The Marena Dimura were no longer in a state of insurrection. They had become invisible. They could not now be blamed for al the il s of the kingdom.
Gales was wel up the early slope of alcohol consumption.
He was pleased to be learning so much. It might be too late to use the information to any advantage but he now had his finger on the pulse of the kingdom.
He should have made expeditions like this before. The knowledge could have kept Inger in much better odor.
It had not occurred to anyone to care what ordinary people thought. Their attitudes did not matter in Itaskia. But this was Kavelin. The monarchs here had been listening for decades. Inger might have, too. She had a mild case of the Kavelin fever.
Josiah Gales had a slight case of that disease himself. He signaled for a refil , then began to brood on that.
Then he began to worry about the time. He should have been back by now. Inger would give him bloody hel when he turned up drunk.
And now he could not leave.
Men he knew had come and gone, none paying him any heed because he timed his piss runs to avoid being noticed. The strategy had worked til an entire squad of archers stumbled in. The Wrench was not their first stop of the evening. Gales wondered how they could afford so much drink. Their pay was in arrears.
The archers settled where Gales would have to pass on his way to the jakes. And they would not move on.
The ache in the Colonel’s bladder reached a point where he had to make a decision. He chose to piss on the floor, sitting where he was, not a choice he would have made when sober.
He got urine al over himself. What made it to the floor drained through gaps in the floorboards. The odor did not stand out amongst the other stinks of the Wrench.
Then a shaggy mass of a man materialized. He headed a trio of thoroughly drenched gentlemen. In fluent drunkenese, he bel owed, “Holy fuckin’ shit! Wil ya lookit! Sarge Gales, you ole cocksucker! How da fuck are you? Hey! You look like shit, man. You been eatin’ right? You got pushed out too, huh? Guess you’re lookin’ good enough for dat. Hey!
Tel dese jack-offs ’bout dat time. You know. Durin’ da El Murid Wars when you got off a dat ship in Hel in Daimiel or wherever da fuck. Wit’ al da women. You guys gotta hear dis. Funniest fuckin’ story I ever heard.” Gales began to shake. He did not recognize the man blasting dense wine breath into his face. The story he wanted had been the signature bul shit story that Sergeant Gales of the Queen’s own bodyguard had retailed back in the day.
“Come on, man! Nine women in one day!”
The entire tavern had gone quiet, at least to Gales’s ears. It seemed everyone wanted to hear the great story. Including the archers, who looked like they were trying to recal where they had heard al this before.
Gales glanced round. If anyone had a bone to pick with Colonel Gales he was wel and truly screwed. “It was Libiannin. Yeah. And it was nine women. That’s no lie. I was a young man then and we was fourteen days on the transport. We hit the beach with our peckers poking us under our chins. I did nine women. In one day. You know what I mean. In twenty-four hours. Fourteen days on a transport, I never even seen a woman. Yeah. You don’t believe me. Nobody ever does. But it’s true. Nine women in one day.”
Gales did not go through the gestures and antics that had accompanied the tales of the old Sergeant Gales. He had no room and did not want his piss-soaked pants to be seen.
His unrecal ed acquaintance asked, “You al right? You don’t seem to got so much energy no more. You’re ’sposed ta tel it piece by piece, man.”
Gales raised his jack. “Too many of these. Yeah.” He looked at the other men. “It’s true. You ask him. Fourteen days at sea. I was ready. How many women you had in one day? I wasn’t showing off. I was working it. Yeah. I’l never forget that seventh one. Yeah. Moaning and clawing. She’s going, ‘Oh! Oh! Gales! Gales! I can’t take no more, Gales!
Oh! No! Don’t stop! Don’t stop!’ Yeah. It’s true. Every damn word. Nine women in one day. I was a young man then.” After a feigned bout of straining to keep everything down, he said, “I ain’t so young no more. I maybe better get outta here before somebody takes advantage of me. But one more won’t hurt.”
He pul ed up a smal purse. It proved to be empty. “Ah, shit.
Somebody done got me already.” He faced the man who had recognized him. “You see anybody ’round me back here? Somebody plucked me.”
“We just got here, Sarge.”
One of the companions asked, “You sure you didn’t spend it al already? You didn’t get that last jack for free.” Gales frowned as though making a grand effort to retrieve difficult memories. He decided this was the time to take advantage of the mess he had made in his lap.
Another feigned gag. He stood. “I got to go.” The moisture was blatantly obvious. Even the drunkest drunks saw it. He staggered badly. And congratulated himself on how he had disarmed even those who had to know who he real y was.
He felt awful, though. He did not have to pretend to be thoroughly soused.
He counted forty steps, leaned against a wal , looked back.
Nobody had come after him. He had left them sure that he was not worth robbing, or even worth beating up for being an officer.
He faced forward. He was going to be total y miserable later on. And he had to go to Damhorst tomorrow.
A dark shape blocked his path, a big man in a hooded cassock. He was accompanied by several identical y clad friends.
One stepped in behind and pul ed a sack over his head.
The others dressed him in another cassock. His struggles were ineffective. They had trouble mainly because he was now halfway limp.
Then he puked into the bag.
...
The sun was near the meridian. Inger wrestled a mix of panic and anger. Stil no sign of Josiah. His mounts remained stabled. His possessions were in his quarters, including weapons and travel gear. The men tasked to accompany him stil awaited his appearance.
Inger paced. She muttered. She cursed. She was certain fate had handed her another cause for despair.
Josiah was almost al she had left.
Not many months ago she had been ready to abandon Fulk’s claim to Kavelin’s crown. Then Bragi got himself kil ed. Most of the people who wanted rid of her then turned round to support her—except that witch Kristen, whose brat’s claim had no legal foundation.
Here she was again, abandoned by another man, ready to shriek, “To hel with it!” and leave Kavelin to anyone who wanted the heartache.
She watched Fulk nap, for once in rare good health. The boy seemed angelic, lying there in a splay of blond curls.
Neither she nor Bragi had curly hair but her mother said she had had curls as a toddler. One of her few remaining women came into the nursery. “Yes, Garyline?”
“That unpleasant Wolf person is here, Majesty. He says he has the information you wanted.”
Inger rol ed up her nose. She avoided Nathan Wolf as much as she could. But when Josiah dropped off the face of the earth she had nowhere else to turn.
“Send him in.” She had no choice.
Sometimes she felt sorry for Wolf. The man was never anything but what he ought to be. He never did anything wrong. But he radiated something that made everyone wary and distrustful. Only Dane actual y liked him. Inger suspected that Wolf did not like himself much. What others thought reflected back and made him think he deserved the negative responses.
Wolf ’s manners were perfect. Inger did not face him. She did not want him to see the revulsion his presence
