officers they did serve would be glad to have them.
The talk was muted; the men were plainly weary with the day's work. Listening without seeming to, the women soon gleaned the reason why.
As Tarma had already guessed, these men were foreign mercenaries, like themselves. This would be Hadell's lean season -- one reason, perhaps, that his prices were reasonable, and that he was so glad to see them. The other reason was that he was that rare creature, an honest man, and one who chose to give the men he had served beside a decent break. Right now, only those hire-swords with contracts for a year or more -- or those one or two so prosperous that they could afford to bide out the mercenary's lean season in an inn -- were staying at the Broken Sword. Normally a year-contract included room and board, but these men were a special case. All of them were hired on with the City Guard, which had no barracks for them. The result was that their pay included a stipend for board, and a good many of them stayed at inns like the Broken Sword. The job was never the easy one it might appear to the unknowing to be; and today had been the occasion of a riot over bread prices. The Guard had been ordered to put down the riot; no few of these men had been of two minds about their orders. On the one hand, they weren't suffering; but on the other, most of them were of the same lowerclasses as those that were rioting, and could remember winters when they had gone hungry. And the inflated grain prices, so rumor had it, had no basis for being so high. The harvest had been good, the granaries full. Rumor said that shortages were being created. Rumor said, by Wethes Goldmarchant. Both Tarma and her partner took to their bed with more than a bellyful of good stew to digest.
* * * 'Are you certain you want to come with me, even knowing there probably won't be work for you? You deserved a chance to sleep in for a change.'
Kethry, standing in the light from the window, gave her sorcerer's robe a good brushing and slipped it on over her shirt and breeches -- and belted on her blade as well.
'Eyah. I want to be lurking in the background looking protective and menacing. I want to start rumors about how it's best to approach my partner with respect. You put on whatever act you think will reinforce mine. And I don't think you should be wearing that.'
Kethry glanced down at Need and pursed her lips. 'You're probably right, but I feel rather naked without her.'
'We don't want to attract any attention, right? You know damn well mages don't bear steel other than eating knives and ritual daggers.' Tarma lounged fully-clothed -- except for her boots -- on the bed, since there wasn't enough room for two people to be standing beside it at the same time.
'Right,' Kethry sighed, removing the blade and stowing it under the bed with the rest of their goods. 'All right, let's go.'
The Hiring Hall was no more than a short stroll from the inn; an interesting walk from Tarma's point of view. Even at this early an hour the streets were full of people, from ragged beggars to welldressed merchants, and not all from around here -- Tarma recognized the regional dress of more than a dozen other areas, and might have spotted more had she known what to look for. This might be the lean season, but it was evident that Mornedealth always had a certain amount of trade going.
At the Hiring Hall -- just that, a hall lined with benches on both sides, and a desk at the end, all of the ubiquitous varnished wood -- they gave essentially the same story they'd given the guard. Their tale differed only in that Kethry was being more of herself; it wouldn't do to look an idiot when she was trying to get work. As they had been told, the steward of the hall shook his blond head regretfully when Tarma informed him that she was only interested in short-term assignments.
'I'm sorry, Swordlady,' he told her, 'Very sorry. I could get you your pick of a round dozen one-to-five-year contracts. But this is the lean season, and there just isn't anything for a hire-sword but longterm. But your friend -- yes.'
'Oh?' Kethry contrived to look eager.
'There's a fellow from a cadet branch of one of the Fifty; he just came into a nice fat Royal grant. He's getting the revenue from Upvale wine taxes, and he's bent on showing the City how a real aristo does things when he gets the cash to work with. He's starting a full stable; hunters, racers, carriage beasts and pleasure beasts. He knows his horseflesh; what he doesn't know is how to tell if there's been a glamour put on 'em. Doesn't trust City mages, as who could blame him. They're all in the pay of somebody, and it's hard to say who might owe whom a favor or three. So he's had me on the lookout for an independent, and strictly temporary. Does that suit your talents?'
'You couldn't have suited me better!' Kethry exclaimed with delight. 'Mage-sight's one of my strongest skills.'
'Right then,' the steward said with satisfaction. 'Here's your address; here's your contract -- sign here -- '
Kethry scrutinized the brief document, nodded, and made her mage-glyph where he indicated.
' -- and off you go; and good luck to you.'
They left together; at the door, Tarma asked, 'Want me with you?'
'No, I know the client, but he won't know me. He's not one of Kavin's crowd, which is all I was worried about.
