washing cloths for us.”

  “You’re on her side.” I walked around the bed to the tiny table that held ewer, pitcher, cloths, and a mostly-melted candle set in a cup. “Once again, why did you pick this place?”

  “Once again, because of Tamar. Consider, Tiger: Will she allow sword-dancers?”

  “She allowed you. She allowed me.

  “I told her my man insisted I play dress-up games, but had left me in the last town for an itinerant actress. She was most upset on my behalf.”

  I grunted. “I’ll bet. And me?”

  “I saw you come in. You looked a little like a hunchback. I think she took pity on you.”

  “Pity? The damn woman doesn’t know the meaning of the word.” I dipped the cloth into the filled ewer, began wiping my face. “And she doesn’t serve spirits!”

  Del sighed. “The medicinal aqivi is in my saddle pouches.”

  I brightened. “So it is!” I scrubbed at the dried mud over my scars. “It saves us having to go to a tavern for it.”

  “As I was saying, Tamar will guard the door. No one is going to sneak in and challenge you.”

  “You snuck in.”

  “To your room,” she said. “Not through the front door—no; you missed some. Here, let me do it.” She extended her hand. I put the wet, muddied washing cloth into it. “Sit.”

  I sat, ruminating on the fact that the two women currently closest to me thought nothing of ordering me around. No wonder Tamar liked Del.

  Del wiped at my face, then stopped and looked at me. “Do you have your shaving things?”

  “In my pouches somewhere.”

  “Good.” Del stuffed the wet cloth back into my hands, knelt, and began rummaging through my pouches. Eventually she came up with my folding razor. “No soap? I didn’t find any.”

  “It was down to a sliver. Not anything to salvage.”

  “A dry shave, then.” Del opened the blade right in front of my face. “I’ll neaten you up. Tamar will approve.”

  “Hoolies, Del, I don’t care what that woman approves or doesn’t!”

  “You’ll care if she decides to throw you out. You’ll be sleeping with the stud if she does. Now—hold still.”

  I squinched up my face. Del poked a finger at a furled cheek. “Stop that. Do you want more scars?”

  “Don’t you have soap?”

  “It was down to a sliver. I thought I might buy more while we’re here.”

  “Young lady!” A gnarled hand yanked the curtain aside. “Young lady, why are you in this reprobate’s room?”

  ‘Reprobate?’ I wondered if the word had kinship with ‘odious.’

  “He’s filthy,” Del said. “He asked me to neaten him. Since I grew up with five brothers, I agreed. I know how you like clean, tidy lodgers. He’ll pay extra, of course.”

  In the doorway, Tamar nodded. “Very well. Shall I stand watch for you? I should hate to see him take advantage of you.”

  “Oh, I don’t think so.” Del smiled at her. “I have the razor.”

  Tamar bobbed her head once. “Very well.” She fixed me with a minatory eye. “If I suspect you are making unsavory plans for this young woman, I’ll hand you over to the Watch. They know me, know my rules. You won’t see daylight for two weeks.”

  I stared at her. “Two weeks?”

  “Two weeks. That’s the minimum sentence.”

  “Well,” I said, “I have no unsavory plans for this young woman. I’m sure five brothers taught her many ways of beating off overeager admirers.”

  Del’s smile broadened. Tamar thawed the tiniest bit. “See that you don’t become one of them.” She looked disapprovingly at the sword and harness resting against the tiny table. “Since you aren’t a man with a crooked shoulder, it will cost extra for your sword. I can’t abide weapons in this place.”

  “Extra! Is there anything in this town that doesn’t cost extra?”

  The old woman stared at me narrow-eyed. “Be grateful you’ve got a room at all.”

  She had a point there. “I am,” I said in a conciliatory tone. “Very grateful.”

  Tamar bobbed her head. “That’s as it should be.” She looked at Del. “Are you sure you don’t wish a witness?”

  Del smiled her sweetest smile. “I’ll slit his throat if he even moves.”

  “
Ah. Very well.” Tamar yanked the curtain closed again and took herself away.

  I stared at the door curtain a moment, suppressing the urge to rip down it and every other curtain in the place, just to drive the landlady to insanity, but dismissed it with regret as Del poked again at my face.

  “Now the jaw,” she said. “I’m sure you see why we need not fear other sword-dancers a-hunting you here.”

  My eyes crossed as the razor came close to my face. “I suspect she’d take every coin they had before they stepped foot into this place.”

  “That’s the point,” Del said. “Now, shut up. I don’t want to nick you.”

  Some while later Tamar served cider, fresh bread, strong cheese, and portions of the stew bubbling in the pot that hung from a long iron hook in the kitchen fireplace. There was, however, no place to sit in the small common room just off the kitchen. I asked very politely if we were allowed to take the food and drink back to our rooms.

  She was stirring stew in the fireplace with a large ladle. “No, you certainly may not. I like to keep an eye on my lodgers while they eat.”

  In an intentionally meek tone, I asked why.

  “So they don’t steal my bowls and spoons. Some would, you must know. Some have.”

  I examined the bowl and spoon set upon a metal plate. Short of them being pure silver or gold, I couldn’t think of a reason anyone would steal them.

  “Eat,” she ordered. “Then off to bed with you.”

  I forgot to use my meek voice. “I don’t generally go to bed right after dinner.”

  “I want you out from under my feet. If you’d prefer, you may go outside to walk, to waste coin in a tavern. But if you’re here, it’s off to bed with you.”

  And then all the inner amusement about the woman’s manner peeled away. Beneath that layer, buried partway because I felt so helpless, was the knowledge that with every passing moment it would become more difficult to find Rashida.

  “Listen. Del and I are here together.” I was aware of Del’s surprise that I should say so. “We’re here together, in Istamir, because my son’s sister was stolen by raiders. We’re not here to carouse, we’re not here to make life difficult for you—though I don’t know why you operate an inn when you dislike people so much. We are here to track down these raiders. Nothing more, just to find the girl—and the horses, if we can; they took those as well. And while I usually have respect for women of your age, you’re making it very difficult. We’re here for one very serious reason.” She stood in front of the hearth with her back to it, mouth open, ladle clutched in one hand. She appeared not to notice stew and grease was dripping on her plank floor. Frozen in place, she just stared at me. “I realize Del made up some cockamamie story about masquerading as a sword-dancer, but she is a sword-dancer. Trained on Staal-Ysta. And if it takes killing to get the girl back, then we will kill.”

 

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