It’s clear that mead, iffy food, and shelter are not the only things on offer.
Fortunately, the “certain” sounds diminish the farther down we go, suggesting that the hourly rooms are the ones at the top of the stairs, and the lodgings are at the ends. This makes sense, given the traffic.
“Here ya go,” the woman says as she throws open the very last door.
As luck would have it, there’s a flash of orange lightning just as I step into the darkness, and the peachy illumination flickers in through the closed shutters.
“The lamp’s here on the table.” As she turns the glowing wick up, thunder offers a threatening commentary. “You get one measure of oil with the price of the room. Extra costs. If you’ll be wanting soap, it’s extra. But the blankets are included and so is the en suite. You said one night, but you’re going to be here longer, Mr. and Mrs., so I’ll be needing more payment tomorrow morn before the bar opens at ten.”
Merc’s still out in the corridor, and I have the sudden thought that he’s going to stay there and guard the door as I sleep.
“We’re here for tonight only,” he announces.
The innkeeper laughs as another streak of lightning licks into the room, like something that’s locked out and testing weak points for entry.
“The rain’s comin’.” She points to another doorway. “The en suite. It’s the only one in the building. You’re lucky. Only one meal included downstairs.”
“You’ll bring the food up here to us.”
Merc presses a coin in the woman’s hand as she opens her mouth—and she checks to see what it is before smiling.
“Whatever you be wantin’—”
“Tell anyone you care about not to open that door without an invitation.” He points to what she unlatched for us. “Otherwise, they’ll be dead before they hit the floor. And the same goes for any of our possessions. If they’re moved even a hair, I will know and I will do something about it. Are we clear.”
The temperature seems to drop, not just in the room, but along the corridor and throughout the building, and the woman’s expression of bored tolerance shifts into a something entirely serious.
She nods once as she eyes the scar on his face. “What time do you want your food, sir.”
“Now. My wife is tired and hungry.”
“As you wish.”
She closes the door silently, and I look at the gray panels as the sound of her shuffling footfalls disappears.
Suddenly, the reality that we are here, in the Badlands, at the Outpost, settles on me like a cloak of nettles.
Our arrangement has been fulfilled. At least on his side.
And I wonder how long he will stay with me. Only the night, apparently.
For all the distance we’ve traveled, and all the time I’ve had with my inner thoughts, I never considered what I would do when I was finally here: The trip was so dangerous, the destination seemed irrelevant.
I’m not ready to be on my own yet—
“You need to sleep,” Merc informs me. Like he’s diagnosing an injury.
My eyes go to the bed.
It’s very large, and I’m entirely unsurprised that the blankets are made of red and brown felt. There are two thin pillows set side by side, and the headboard is of course made up of that gray wood that reminds me too much of the rocks in the lake basin. As I slip off my pack and put it at the base of the mattress, I glance around. The rest of the room is just as simple. There’s that table with the lamp, and a dresser that looks as exhausted as I feel. Across the way, a bowed-out section, marked with the set of shutters, offers a window seat, but there are no cushions. Just more of that wood—
Clunk.
Merc throws the heavy bolt that runs from the door panels through the jamb and into a seat screwed into the wall. Then he yanks at the handle. With a comment under his breath, I’m unsure whether or not he approves.
“I want you to engage this anytime I leave.” He taps the latch. “Everytime.”
He goes over to the en suite. As he disappears inside, I lay my hand on the footboard of the bed and wonder what the sleeping arrangements will be. After that kiss at the stream, I find myself hoping for things I very much doubt I’m made for—
