“what would you have me say?” asked the host of The Crown and Peacock. “I know nothing more about it. As I told you, she went on her way days ago.” He looked as if he wished that Nyctasia would do the same.
It was not easy to get a lie past a practiced liar like Nyctasia. “I see,” she said coldly. “The truth of it is, you threw her out because she was sick.” But she could get nothing more from the landlord, and she was at a loss as to where to look next.
As she paced back and forth in front of the shops on High Street, the serving-girl from the inn darted up to her and curtsied hurriedly. “M’lady, you might find her on Cobble Row-there’s places there anyone can stay.”
“How sick was she?” Nyctasia asked, anxious.
“Well, she could ride, m’lady, but she looked very poorly. The master was afraid to let her stay lest it spread to others.”
Nyctasia paid the girl for her information and let her go. She knew now that she must find Corson at all costs. If what she suspected was true, there might not be much time left.
After hours of fruitless inquiry among the denizens of Cobble Row, and a good deal of money wasted on false clues, Nyctasia was discouraged, tired, and no nearer to finding Corson. Only at a seamy tavern called The Wanton Mermaid had anyone even admitted to having seen Corson, but they could not (or would not) tell her anything helpful.
“She said she was staying at the Peacock with a wealthy Rhaicime,” scoffed one of the women. “Of course, nobody believed that. She had plenty of money, though.”
Nyctasia had hastily departed, avoiding the curious stares directed her way.
Toward midnight she ordered a meal in a tavern that seemed slightly less squalid than the rest. A large, middle-aged woman was scraping food from the tables and gathering empty mugs while keeping a wary eye on her remaining customers. A young man carried ale and food from the kitchen. Nyctasia paid him, took a few cautious bites of the bread, then gave up all pretense at eating. She laid another coin, a heavy silver Meridian, on the table and addressed the busy woman.
“Perhaps you’ve seen a friend of mine-a tall swordswoman called Corson, with money to spend-”
“Lady, I get soldiers in here all the time,” said the woman impatiently. She did not pick up the coin.
“You’d remember this one-she’s beautiful. Bright brown hair in a long braid, and wide blue eyes. She was probably sick, maybe feeling mean…”
“What kind of fool soldier wears long hair?”
Nyctasia sighed. “Vanity makes fools of us all,” she said wearily. “You’ve not seen her then?”
At that, the young man came up to them. “Ma, I’ll wager she means the crazy one, over at Merl’s.”
“I never heard that she was beautiful.”
He shrugged. “I never heard she wasn’t. And she sure is sick. Merl’s just waiting for her to die so he can throw her out. Last time he tried, she broke his arm,” he told Nyctasia with a giggle.
She stood. “Where is this place?”
“I’ll show you,” he said eagerly. “It’s not far.”
The woman pocketed Nyctasia’s money. “All right, but bring yourself right back here after. There’s work to do.”
“That one has to be into everything,” she complained, watching them from the doorway. She frowned and suddenly called after Nyctasia, “Lady, don’t tell Merl you’re a friend of hers!”
“Has that madwoman upstairs died yet, Merl?” shouted Nyctasia’s guide.
“I don’t know,” growled a heavyset, bearded man with one arm in a sling. “Why don’t you go up and look for yourself?”
“I will,” said Nyctasia. “Show me where she is.” She started up the stairs.
Merl shrugged and followed her, with the youth and a few curious customers trailing after them. “In here,” he said. “Watch out, she’s rutting dangerous.”
The others prudently fell back, as Nyctasia went in. She shut the door behind her and hastened to Corson’s bedside. “Corson, take off those earrings! That bastard Brethald poisoned them!”
But Corson didn’t move. She lay on a dirty straw pallet, her unsheathed sword on the floor at her left hand. Only her labored breathing showed that she was still alive.
Nyctasia knelt beside her and began to draw off the golden earrings but Corson lunged without warning and dragged her to the floor. Before she could call out for help, Corson had her by the throat.
Corson was back in the woods, surrounded by the band of jeering thieves. “We’ll have the jewelry too,” said the leader, and reached to take her prized earrings.
This time he’d not get the better of her so easily! She threw him to the ground and fell upon him savagely, her hands closing around his throat. But as she stared down into the robber’s face, his features began to break and shift like reflections on the surface of a pond
…
Nyctasia was unprepared for the attack, and struggled vainly to break Corson’s grip. There was a ringing in her ears and dazzling black patches clouded her vision. Desperate, she groped for her dagger but Corson suddenly went limp, overcome by weakness, and collapsed, senseless.
When Nyctasia had somewhat recovered her breath she bent over Corson and listened for her heartbeat, then quickly drew off the earrings, wrapping them in a handkerchief. Satisfied, she got to her feet, still gasping, and went out to the landing.
“Is she dead?” said Merl eagerly.
Nyctasia leaned on the doorframe, one hand to her throat, and looked at him with disgust. “Get me some rope,” she ordered.
With Corson seemingly lifeless, and safely bound, the innkeeper felt much bolder about entering the room. He glared at Nyctasia, who was laying her folded cloak under Corson’s head. “She’s not staying here!” he said.
Nyctasia stood. “Don’t worry, man, it isn’t catching. She’s not sick, she’s poisoned.”
“How do you know?”
For answer, Nyctasia unwrapped the glittering earrings. “These were prepared with a deadly poison, but it wasn’t intended for her-she stole them. It’s unwise to steal from me.” The lie would serve as a warning. Nyctasia knew that everyone at the inn probably had plans to rob her already.
Merl looked uneasy. “Well, I don’t care what’s wrong with her, she’s not going to die under my roof. Folk will stay away for a year if they hear about it. You get her out of here or I will.”
“She’ll not die, I promise you,” Nyctasia said, hoping that she spoke the truth.
“I’m a healer, I’ll see to her.”
“She’s trouble, dead or alive,” said Merl stubbornly.
“Listen to me, man-! don’t want her here any more than you do. I’d rather have her someplace clean! But she’s too sick to be moved yet, and anyone who tries it will regret it!” She spoke firmly, looking straight at the man like one who can make good her threats. He dropped his eyes. As ever, Nyctasia was convincing.
“I’ll take her away when she’s stronger,” she continued, “but I can make it well worth your while to keep her here for now.”
This made a better impression on Merl. “You’ll pay what she owes? She broke some furniture too, you know.”
“You’ll be satisfied.” Nyctasia paced rapidly around the room, hands clasped behind her, then pointed to the weapons she’d taken from Corson. “Lock those up somewhere. And have this room cleaned. Thoroughly!”
“How do I know you can do what you say? If she dies-”
Nyctasia smiled. “Very well, you shall have proof.” Her face assumed a strange dreamy expression which the burly innkeeper viewed with misgiving. He backed away a step as Nyctasia approached him.