There was a light knock on the door. Collun opened it and in staggered Rince, carrying a large basin of steaming water. Talisen stepped forward in his stocking feet and helped the boy with his load. Rince looked up at Talisen with surprise, as though unused to such consideration.
"You're faster than a jackrabbit, I'm thinking," said Talisen as they set the basin on a low table. "That old Job Wall keeps you dancing, doesn't he?"
The boy nodded shyly, a glimmer of a smile appearing on his face.
"Treats you fairly, though, I hope."
"Oh, yes. He be good to me, all in all."
"Is the inn full tonight?"
"Only half, sir. Job Wall says how we don't get near as many travelers along the road as we used to. And many of 'em are Northerners these days. 'Those scurvy Scathians,' he calls 'em." Talisen and Collun laughed as the boy imitated his master, using a deep voice and sticking his stomach straight out.
"We have a big group of Scathians tonight in the main room," Rince continued, "getting sotted and making lots of noise. Job Wall don't like 'em."
"I'm looking forward to meeting my first Scathian," Talisen said cheerfully as he started to wash himself with the hot water. "We don't get many down in Inkberrow. I wonder what their songs are like."
The boy came alert at Talisen's words. "Did you say you was from Inkberrow?"
"Yes. Have you been there?"
"No." Rince paused and clasped his small hands together in a nervous gesture.
"What is it, Rince?"
"It's just that ... the one traveling with the Scathians, the one calling himself Mister Urlacan, well, I heard him asking Job Wall if we'd had any folks traveling from the south. From Inkberrow, in particular."
"He said Inkberrow? Are you sure?" Collun asked, more sharply than he had intended.
Rince nodded, uneasy.
"Talisen..." Collun began, his body tense.
"I know, I know, but let's not go jumping to conclusions," Talisen said.
"We should leave, right now." Collun reached for his pack.
"Hold on, Collun." Talisen laid a reassuring hand on Collun's arm. "More likely than not it has nothing to do with us. But, just to be safe, all we'll do is not let on we're from Inkberrow. We can say we're traveling south—that we're from north of Temair and have business in the south."
Collun shook his head.
"Come on, forewarned is forearmed, and there's no reason to deny ourselves a hot meal and a decent bed for the night on the basis of such flimsy evidence. What say you, Rince? Can you keep a secret?" Rince nodded eagerly. "And I promise, Collun, we'll leave at the first sign of trouble."
Against his better judgment, Collun allowed himself to be convinced. They quickly washed up and headed down to the main room.
***
There was a large peat fire burning in a fireplace at the center of the room. A vast black pot bubbling with stew hung suspended over it. Assorted tables and benches were grouped around the fireplace, and roughly half of these were occupied, mostly by clusters of two or three. The exception was a large group of dark-bearded Scathians who had pushed several tables together and were sprawled drunkenly around them.
The Scathians were thick and muscular and wore rough, travel-stained clothing. They spoke in loud, slurred voices, punctuated by bursts of coarse laughter. For the most part they used the language of Eirren, though with the guttural accent of the Scathian dialect.
But there was one among them who did not speak at all. He wore a long cloak. Despite the warmth of the room, he had the hood pulled up over his head. It kept his face shadowed. He sat back in his chair, almost motionless. Now and again he lifted a long black cheroot to his shadowed mouth. Collun could see that his skin was gray, and he had only three fingers.
When they took their seats, the hooded face turned briefly in their direction. The gray hand holding the cheroot paused. Collun thought he caught a glitter of yellow eyes. He quickly looked away, wondering if this was the man who had been asking about travelers from Inkberrow.
Then Collun's eyes fell on a slim youth with brown hair who sat by himself at a table nearby. He was the only lone traveler in the room and was draining a large mug of ale.
Rince came over soon after with large earthenware bowls of steaming hot stew thick with meat, carrots, potatoes, and gravy. Collun couldn't remember a time when a meal had been so welcome or had tasted so good.
They emptied their bowls quickly. The boy came to refill them, bringing thick slices of crusty dark bread and two brimming mugs of ale.
"You are a most splendid and delightful fellow, my young jackrabbit," Talisen commented appreciatively.
The Scathians, including their silent, hooded companion, showed no interest in the two boys. They called loudly for more ale and commenced playing a game of cards. Collun slowly began to relax.
When he had finished his second bowl of stew, Collun leaned back in the wooden chair, his stomach comfortably full. He felt his eyelids droop. With a pint of ale by his hand and a warm fire at his feet, he forgot about the hardships of the past week and about the stranger who had been asking after travelers from Inkberrow. He opened his eyes with an effort and happened to glance toward the solitary youth he had noticed before. The boy seemed to be staring fixedly at him with an expression that was difficult to read. Collun blinked and looked again but realized it must have been a trick of the light, for now the boy was fast asleep in his chair. As Collun sleepily wondered if perhaps this was the one asking about Inkberrow travelers, his own lids fell shut again and he dozed.
He woke with a start and looked beside him. Talisen was not there. Then he spotted him sitting across the room at the Scathians' table, cards in his hand. Collun's stomach tightened in alarm.
The rest of the room was almost empty, save for Job Wall, Rince, and the dark youth Collun had noticed earlier. He was still sleeping, his chair tilted back against the wall.
"Back in Mallaig," Talisen was saying, "that's up north, a small village above Temair, where my friend and I live, we have a tradition that in the third hand all deuces are wild."
The Scathian dealer just grunted.
"Only a suggestion, my good man," Talisen said blithely.
A round of betting ensued and Collun groaned inwardly when he saw one of Talisen's gold pieces go into the pot. He tried unsuccessfully to catch his friend's eye, cursing Talisen's lack of caution.
"Ah, my turn, is it? Let's see ... Well, it's not much, but it looks like it beats your royal split." Talisen laid his cards down with a flourish and began to reach for the pot.
The Scathian he had bested slammed the table with one fist and pulled a knife with the other. He slashed the steel blade down within inches of Talisen's fingers, his small eyes narrow with anger. The boy quickly withdrew his hand, cleared his throat nervously, and said, "I must have read the cards wrong: an honest mistake..."
The figure in the cloak suddenly leaned forward and deliberately stamped out his cheroot on the surface of the wooden table. "You were not mistaken." The voice was soft and sibilant. Collun suddenly remembered a long gray snake he had once surprised under a rotting tree. The hissing noise it made as its glittering eyes fastened on Collun was very like the voice of the man in the cloak. "Please, take the money. I am Mister Urlacan. Perhaps you and your companion will join me and my friends in a last round of ale?" The hood slowly swiveled in Collun's direction, and he again saw a glint of yellow from inside the shadowed depths.
Collun awkwardly got to his feet and licked his lips. "Uh, thank you, but we're, uh, heading south, early in the morning. We need to get to bed. Come on, Talisen."
Collun immediately realized he'd made a mistake when he saw Talisen roll his eyes. "Thought you said your name was Boregin," one of the Scathians said suspiciously to Talisen.
But Mister Urlacan ignored the interruption. "Ah, south, is it? Then perhaps you'll ride with us. We, too, journey south." The three-fingered hand lit up another cheroot.