“I already gave up my jacket.”
“Your boots,” she said, shrugging. “I’m sure they would fetch a lot of money.”
“I need my boots to walk.”
“Yes, but perhaps they would allow some sort of trade and give you a bit of money along with it.”
“Goodness,” he said under his breath. “We are about to barter like mere peasants. My father would roll over in his grave.”
“What other option do we have?”
“Let us get on with it before the sun gets too low.” He grabbed her hand, pulling her along. They strode by storefronts until they found a shop that looked to have footwear in the back. When they walked inside, it lacked the fresh, earthy smell of fine leather and instead smelled of smoke and overworked bodies. Robert sauntered up to the counter, leaning his hands against it.
“I need to make a trade, if possible.”
“Whacha lookin’ to trade?” The man in charge of the shop was clean and tidy, but his skin was weathered, and wrinkles fanned out from the corners of his eyes and mouth.
“My boots.”
The man leaned his palms against the counter, looking down at Robert’s boots. His eyes went wide. “Hessians? I can’t afford to trade you anything for those. It would take most of my inventory.”
“I only need another pair of boots and a bit of money. I do not expect full compensation.”
“I dunno,” the man said, still eyeing Robert’s boots. “How did ye even come across them? I don’t want to be involved in theft.”
“They are my boots. They were not stolen.”
“But why do you want to sell them at a loss? Doesn’t make sense to me. I say no.” The man held up a hand, turning away as if he had said his peace.
Chapter twenty-five
Robert dropped his head,letting it hang between his shoulders as he gathered every thread of patience he had left in his body. “No? You are sayingno?” He brought his head up, fixing the shop owner with a steely gaze. The man was upright in character, which Robert admired. But right now, he required money, not honor.
“I don’t need the constable coming by my door and confiscating stolen goods and leaving me in the lurch.” The shop owner picked up a rag and began polishing some small trinkets on a shelf.
“What aboutmyboots?” Louisa was already reaching down and removing her foot from her right boot.
“Absolutely not. I can sell my boots,” Robert insisted.
“Apparently you cannot.” She kept his gaze as she dropped her half-boot onto the counter.
The man’s eyes widened once more. “They are less valuable than the Hessians, but still much more than I can afford to sell.”
“As we have stated,” Louisa said with a sickening sweetness to her voice that was not real in the least, “we do not need the full value of the footwear. It’s just a means to an end.”
“Yea, but what means and what end?” The owner raised his brow.
“To get home.”
“You far from home, then?” His knobby hand continued to polish a small glass object as he flicked his gaze between them.
“Yes, as a matter of fact. Which accounts for our footwear, would you not agree?”
He narrowed his eyes, his hand stopping. “Very well. Let’s say I believe you. Why are you stranded here, of all places?”
Robert dropped his head again, frustration filtering through every limb in his body. “It is so much easier to pay people off,” he said with a groan.
“We do not have the funds for that now, hence our situation.” Louisa rubbed Robert’s back as if consoling him in his sorry state. “Now, kind sir, if you could please give ussomethingforanything, we shall be on our way.”
