His mouth made a thin line, but he nodded and handed me back two jots.
I tucked the coins away and tied my purse firmly underneath my shirt, then gave him a meaningful look and patted it.
I saw the smile tug at his lips again. “Good-bye, sir.”
I picked up my towel, left the store, and started my altogether less conspicuous walk back to the inn where I had found breakfast and a bath.
“What can I get for you, young sir?” the innkeeper asked as I approached the bar. He smiled and wiped his hands on his apron.
“A stack of dirty dishes and a rag.”
He squinted at me, then smiled and laughed. “I’d thought you’d run off naked through the streets.”
“Not quite naked.” I laid his towel on the bar.
“There was more dirt than boy before. And I would have bet a solid mark your hair was black. You really don’t look the same.” He marveled mutely for a second. “Would you like your old clothes?”
I shook my head. “Throw them away—actually, burn them, and make sure no one accidentally breathes the smoke.” He laughed again. “I did have some other items though.” I reminded him.
He nodded and tapped the side of his nose. “Right enough. Just a second.” He turned and disappeared though a doorway behind the bar.
I let my attention wander around the room. It seemed different now that I wasn’t attracting hostile stares. The fieldstone fireplace with the black kettle simmering. The slightly sour smells of varnished wood and spilled beer. The low rumble of conversation....
I’ve always had a fondness for taverns. It comes from growing up on the road, I think. A tavern is a safe place, a refuge of sorts. I felt very comfortable just then, and it occurred to me that it wouldn’t be a bad life, owning a place like this.
“Here you go then.” The innkeeper laid down three pens, a jar of ink, and my receipt from the bookstore. “These gave me almost as much of a puzzle as why you had run off without your clothes.”
“I’m going to the University.” I explained.
He raised an eyebrow. “A little young, aren’t you?”
I felt a nervous chill at his words, but shrugged it off. “They take all kinds.”
He nodded politely as if that explained why I had shown up barefoot and reeking of back alleys. After waiting for a while to see if I’d elaborate, the barman poured himself a drink. “No offense, but you don’t exactly look to be the sort who would want to be washin’ dishes anymore.”
I opened my mouth to protest; an iron penny for an hour’s work was a bargain I was hesitant to pass up. Two pennies was the same as a loaf of bread, and I couldn’t count all the times that I had been hungry in the last year.
Then I saw my hands resting on the bar. They were pink and clean, I almost didn’t recognize them for my own.
I realized then I didn’t want to do the dishes. I had more important things to do. I stood back from the bar and got a penny from my purse. “Where’s the best place to find a caravan leaving for the north?” I asked.
“Drover’s Lot, up Hillside. Quarter mile past the mill on Green Street.”
I felt a nervous chill when Hillside was mentioned. I ignored it as best I could and nodded. “You have a lovely inn here. I’d count myself lucky to have one as nice when I’ve grown up.” I handed him the penny.
He broke into a huge smile and handed back the penny. “With such nice compliments, you come back any time.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Coppers, Cobblers and Crowds
It was about an hour before noon when I stepped out onto the street. The sun was out and the cobblestones were warm beneath my feet. As the noise of the market rose to an irregular hum around me, I tried to enjoy the pleasant sensation of having a full belly and a clean body.
But there was a vague unease in the pit of my stomach, like the feeling you get when someone’s staring at the back of your head. It followed me until my instincts got the better of me and I slipped into a side alley quick as a fish.
As I stood pressed against a wall, waiting, the feeling faded. After a few minutes, I began to feel foolish. I trusted my instincts, but they gave false alarms every now and again. I waited a few more minutes just to be sure, then moved back into the street.
The feeling of vague unease returned almost immediately. I ignored it while trying to find out where it was coming from. But after five minutes I lost my nerve and turned onto a side street, watching the crowd to see who was following me.
No one. It took a nerve-wracking half hour and two more alleys before I finally figured out what it was.
It felt strange to be walking with the crowd.
Over the last couple years crowds had become a part of the scenery of the city to me. I might use a crowd to hide from a guard or a storekeeper. I might move
I was so used to being ignored, I almost ran from the first merchant who tried to sell me something.
Once I knew what was bothering me, the greater part of my uneasiness left. Fear tends to come from ignorance. Once I knew what the problem was, it was just a problem, nothing to fear.
As I’ve mentioned, Tarbean has two main sections: Hillside and Waterside. Waterside was poor. Hillside was rich. Waterside stank. Hillside was clean. Waterside had thieves. Hillside had bankers— I’m sorry, burglars.
I have already told the story of my one Ш-auspiced venture Hillside. So perhaps you will understand why, when the crowd in front of me happened to part for a moment, I saw what I was looking for. A member of the guard. I ducked through the nearest door, my heart pounding.
I spent a moment reminding myself that I wasn’t the same filthy little urchin who’d been beaten years ago. I was well-dressed and clean. I looked like I belonged here. But old habits die slow deaths. I fought to control a deep red anger, but couldn’t tell if I was angry at myself, the guard, or the world in general. Probably a little of each.
“Be right with you,” came a cheerful voice from a curtained doorway.
I looked around the shop. Light from the front window fell across a crowded workbench and dozens of shelved pairs of shoes. I decided I could have picked a worse store to wander into.
“Let me guess—” came the voice again from the back. A grandfather-grey man emerged from behind the curtain carrying a long piece of leather. He was short and stooped, but his face smiled at me through his wrinkles. “—you need shoes.” He smiled timidly, as if the joke was a pair of old boots that had worn out long ago, but were too comfortable to give up. He looked down at my feet. I looked too, in spite of myself.
I was barefoot of course. I hadn’t had shoes for so long that I never even thought about them anymore. At least not during the summer. In the winter, I dreamed of shoes.
I looked up. The old man’s eyes were dancing, as if he couldn’t decide whether laughing would cost him his customer or not. “I guess I need shoes,” I admitted.
He laughed and guided me into a seat, measuring my bare feet with his hands. Thankfully the streets were dry, so my feet were merely dusty from the cobblestones. If there had been rain they would have been embarrassingly filthy
“Let’s see what you like, and if I have anything of a size for you. If not, I can make or change a pair to fit you in an hour or two. So, what would you be wanting shoes for? Walking? Dancing? Riding?” He leaned back on his stool and grabbed a pair off a shelf behind him.
“Walking.”
