Sun stopped in the middle of the room, studying the old man—and she realized rather immediately that he was studying her in return. That intrigued her, but strangely, it did not frighten her.
And then she remembered that a constable and two of her family’s guards were chasing her, and fear came crashing back into her mind. She darted a look over her shoulder.
The old man put down his mug and curled his fingers to beckon her. Seeing no better choice, Sun moved to stand across the table from him.
“Put this on.” The old man reached into a bag sitting at his feet and pulled out a worn brown cloak, shoving it towards her. His voice was deep, and it grated with age, but it had a pleasant, almost musical quality. Sun briefly thought she would like to hear him sing.
She took the cloak and wrapped it around her shoulders over the blue one, sinking into the chair across from the old man. It was not a moment too soon. Behind her, the tavern door crashed open. Sun knew better than to turn around and look. She huddled under the hood of the cloak—it smelled like sweat and ale, but not in an unpleasant way.
Across from her, the old man’s keen eyes swung back and forth, observing the front door without staring too long. “A constable,” he muttered. “Alone. Do not turn around.”
Sun wanted to tell him that she was not an idiot, but she kept her mouth shut. Instead of turning to look at the constable, she watched the barman. He was a portly fellow, with a bald pate above a fringe of hair that stuck out almost a handbreadth in all directions. As Sun watched, he did a very curious thing. He looked at the front door—presumably at the constable—and then he turned to look at where Sun sat with the old man. But rather than alert the constable to Sun’s presence, he only looked at the old man, twisted his mouth, and then shook his head as if to say without words, Not this again.
“Tunsha,” called the constable from the front door. “A girl in a blue cloak is running about. Have you seen her?”
The barman looked towards the front door again. Then, as if deep in thought, he rapped a silver ring on his finger twice against the bar. It rang out loud in the silence that had fallen since the constable came in.
“Not in here,” said the barman. His gaze did not waver.
The constable hesitated a moment, and Sun feared she was lost. But then: “Send for me if you do.”
The tavern’s front door swung shut. Sun released a sigh. The tavern filled with voices again, the patrons resuming conversations as if the constable had never appeared.
“He knocked to tell the others,” said the old man in a quiet voice. “When he hit his ring on the bar, I mean. He let the others know not to contradict him, even though most of them noted you when you came in.”
“And they listened?” said Sun. “Why?”
“Because this is that sort of place.”
Sun took that to mean a place where people hide from the law. And yet, she felt just as safe as when she had first entered. But it did not seem wise to remain.
“I thank you for your help, but I should leave you to your night,” she said.
“It might not be wise to leave so soon,” said the old man. “The constable will remain nearby for some time, I wager. Wait at least a little while.”
“I … suppose,” said Sun, settling back in her chair. She studied the old man again. He was eyeing her fine leathers, and Sun knew he could tell they were not Dorsean. He himself wore a brown tunic under a dark leather vest, and baggy pantaloons that were out of style here. Neither did his face have a Dorsean look. His skin was almost as pale as a Heddan’s, but with a tone and features that suggested Calentin ancestry. Weather and travel had stained every bit of him, particularly his cloak. Sun felt that this was a man who could be very, very dangerous when he wished to be. Yet there was nothing about him that seemed unfriendly, and despite his unusual urging that she remain in the tavern, she did not fear any ill intent from him.
“You look like someone who is looking for something,” said the man.
“And what do I look like I am looking for?” said Sun.
“That is less clear,” he said. “Though I would not say it is something material. Sometimes we strive hardest for the things that we can only feel on the inside—an adventure, a tale, the thrill of love.”
An adventure. “You … are not wrong.”
He smirked. “I notice that you do not say if I am right.”
Lifting his hand, he beckoned to the barman, who nodded and reached for a mug. But Sun had noticed something else. When the old man had waved, his cloak had fallen back slightly. She had thought his right arm concealed beneath his cloak, but now she saw that it ended in a stump just above the elbow. Something about that twinged in Sun’s mind. But it was like a thought remembered from a dream, and before she could chase it down, a heavy girl in a faded yellow dress came with a mug of beer. She placed it before Sun and smiled.
“Eight slivers, dear.”
“I have it,” said the old man, reaching into a pocket.
“No, please,” said Sun, grasping for her coin purse. “I can pay for—”
“Of course you can, with clothes like that,” said the old man. “But you are a guest here, and I insist. It is my pleasure to share what I have.” He produced the copper pieces
