by C. J. Archer
Kitty accepted her horse's reins from Theodore. "I don't know what I'll do first," she said. "A hot bath? A warm meal? Or just sit by a fire with a cup of tea in hand."
"Mulled wine," Meg said dreamily. "That's what I want. I haven't had mulled wine since last winter."
"What's mulled wine?" Max asked.
Meg looked surprised by the question at first but then she recalled his memory loss. "It's spicy and warm. The perfect accompaniment for winter feasts."
Quentin handed me the reins to my horse. "I'm going to buy myself a sheepskin coat and wrap myself in it," he said. "Then I'm going to ask the innkeeper to cook me a feast fit for a king and I'm going to gorge myself." His stomach audibly growled and we laughed.
Dane clapped him on the back. "I'd settle for bread and cheese right now."
"Ooh yes," Theodore cooed. "I miss the smell of freshly baked bread."
I groaned. "Enough talk of food. My stomach feels hollow. Anyway, I've decided I'm going to eat whatever is available upon our arrival."
"I'm going to eat whatever is available while soaking in a hot bath." Kitty dug a hand through her tangled locks, abandoning her attempt at brushing it when her fingers got caught. "And there'll be a maid to wash my hair and another to wash my clothes."
Quentin sighed deeply.
I walked alongside Balthazar, hunched into his cloak to his eyes. "Bal? Are you all right?"
"I'll manage," he said stiffly.
I touched his arm. Even through the clothing, I could feel him shivering. I removed my cloak to give to him, but Dane put a hand on my shoulder from behind. He shook his head and removed his own cloak then gently wrapped it around Balthazar, ignoring the old man's protests.
We did not stop all day, but our descent was just as slow as the ascent. The treachery of loose, slippery rocks meant we had to tread cautiously, and we spent another night on the slopes in the cold. At least the snow and rain had stopped, and the wind seemed to weaken too. We managed to get a small fire started with some dry wood we found beneath a cluster of bushes, and we all huddled around it, worshipping the flames.
I was so exhausted I fell asleep sitting up, my back against Meg's. Sometime during the night I must have lain down, and I awoke in her arms. Dane was awake too and I joined him where he stood with the horses, looking down at the valley below and at the second branch of the Razorbacks looming in the distance.
"Freedland," I said, pulling my cloak tightly around me. "It looks peaceful, empty."
He pointed at the hazy horizon to the south. "That's the sea. Priest's End is there somewhere."
"I know it's only a small village with a reputation for being rough, but right now, it seems as wonderful as Leon's palace to me."
"To me too." He lifted the collar of my cloak to cover the back of my neck. His thumb stroked the patch of skin beneath my ear before he withdrew. "Let's head off before one of us goes mad from hunger and decides Quentin looks the tastiest."
"Oi!" Quentin had come up behind us, unbeknown to me but not Dane.
Dane laughed and ruffled the youth's hair. "The faster you move, the less appealing you'll seem as we get closer to Priest's End and proper food."
We reached the valley by the time the sun was on its descent. The grassy plain wedged between the mountain ridges seemed devoid of life at first, but closer inspection revealed rabbits and other small creatures scuttling here and there.
That night's supper was a feast in comparison to the last few. The weather in the valley was warmer and we all slept peacefully under the open sky. Not even Kitty complained about the lack of privacy as Meg and I held up our cloaks to create a screen for her to do her business behind.
The next day, the sun shone. We could have traveled faster but kept the pace slow in deference to Balthazar. He didn't complain, but I could tell from his crooked back and pinched face that the ride had been too much for him. That night I made a soothing tisane from the herbs I'd brought with me to ease his aches. I was glad I'd packed them. The Freedland plants growing on the plain were not familiar, and the ones I needed didn't grow in grasslands anyway.
The following morning dawned grayer, and the clouds darkened as the day wore on. The rain began when Priest's End came into view, and by the time we reached the village, late in the afternoon, we were thoroughly wet.
I'd heard Priest's End referred to as Arse End and when we entered the tiny village, I could see why. The cluster of buildings squatting at the bay's edge were squeezed between two high cliffs that must keep the village and dock in shadow for much of the day. The houses were small and most looked to be in need of repairs. Some seemed abandoned altogether, their roofs caved in, their walls falling down and doors broken.
For a village with so few buildings, the main street was unusually busy. Dozens of men lolled about in doorways and against the tavern walls, sometimes alone but often with a woman. Their grunts left no doubt as to what they were doing. Several drunkards slept in gutters, oblivious to the stagnant pools of muddy water they were lying in. Going by the smell, I suspected it wasn't always mud mixed with the water, either. I also suspected some of the bodies were dead. Those who were not dead, or dead drunk, scowled at us as we passed. I'd never felt more of an outsider.
"Keep together," Dane warned. "Don't show aggression, don't look as though you're going for your weapon, but be prepared to draw at the first sign of trouble."
Kitty covered her nose. "This place smells like a cesspit."
"It is a cesspit," Theodore muttered. "A human one."
We passed a man pissing against a bollard, and another lounging in a doorway, picking his teeth with the point of a long, curved knife. Dark eyes peered back at us through his greasy black hair. He had a short, stocky build and an olive complexion, much like Max.
A woman leaning over a railing beckoned Dane with the crook of her finger. Her large breasts somehow managed not to fall out of her loose bodice, despite leaning forward. "Looking for a good time, handsome?"
"We're looking for an inn," he said. "Is there one nearby?"
"A respectable inn," Theodore added.
She wiped her nose with the back of her hand. "Respectable? Nope, not here. If you want a bed for the night then try The Golden Trident." She chuckled, revealing broken teeth and swollen red gums. "Can't promise the bed won't be full of lice and the bread free of maggots, but The Three Tentacles is full on account of there being two ships docked. Not that it's much better."
We continued on in the direction she indicated until we reached one of the few double story buildings in the village's main—and only—street. It was as ramshackle as the rest, however, with grimy windows through which dim light could be seen. The sign of a trident stabbing an octopus swung from one hinge. It couldn't be considered golden by any stretch of the imagination.
Kitty pulled her cloak tighter. "I don't like this place."
"It's either this or we continue on and camp outside the village," Dane said.
She hesitated.
"We need supplies," Meg said. "We haven't got enough food for a decent supper. We have to stop here."
The decision made, we passed beneath the archway to the inn's stable yard. A stable hand lay sprawled on a bale of hay, a hand down his breeches, snoring. We stabled the horses ourselves, fed and watered them, then stowed the saddles and tack. We carried our packs with us into the inn.
The chatter slowly died and faces turned towards us. Someone at the back belched, and a woman spat on the floor at Erik's feet. Our usually jovial Marginer glared back at her. This was one woman he wouldn't flirt with.
Dane approached the innkeeper and was given two keys when he handed over coins. "The last rooms," he told us. "The women can have the pick of the two."
There was no decision to make, however. The rooms were identical in every way. There was only a single bed, a dirty, chipped basin, and a small table. We three women could make do, but the six men couldn't fit in one room.
Erik, Max and Quentin decided to
sleep in the stables, while Dane offered Balthazar the bed. He and Theodore would find space on the floor.
Balthazar inspected the mattress with its straw innards poking through holes. "I think the floor is a safer option. These holes were made by something with small teeth."
Kitty made a choking sound and clutched her throat. "I never thought I'd say this, but I'd rather be camping out. Somehow the ground feels cleaner than this place."
In our own room, Meg picked up the blanket between thumb and forefinger. It was stained yellow in places and a patch had been cut out of the middle. "I'll be using my cloak again tonight."
Kitty sighed. "There goes my dream of a comfortable bed and washed clothes."
"You can also kiss your dream of a warm bath goodbye." I pointed at the wash basin. "I'm not sure I want to use that. It has a yellow rim."
Meg picked up the empty basin. "I'll clean it in the stable yard. I saw a well out there."
I rummaged through my pack and handed her a pouch of herbs. "Use these. They have cleansing properties. Don't go alone."
Kitty nudged the bedpan out from under the bed with the toe of her boot. "Take this with you and give it a good scrub."
Meg arched her brows. "I thought you were trying not to be a duchess. You wanted to be just like us village girls."
"Cleaning that is a step too far."
Meg eyed the filthy bedpan. "It might be for me too."
I handed her the blanket. "Use this to carry it. Try to avoid the stains."
"Soak your hands in Josie's herbs afterwards," Kitty called out as Meg left with the basin and bedpan wrapped in the blanket.
When Meg returned some time later with the clean bedpan tucked under her arm and the basin full of water, I knew the herbs had been a success. She placed the basin on the table and directed Kitty to go first.
"I'll wash your hair while you wash yourself," she said.
Kitty pulled her hair back and held it out of the way. It had long since come loose from its arrangement. "I think you'll need to replenish the water after each of us is done." She leaned over the basin to wash her face and gasped at her reflection. She pawed at her hair, trying to smooth out the tangles. "Why didn't you tell me I looked like a slum dwelling whore?"
Meg tipped her head back and laughed so hard she cried. I laughed too, partly at her reaction and partly at Kitty's.
Kitty began to cry, but not from laughter. "There are leaves in my hair, and who knows what else." She scratched her head. "Do I have lice? Meg, check if there's something crawling in my hair. I can feel scurrying little feet."
"Do lice have feet?" Meg asked. "Or do they have paws? Or tiny claws perhaps?"
"Just check!"
Meg dutifully checked Kitty's hair while I helped her undress. After we all washed and put on clean underclothes from our packs, I scooped up our dirty clothing and headed to the men's chamber. Dane and Theodore joined me, also clutching piles of clothes. Their hair was damp and their skin clean. Theodore seemed to be in the best spirits he'd been in for days, his step once again sprightly. Being dirty was as horrifying to him as it was to Kitty.
It was already dark in the stable yard, nightfall having arrived early thanks to the high cliffs casting their long shadows. Quentin joined us at the well with clothing bundled under his arm. His hair was wet too, but he seemed cheerful.
"How are the stables?" I asked.
"Filthy. Erik spent this entire time mucking them out. He says the horses shouldn't have to live like that."
He dumped his clothes on the ground just as the door to the inn opened and two sailors spilled out. One leaned a hand on the wall and vomited. The other walked off, singing loudly.
"Disgusting," Theodore muttered. "The sooner we leave tomorrow, the better."
"I want to ask around about missing persons first," Dane said.
Theodore indicated the drunk now sitting in his own vomit. "I think most of these people are missing from somewhere on purpose. It wouldn't surprise me if half of them are running from the authorities in some city or other."
"It's certainly a good place to get lost," Dane muttered as he pulled up the pail full of water. "Not a single person has asked us why we're here or where we came from."
Quentin watched as Dane poured water into my basin and I tipped some herbs in. "Have you noticed that a lot of them look like Max?" he asked. "Short with dark hair and tanned skin. I think Max is a Freedlander and maybe I am too. The captain is definitely only half."
"A number of the palace servants are Freedlanders," I said. "I'd say it was the dominant birthplace among you."
Theodore accepted the pouch of herbs from me. "This country will deliver answers. I'm sure of it."
With our bellies full and our bodies clean, spirits were high the following day, despite the uncomfortable sleep most of us had. None had wanted to risk the mattresses, not even Balthazar.
We headed to the market together, if the four women selling produce from wheelbarrows could be called that. The dock itself was busy with sailors preparing to set sail on high tide. Most looked a little worse for wear after a night spent on dry land at the taverns and whorehouses, but somehow they managed to perform their duties without throwing up or falling asleep.
"There isn't much here," Meg whispered to me after inspecting the barrows.
She was right. The lettuces were limp, the tomatoes soft, and the apples rotten. The root vegetables were in better condition, and we bought up most of the stock sold by the toothless woman with the wild gray hair. I also bought dried herbs and spices to replenish my supplies and asked the woman about the ones I didn't recognize. I left her stall with more herbs and spices than I'd meant to buy, eager to try her recipes for new remedies.
At each barrow, Dane asked the seller if she knew of any missing persons. None did. He also made sure to parade each of the men past each barrow, but the women didn't show any signs they recognized them.
"We'll ask at the ships," Dane said. "Then head back to the inns and taverns and make inquiries."
With the first ship preparing to sail shortly, we had a difficult time getting the attention of the sailors. They answered our questions about missing people readily enough, but getting them to look up from their tasks at the faces of our men was another matter. Dane resorted to asking outright if they recognized any.
All answered in the negative.
With the morning slipping past, it became obvious that another night would need to be spent in Priest's End. There were too many people to ask and no one wanted to leave until we'd exhausted all avenues. Freedland simply felt too promising to do a half-hearted attempt.
We trudged back to the inn with our packs full of supplies. Two sailors emerged from one of the taverns and stepped in front of Quentin and Dane. One stroked his full black beard as he sized Dane up. The other pinched Quentin's cheek.
"Who's a pretty boy then, eh?" he sneered. "What's a little lad like you doing in a place like this?"
Quentin stiffened and stepped back. His tormenter went to follow, but Dane intercepted him.
"Let us go on our way," he said. "We don't want trouble."
"Hear that, Darry?" The bearded one nudged his friend in the ribs. "They don't want trouble."
"You're in the wrong place then," Darry told Dane. "Priest's End is where folk come looking trouble." He nodded at me. "I like your women. How much for that one?"
Dane grabbed the man's doublet and shoved him to the ground. "Get out of my sight before I slit your throat."
The bearded one drew his sword. "You shouldn't have done that."
Dane, Max, Quentin and Erik drew their weapons.
The bearded man swallowed.
Darry got to his feet, his eyes bulging as he stared at Max. "Well fuck me. I thought you were dead."
Chapter 10
Ale was a good lubricant for keeping loose tongues talking so we headed into the tavern the men had emerged from and bought a round of drinks. Their tongues didn't just require ale to be
loosened, however. Dane had to pass over some ells.
"What do you mean, you don't remember?" asked the bearded sailor named Gerald when Max explained he'd lost his memory.
"I must have been hit on the head," Max said. "I can't remember anything before waking up as a guard in King Leon's palace."
"Who's King Leon?"
"King of Glancia, idiot," said Darry.
"Not anymore," Max said. "He died. I left the palace and came here, thinking I must be from Freedland. I want to find out more about myself, maybe find my family." His gaze flicked to Meg then back to the sailors.
Gerald snorted. "A royal guard? You? Merdu, they must have been desperate to hire you."
Max stiffened. "Why? I'm a good fighter, I can use a sword and ride."
"Aye, but you're a thief."
"He don't know that," Darry said. "He forgot, remember?"
"Thief?" Max tilted his head to the side. "What did I steal?"
"Anything that weren't nailed down." Darry snickered into his tankard. "Couldn't trust you with nothing. I reckon you'd steal a drunk's gold teeth right out of his mouth while he slept."
Max's fingers gripped his tankard hard. "I think you have the wrong man."
"Nope." Darry shook his head. "I spent two weeks on a ship with you. I don't forget a face."
"Nor me," Gerald said. "You're the man who stole my boots one night. Right here in Priest's End, we were, at the end of our voyage. You got me real drunk and when I woke up the next morning, my boots were gone." He held out his palm. "You owe me for the new pair I had to buy."
Darry pushed Gerald's hand away. "Don't mind him, Max. It's his own fault for flashing them around, telling everyone how much he paid for them in Noxford. If you hadn't taken them, someone else would. Maybe even me." He chuckled into his ale.
Max swallowed. "I'm a thief," he said dully.
Meg covered his hand with her own, but he pulled away. Her fingers curled up before retreating to her lap.
"You said you thought he was dead," Dane pointed out. "Why?"
"I heard he got caught for stealing a horse and got sent to a prison mine near Gull's Wing," Darry said.