“That’s it,” I tossed over my shoulder.
She made an exasperated noise. “Will you wait a minute?”
I stopped.
“Where are you headed?” she asked as she caught up with me.
“Nowhere,” I said honestly.
She paused for a deep, calming breath before she spoke again. “Here’s the thing. You’re pretty good with a knife. I assume you’re good with that sword. And you seem to be a decent guy. At least, you didn’t try to get into my money bag or my pants.” Then she stopped, scowling as if her openness embarrassed her.
“Either say it or don’t,” I prompted.
“Well, it’s just… I’m not a fighter, I’m a delivery man… girl. Woman. I’m new at it. And I’ve had six fights like that one in five days, most of them not even over the package I’m supposed to deliver. They were over this package.” She gestured at her body. “Know what I mean?”
“Ah.”
“And damn it, I don’t want to have to either pretend to be a teenage boy for the whole trip or just ‘lay back and enjoy it,’ as they say.”
“Understandable.”
“So…” Again she paused, working up the nerve to say what she wanted. “I would like to hire you to go with me the rest of the way.”
“The rest of the way to where?”
“I’ll tell you when I know I can trust you. Until then, all you’d have to do is just tag along and look unpleasant.” She put her hands on her hips and waited for my reply. Her skin was flushed from exertion, and it made her freckles stand out.
“You don’t even know me,” I pointed out.
She rolled her eyes. “No, I don’t, and I don’t have time to check your damn references, either. I’m a pretty good judge of people, and my fast decisions tend to be my best ones. If you’re in, let’s go; if not, say so.”
“Okay, so what’s in it for me besides your charming company?”
“I have half my fee in advance. I’ll give you half of that, which means I’m out a quarter of it.”
“I can do math, you know. But how much actually goes into my pocket?”
She told me, and it was certainly a respectable amount. I didn’t have to think about it for long. “Okay, you got a deal. Where are we going?”
“Uh-uh. I’m the boss, so we’re in the world of need-to-know. Until, like I said, I know I can trust you.”
“It ain’t very smart to hire a bodyguard you don’t trust,” I pointed out.
“You’re not a bodyguard,” she almost snarled. “I can guard my own damn body, thank you very much. You’re just along to expedite things.”
“So I’m your arm candy,” I said with a grin.
She scowled, but I saw amusement in her eyes. “I’d say you were arm spinach. It’s good for you, but nobody enjoys it.”
“In case you stop eating healthy, then, maybe I better get half my fee in advance.”
She shrugged. “If it makes you feel more secure.” She took out a handful of money and counted out half of the agreed amount.
“You can trust me now,” I said as I put the money away.
“Only halfway,” she fired back, but she grinned when she said it.
And so I met Cathy Dumont, proprietor and sole employee of Dumont Confidential Courier Service. Since we were far enough from Arentia that she’d probably never heard of my family or my own connection to scandal, I gave her my real name, and we shook hands on our bargain. She told me nothing about our destination, or about the “package” she carried in her backpack. As for where we were headed, she said only that we had to cross the Wyomie River sometime within the next three weeks. We could’ve made better time on horses, but neither of us had the money to buy them or was sleazy enough to steal them. So we walked.
We fell into an easy traveling rhythm those first few days. Cathy proved to be quite loquacious, but unlike a lot of people, she actually had something substantial to say. She explained that she’d come from Bonduel, the daughter of a blacksmith who encouraged her to both master some form of weaponry and never allow herself to be dependent on anyone. She married young, and was widowed shortly afterwards, a memory that seemed to call up no regret on her part; I didn’t ask the obvious questions about just how her late spouse had met his end.
Yes, she was attractive. And yes, I noticed, and yes, it had been a while for me. But besides the fact that she was not very encouraging (she insisted we always sleep with the fire between us), I just wasn’t motivated that way. Although I’d visited whorehouses with my fellow soldiers, Janet had been my only “lover.” Even after seven years that memory was still too fresh.
TWELVE
Ten days later Cathy and I reached the public bridge over the Wyomie River. The spring thaw upstream had swollen it high above flood stage, and great foamy waves churned mere inches beneath the span. The banks, thankfully, were so steep and rocky the water had not flooded the town. But if it rose another eight inches, folks in Poy Sippi would be rolling up their pants legs.
Too deep and swift for boat traffic on a normal day, the Wyomie was an impassable border slicing between the last of the foothills and the irregular Ogachic Mountains beyond. Over time it had carved a famously deep canyon, and the bridge at Poy Sippi was the only way across for miles in either direction.
About a hundred years before, a land speculator had paid for the bridge, assuming the real estate on either end would quickly increase in value. But because the location had only the bridge to recommend it-the surrounding soil was too rocky for farming, and despite years of effort, nothing useful could be mined from it-Poy Sippi was slow to become a real family-friendly town. At the time Cathy and I passed through, it was just a ragged settlement of the kinds of people who could make a living off bridge patrons.
On the day we arrived, it was crowded with travelers funneling into, or fanning out from, the ends of the bridge. There was no charge to use it, so for lots of folks it was the only way across the Wyomie. The local constabulary was supposed to police it, but like all isolated officials, they spent most of their time enjoying the illicit spoils of looking the other way. You crossed at your own risk, and if you got beaten, mugged or worse, you were on your own. Lots of bodies washed up downstream.
Before crossing, we stopped for lunch at one of the roadhouses clustered around the ends of the bridge. The sign proclaimed it The Sway Easy, and beneath that was what appeared to be a motto: Pain Don’t Hurt. After the waitress delivered our drinks and food, Cathy leaned over to me and said softly, “My instructions are really clear. We have to be sure no one follows us across the bridge. Specifically, no women on white horses.”
“Okay,” I agreed. That seemed easy enough. “But why?”
“I think my client is a little paranoid.”
“So who is your client?” I asked. “Seriously. We’ve spent every minute of the last ten days together, surely you can trust me now.”
She bit her lip thoughtfully, then nodded. “Okay. I had taken a set of property deeds to Cape Querna down on the coast of Boscobel. While I was there, I was approached by a messenger with this job. He wouldn’t tell me who it was for, but he paid up front. When I’m done, I’m supposed to go back to Boscobel and check into the same boarding house. They’ll contact me then about the balance due.”
I scowled. “And you wouldn’t trust me,” I said sarcastically.
“Got nothing to do with trust. It’s how couriers operate. We never get paid everything in advance, and a lot of times we don’t know who’s hired us.” She shrugged. “It’s the business.”
The back of my neck suddenly tingled. I looked around at the other travelers in the roadhouse. None of them seemed interested in us, yet I knew someone was studying us with more than idle curiosity. It’s a skill, or a sense, that develops quickly in battle, when two eyes just aren’t enough. “Maybe your mysterious client isn’t paranoid,” I said quietly. “I got that prickly feeling.”
She nodded and muttered, “Me, too. Do we run or try to draw them out?”
