He tied his horse and entered the inn.
The interior was close and dim, but the air smelled more of spice and ale and smoky peat than it did a charnel house, for which Natto was grateful. He lowered his neckerchief and breathed deeply.
To his right, a narrow staircase rose up into silent darkness. Three wooden tables sat to his left, each with an unlit candle. They formed a half-circle in front of a soot-stained hearth, coals glowing. Before him lay a long counter topped with varnished wood; behind it shelves held an array of tankards and pottery mugs and a few cork-stoppered bottles.
At the far end, an open doorway admitted the sounds of clanking pots and the sizzle of meat. He waited for a minute, then two, and finally rapped his knuckles on the countertop.
“Just a tick,” said a woman’s voice. “I’ll get this off the fire and be right there.”
He heard another sizzle, then a loud hiss and watched a wisp of fragrant steam wander out and disappear among the rafters.
A moment later a red-haired, red-faced young woman filled the doorway, wiping her hands on an apron. She wore a blue smock and a pair of heavy woolen trousers, her hair tied back in a kerchief. She was, to put it politely, a sturdy lass, fully as tall as Natto himself, and half again as broad.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to wait till morning to unload your wagon,” she said, shaking her head, but smiling. “My Da’s just now banked down the fires.”
Natto inclined his head in what might, in such a rustic place, pass for a bow. “That would be unwelcome news indeed, if I had a wagon.”
The woman’s smile faltered. “Everyone comes here has a wagon or a cart. How else would you carry your stock?”
“A horse with saddlebags is quite enough for me.”
“In your saddlebags?” She wrinkled her nose. “First I’ve heard of that. What parts are you selling, then?”
Parts? Natto was unsure how to answer. “Depends on what parts you’re buying.” He smiled, his most unctuous and charming smile, reserved for the ladies.
“Whatever doesn’t go into the pot.” She stared at him. “You’re not in the trade, are you?”
“What trade is that?”
She nodded, as if she had been given the answer to a question Natto had not heard asked. “Ah, you poor man. No wagon and no nose?” She pointed to the outer door. “Most can smell the plant from miles away.”
“Oh,” Natto said. “That. Yes, I did notice a change in the—air—as I rode in.” He touched his neckerchief. “What is it?”
“Da’s the renderer. Boils down what’s left after the butcher’s taken his cuts. Bones, skin, gristle, fat.” She put her hands on her hips. “Any of that in your saddlebags?”
“No, I’m not in that line of work.”
“I see. And what is your line?”
“Tax collector.” It was the first thing that came to mind. A traveler’s occupation, and it should put an end to any further inquiries, tax collectors not being the most popular fellows. “I’m on my way back to the capital. I saw your sign, and hoped you’d have a room for the night.”
“Fancy that. And where might you be coming from, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“I set out this morning from—” and here Natto stopped, because he had very little knowledge of the provinces.
She looked at him for a moment, then said, as if it were amusing, “Maulde?”
“Yes,” Natto said quickly. “Maulde. Charming place.”
The girl’s mouth twitched in what Natto thought was a most unbecoming way. “Isn’t it just,” she said.
“Do you have a room?” he asked after a moment of awkward silence.
“I will in about half an hour. I’ll need to go up and change the linens.” She pointed to one of the tables. “Sit there and have a pint while I tidy up. Ale and supper’s included with the tariff. May I ask your name, sir?”
Natto thought as quickly as he was able. “George,” he said. “George, uh, Petin!” There. Now if any trouble followed him to the capital, Petin would be the one pursued.
“Very good, Mr. Petin. I have a nice front room.” She named a price that was, nearly to the copper, what his purse contained. It was not a princely sum—he’d paid more for a single meal, when he was flush—but his circumstances had been drastically reduced by the purchase of the map.
He nodded, laying his coins on the counter as she drew a pint from the barrel and set it on the nearest table. She put the coins in a wooden box.
“What’s on offer tonight?” he asked.
“I’ve got a lovely pud coming off the hob in about two hours. Pearl barley, mutton, and mince.”
Natto’s mouth watered.
SPONDA RAPPED ON the outbuilding door. “It’s me.”
“Come in.” Anna wiped her hands on a stained towel. She saw Sponda’s face and frowned. “What’s wrong?”
“Another stranger. Says he’s a tax collector, too, just like the first.”
“Did he say anything else suspicious?”
“No, but when I asked where he’d ridden from, he didn’t seem to know. I suggested Maulde and he was quick to agree.”
“Maulde? That’s two hundred leagues from here!”
“I know,” Sponda said. “Once he failed that first test, I did what you said, if another came. I told him there’d be pearl barley in the pud, and I saw his eyes go wide for just a moment.”
“If he startles at the word pearl, he could be from Mége-Mouriés laboratory, snooping around to see if I’ve made any progress.”
“He doesn’t really look the chemist type, but I think you’re right. It’s been an age since we’ve had two guests in a week, and neither one of them a rag and bone man with reason to stop here.”
“True. But that may be good news.”
“Why?”
“Well, if the prize had been claimed, there’d be no need to send spies around to snoop, would there?”
“I suppose not. I gave the one we have a pint of ale and told him I needed to make the bed, then took the back stairs here. Thought you ought to know.”
Anna sighed. “Take the rosehips.” She pulled the jar from the shelf.
Sponda nodded. “Should I set a place for you at supper?”
“No. Save me a slice. I’ll eat it cold later. I think it’s best that this stranger doesn’t meet me yet. But listen closely to what he says. See if you can find out what he’s up to.”
“I will. I told him ale comes with the room, so I’ll make sure he gets full value.” Sponda slipped the jar into her apron. “What if he keeps on, though?”
Anna looked around the room and laughed. “I’m a trained apothecary. And I had three brothers. I’m a wizard at concocting any number of unpleasant surprises.” Her face took on a curious look. “And I just had an idea.”
“What?”
“I’ll tell you later, once I work it out. We’re too close to claiming the prize for anything to get in our way.”
THE SMALL UPSTAIRS room faced the road. It had a washstand with a pitcher and a chamber pot, and a narrow bed covered in a quilt that smelled like roses. Natto combed the road dust out of his beard and put on his other shirt, to make a good impression with the locals. He descended the stairs at dusk. The air now smelled of spiced meat and tobacco, and at one of the tables sat a large, ruddy man with a pipe in his mouth and his ham of a fist wrapped around a tankard.
He looked up at the sound of footsteps. “Hello, hello!” he called. “I’m Ian Cubbins. You must be the tax-man.” He indicated the chair across from his with a wave of his pipestem. He called to the kitchen, “Sponda! Ale for our guest!”
The red-haired woman came out and drew a pint for Natto. “The room to your liking, Mr. Petin?”