The rear area of the stone building was cramped with people. More than half were men, both young and old, starving and gaunt, their faces covered with scars and their arms with sores. The others were women who looked just as frightened as Tristessa had. The men were bandits, forced into hiding by the new lords of Veldaren; the women were former Sisters who had shed their wrappings. Both lived in constant fear of death.
Laurel gazed at each of them, and she was pleased.
An interior door opened, and another woman entered the cramped space. This one carried herself with a dignified air, her nose upturned in disgust at the rancid scents coming off the room’s occupants. Her eyes found Laurel, and she shoved her way through the throng, a frown on her face.
“Do I know you?” the woman asked.
“I am a servant of the crown,” she said, keeping her voice low and cold, the voice of the Specter. “And I am sure you have heard the stories. Why else would you have left me a note in the fountain?”
In truth, Laurel Lawrence knew the woman quite well. Her name was Ursula, and she was the wife of the cobbler who operated this establishment. They both had shared laughs while waiting for shoes to be repaired, back before Ursula’s husband had been conscripted into Karak’s Army, before Laurel took on her own new guise. It amazed her that the woman did not recognize her, but then again, why would anyone expect to find a noblewoman such as she cloaked and garbed like a vagabond of the night?
“That was my daughter’s doing,” Ursula said. “If I had my way, your stink wouldn’t be adding to the rest that’s already infected my house.”
Tristessa stepped forward, clearing her throat. “Mother, don’t be rude.”
“I’ll act any way I wish!” Ursula said, turning on her daughter. “It was not my decision to house these miscreants. I’m putting my neck on the chopping block, all for a daughter with more compassion than sense. You are lucky I didn’t cast the lot of you out on the street weeks ago!”
Angry murmurs followed, and the pack grew restless. Laurel glanced about and could sense the anger the men and women had toward their caretaker. A fight would follow if the tension were not dealt with, and though the cobbler’s walls were stone and this room had no windows, she dared not risk even the slightest commotion being overheard outside.
“We will be leaving soon,” Laurel said to all of them. “You will find shelter with us, and food and wine and a safe place to rest your heads. But you must be patient.”
“I’ve been patient enough,” Ursula said, hands on hips. “I want them gone now.”
Laurel pointed an accusatory finger at her. “Don’t presume to tell me how this must go,” she said. “If we leave now, we will be spotted and risk capture. And if any are captured, they will be tortured, and guess whose name will be on their lips, Ursula?”
“But-”
“But nothing. Leave this room. When the sun is almost set, and the Sisters begin their return to their housing, that is when we make our move. No sooner, no later. I appreciate all you’ve done, but the lives of these people are in the hands of the Specter now, not yours.”
The woman stared up at her, her head cocked to the side. A question was on her lips, her eyes wide with anger, but she swallowed it down and exited the room. When she was gone, Tristessa approached her, tears rolling down her cheeks.
“Thank you so much, miss,” she said. “I know my mother seems bad, but she’s just worried about us, that’s all.”
Laurel placed her hand on Tristessa’s head, felt her silky brown hair.
“I know,” she lied. “Go to her. Comfort her, and do not worry for the people here. They’re under my protection now.”
“Thank you,” the girl blubbered.
“However, Tristessa, did you have the. . other items we need?”
“I do,” the girl said. She spun around, disappearing through the door her mother had taken, and returned with a pile of moldy fabric heaped in her arms. She dropped the heap in front of Laurel.
“Will that do?”
“It will. Go now, girl, and comfort your mother.”
“Yes, milady,” Tristessa said with a bow, and she scurried back out of the room.
The bundle the girl had brought was a stack of old cloaks, and Laurel passed them out to the men among them. She counted her new wards: twenty-two of them, thirteen men and nine former Sisters. “Put these on,” said Laurel. “It won’t be long now.” The twenty-two frightened people waiting in the cramped back room of the cobbler’s waited some more. Laurel remained by the door until a knock came, two light raps followed by fingertips dancing over wood. She motioned for everyone to step back, grasped the door handle, pressed down, and pulled. When Harmony sauntered in, Laurel slid the door shut, latching it soundlessly. The large woman lifted the stinking chunk of fish she held to her mouth and tore off a hunk. Her thick jaw worked up and down like a cow chewing its cud.
“That”-Laurel pointed at the foul morsel-“is disgusting.”
“I’m hungry,” Harmony said in return. “A sprinkle of pepper and a pinch of salt can make anything edible.”
“If you say so.”
From then on the Specter kept vigil by the small portal in the door, watching the sky shift from blue to yellow to pale pink. She heard the rumble of wheels and the grate of shuffling feet.
“It’s time,” she told the room’s occupants.
“What do we do?” asked a frightened voice.
“You follow us,” said Harmony. “Walk with your head down, like you are so overwhelmed by life that you have no muscles in your neck any longer.”
One of the men stepped forward, frowning. “That’s it? That is what we needed you for?”
Laurel prodded the man in the shoulder.
“What part of ‘We’re leading you to a safe place’ don’t you understand? If you would rather face the Judges’ claws on your own, you are free to. The door is not locked. Go and find your own shelter.”
She stepped aside, gesturing for him to take the door handle. The man’s face flushed red, and he took a step back, murmuring an apology.
“What do we do if the Judges do find us?” one of the others asked.
“You run,” Laurel said. A grim smile spread across her face. “And don’t you dare pray. Doing that only tells them where you are. Now you men, keep those cloaks tight around you. Let no one see your face.”
The twenty-four souls left the cobbler’s and turned east, easily mixing with the throng of sullen, departing women. Laurel and Harmony remained in the lead, limping and shuffling their feet. Sunlight shone behind them, casting long shadows that reached like eager fingers. They kept close to the buildings. There were Sisters up ahead, the wrapped women returning to wherever it was they called home for the evening. Laurel glanced behind her, saw the frightened faces of those under her charge, and hoped everyone else was too enraptured by their own misery to notice.
In truth, Laurel was not overly worried. She had made this journey more than fifty times already, and rarely were they threatened with discovery. The new lords of Veldaren were too confident in their hold on the city and in the threat of the Judges’ claws to quell any resistance. They were wrong. The only reason Laurel felt uneasy this night was due to how many they transported. Her previous highest had been thirteen, yet now twenty-two followed.
Once the traveling band reached the great fountain of Karak in the center of the city, they turned onto the North Road. The street was crowded, more so than usual, which slowed their progress. Sisters of the Cloth walked toward them, heading for Merchants’ Road, dull eyes staring lifelessly from gaps in their wrappings. The sky overhead turned an ominous shade of crimson, the clouds transforming into billowing fire. This is taking too long, thought Laurel.