said as he exchanged them for Krispos' coins.
Krispos almost dropped them, but not because they were hot. He shifted his spear to the crook of his elbow so he could point. 'Can I eat these—these—' He did not even know the right word.
'The tentacles? Sure—a lot of people say they're the best part.' The local gave him a knowing smile. 'Not from around these parts, are you?'
'Er, no.' Krispos lost himself in the crowd; he did not want the squid-seller watching while he nerved himself to eat what he'd bought. The meat inside the breadcrumbs proved white and chewy, without any pronounced flavor; the tentacles weren't much different, so far as he could tell, from the rest. He licked his fingers, flicked at his beard to dislodge stray crumbs, and walked on.
Darkness began to fall. Krispos knew just enough of cities to try to find an inn. At last he did. 'How much for a meal and a room?' he asked the tall thin man who stood behind a row of wine and beer barrels that served as a bar.
'Five pieces of silver,' the innkeeper said flatly.
Krispos flinched. Not counting his goldpiece, he did not have that much. No matter how he haggled, he could not bring the fellow down below three. 'Can I sleep in the stables if I tend your animals or stand guard for you?' he asked.
The innkeeper shook his head. 'Got a horseboy, got a bouncer.'
'Why are you so dear?' Krispos said. 'When I bought squid cheap this afternoon, I figured everything else'd be—how would you say it?—in proportion.'
'Aye, squid and fish and clams are cheap enough,' the innkeeper said. 'If you just want a good fish stew, I'll give you a big bowl for five coppers. We have lots of fish here. How not? Videssos is the biggest port in the world. But we have lots of people, too, so space, now, space'll cost you.'
'Oh.' Krispos scratched his head. What the innkeeper said made a strange kind of sense, even if he was not used to thinking in those terms. 'I'll take that bowl of stew, and thank you. But where am I supposed to sleep tonight? Even if it wasn't raining, I wouldn't want to do it on the streets.'
'Don't blame you.' The innkeeper nodded. 'Likely you'd get robbed the first night—doesn't matter how sharp your spear is if you're not awake to use it. Armed that way, though, you could try the barracks.'
'Not till I've tried everything else,' Krispos said stubbornly. 'If I sleep in the barracks once, I'll end up sleeping there for years. I just want a place to set my head till I find steady work.'
'I see what you're saying.' The innkeeper walked over to the fireplace, stirred the pot that hung over it with a wooden spoon. 'Your best bet'd likely be a monastery. If you help with the chores, they'll house you for a while, and feed you, too. Not a nice stew like this—' He ladled out a large, steaming bowlful. '—but bread and cheese and beer, plenty to keep you from starving. Now let's see those coppers, if you please.'
Krispos paid him. The stew was good. The innkeeper gave him a heel of bread to sop up the last of it. He wiped his mouth on his damp sleeve, waited until the innkeeper was done serving another customer. Then he said, 'A monastery sounds like a good idea. Where would I find one?'
'There must be a dozen of 'em in the city.' The innkeeper stopped to think. 'The one dedicated to the holy Pelagios is closest, but it's small and hasn't the room to take in many off the street. Better you should try the monastery of the holy Skirios. They always have space for travelers.'
'Thanks. I'll do that. How do I get there?' Krispos made the innkeeper repeat the directions several times; he wanted to be sure he had them straight. Once he was, he stood in front of the fire to soak up as much warmth as he could, then plunged into the night.
He soon regretted it. The directions might have served well enough by daylight. In the dark, with half the firepots that should have lit the streets doused by rain, he got hopelessly lost. The innkeeper's fire quickly became only a wistful memory.
Few people were out and about so late. Some traveled in large bands and carried torches to light their way. Others walked alone, in darkness. One of those followed Krispos for blocks and sank back into deeper shadow whenever Krispos turned to look his way. Farm boy or not, he could figure out what that meant. He lowered his spear and took a couple of steps toward the skulker. The next time he looked around, the fellow was gone.
The longer Krispos walked, the more he marveled at how many streets, and how many miles of streets, Videssos the city had. From the way his feet felt, he had tramped all of them—and none twice, for nothing looked familiar. Had he stumbled on another inn, he would have spent his lucky goldpiece without a second thought.
Instead, far more by luck than design, he came upon a large low structure with several gates. All but one were barred and silent. Torches burned there, though, and a stout man in a blue robe stood in the gateway. He was armed with an even stouter cudgel, which he hefted when Krispos walked into the flickering circle of light the torches cast.
'What building is this?' he asked as he approached. He trailed his spear, to look as harmless as he could.
'This is the monastery that serves the memory of the holy Skirios, may Phos hallow his soul for all eternity,' the watchman replied.
'May he indeed!' Krispos said fervently. 'And may I beg shelter of you for the night? I've wandered the streets searching for this monastery for—for—well, it seems like forever.'
The monk at the gate smiled. 'Not that long, I hope, though it is the sixth hour of the night. Aye, come in, stranger, and be welcome, so long as you come in peace.' He eyed Krispos' spear and sword.
'By Phos, I do.'
'Well enough,' the watchman said. 'Enter then, and rest. When morning comes, you can present yourself to our holy abbot Pyrrhos with the others who came in out of the rain this evening. He, or someone under him, will assign you some task for tomorrow—or perhaps for some time, if you need a longer time of shelter with us.'
'Agreed,' Krispos said at once. He started to walk past the monk, then paused. 'Pyrrhos, you say? I knew a man by that name once.' He frowned, trying to remember where or when, but gave it up with a shrug after a moment.
The monk also shrugged. 'I've known two or three myself; it's a fairly common name.'
