“Better,” muttered Lydia, her busy eyes checking out the clientele and scouring out possible escape routes at the same time. “Stay here.”
She moved easily through the crowd, stopping a moment here to ask a question or two, slapping away a roving hand there, never losing her smile or her patience.
After what seemed an eternity to the bardling, Lydia returned to Kevin’s side. “Three invitations to ... ah ... bed, two to sic and party a while, one to buy you—” she grinned at his outrage—” but no useful information. Besides,” the woman added teasingly, “the price for you wasn’t nearly high enough!”
She scurried out before he could find an answer.
The third tavern was almost as murky. The furnishings consisted only of a few splintery tables and chairs, and the thin layer of sawdust covering the floor was sticky with what Kevin prayed was only beer. The customers were an ugly lot, quite literally, hunched over their drinks like so many bitter predators, making the crowd in the last place look almost wholesome.
Not a one of them showed the slightest interest in kidnappers or a missing noblewoman. But before Lydia and Kevin could leave, a hulk of a man, big and ugly enough to be almost all ogre—lurched to his feet and staggered towards Lydia.
“H’llo, b’oot’ful. Come ‘n have uh drink.”
“Some other time, handsome.”
“I said, have uh drink!”
“And I said, some other time.”
As she turned to leave, the man caught her arm in a meaty hand. “You ain’t goin’ nowhere, b’oot’ful.”
Lydia sighed. “They never learn,” she murmured.
Before the bardling could even start to move, the woman whirled on her captor, knee shooting up with devastating force and deadly accuracy. As the man doubled over in speechless agony, Lydia pulled free and smiled sweetly at Kevin, fluttering her eyelashes at him.
“Shall we leave?” she asked.
The bardling glanced warily around the room. No one seemed to have noticed what had just happened. Even so, he had to fight the urge to back out of there, hand on sword hilt. Once they were safely outside on the street, Kevin exploded:
“What in the name of all the Powers did you think you were doing?”
“Avoiding an unwanted drink.”
“But—but he might have been armed! He might have killed you!”
“And the roof might have caved in on us all. It didn’t He didn’t. Kevin, credit me with enough wit to know when someone’s carrying weapons. Or is sober enough to be dangerous. The poor idiot had it coming to him, and I just hope his less-than-friends back there don’t slit his throat while he’s helpless.”
“But—you—”
“Look, kid, this son of thing happens all the time when you happen no be both a warrior and a woman.‘’
“Well, maybe it wouldn’t happen so often if you just didn’t dress so—so—”
“So what, Kevin?”
He shook his head, miserably embarrassed, wishing he’d kept his mouth shut “You know.”
“Ah, our little bardling is a prude!”
“I am nod But you—”
“Go around asking for it? Is that what you’re trying to say? Listen to me, and listen welclass="underline" I am a woman in a man’s world. I’m not complaining; that’s just the way things are. And as a woman, sure, I could wear a nice, proper gown that restricted every step I took, the sort of thing a lady wears—and get killed the first time I needed to move quickly. I could wear full armor, too, always assuming I could afford the expensive stuff—but I spend a lot of my life on board ships. People who wear full armor on ships tend to have really short lives if they fall overboard!”
“I... uh ... never thought of that ...”
“I realize that!” All at once, Lydia grinned. “Besides, when I do have trouble, the fools are generally so busy looking at my ... ah ... endowments that they never see my knee or fist coming. So now, enough lecturing. We still have some rat-hunting to do!”
She strode boldly away. Kevin gulped and followed, deciding that Lydia wasn’t as dumb as she looked. She might be rough in manners and language—but she certainly wasn’t dumb at all.
Kevin sank wearily to a bench, hardly caring that the cheaply made thing creaked alarmingly and threatened to collapse. How many taverns had it been now? Ten? Fifty? A hundred? By this point he’d seen so many roughnecks, so many weird, ugly humans and Others, so much emptiness or depravity in so many eyes, that he didn’t think anything could shock him any more. If Death Itself came up to this table, the bardling mused listlessly, he’d probably just tell It to go have a nice day somewhere else.
Lydia, who in the course of their hunt had dealt with a half-dozen would-be suitors, showed not the slightest sign of weariness.
Well, sure. She’s probably used to tavern-hopping. This is probably tame to her!
He looked down in dismay at the warm, watery beer in the flagon before him. At least he wasn’t expected to finish the stuff. How anyone could actually want to—
“Hey, kid, look who I’ve found.”
Lydia was returning, pulling someone with her. Kevin stared. An Arachnia! But clearly one that had fallen on hard times. Where D’Krikas had been an elegant figure, spotlessly dean, dark chitin shining with health, this being was downright shoddy, its compound eyes lacking any trace of animation, its tall body folded into a weary stoop chat left it no taller than the woman. The gray cloak that seemed to be an Arachnia trademark was worn and ragged, so filthy it looked as though it had never been washed, and the being’s chitin was so dull and scaly Kevin wondered if it was possible for an Arachnia to have the mange.
Lydia didn’t seem to care. Slapping the Arachnia on its back, making the thin being stagger, she said heartily, “This is ... what did you say your name was, pal?”
“D’Riksin,” the being murmured.
“D’Riksin,” Lydia echoed. “Sit you down here, D’Riksin, my friend, and have a drink with us.”
She pushed. The Arachnia sat with a thump, as though already too far gone to resist. Kevin glanced sharply at the woman, wondering what was going on, but she was busy flagging down a barmaid. “A bottle of Mereot for my friends and me.”
Mereot turned out to be a dark red wine, so sweet that Kevin nearly gagged on his first sip. He noticed that Lydia wasn’t drinking much other flagon, either. But D’Riksin guzzled down the sweet stuff with undisguised delight.
“Good,” the being murmured.
“Have another, pal, on Kevin here.”
D’Riksin clicked its beak in what was presumably an Arachniad smile. “Thank you, friend.” It swilled down the second flagon almost as quickly as it had the first and clicked its beak with more abandon. “Good stuff. Good friends. Not like some others.”
“Someone betrayed you, huh?” Lydia leaned forward, elbows on the table, resting her head on her fists. “That’s tough.”
“Betrayed me,” the being echoed.
“Why don’t you tell us all about it, pal?” Lydia’s voice oozed concern. “Troubles are a lot lighter to bear when they’re shared.”
The Arachnia helped itself to more Mereot. “It’s the king’s fault,” D’Riksin whined. “All his fault.”
“How so?”
“Shouldn’ta supported him—Big mistake. No one’ll hire me, ‘cause they know I backed King Amber.”