so-handsome Florin to the noble bedchambers of Arabel, and start subverting some noble ladies, too!”
Rhalseer’s was a much cheaper place to live than any inn, but it was a lowcoin Arabellan rooming house.
Which meant it was rather bare, none too clean, as cold inside as the wind was outside, and had been down-at-heels to start with. Shutters covered windows that had never known glass, and boards creaked underfoot.
They were creaking now, as Florin marched across the sagging upper floor and angrily flung open the door of the chamber shared by the female Swords.
Pennae, barefoot and wearing breeches and dethma, was sitting cross-legged by the lone open window, where the light was strongest, sewing up a long tear in the sleeve of her leather jerkin. She looked up at Florin, saw his expression, and sighed.
“Close the door, Florin. If you’ve come to shout at me, we’d probably prefer the rest of Rhalseer’s lodgers not to hear every last word.”
Florin reached out and closed the door. Then he strode across the room, sat down beside Pennae, and said to the wall, “I’ll try not to shout. D’you know how foolish you’re being?”
Pennae gave him a lifted eyebrow. “By indulging in a little merry thieving?”
“Yes,” Florin snarled, “just that. By indulging in a little merry thieving.”
“Lad,” Pennae asked, “how heavy is your purse?”
“That’s not the point-”
“Ah, but it is. We’ll starve and freeze come winter, if we haven’t amassed enough coin for a fire in the grates of both these rooms, and Rhalseer’s rent, and food to fill our bellies. The king gave us a charter, but no coins to live on-and thus far, our grand adventures haven’t won us much more than a handful.”
“Arabel’s expensive,” Florin said, “but we shouldn’t be here at all.”
Pennae laid aside her sewing and put a hand on the forester’s arm. “We’re not going back to Eveningstar,” she told him. “Not now. Not with Tessaril watching us with the help of every war wizard she wants to call on-and a number of men with crossbows all too eager to shoot holes through us all; men we don’t even know the names and faces of, to strike at before they take us down. Oh, no. In Arabel we’re safely away from making trouble in the heart of Cormyr, and besmirching the reputation of a certain young Lady Crownsilver-don’t blush, Florin; I know you were forbearing nobility itself toward her, but you must admit she was smitten with you-so the king can safely forget about us.”
“But I-”
“You’re smitten with guilt that we’re not dying in the Haunted Halls, to please the king. You’re also-forgive me, lad, but we can all see it-as restless as a boar come rutting season, stuck here in this city without trees, thornvines, and small furry things everywhere underfoot, scurrying to and fro. If you want to return to Eveningstar, tell me this: how? Are we to walk, with no coin for food, drink, or shelter, and our horses back in Eveningstar? We haven’t enough to pay a carter to share an open cart with his turnips, by all the helpful gods!”
Florin stared into her eyes, anger still alive in his own-then shook his head, looked away, and said, “You have the right of it, as always. ’Tis just… this is not what I dreamed of, when wanting to be an adventurer!”
“Oh?” Pennae asked, casually flipping up her dethma to reveal a rope of coins bound around her ribs. She tapped a tricrown, amid a long row of golden lions. Florin, who was trying to look away and failing, leaned forward to peer at it in spite of himself.
“Aye,” Pennae said dryly, “a tricrown. Never seen one before?”
Florin flushed and quickly looked away. “No,” he said shortly. “Never. But those coins right there are enough to get us back to Eve-”
“No,” the thief told him. “Unless,” she added slyly, “you think you can seize them from me.”
Florin looked back at her, scarlet to the tips of his ears, and mumbled, “You know I’ll not try any such thing. I-”
Pennae put her thumbs under the coin-rope, and thrust it toward him. “Take a good look, lad, before you start flapping your jaws abou-”
The door opened, to reveal Doust and Semoor. Their faces lit up.
“Well, now, valiant hero of the Battle of Hunter’s Hollow,” Semoor said, “it seems we arrived just in time to share in whatever Ladylass Durshavin’s offering! Share now, there’s a good lad!”
Still proffering her treasures in her cupped hands, Pennae smiled at Florin. “And then, of course, there’s the pleasant prospect of traveling all the way back to Eveningstar with Master Cleverjaws, Bright Servant of Lathander, here.”
She put her dethma back in place, took up her sewing again, and left Florin staring at her… then at the two priestlings… then back at her.
Doust took pity on him. “We’re here,” he explained, “to tell Pennae we loaned Vaerivval the gold, just as you suggested. He tried to offer us a coach as surety, rather th-”
“You didn’t take it?” Pennae asked.
“Nay, nay, sit easy, lass,” Semoor told her. “We have the deed to his share of the Touch, right here, to be surrendered only upon payment of our gold and another gold piece every tenday, or, ahem, ‘remaining part thereof.’ See? I can follow directions surprisingly well for a holy man.”
“Good dog,” Pennae said. “Be sure to give the deed to Islif, to put in her codpiece, the moment she’s back.”
“Her-? Give it to Islif why, exactly? ’Twas my gold, for the greatest part, and-”
“Oh, stop blustering, Semoor. Vaerivval saw you take the deed into your hand and put it into your pouch, did he not?”
“Uh, yes…”
“So he knows where to have the young snatchfingers he’ll undoubtedly hire retrieve it from. Wherefore ’tis time for you to carry this in your pouch instead. Only this, mind; give your coins to Doust to carry.”
“This” proved to be a folded scrap of rather dirty parchment with a snatch of someone’s woodcutting accounts on one side, and a sentence in Pennae’s hand on the other: “Don’t expect to keep our gold this way, Vaerivval.”
Slowly, Semoor started to chuckle. Doust nodded and smiled-and so did Florin, when the note was shown to him.
“You’re a witch,” he said to Pennae almost fondly, watching her finish sewing and bite off the thread. “You have us all dancing to your tune.”
She gave him a wink. “You mean to say I’m a minstrel, lad. Drinks are my treat at the Barrel tonight. Oh, and expect this minstrel’s thefts to grow bolder. Mere shady investments with lone shopkeepers won’t bring us enough coin-and we dare not deal with larger schemers.”
“The Black Barrel, then, at dusk?” Semoor asked.
Pennae nodded. “Don’t be sneaking out to the cheese shop, Master Wolftooth. You’ve got just time to get our forester here out the south gate and back in again before they close it.”
“What? Why would we rush to do that? ”
“To show him a tree, of course.”
Chapter 20
Guard yourselves well, all, for the vipers are out, and their fangs want blood.
