Rain falls harder, and the people on the street swear and try to duck under cover. I can’t decide if that’s better or worse. It’ll be harder for the men to surreptitiously follow us, that’s for sure.
A woman shouts out, “You there!”
I startle hard, but Thorin doesn’t even turn his head. The horses don’t slow.
“Just a washerwoman,” Saeth says at our back, but he draws his hood forward. We’re not close to his home yet—I don’t think, anyway—but I wonder if he’s worried about being recognized.
I don’t have the mettle for this. My leg still aches from the arrow I took through the thigh over a week ago.
The washerwoman calls out again. “I said,you there. With the wagon!”
Thorin sighs. “Whoa,” he says to the horses, drawing them to a stop.
“Are you crazy?” I whisper at him.
“It might look crazier to ignore her,” Francis says from behind us.
“Be on your way!” Thorin says to the woman, making his tone bored. “I have to deliver this to the Royal Sector and get back before dark.”
“I need some hay for my mules. Can I buy a few bales off you?”
“It’s prime alfalfa,” calls Saeth, his voice pitched lower. “Too rich for your mules.”
I don’t want to look down at her, but I need to relax into this role, or I will be the one who ends up ruining our plans. I spent years slipping out of the palace as a young man, and weeks doing it as the Fox. I can do it again.
She’s drawn close to our vehicle, and there’s less risk of her recognizingme, so I pull back my hood and peer at her in the rain. Mud has begun to collect between the cobblestones of the street, and her clothes are already sodden and clinging to her frame.
“These are already bought and paid for,” I say, and then I cough hard before I can stop myself.
She moves a step closer, and her voice drops to a whisper that’s hard to hear over the rain. “You’re sick. I have Moonflower to trade.”
That’s unexpected, and my eyes snap to hers. Somewherebehind me, Francis draws a sharp breath. I’ve hardly had a dose of medicine since leaving the palace, and I know doses run thin in the Wilds, so I haven’t dared to ask for more. A part of me wants to toss her a few bales right now, the mission be damned.
It’s only been a second, but the woman must sense an easy mark, because she moves even closer. “I have enough for three weeks. A month if you’re careful.”
A month! That would help a lot of people.
Francis shifts closer to me. I can sense his eagerness, too.
But a note in the woman’s voice is tugging at my awareness, and I study her, trying to figure out what it is. When I was a boy in the Wilds, hiding in plain sight with Corrick, it was rare that someone could trick me, but it’s been years and now I’m more used to the slick and polished manipulations of the consuls. My instincts are rusty and slow.
“I could meet you at the end of the row of shops,” she adds. “There’s a wheelbarrow there. No one would be the wiser.”
My heart keeps thrumming in my chest, but the woman is peering up at me expectantly, waiting for an answer. She puts a hand against the rail of the wagon, as if she could hold it in place through sheer force of will. Thorin is a statue beside me, waiting for an order.
“It’ll only take a minute,” Francis whispers. “We don’t need the hay.”
The woman shrugs. “You need to decide soon, though. If you won’t do it, I need to find someone who will.”
If I don’t do it, someone else will have a month’s worth of Moonflower.
My throat tickles, and I think of the way I could barely catch my breath when Francis first confronted me.
Here, King. Sit.
Oh, how I wish Corrick would return.
The sky is darkening overhead, and she’s right. I do need to decide soon.
