Although given the size of his shoulders, there is no out of range for him.
He stops in mid-motion. “You have nothing to fear from me.”
The copper he takes out and slides forward makes a rasping noise over the rough wood planks. Everything about him seems very loud. Then again, he’s sucked the sound out of the rest of the continent.
“For you,” he tells me.
I shake my head and back away just as the pub door opens. Everyone except the mercenary looks to see what is arriving. Whatelseis arriving—
The farrier steps through and locates me with ease through the subdued stragglers, his big belly turning toward me like it’s homing in. I glance at the winding clock over the bar. At least he’s on time.
“Friend of yours?” the mercenary asks me.
“Enjoy your meal.”
I duck my head, even though it’s covered by my hood, and hustle off for the back of house. No one stops me, not even Mr. Lewis.
Out by the stairwell, I bend down and spring the latch on my crawl space’s panel. Squeezing through, I orient thanks to the light that filters through the gaps in the steps overhead. I have a sleeping pallet that I keep scrupulously clean, and an array of cloaks that hang from pegs I have driven into the underside of the staircase. Then there’s my worktable, which is little more than a discarded board I have set on two stacks of bricks.
A collection of small earthenware pots contain various unguents, and my pestle is filled with dried leaves that I’ve not had time to continue working with. The collection of wads I have managed to prepare for Elly are bundled in one of my collection sacks, and I grab the medicine.
Reemerging, I confront the farrier, pressing the satchel into his meaty paw. “She must have a fresh one of these put into her mouth every four to five hours. Tell your niece to do it. I will bring more on the morrow.”
He looks down at the little bag as if he’s never seen one before. “And I shall bury my son at the Resting Place—”
“I care only about yourwifewho still lives. This will change her pupils so I’ll know whether or not it’s been given to her—”
We have an audience. Both Mr. Lewis and the scarred mercenary who brought the storm inside with him are standing in the archway. The plate I delivered is in the man of war’s left hand and he holds the heavy pewter weight laden with food as if it’s but a leaf.
“Take him to number eight,” Mr. Lewis orders me.
The farrier drops his head and lumbers away like something that should be in a forest, not inside a pub or lodging house. Mr. Lewis makes room for him to pass. The mercenary does not. Him, the farrier squeezes against the dirty wall to get around.
“Yes, sir,” I say.
Gathering my cloak, I start to walk up the stairs, and as the warrior falls in behind me, I imagine he’s not led very often by another. My employer staysbelow, watching us, but not because he’s protecting me. He’s curious to find out, as the others are, what this killer in my wake will do to me as a way to judge what might come in their own direction.
The Gauntlet’s second floor is a cave-like hallway of closed doors that’s illuminated by oil lanterns that have stained the ceiling and walls with smoke residue. I go straight ahead, and given the sounds of moaning and creaking beds, I gather that business continues apace, in spite of our newest lodger. I blush ferociously as I take him down to the last room on the left, and I feel his presence looming behind me, the floorboards protesting under his weight, the soft jangle of his weapons and chain mail like the hiss of a coiled viper.
Though he brought the cold in with him, he makes me think of fire: At the moment, he is banked and contained, but the potential for destruction is never far, and I tell myself that it’s because of this latent threat that my body is aware of every move he makes.
Yet I’m not afraid, for some reason. I feel… alive.
When we get to the door, I go to open it for him, but a long arm extends over my shoulder to push the panels wide. He smells like leather, metal, and cedar soap, and I breathe in deep as I stare into the darkness of the room he’s been assigned. Only a slice of restless, golden light spills inside, and even still, he walks right in. The fact that he doesn’t know what’s awaiting his entrance seems not to worry him in the slightest. Then again, anything with a wink of self-preservation would get out of his way.
As he turns around, the illumination from the hall bathes him, and nothing else. He’s not just of the shadows, he’s tamed them.
“Are you not coming in?” he asks as he sets his plate and tankard down out of sight.
“Why would I…” I clear my throat. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Or has that villager already engaged your services?” I feel his eyes traveling down my cloak. “Never mind, I can wait while I eat my meal.”
With a frown, I struggle to understand. “The farrier? I have no business with him—”
“Didn’t look that way.” He shrugs. “There’s no need to be shy about our professions, is there? I do what I do best for pay, so I don’t judge others for the same.”
Someone orgasms across the hall, as if to back up his point, and all I can do is stare in disbelief at the mesh covering his chest. Incredulity aside, when I consider all the illegal things I’ve done, I guess it’s far better to be thought of as a whore than risk anything even close to my truth.
