She wrinkled her nose at me. I framed a pointed smile and sipped my ale. It was excellent, but at three coppers a pint you would expect that.
“I still think it’s disgusting,” she said. “A child drinking—”
“Listen, lady, I’ve been working for my living since I was five,” I said. “I am not a child and haven’t been one for a long time. And how old are you, Grandma? Nineteen?”
“Twenty, actually.”
“How incredibly ancient,” I said. “I’m surprised you can still walk.”
She shrugged and looked away, her face tipped slightly up as if she was trying to ignore a bad smell. I just stared at her. I didn’t know what to say anyway. She annoyed me, was all. With an effort, I turned my attention to Mithos, who had been talking.
“I’m sorry, what did you say?”
He sighed pointedly and repeated the question. “How did it go?”
“How did what go?”
“Your passage out of Cresdon. Was it successful?” he concluded with a little impatience in his voice.
“No,” I said flatly, “they only let me through on the condition that I would turn you in immediately. There are two platoons of Empire troops waiting outside.” I grinned. “Only joking. Yes, it was successful. A piece of cake.”
They looked at me silently. No one laughed. In fact they didn’t seem overjoyed that I had made it out at all. There was a lengthy pause and then Orgos rejoined us. Sensing the tension around the table as he sat down, he smirked at me. Mithos looked pensively into his beer and said, “Well, Master Hawthorne, you are out of the city. We can part company here. It would take you several hours to get back to Cresdon by yourself if you wanted to inform on us, and the gates will be closed till morning anyway.”
“He helped get us out of the city,” said Orgos suddenly. “He’s a good talker. Might prove useful.”
Mithos looked thoughtfully at him, then at me. The moment felt loaded, embarrassingly so, and I was almost glad when Renthrette punctured it.
“Well, of course he’s a talker,” she said with a brittle smile. “He’s an actor.”
She said it the way she might say “goatherd” or “dung beetle.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“So,” said Mithos, still considering me like I was a fish that had fallen out of the sky. “Will you be going further with us?”
Garnet scowled across the table, daring me to say yes.
“Yes,” I said simply.
“Oh, for crying out loud, Mithos,” Garnet protested. “Must we carry this childish snake about with us? Why can’t we leave him here?”
“Bleeding in a ditch, no doubt,” I muttered.
“That wasn’t what I meant,” he replied testily, “though the idea has a kind of appeal.”
“Oh, I’ll bet it does,” I shot back at him. “In fact—”
“Would you shut up for a moment,” said Mithos, staring at the table. “Listen, Master Hawthorne, we don’t expect thanks for saving you from the Empire, but we don’t expect abuse either. Orgos thinks you might be useful and for that we will let you ride with us, but you will refrain from voicing your suspicions about our profession or character. Do I make myself clear?”
“Well, I don’t know about that—”
He cut me short by banging his olive-skinned hand on the table and turning his black eyes on me. He had a firm jaw and a commanding look at all times. When he wanted to he could look very dangerous to contradict.
“Crystal,” I said quickly.
“Good,” he concluded.
He picked up a board with a piece of parchment listing the dishes on offer tacked to it, consulted it, and passed it round. Now, I was used to chalkboards stating the dish of the day or, more frequently, the week, so this was an unexpected benefit. I was starving, and what was on offer was a far cry from the Eagle’s cheese pasties. The prices were outrageous, but I didn’t have any money anyway. I figured I’d eat and worry about the bill later.
While they mulled over what they wanted I took my first decent look at them.
Renthrette was taller than me, but that wouldn’t bother me if it didn’t bother her. Her hair was the color of soft straw and she wore it tied back, though I had seen it breaking around her shoulders while she was getting dressed and she had looked quite the picture. Her eyes were a cool blue flecked with grey and her mouth was slim and pink. Both had a tendency to freeze up when she looked at me, but I figured I could engineer a thaw of some kind. There was a slight peach tint to her cheeks, and her nose and chin, though both thinner than the fashion, had a strength of character to them which I could have done without.
Garnet had, it suddenly struck me, something of the look of her in his own features. I remembered a play that said that lovers came to resemble each other. Maybe there was something to it. It might explain his hostility to me, his new rival. He read the menu with a kind of studied dignity, like he was about fifty-five, looking for something cheap and wholesome. His eyes were an unnervingly deep green and his hair unremarkably brownish with a slight wave to it. He wore it short but the curl was still there. He had a peppering of beard, but I’d bet he hadn’t been shaving that much longer than I had. His skin was pale and would probably turn lobster pink given enough sun, hence the long-sleeved cotton shirt. Like the rest of them he was fit, but his arms were sinewy and thin despite their strength. I doubt there was an ounce of fat on him.
Mithos was the oldest of the group, though he could be no more than forty, a bit more than Orgos. I couldn’t say if the darkness of his skin was just tan from the sun or it was something in his blood. The blackness of his hair (long enough to flow down to his shoulders) and eyes suggested the latter. He was the tallest of the group and stood well over six feet, his physique less obviously powerful than Orgos’s, but well defined. His arms could have come off the athletic statue that stands at the entrance to the Cresdon arena. It seemed like he brooded a lot. He didn’t say much, but when he did, everyone stopped what they were doing and got out their notebooks.
“While you’re with us,” said Mithos, “the party will cover your costs.”
“What?” I said. “A party? When?”
“Give me strength,” muttered Garnet. Renthrette gently rested her hand on his forearm in a soothing gesture. So, I was right! That charmless streak of thunder and rainy weather? He didn’t deserve her.
“We are what I meant as ‘the party,’ ” Mithos explained. “The group. And so long as you are with us, we will pay.”
I didn’t need any further explanations.
“Right. Great. Er . . . thanks, I mean. Well, then, I think I’ll go for the charcoal-grilled duckling and mushrooms in garlic and black pepper sauce. Sounds good to me. And some strong blue cheese. And I’ll have another pint, or perhaps a good strong cider if they have one. We’ll worry about dessert later, yes?”
“Quite,” said Mithos dismally. Renthrette and Garnet stared at me wide-eyed and ordered the cheese, bread, and pickle salad that was here termed the “harvester’s lunch.” I hadn’t been able to afford to eat like this for months and hadn’t actually eaten like this for rather longer. I looked around the room with interest and pretended not to notice that the price of my duckling would feed three harvesters and their children. Orgos beamed again and showed his teeth. When he smiled I forgot he was a ruthless killer, which was, I suppose, a disconcerting thought.
The “cider” came in a dusty green-glass bottle that looked like it had been ignored for a very long time. I raised it to my lips, caught the acrid vapor of strong alcohol in my nostrils, and sipped. The others, including the barman, watched with horrified curiosity while Renthrette muttered darkly about how no one should be drinking whatever it was that I was drinking. It went down like warm oil and tasted like apple syrup, crushed glass, and the kick of a Hrof ostrich. This was my kind of adventure. I finished it, wondering aloud if I should continue with more of the same or a dram from that nameless, ancient keg at the back of the shelf. The
innkeeper said he thought it was one of those beers made by monks in the mountains, flavored with coriander and orange. How could I resist?
The room had begun to oscillate slightly by the time the duckling arrived, but settled down once I’d got some food inside me. I couldn’t remember the last time I had so enjoyed eating. I had a sensitive palate and Mrs. Pugh’s culinary horrors had been a real strain, as I told them. Renthrette paused in her lettuce chewing and made knowing eye contact with Garnet. Orgos tried some of the duck and joined in the laudation with extravagant gestures worthy of the Cherrati tradesman he had been earlier. Garnet stoically refused to sample any of it and remarked that his cheese was “really rather good.”
“Consider it an inauguration then, Will,” said Mithos. “We can’t afford to feed you like this indefinitely.”
I tried to respond but my mouth was full. Stuffed, actually.
“Also,” he added, “this will be the last decent meal we get before Stavis, since I’d like to cover some mileage before nightfall. We’ll be under canvas most of the week.”
“Why Stavis?” I asked. I had asked before, but I felt that now that they knew I was going with them I might get an answer. Also, though it was largely due to the food and the alcohol, I was feeling better disposed to them, all things considered, and expected them to feel something similar.
“We must consult with our party leader about a job,” said Orgos.
“I thought Mithos was party leader,” I said.
“No,” said Mithos. “And keep your voice down. The party leader went ahead to Stavis to learn the details of the mission. Our leader’s identity is a closely guarded secret.”
“I need another drink,” I decided.
Garnet tutted as I motioned to the barman, pointing at a bottle on the back shelf. He stared, first at me and then at the bottles, and chose the wrong one. I nodded enthusiastically.
“And this job,” I continued, since they were being helpful. “What is it? Assassinating an Empire officer, poisoning a garrison? What?”
“It’s nothing like that,” said Mithos firmly. The others seemed to be letting him do all the talking, as if to make sure they gave nothing away that he thought wasn’t my business.
“It does not involve the Empire at all and will take us far out of Empire territory to the east of Stavis. More than that I cannot say.”
East of Stavis? What was east of Stavis? I sipped my beer and then tried one more question. “This party leader of yours—”
“Forget it,” said Garnet with a malevolent scowl. I looked to Mithos but he merely smiled softly, so I shrugged it off and finished my drink.
“Can you ride?” asked Orgos.
“Ride? Ride what?” I said.
“A horse?” suggested Garnet with lazy condescension.
“No,” I replied.
“Great,” he breathed heavily. “Mithos, Hawthorne can’t ride.”
“Then he can ride on the wagon with me,” said Orgos with a smile at me and a fixed look at Garnet. We all rose to leave.
“Good,” said Mithos. “Be careful how you swing that crossbow about, Will. We restrung it with gut last week. It’s more powerful than you might think.”
“Really?” I said, cocking it and studying the thing with apparent carelessness, allowing it to point squarely at Garnet’s chest.
I didn’t hear Mithos draw but I felt the edge of his broadsword against my throat.
“Humor has its place, Master Hawthorne,” he whispered into my ear, “but I think you should tread a little lighter until you know the ground is firm.”
I got the message and lowered the bow. Mithos sheathed his sword in a single deft motion and stood silently. I smiled as if nothing had happened, which, I suppose, it hadn’t. But if I thought I would get out of it with what little dignity I had still intact, I was wrong. I didn’t know how to uncock the bloody thing and as I wrestled with it I must have caught the trigger. . . .
The bolt slammed into the wall above the bar. The barman dropped a glass as he jumped back, ducked under the counter, and leapt up again, a crossbow of his own raised and aimed at my head.
“Sorry!” I called cheerfully as sweat broke out all over my body. “I’m really sorry about that. It just sort of . . . went off. I’m not very good with things like this and it just seemed to, well . . . you know, go off. And, er . . . sorry.”
There was a moment of stillness; then Mithos, hands above his head, approached the bar as the innkeeper stared murderously. I apologized again and made soothing noises as Mithos wrenched the bolt from the wall and the rattled barman slowly lowered his weapon, looking at each of us in turn. Mithos drew some coins from his purse and put them on the bar with some quiet, friendly words. When he rejoined us he presented me with the bolt and hissed, “Learn how to use that thing before you cock it again. Orgos!” he said with a hard look at the black man. “Teach him. And, Master Hawthorne: One step out of line, just one, and you fend for yourself or worse. We are making a long and difficult trip in which we cannot afford to carry imbeciles with more pride than common sense. Not one step, Master Hawthorne. Remember.”
As the boy showed us to our wagon and horses, Garnet pushed past me, shouldering me into the inn wall. He watched me regain my balance with absolute scorn, his right hand resting on the ax in his belt. I gave him a pointedly courteous bow and climbed up next to Orgos. We set off, heading east, without saying a word.
SCENE IX
The Road East
I shouldn’t have had that last beer,” I said, holding my stomach as the wagon rocked me from side to side.
“Renthrette will feel vindicated,” Orgos laughed.
“No doubt.”
He laughed again and I groaned softly to myself. She was riding twenty yards ahead of us next to Mithos, who was astride a black mare and wearing ring mail with a light helm. Renthrette looked the part too, in heavy scale and a blue-grey helm of riveted plates, which hid her hair and face completely. Garnet was riding his dappled mare behind the wagon, ax at the ready. I suppose I should have felt secure, seeing as how they were all armed to the teeth, their eyes constantly flicking around them, but this show of strength merely served to remind me that we were outlaws in dangerous country. In Cresdon the Diamond Empire’s embrace was strangling, but at least it kept predators at bay. Out here we were deer in tiger country.
For the next week or so there would be few patrols, and the wolves and bandits of the Hrof country would know how to avoid them. Orgos told me that wolves never attacked people and that it was all some kind of myth. So that just left the bandits. I asked him if they were bedtime-story material as well. He didn’t answer.
I started to fiddle with the small crossbow nervously. Orgos noticed and, taking the reins in one hand, showed me how to load, aim, shoot, and uncock it. I drew the slide back a dozen times until it felt like I knew what I was doing.
“Good,” he said, never lifting his eyes from the road, “and that shouldn’t be the only lesson you learn today. Garnet is not always an easy man to deal with, and Mithos takes self-restraint very seriously.”
“I didn’t notice Garnet being all that restrained,” I said defensively.
“I think he suspected you were deliberately annoying him. And your sparring with his sister didn’t help.”
“His sister?!”
“Yes, didn’t you guess? They are virtually identical.”
“Perfect,” I said.
“In appearance, I mean, though they share a certain . . . earnestness.”
“There’s a euphemism if ever I heard one,” I said.
“They have had hard lives,” said Orgos, “and they take our profession very seriously.”
“Yeah? Well, my life has been no bed of roses either. What made theirs so difficult that the rest of us have to pay them back?”
He glanced at me quickly, irritated, then looked back to the road and said, “Maybe one day I’ll tell you.”
Great. There wasn’t a lot you could
say to that.
Around us the ground looked paler, less fertile. Trees were becoming scattered and small, as if drained by the sun. It was getting hotter and the air was thick and heavy. Sweat broke out all over me but didn’t evaporate, leaving me sticky and uncomfortable. We swatted at sprightly little mosquitoes that whined around our ears, drank from our forearms, and then hopped into nothingness. Little swine. Soon I could see the pinpricked pimples they left in their wake, and my temper declined. I began to mutter curses under my breath, and twice Orgos turned to me as if he thought I was talking to him. In the end, to occupy my mind, I did.
“So how did you get into this game?” I asked him.
“Another grim story,” he replied, “to be saved for another day.”
He stared ahead in silence and I let it go.
Since Orgos was about as entertaining as a juggler with no arms, I watched the vegetation grow still sparser and the ground more arid as the miles passed. It was pretty gripping stuff. It was also hotter than a swamp rat’s armpit, which didn’t help. I remember disinterestedly watching a finch tugging seeds from a thistle as we rattled past. After that, nothing.
It shouldn’t be boring, being an adventurer. I knew because I was, you might say, a bit of an expert on heroic stories. My portrayal of the princess in A King’s Vengeance had played a couple of times a month for a year and a half. There was nothing in the story about sitting around on a wagon for hours at a time.
Orgos woke me three hours later. Thanks to the quality of the road, for which I suppose we must thank the bloody Diamond Empire, we had put over thirty miles between us and Cresdon. We had passed only a couple of caravans thus far, but Orgos had woken me for a reason. Behind us was a mounted Empire patrol, closing fast.
“Get in the back,” he said. “There’s bolt of silk you can hide under—”
“I’m not hiding,” I said.
Orgos gave me a look.
“If they stop us, they’ll search the wagon, find me, and then we’re done.”
“You have a better idea?”
“Other than them leaving us alone? Not yet,” I said. “Give me a minute.”
Act of Will Page 6