It had been two days since he had scaled the wall of the castle, and a plan had developed in his mind.
He had yet to put it into action. Instead, he was going over every detail of what he would have to do, and the resources he would need.
The main problem was his lack of privacy. He had no base in the city, and for the third night running he would have to sleep in one of the narrow alleys. That was no problem for him-he had been sleeping rough in the country for the majority of nights during his hunt-but he needed seclusion to subdue the squire and conduct his interrogation.
An irate voice attracted his attention and he found himself looking at a short, crooked-backed woman who was raising her voice in anger at a market trader.
“My husband’s been dead for three years!” she said loudly. “How am I to afford food for my grandchildren and fuel to keep my home warm?”
Her pleas were greeted by muted laughs, and several people shook their heads.
“It’s the crazy woman!” someone said quietly to a friend.
His hard eyes, hidden from view by the cowl he always wore in populated places, focused on the madwoman. He saw an opportunity.
“Is she really crazy?” he asked the market trader. He could sense the man’s fear rise.
“She’s been m-m-mad for years,” the trader stammered. “She wanders the streets, b-begging and cursing. The children think she’s a witch.”
A few people overheard the words, laughed, and someone called over in agreement. Thus buoyed, he pressed for more information.
“And does she truly have a home and grandchildren?” He managed to make his voice sound suitably curious, hiding the feral rasp that sometimes asserted itself.
“A home, yes, but no children.” The trader peered at him with nervous curiosity, then glanced away to avoid being discovered. “It’s a lie she tells in order to get money from gullible strangers. The guards will move her along in a moment.”
And a moment later they did, ushering her out of the market and commanding her not to beg. She did not notice the tall figure in the robe follow her from the crowd and down the narrow streets.
He moved without sound, catching up with her swiftly. Finally, just as she was fumbling with a key outside a door in a poor part of the city where the rooftops touched each other above the alleyway, he reached forward, his large hand resting on her shoulder.
She gave a small cry, and tried to twist away from him.
“Do not be alarmed,” he said. “I am new to this city. I have come in from the country. I have nowhere to rest. I have money-a great deal of it.” He smiled as he watched her fearful expression turn to curious greed. “I seek lodging, only for a few nights-nothing more.” He spoke softly and his voice purred with temptation. “I would be out in the daytime. I’m a busy man.”
“How much have you got?” she asked, her voice sharp and rude.
He reached into his robe and withdrew a bright red gem that caught the afternoon light as he held it up to her face. His smile grew as her eyes fixed themselves upon it.
“I think that will be enough,” he said, letting her grab the gem that he had taken from the purple-robed men some days before.
“But you won’t be getting food,” the woman snapped, and for one of the few times in his life he grinned in genuine humour.
“No, dear lady, I will not be asking you for food,” he agreed. “I am entirely self-sufficient.”
With a curt nod she opened the door and ushered her lodger in, no doubt wondering about this strange man from the country who seemingly conjured riches from the pockets of his robe. Likely she wondered what other surprises he might provide.
Without doubt, she would find out in due time.