double and decrepit at twenty-five, he counted himself especially lucky that now his main occupation was giving orders to serving boys and pouring the occasional tankard of ale.
The night the priest came, however, the keeper would gladly have traded places with the lowest serf in Skrae.
“I have simply come for my property. Once it is in my possession, I will leave peacefully,” the priest said. He didn’t look like so much, this little man from Ness who dressed in an undyed habit. The knife in his hand was tiny, the blade no longer than a child’s finger.
When he’d come in demanding information, the keeper had been busy counting the coins in his till. Figures were not the keeper’s strong suit and he’d lost track. He supposed he might have been a little abrupt when he told the priest to have a seat and shut his mouth.
He’d had no idea how fast things would happen then, how the knife would blur through the air, while the priest’s face transformed into the countenance of something from the Bloodgod’s pit.
The keeper stared down at the cut on his arm. It was only perhaps an inch long but it was bleeding furiously. He pressed down hard on the wound with a bar towel but in seconds the cloth was red right through. “I’m telling ye, friend-I don’t know anything of what you’re asking! I never heard naught of this shire reeve. Please, just let me bandage this-”
The priest never raised his voice. He never got angry. But the knife in his hand flicked back and forth, cutting at the air. “You’re lying to me. The shire reeve wrote me just days ago. The message was posted from this house. He claimed he had my property and that I could come collect it at my leisure. Well, here I am. Where is the shire reeve? Where is what is owed to me? Should you lie to me again, I’ll cut your other arm.”
The keeper of the house looked up at his patrons, a dozen or so assorted merchants, tradesmen of various occupations, and three dwarves up from Redweir. They had all jumped back from their tables, abandoning both food and drink to press up against the smoke-stained walls. He’d get no help from that quarter.
“There was a man-a day or two back, sure,” the keeper said. He was beginning to feel faint, probably just from the fear. He took a step back, away from the priest, and nearly slipped on the pool of his own blood that was ruining his floor. “Might have been a reeve of one sort or another. I didn’t see if he carried no white stick, but mayhap that was just under his cloak. He had the look of a lawman.”
“Good,” the priest said. “That’s a good start.”
“Figured he was just playin’ at it, though, for he skipped out before he paid his bill. Figured he was some tricky thief.”
“He was an official of the crown. Now. As to my property.”
“I know nothing ’bout that,” the keeper said. “Please!” he begged as the knife came toward him again. “Please-whatever it was, whatever it was worth, take it out of my till, and be welcome to it! Just-just put the knife away. I beg you!”
“All your coin won’t pay what I’m owed,” the priest said. “I’ve come for a man, a bondservant who ran away from me. His name is Malden. What of him?”
“Malton, you say?” the keeper asked. “I’m not so good with names-”
“A slender fellow, of no great height. Wears a green cloak. He would be traveling with a number of companions-accomplices in his flight.”
“Aye, aye!” the keeper almost laughed with relief. “Aye, they were here, too, the same night as your reeve. He was with a fancy looking gentleman, a lady, and a dwarf. And-And a great big dog-hearted bastard with half his face painted red. That one they made sleep in the stables like the wild man he was. Now, they paid their bill, and left before dawn the next day. Please-no more!”
The knife was inches from the keeper’s face. It seemed to float in the air, as if unconnected to the priest’s hand. The keeper could see his own reflection in its red-smeared blade.
“One more question, only, and then I’ll give you my thanks and take my leave.”
“Anything! I’ll tell ye anything!” Whether it was true or not, the keeper decided. This was not a man who accepted “I don’t know” as a correct answer.
“When they left, which way were they headed?”
The keeper belched mightily as a wave of nausea swept through him. He had no idea how to answer that. He hadn’t watched the travelers depart-he’d been inside, fast asleep, and only knew they’d gone because the stable boy told him so. He had to guess now what the priest wanted to hear. And if he guessed wrong “They headed east,” someone said.
The knife was gone. The keeper sagged backward against the bar, unable to stand a moment longer. The priest was across the room now, standing over a man wearing the mask of an itinerant barber-surgeon.
“They headed east,” the man repeated. “I’m coming from that direction, and I passed them just as they left the road. It looked like they were headed down to the river, though for what purpose I can’t imagine.”
“You’ve been very helpful,” the priest said. The knife disappeared and he smiled at everyone in the room, taking his time to beam at each patron in turn. “I do apologize for the excitement. Please, go back to your meals. I will not keep you any longer.”
And with that he left, headed back out into the night. As easy as that.
The barber-surgeon rushed over to where the keeper lay, facedown on his own bar, his legs tangled in the stools. With deft hands the healer pulled the bar rag away from the wounded man’s arm and studied the cut. “By the Lady’s elbows,” he swore.
“It’s just… a little scratch,” the keeper insisted.
“He pierced the major vein of your arm without so much as palpating for it,” the barber-surgeon insisted. He reached for a pouch at his belt and brought forth a long strip of dirty bandage. “It normally takes me three tries to find that vein, even when my patient is restrained so I can take my time. Who was that man? Where did he train? At the University at Vijn, perhaps? They bring up fine doctors there, it’s said.” The barber-surgeon worked quickly at stanching the flow of blood.
“Will I live?” the keeper asked.
“Oh, surely,” the barber-surgeon told him. “Eat plenty of fish taken from a cold stream, and purge three times a day with an emetic I give you, and you’ll be back on your feet in no time. Of course, the wound might fester and then you’ll lose the arm. But you’ll definitely survive.”
“Excuse me,” someone said, but the keeper couldn’t see who it was. “Excuse me. Hey! Down fucking here!”
Despite how faint he felt, the keeper leaned over the side of the bar and looked down to see one of the dwarves staring up at him. The keeper was used to getting dwarves in, since there were so many of them at Redweir and they often traveled to Helstrow on business. He’d barely been aware of the three of them before this, except for the fact that one of them was female. You almost never saw female dwarves this far south.
The one addressing him was male, a skinny, tiny fellow with a bushy beard and hair like a mop that should have been thrown out years ago. His eyes were beady and dark but they shone with purpose.
“You said somewhat about a wild man, with a face painted red?”
The keeper frowned. Not again, he thought-no more questions! “Aye,” he replied. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m-”
“He was traveling with the other bunch? You’re sure of it? Think hard on it, man. This is important!”
“Aye, aye, you daft little thing,” the keeper growled. There were spots dancing before his eyes. That couldn’t be good, could it?
“And they went east? Toward the forest there, and the mountains beyond? You weren’t lying just to throw that other fucker off the track? Excuse me! I need to know this!”
The barber-surgeon answered for the keeper, who was having trouble breathing properly. “Yes, yes, just as I told that butcher. East!”
The dwarf nodded and ran back to his fellows. They whispered amongst themselves for a moment, then raced out of the common room in the direction of the stables. The keeper never saw them again.
At least they’d paid in advance.
Chapter Twenty-six
