THERE ARE FEW spirits so free as those of traveling minstrels, at least within the Six Duchies. If a minstrel is sufficiently talented, he can expect almost all rules of conduct to be suspended for him. They are permitted to ask the most prying of questions as a normal part of their trade. Almost without exception, a minstrel can presume hospitality anywhere from the King's own table to the lowliest hovel. They seldom marry in youth, though it is not unusual for them to bear children. Such children are free of the stigma of other bastards, and are frequently keep raised to become minstrels themselves. It is expected of minstrels that they will consort with outlaws and rebels as well as nobles and merchants. They carry messages, bring news, and hold in their long memories many an agreement and promise. At least, so it is in times of peace and plenty.
Starling came in so late, Burrich would have regarded it as early morning. I was awake the instant she touched the latch. I rolled quickly off her bed as she came in, then wrapped myself well in my cloak and lay down on the floor. "FitzChivalry," she greeted me fuzzily, and I could smell the wine on her breath. She stripped off her damp cloak, looked sideways at me, then spread it over me as an extra covering. I closed my eyes.
She dropped her outer clothing to the floor behind me with a fine disregard for my presence. I heard the give of the bed as she threw herself onto it. "Um. Still warm," she muttered, shouldering into the bedding and pillows. "I feel guilty, taking your warm spot. "
Her guilt could not have been too sharp-edged, for in just a matter of moments her breathing went deep and even. I followed her example.
I awoke very early and left the inn. Starling didn't stir as I let myself out of her room. I walked until I found a bathhouse. The baths were almost deserted at this hour of the day; I had to wait while the day's first water was warmed. When it was ready, I stripped down and clambered gingerly in. I eased the ache in my shoulder in the deep, hot tub. I washed myself. Then I leaned back in the hot water and silence and thought.
I didn't like taking up with the smugglers. I didn't like linking up with Starling. I couldn't see any other choice. I could not think of how I'd bribe them to take me. I had little enough coin. Burrich's earring? I refused to consider it. For a long time, I lay up to my chin in the water and refused to consider it. Come to me. I would find another way, I swore to myself. I would. I thought of what I had felt back in Tradeford when Verity had intervened to save me. That blast of Skill had left Verity without reserves. I did not know his situation, only that he had not hesitated to expend all he had for my sake. And if I had to choose between parting with Burrich's earring and going to Verity, I would choose Verity. Not because he had Skill-summoned me, nor even for the oath I had sworn to his father. For Verity.
I stood up and let the water stream off me. I dried off, spent a few minutes attempting to trim my beard, gave it up as a bad job, and went back to the Boar's Head. I had one bad moment on my way back to the inn. A wagon passed me as I strode along, none other than the wagon of Dell the puppeteer. I kept walking briskly and the young journeyman driving the wagon gave no sign of noticing me. Nonetheless, I was glad to reach the inn and get inside.
I found a corner table near the hearth and had the serving boy bring me a pot of tea and a loaf of morning bread. This last proved to be a Farrow concoction full of seeds and nuts and bits of fruit. I ate slowly, waiting for Starling to descend. I was both impatient to be out to meet these smugglers, and reluctant to put myself in Starling's power. As the morning hours dragged by, I caught the serving boy looking oddly at me twice. The third time I caught his stare, I returned it until he blushed suddenly and looked aside. I divined then the reason for his interest. I'd spent the night in Starling's room, and no doubt he wondered what would possess her to share quarters with such a vagabond. But it was still enough to make me uncomfortable. The day was more than halfway to noon anyway. I rose and went up the stairs to Starling's door.
I knocked quietly and waited. But it took a second round of louder knocking before I heard a sleepy reply. After a bit she came to the door, opened it a crack, then yawned at me and motioned me in. She wore only her leggings and a recently donned oversized tunic. Her curly dark hair was tousled all about her face. She sat down heavily on the edge of her bed, blinking her eyes as I closed and fastened the door behind me. "Oh, you took a bath," she greeted me, and yawned again.
"Is it that noticeable?" I asked her testily.
She nodded at me affably. "I woke up once and thought you'd just left me here. I wasn't worried about it, though. I knew you couldn't find them without me." She rubbed her eyes, and then looked at me more critically. "What happened to your beard?"
"I tried to trim it. Without much success."
She nodded in agreement. "But it was a good idea," she said comfortingly. "It might make you look a bit less wild. And it might prevent Creece or Tassin or anyone else from our caravan from recognizing you. Here. I'll help you. Go sit on that chair. Oh, and open the shutters, let some light in here."
I did as she suggested, without much enthusiasm. She arose from the bed, stretched, and rubbed her eyes. She took a few moments to splash some water on her face, then worried her own hair back into order and fastened it with a couple of small combs. She belted the tunic to give it a shape, then slipped on her boots and laced them up. In a remarkably short time she was presentable. Then she came to me, and taking hold of my chin turned my face back and forth in the light with no shyness at all: I could not be as nonchalant as she was.
"Do you always blush so easily?" she asked me with a laugh. "It's rare to see a Buck man able to flush so red. I suppose your mother must have been fair-skinned."
I could think of nothing to say to that, so I sat silently as she rummaged in her pack and came up with a small pair of shears. She worked quickly and deftly. "I used to cut my brothers' hair," she told me as she worked. "And my father's hair and beard, after my mother died. You've a nice shape to your jaw, under all this brush. What have you been doing with it, just letting it grow out any way it pleased?"
"I suppose," I muttered nervously. The scissors were flashing away right under my nose. She paused and brushed briskly at my face. A substantial amount of curly black hair fell to the floor. "I don't want my scar to be visible," I warned her.
"It won't," she said calmly. "But you will have lips and a mouth instead of a gap in your mustache. Tilt your chin up. There. Do you have a shaving blade?"
"Only my knife," I admitted nervously.
"We'll make do then," she said comfortingly. She walked to the door, flung it open, and used the power of a minstrel's lungs to bellow for the serving boy to bring her hot water. And tea. And bread and some rashers of bacon. When she came back into the room, she cocked her head and looked at me critically. "Let's cut your hair, too," she proposed. "Take it down."
I moved too slowly to satisfy her. She stepped behind me, tugged off my kerchief, and freed my hair from the leather thong. Unbound, it fell to my shoulders. She took up her comb and curried my hair roughly forward. "Let's see," she muttered as I gritted my teeth to her rough combing.
"What do you propose?" I asked her, but hanks of hair were already falling to the floor. Whatever she had decided was rapidly becoming a reality. She pulled hair forward over my face, then cut it off square above my eyebrows, tugged her comb through the rest of it a few times, then cut it off at jaw length. "Now," she told me, "you look a bit more like Farrow merchant stock. Before you were obviously a Buckman. Your coloring is still Buck, but now your hair and clothes are Farrow. As long as you don't talk, folk won't be certain where you're from." She considered a moment, then went to work again on the hair above my brow. After a moment she rummaged around and gave me a mirror. "The white will be a lot less noticeable now."
She was right. She had trimmed out most of the white hair, and pulled forward black hair to fall over the stubble. My beard now hugged my face as well. I nodded a grudging approval. There was a knock at the door. "Leave it outside!" Starling called through the door. She waited a few moments, then fetched in her breakfast and the hot water. She washed, then suggested I put a good edge on my knife while she ate. I did so, wondering as I honed the blade if I felt flattered or irritated at her refashioning of me. She was beginning to remind me of Patience. She was still chewing as she came to take the knife from my hand. She swallowed, then spoke.
"I'm going to give your beard a bit more shape. You'll have to keep it up, though, I'm not going to shave you every day," she warned me. "Now damp your face down well."
I was substantially more nervous as she brandished the knife, especially as she worked near my throat. But when she was finished and I took up the looking glass, I was amazed at the changes she had wrought. She had defined my beard, confining it to my jaw and cheek. The square-cut hair hanging over my brow made my eyes look deeper. The scar on my cheek was still visible, but it followed the line of my mustache and was less noticeable. I ran my hand lightly over my beard, pleased with how much less of it there was. "It's quite a change," I told her.
"It's a vast improvement," she informed me. "I doubt that Creece or Dell would recognize you now. Let's just be rid of this." She gathered up the hair cuttings and opened the window to fling them out onto the wind. Then she shut it and brushed off her hands.
"Thank you," I said awkwardly.
"You're welcome," she told me. She glanced about the room, and breathed a small sigh. "I'm going to miss that bed," she told me. She set to packing with a swift efficiency. She caught me watching her and grinned. "When you're a minstrel who wanders, you learn to do this quickly and well." She tossed in the last items, then laced her pack shut. She swung it to one shoulder. "Wait for me at the bottom of the back stairs," she commanded. "While I go settle my bill."
I did as she bade me, but waited substantially longer in the cold and wind than I had expected. Eventually she emerged, rosycheeked and ready for the day. She stretched herself like a little cat. "This way," she directed me.
I had expected to shorten my stride to accommodate her, but found that we matched pace easily. She glanced across at me as we strode away from the merchants' sector of town, and headed to the northern outskirts. "You look different today," she informed me. "And it's not just the haircut. You've made up your mind about something."
"I have," I agreed with her.
"Good," she said warmly, as she took my arm companionably. "I hope it's to trust me."
I glanced at her and said nothing. She laughed, but did not release my arm.
The wooden walkways of the merchants' section of Blue Lake soon disappeared and we walked in the street past houses that huddled against each other as if seeking shelter from the cold.
The wind was a constant chill push against us as we strode along cobbled streets that gave way eventually to roads of packed earth that ran past small farmsteads. The road was rutted and muddy from the rains of the last few days. This day at least was fair, even if the blustery wind was cold. "Is there much farther to go?" I finally asked of her.
"I'm not certain. I'm simply following directions. Watch for three stacked rocks at the side of the road."
"What do you really know of these smugglers?" I demanded.
She shrugged a bit too casually. "I know they are going to the Mountains, when no one else is. And I know they are taking the pilgrims with them."
"Pilgrims?"
"Or whatever you wish to call them. They go to honor Eda's shrine in the Mountain Kingdom. They had bought passage on a barge earlier in the summer. But then the King's Guard claimed all the barges for their own use and shut down the borders to the Mountain Kingdom. The pilgrims have been stuck in Blue Lake since then, trying to find a way to continue their journey."
We came to the three stacked rocks, and a weedy track through a rocky, brambly pasture surrounded by a rock-and-pole fence. A few horses were grazing disconsolately. I noted with interest they were Mountain-bred, small and patchy-coated at this time of year. A little house was set well back from the road. It was built of river rock and mortar, with a sod roof. The small outbuilding behind it matched it. A thin trickle of smoke escaped its chimney, to be swiftly dispersed by the wind. A man sat on the fence, whittling at something. He lifted his eyes to regard us and evidently decided we were no threat. He made no challenge to us as we passed him and went to the door of the cottage. Just outside the cottage, fat pigeons cooed and strutted in a cote. Starling knocked at the door, but the answer came from a man who walked around the corner of the house. He had rough brown hair and blue eyes and was dressed like a farmer. He carried a brimming bucket of warm milk. "Who do you seek?" he greeted us.
"Nik," Starling replied.
"I know no Nik," the man said. He opened the door and went into the house. Starling boldly followed him, and I trailed her with less confidence. My sword was at my hip. I put my hand closer to the hilt but not on it. I didn't want to provoke a challenge.
Inside the hut, a driftwood fire burned in the hearth. Most but not all of the smoke was going up the chimney. A boy and a spotted kid shared a pile of straw in one corner. He regarded us with wide blue eyes, but said nothing. Smoked hams and sides hung low from the rafters. The man carried the milk to a table where a woman was chopping up fat yellow roots. He set the bucket down beside her work and turned to us mildly.
"I think you've come to the wrong house: Try down the road a ways. Not the next house. That's where Pelf lives. But beyond, maybe."
"Thank you kindly. We shall." Starling smiled round at them all, and went to the door. "Coming, Tom?" she asked me. I nodded pleasantly at the folk and followed her. We left the house and walked up the lane. When we were well away I asked her, "Now what?"
"I'm not precisely sure. From what I overheard, I think we go to Pelf's house and ask for Nik."
"From what you overheard?"
"You don't think I have personal knowledge of smugglers, do you? I was in the public baths. Two women were talking as they bathed. Pilgrims on their way to the Mountains. One was saying it might be their last chance at a bath for a while, and the other was saying she didn't care as long as they finally got to leave Blue Lake. Then one told the other where they were supposed to meet the smugglers."
I said nothing. I suppose my expression said it all, for Starling asked me indignantly, "Do you have any better ideas? This will either work out or it won't."
"It may work out to us with our throats cut."
"Then go back to town and see if you can do better."
"I think if we did that, the man following us would decide we were certainly spies and do more than just follow us. Let us go on to Pelf, and see what comes of it. No, don't look back."
We returned to the road and walked to the next farmstead. The wind had become stronger and I tasted snow on it. If we did not find Nik soon, it was going to be a long, cold walk back to town.
Someone had once cared about this next farm. Once there had been a line of silver birches to either side of the drive. Now they were brittle scarecrows of trees, their branches long bare, bark peeling in the wind. A few survivors wept yellow coin leaves in the wind. Extensive pastures and fields had been fenced, but whatever stock they had held was long gone. The weedy fields went unplanted, the thistly pastures ungrazed. "What happened to this land?" I demanded as we walked past the desolation.
"Years of drought. Then, a summer of fire. Out beyond these farmsteads, the riverbanks used to be covered with open oak forests and grazing land. Here, these were dairy farms. But out there, smallholders ran their goats in the free pasturage, and their haragars scavenged under the oaks for acorns. I've heard it was magnificent hunting as well. Then came the fire. It burned for over a month they say, so that a man could scarcely breathe and the river ran black with ash. Not just the forests and wild meadows, but hayfields and homes were torched by the flying sparks. After the years of drought, the river was no more than a trickle of itself. There was nowhere to flee from the fire. And after the fire came more hot dry days. But the winds that blew carried dust now as well as ash. Smaller streams choked with it. It blew until the rains finally came that fall. All the water that folk had prayed for years came in one season. Floods of it. And when the water went down, well, you see what was left. Washed-out gravelly soil."
"I recall hearing something of the sort." It had been a conversation long ago. Someone … Chade? … had told me that the people held the King accountable for everything, even droughts and fires. It had meant little to me then, but to these farmers it must have seemed like the end of the world.
The house, too, spoke of a loving hand and better times. It was two stories, built of timber, but its paint was long faded. Shutters were closed tight over the windows in the upper story. There were two chimneys at either end of the house, but one was losing its stones. Smoke rose from the other one. A young girl stood before the door of the house. A fat gray pigeon perched on her hand and she was stroking it lightly. "Good day," she bid us in a pleasantly low voice as we approached. Her tunic was leather over a loose cream shirt of wool. She wore leather trousers as well, and boots. I put her age at about twelve, and knew she was some kin to the folk in the other house by her eyes and hair.
"Good day," Starling returned to her. "We are looking for Nik."
The girl shook her head. "You have come to the wrong house. There is no Nik here. This is Pelf's house. Perhaps you should seek farther down the road." She smiled at us, no more than puzzlement on her face.
Starling gave me an uncertain glance. I took her arm. "We have been given poor directions. Come, let us take ourselves back to town and try again." At that time I hoped no more than to get ourselves out of the situation.
"But …" she objected in confusion.
I had a sudden inspiration. "Shush. We were warned these are not people to take lightly. The bird must have gone astray, or a hawk taken it. There is nothing more to be done here today."
"A bird?" the girl piped suddenly.
"Only a pigeon. Good day to you." I put my arm about Starling and turned her firmly. "We did not mean to bother you."
"Whose pigeon?"
I let my eyes meet hers for a moment. "A friend of Nik's. Do not let it concern you. Come, Starling."
"Wait!" the girl said suddenly. "My brother is inside. Perhaps he knows this Nik."
"I would not wish to bother him," I assured her.
"No bother." The bird on her hand stretched out his wings as she gestured to the door with it. "Come inside out of the cold for a bit."
"It is a cold day," I conceded. I turned to confront the whittler just as he was emerging from the line of birches. "Perhaps we should all go inside."
"Perhaps." The girl grinned at my shadow's discomfiture.
Within the door was a bare entry hall. The fine inlaid wood of the floor was scuffed and had gone unoiled for some time. Lighter spaces on the walls showed where paintings and tapestries had once hung. A bare staircase led to the upper floor. There was no light save what came in the thick windows. Inside, there was no wind, but it was not much warmer. "Wait here," the girl told us, and entered a chamber to our right, closing the door firmly behind her. Starling stood a bit closer to me than I wished. The whittler watched us expressionlessly.
Starling took a breath. "Hush," I told her before she could speak. Instead, she took my arm. I made the excuse of stooping to adjust my boot. As I straightened, I turned and put her on my left side. She immediately took hold of that arm. It seemed a very long time before the door opened. A tall man, brown-haired and blue-eyed, came out. He was dressed like the girl in leathers. A very long knife hung at his belt. The girl came on his heels, looking petulant. He had rebuked her, then. He scowled at us and demanded, "What's this about?"
"My mistake, sir," I said immediately. "We were seeking one named Nik, and obviously we have come to the wrong house. Your pardon, sir."
He spoke reluctantly. "I've a friend with a cousin named Nik. I could give word of you to him, perhaps."
I squeezed Starling's hand for silence. "No, no, we wouldn't wish to trouble you. Unless you'd like to tell us where we could find Nik himself."
"I could take a message," he offered again. But it was not really an offer.
I scratched at my beard and considered. "I've a friend whose cousin wished to send something across the river. He had heard that Nik might know someone who could take it for him. He promised my friend's cousin that he would send a bird, to let Nik know we were coming. For a fee, of course. That was all, a paltry matter."
He gave a slow nod. "I've heard of folks hereabouts who do such things. It's dangerous work, yes, treasonous work, too. They'd pay with their heads if the King's Guard caught them."
"That they would," I agreed readily. "But I doubt that my friend's cousin would do business with the kind of folk who'd get caught. That was why he was wishing to speak to Nik."
"And who was it sent you here to seek this Nik?"
"I forget," I said coolly. "I'm afraid I'm rather good at forgetting names."
"Are you?" the man asked consideringly. He glanced at his sister and gave a small nod. "May I offer you some brandy?"
"That would be most welcome," I told him.
I managed to pry my arm free of Starling as we entered the chamber. As the door shut behind us, Starling sighed in the welcome warmth. This room was as opulent as the other was bare. Rugs coated the floor, tapestries lined the walls. There was a heavy oak table with a branch of white candles for illumination. A fire blazed in the huge hearth before a half circle of comfortable chairs. It was to this area our host led us. He snagged a glass decanter of brandy as he passed the table. "Find some cups," he peremptorily ordered the girl. She seemed to take no offense at it. I guessed his age at about twenty-five. Older brothers are not the kindest of heroes. She handed the whittler her pigeon, and gestured both of them out before she went to find cups.
"Now. You were saying," he offered when we were settled before the fire.
"Actually, you were saying," I suggested.
He was silent as his sister came back with cups. He passed them to us as he filled them and the four of us raised cups together.
"To King Regal," he suggested.
"To my king," I offered affably, and drank. It was good brandy, one Burrich would have appreciated.
"King Regal would see folk like our friend Nik swinging," the man suggested.
"Or more likely in his circle," I suggested. I gave a small sigh. "It's a dilemma. On the one hand, King Regal threatens his life. On the other hand, without King Regal's embargo on the Mountain, what livelihood would Nik pursue? I heard all that his family's holdings grow these days is rocks."
The man nodded in commiseration. "Poor Nik. A man must do something to survive."
"That he must," I agreed. "And sometimes to survive, a man must cross a river, even if his king forbids it."
"Must he?" the man asked. "Now, that's a bit different from sending something across the river."
"Not that different," I told him. "If Nik is good at his trade, the one should no more tax him than the other. And I'd heard Nik was good."
"The best," the girl said with quiet pride.
Her brother shot her a warning glance. "What would this man be offering to cross?" he asked quietly.
"He'd offer it to Nik himself," I said as softly.
For a few breaths the man looked into the fire. Then he stood and extended a hand. "Nik Holdfast. My sister Pelf."
"Tom," I said.
"Starling," the minstrel added.
Nik held his cup aloft again. "To a bargain in the making," he suggested, and again we drank. He sat and asked immediately, "Shall we speak plainly?"
I nodded. "The plainest possible. We had heard that you were taking a group of pilgrims over the river and across the border into the Mountain Kingdom. We seek the same service."
"At the same price," Starling chimed in smoothly.
"Nik, I don't like this," Pelf broke in suddenly. "Someone's tongue has been wagging too freely. I knew we should never have agreed to the first lot. How do we know …"/P>
"Hush. I'm the one taking the risks, so I'll be the one to say what I will or will not do. You've naught to do but wait here and mind things while I'm gone. And see that your own tongue doesn't wag." He turned back to me. "It will be a gold each, up front. And another on the other side of the river. A third at the Mountain border."
"Ah!" The price was shocking. "We can't …" Starling dug her nails suddenly into my wrist. I shut my mouth.
"You will never convince me the pilgrims paid that much," Starling said quietly.
"They have their own horses and wagons. Food supplies, too." He cocked his head at us. "But you look to be folk traveling with what's on your backs and no more."
"And a lot easier to conceal than a wagon and team. We'll give you one gold now, and one at the Mountain border. For both of us," Starling offered.
He leaned back in his chair and pondered a moment. Then he poured more brandy all round. "Not enough," he said regretfully. "But I suspect it's all you have."
It was more than I had. I hoped, perhaps, it was what Starling had. "Take us over the river for that much," I offered. "From there, we're on our own."
Starling kicked me under the table. She seemed to be speaking only to me as she said, "He's taking the others to the Mountain border and across it. We may as well enjoy the company that far." She turned back to Nik. "It will have to take us all the way to the Mountains."
Nik sipped at his brandy. He sighed heavily. "I'll see your coin, begging your pardon, before we say it's a bargain."
Starling and I exchanged glances. "We'll require a private moment," she said smoothly. "Begging your pardon." She rose and taking my hand, led me to the corner of the room. Once there she whispered, "Have you never bargained before in your life? You give too much, too fast. Now. How much coin do you truly have?"
For answer, I upended my purse in my hand. She picked through the contents as swiftly as a magpie stealing grain. She hefted the coins in her hand with a practiced air. "We're short. I thought you'd have more than this. What's that?" Her finger jabbed at Burrich's earring. I closed my hand around it before she could pick it up.
"Something very important to me."
"More important than your life?"
"Not quite," I admitted. "But close. My father wore it, for a time. A close friend of his gave it to me."
"Well, if it must go, I'll see that it goes dearly." She turned away from me without another word and walked back to Nik. She took her seat, tossed the rest of her brandy down and waited for me. When I was seated, she told Nik, "We'll give you what coin we have now. It's not as much as you ask. But at the Mountain border, I'll give you all my jewelry as well. Rings, earrings, all of it. What say you?"
He shook his head slowly. "It's not enough for me to risk hanging over."
"What's the risk?" Starling demanded. "If they discover you with the pilgrims, you'll hang. You've already been paid for that risk in what they gave you. We don't increase your risk, only your supply burden. Surely it's worth that."
He shook his head, almost reluctantly. Starling turned and held out her hand to me. "Show it to him," she said quietly. I felt almost sick as I opened my pouch and fingered out the earring.
"What I have might not seem like much at first glance," I told him. "Unless a person were knowledgeable about such things. I am. I know what I have and I know what it's worth. It's worth whatever trouble you'd have to go through for us."
I spread it out on my palm, the fine silver net trapping the sapphire within. Then I picked it up by the pin and held it before the dancing fire. "It's not just the silver or the sapphire. It's the workmanship. Look how supple is the silver net, see how fine the links."
Starling reached one fingertip to touch it. "King-in-Waiting Chivalry once owned it," she added respectfully.
"Coins are more easily spent," Nik pointed out.
I shrugged. "If coins to spend are all a man wants, that is true. Sometimes there is pleasure in the owning of something, pleasure greater than coins in the pocket. But when it is yours, you could change it for coins, if you wished. Were I to attempt it now, in haste, I'd get but a fraction of its worth. But a man with your connections, and the time to bargain well, could get well over four golds for it. But if you'd rather, I could go back to town with it and …"/P>
Greed had kindled in his eyes. "I'll take it," he conceded.
"On the other side of the river," I told him. I lifted the jewelry and restored it to my ear. Let him look at it each time he looked at me. I made it formal. "You undertake to get us both safely to the other side of the river. And when we get there, the earring is yours."
"As your sole payment," Starling added quietly. "Though we will allow you to hold all our coins until then. As a surety."
"Agreed, and here's my hand on it," he acknowledged. We shook hands.
"When do we leave?" I asked him.
"When the weather's right," he said.
"Tomorrow would be better," I told him.
He rose slowly. "Tomorrow, eh? Well, if the weather's right tomorrow, then is when we'll leave. Now I've a few things I need to attend to. I'll have to excuse myself, but Pelf can see to you, here."
I had expected to walk back to town for the night, but Starling bargained with Pelf, her songs for a meal for us, and then to prepare us a room for the night. I was a bit ill at ease to sleep among strangers, but reflected it might actually be safer than going back to town. If the food Pelf cooked for us was not as fine as we had enjoyed at Starling's inn the night before, it was still far better than onion-and-potato soup. There was thick slices of fried ham and applesauce and a cake made with fruits and seeds and spices. Pelf brought us beer to go with it and joined us at table, speaking casually of general topics. After we'd eaten, Starling played a few songs for the girl, but I found I could scarcely keep my eyes open. I asked to be shown to a room, and Starling said she, too, was weary.
Pelf showed us to a chamber above Nik's elaborate room. It had been a very fine room once, but I doubted it had been regularly used for years. She had started a fire in the hearth there, but the long chill of disuse and the must of neglect still filled the room. There was an immense bed with a feather bed on it and graying hangings. Starling sniffed critically at it, and as soon as Pelf left, she busied herself in draping the blankets from the bed over a bench and setting it by the fire. "They will both air and warm that way," she told me knowledgeably.
I had been barring the door, and checking the latches on the windows and shutters. They all seemed sound. I was suddenly too weary to reply. I told myself it was the brandy followed by the beer. I dragged one chair to wedge it against the door while Starling watched me with amusement. Then I came back to the fire and sank down onto the blanket-draped bench and stretched my legs to the warmth. I toed my boots off. Well. Tomorrow I'd be on my way to the Mountains.
Starling came to sit beside me. For a time she didn't speak. Then she lifted a finger and batted at my earring with it. "Was it truly Chivalry's?" she asked me.
"For a while."
"And you'd give it up to get to the Mountains. What would he say?"
"Don't know. Never knew the man." I suddenly sighed. "By all accounts, he was fond of his little brother. I don't think he'd begrudge me spending it to get to Verity."
"Then you do go to seek out your king."
"Of course." I tried in vain to stifle a yawn. Somehow it seemed foolish to deny it now. "I'm not sure it was wise to mention Chivalry to Nik. He might make a connection." I turned to look at her. Her face was too close. I couldn't bring her features into focus. "But I'm too sleepy to care," I added.
"You've no head for merrybud," she laughed.
"There was no Smoke tonight."
"In the cake. She told you it was spiced."
"Is that what she meant?"
"Yes. That's what spiced means all over Farrow."
"Oh. In Buck it means there's ginger. Or citron."
"I know that." She leaned against me and sighed. "You don't trust these people, do you?"
"Of course not. They don't trust us. If we trusted them, they'd have no respect for us. They'd think us gullible fools, the sort who get smugglers into trouble by talking too much."
"But you shook hands with Nik."
"I did. And I believe he will keep his word. As far as it goes."
We both fell silent, thinking about that. After a time, I started awake again. Starling sat up beside me. "I'm going to bed," she announced.
"Me, too," I replied. I claimed a blanket and started to roll up in it by the fire.
"Don't be ridiculous," she told me. "That bed's big enough for four. Sleep in a bed while you can, for I bet we aren't going to see another one soon."
I took very little persuading. The feather bed was deep, if a trifle smelly from damp. We each had a share of the blankets. I knew I should retain some caution but the brandy and the merrybud had unloosed the knot of my will. I fell into a very deep sleep.
Toward morning, I awoke once when Starling threw an arm over me. The fire had burned out and the room was cold. In her sleep she had migrated across the bed and was pressed up against my back. I started to ease away from her but it was too warm and companionable. Her breath was against the back of my neck. There was a woman smell to her that was not a perfume but a part of her. I closed my eyes and lay very still. Molly. The sudden desperate longing I felt for her was like a pain. I clenched my teeth to it. I willed myself into sleep again.
It was a mistake.
The baby was crying. Crying and crying. Molly was in her nightrobe with a blanket draped over her shoulders. She looked haggard and weary as she sat by the fire and rocked her endlessly. Molly sang a little song to her, over and over, but the tune had long since gone out of it. She turned her head slowly to the door as Burrich opened it. "May I come in?" he asked quietly.
She nodded him in. "What are you doing awake at this hour?" she asked him tiredly.
"I could hear her crying clear out there. Is she ill?" He went to the fire and poked it up a little. He added another piece of wood, then stooped to look in the baby's small face.
"I don't know. She just cries and cries and cries. She doesn't even want to nurse. I don't know what's wrong with her." There was misery in Molly's voice far past the use of tears.
Burrich turned to her. "Let me take her for a while. You go lie down and try to rest a bit, or you'll both be ill. You can't do this night after night."
Molly looked up at him without comprehension. "You want to take care of her? You'd truly do that?"
"I may as well," he told her wryly. "I can't sleep through her crying."
Molly stood up as if her back ached. "Warm yourself first. I'll make some tea."
For answer he took the babe from her arms. "No, you go back to bed for a while. No sense in all of us not sleeping."
Molly seemed unable to grasp it. "You truly don't mind if I go back to bed?"
"No, go ahead, we'll be fine. Go on, now." He settled the blanket about her and then set the infant to his shoulder. She looked very tiny with his dark hands against her. Molly walked slowly across the room. She looked back at Burrich but he was looking into the baby's face. "Hush now," he told her. "Hush."
Molly clambered into bed and pulled the blankets up over herself. Burrich did not sit down. He stood before the fire, rocking slightly on his feet as he patted the baby's back slowly.
"Burrich," Molly called to him quietly.
"Yes?" He did not turn to look at her.
"There's no sense your sleeping in that shed in this weather. You should move inside for the winter, and sleep by the hearth."
"Oh. Well. It's not so very cold out there. It's all in what you're used to, you know."
A small silence fell.
"Burrich. I would feel safer, were you closer." Molly's voice was very small.
"Oh. Well. Then I suppose I shall be. But there's nothing you need fear tonight. Go to sleep, now. Both of you." He bent his head and I saw his lips brush the top of the baby's head. Very softly he began singing to her. I tried to make out the words, but his voice was too deep. Nor did I know the language. The baby's wailing became less determined. He began to pace slowly around the room with her. Back and forth before the fire. I was with Molly as she watched him until she, too, fell asleep to Burrich's soothing voice. The only dream I had after that was of alone wolf, running, endlessly running. He was as alone as I was.