He shook his head, miserably embarrassed, wishing he’d kept his mouth shut “You know.”
“Ah, our little bardling is a prude!”
“I am nod But you—”
“Go around asking for it? Is that what you’re trying to say? Listen to me, and listen well: I am a woman in a man’s world. I’m not complaining; that’s just the way things are. And as a woman, sure, I could wear a nice, proper gown that restricted every step I took, the sort of thing a lady wears—and get killed the first time I needed to move quickly. I could wear full armor, too, always assuming I could afford the expensive stuff—but I spend a lot of my life on board ships. People who wear full armor on ships tend to have really short lives if they fall overboard!”
“I... uh ... never thought of that ...”
“I realize that!” All at once, Lydia grinned. “Besides, when I do have trouble, the fools are generally so busy looking at my ... ah ... endowments that they never see my knee or fist coming. So now, enough lecturing. We still have some rat-hunting to do!”
She strode boldly away. Kevin gulped and followed, deciding that Lydia wasn’t as dumb as she looked. She might be rough in manners and language—but she certainly wasn’t dumb at all.
Kevin sank wearily to a bench, hardly caring that the cheaply made thing creaked alarmingly and threatened to collapse. How many taverns had it been now? Ten? Fifty? A hundred? By this point he’d seen so many roughnecks, so many weird, ugly humans and Others, so much emptiness or depravity in so many eyes, that he didn’t think anything could shock him any more. If Death Itself came up to this table, the bardling mused listlessly, he’d probably just tell It to go have a nice day somewhere else.
Lydia, who in the course of their hunt had dealt with a half-dozen would-be suitors, showed not the slightest sign of weariness.
Well, sure. She’s probably used to tavern-hopping. This is probably tame to her!
He looked down in dismay at the warm, watery beer in the flagon before him. At least he wasn’t expected to finish the stuff. How anyone could actually want to—
“Hey, kid, look who I’ve found.”
Lydia was returning, pulling someone with her. Kevin stared. An Arachnia! But clearly one that had fallen on hard times. Where D’Krikas had been an elegant figure, spotlessly dean, dark chitin shining with health, this being was downright shoddy, its compound eyes lacking any trace of animation, its tall body folded into a weary stoop chat left it no taller than the woman. The gray cloak that seemed to be an Arachnia trademark was worn and ragged, so filthy it looked as though it had never been washed, and the being’s chitin was so dull and scaly Kevin wondered if it was possible for an Arachnia to have the mange.
Lydia didn’t seem to care. Slapping the Arachnia on its back, making the thin being stagger, she said heartily, “This is ... what did you say your name was, pal?”
“D’Riksin,” the being murmured.
“D’Riksin,” Lydia echoed. “Sit you down here, D’Riksin, my friend, and have a drink with us.”
She pushed. The Arachnia sat with a thump, as though already too far gone to resist. Kevin glanced sharply at the woman, wondering what was going on, but she was busy flagging down a barmaid. “A bottle of Mereot for my friends and me.”
Mereot turned out to be a dark red wine, so sweet that Kevin nearly gagged on his first sip. He noticed that Lydia wasn’t drinking much other flagon, either. But D’Riksin guzzled down the sweet stuff with undisguised delight.
“Good,” the being murmured.
“Have another, pal, on Kevin here.”
D’Riksin clicked its beak in what was presumably an Arachniad smile. “Thank you, friend.” It swilled down the second flagon almost as quickly as it had the first and clicked its beak with more abandon. “Good stuff. Good friends. Not like some others.”
“Someone betrayed you, huh?” Lydia leaned forward, elbows on the table, resting her head on her fists. “That’s tough.”
“Betrayed me,” the being echoed.
“Why don’t you tell us all about it, pal?” Lydia’s voice oozed concern. “Troubles are a lot lighter to bear when they’re shared.”
