This is the opposite of inconspicuous. Even if I found a rebel to pass information along to, everyone would know who they were talking to. I could get us both killed.
So I stride to the bar and pull a gold hairpin from my hair. I hold it up for the bartender to see. He hurries over and glances from me, to the pin, then back to me. “That looks real.”
“It is.”
“You shouldn’t be flashing it around,” he warns.
“How about you take it off my hands and get me some ale?”
He takes the pin and examines it, then nods. “You want some dinner, too?”
I shouldn’t, but I nod because I know trading a gold pin for a single ale is a terrible trade. Getting food makes me less suspicious.
When I sit at the bar, two men take the stools next to me. I tense but keep my eyes ahead.
“You’re a long way from home,” the one on my right says. He smells like sweat and liquor.
I look at him, noting the bend in his nose and the scars on his cheeks. This man has seen a lot of fights in his day.
“Need some company tonight?” he asks.
“If she needs company, she’ll be gettin’ that from me,” the other man says.
This man has fewer scars and his nose is straight, so he’s either a better fighter, or someone who avoids a brawl.
The bartender sets a mug of ale in front of me. “These two bothering you?”
“No. They’re making polite conversation.” The last thing I need is to draw even more attention to myself by having these men thrown out.
The bartender doesn’t look convinced but leaves to help other customers. I glance at each man, then take a sip of my ale.
“That dress looks expensive,” Broken Nose says. “Would look even better on my floor. I pay well.”
“I don’t need your money,” I say. “I’m waiting on a friend.”
“Nobody comes dressed like that unless they’re selling,” the other man—Straight Nose—says.
“Can I get a napkin?” I call to the bartender.
He drops a cloth square at my place. I fold it into a triangle, then set my ale on top of it. If any members of the rebellion are around, they’ll recognize the signal.
Someone taps my shoulder, and I turn expectantly, hoping to see a rebel I know. Instead, it’s a bald man with a dark beard grinning at me. He’s missing a few teeth, and he smells like the pickled fish they keep in a jar behind the bar. I didn’t know anyone actually ate those.
“I can buy you a drink.” He slurs his words and wobbles a little.
“She’s already got a drink,” Broken Nose says.
“Two drinks,” Straight Nose adds.
“I can buy my own drinks.” I take a sip of my ale.
The wobbly man grabs my shoulder and pulls, then grabs a fistful of my hair and leans his face down, inhaling. I shove him, but he still has my hair, so I end up on the ground. I kick him, and he releases my hair.
Before I can fully move away, Broken Nose is on top of him, punching him in the face so hard he spits blood.
I scramble away just as Straight Nose joins the brawl. A few others jump in, either to defend friends or because they enjoy fighting. I scramble back, moving deeper into the tavern as everyone else rushes toward the bar to watch the fight.
As I’m retreating, I bump into someone, and arms wrap around me. My heart thunders, and then I notice the swirling black marks on the forearms, traveling up to where his sleevesare bunches around his elbows. I recognize them immediately. Fuck. Of all the places for him to be tonight, it had to be here.
