Just then, Emory pushes through the curtain. He’s a short, round man with a red face and bulbous nose who always smells like meat. He’s wearing a blood-stained apron over his normal clothes.
“Master Thibault!” Eyes bright, he hurries across the room and embraces me, patting my back so hard it jars my teeth. When he pulls away, he gives Rhonin a once-over, then says, “What brings you to Malgros?”
I withdraw a small bag of coins from my pocket, enough to feed his family for two weeks, and hand it to him. Then I flip the lock on his door to ensure no patrons interrupt. Mornings are busy in the city, the citizen’s focused on their work and comings and goings. Rhonin and I made it here unnoticed thanks to a bath, a change of clothing, and a quick glamour over our weapons. But we need privacy to talk.
Emory’s face falls as he rolls the bag of money between his fingers. “Oh dear. You’re here for information.”
“That I am. This is a friend of mine.” I gesture to Rhonin. “You can speak freely in front of him.”
Emory nods at Rhonin. “All right. I suppose this is about the Prince of the East bringing a small army through here.”
I clasp my hands behind my back and widen my stance. “It is. I know they arrived by ship, and I know they were allowed to port. I also know they were given horses by the Watch and slipped through the city and out Palgard Gate in the dead of night. What I don’t know is who in the Northland Watch is in league with the East. I was hoping you could tell me.”
“Come sit,” Emory says as he slips the coin in his pocket. He crosses the small space and perches on a tall stool.
I take the barber’s chair as Rhonin glances at the surgeon’s table, the only other seat in the shop. He purses his lips and folds his arms across his wide chest. “I think I’ll stand.”
Emory shrugs and looks at me. “Word in my chair is that there are at least half a dozen officers working for the prince. No one knows how he infiltrated our shores originally, but even the admiral is under his influence.”
“What about Dedrick Terrowin? Is he a conspirator? The army transferred from an Eastland ship to a Northland Watch ship, mid-sea. Did he have anything to do with that?”
Emory makes a face. “Dedrick? No, my lord. Dedrick isn’t the straightest arrow, but he’s loyal to this land. The only things he brings back on his ships are common goods and the occasional Northlander he smuggled across the sea in the first place. It’s one thing to want to leave Tiressia. It’s an entirely different game to Dedrick if someone wants to come in.”
“Good to hear.” I lean back in the chair. “Back to Admiral Rooke. I’ve been told it’s difficult to find him alone.”
Emory’s stare widens a bit. “Yes. Especially now. I imagine they’re expecting you, my lord. Perhaps even the king.”
I don’t tell him the situation. He’s trustworthy and has been for years, but word of an empty throne could be a trigger for more problems.
“Precautions against something have been obvious,” he continues. “Though the admiral must believe that his extra protections at the gates are an excellent shield.”
“Why do you say that?” I ask.
“He has a dinner planned in a few nights. Not a large affair, but large enough. I have a patron whose wife works at Brear Hall in the kitchens. Preparations for twenty people have been made for a week now. I don’t know much else, other than a man from the East is certainly attending, and a few of the other names I heard are those believed to be traitors.”
A man from the East. General Vexx.
I dart a look at Rhonin who reads me well. “Sounds like we’re going to a party,” he says with a crooked smile.
“And that the ladies aren’t the only ones doing some shopping today,” I reply.
Emory moves to the table behind me and turns my chair around to face the mirror. The very dirty mirror. He grabs a small bucket with the day's fresh water and dips a cloth into it, then washes and dries the mirror.
Staring at me through the glass, he says, “You’d be a lot less conspicuous if all this hair was gone. Both of you. It isn’t the way here. You look like Icelanders. Or worse, part of the Eastland army.”
I stare at Rhonin through the mirror.
“You fucking first,” he says with a mocking laugh, as though he thinks I won’t do it.
I don’t want to look like the man I used to be. Don’t want to look in any mirror and see that person again. But Emory is right. Blending in while here is a wise decision. The fewer eyes on us the better.
Still. This will hurt. That much I know. It’s easier to face the day when I feel like someone else.
“To the shoulders,” I tell Emory anyway. “No shorter. And shave the beard.”
He nods, and with a smile, takes up his shears.
25
