Paks nodded. “I was with the Company. The Duke gave me this, the last time I saw him, and said to come if—when I had—finished something.”
The innkeeper’s eyes were shrewd. “I see. And you were planning to make his stronghold by tonight, eh?”
“No. Actually, I planned to visit a friend here in town first. Kolya Ministiera.”
“Kolya! A friend of yours—might I ask your name?”
“Of course. Paksenarrion.” She could not interpret the look on his face, and did not care to try. They would all have heard some story or other. She busied herself with the fastening of her pack. “I was in Arcolin’s cohort.”
“Yes. I’ve—heard somewhat—” He looked hard at her a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was brisker. “Well, then. Food and a bath—which would you first?”
“Bath,” said Paks. “I’ve clean clothes in here, but I’m mud to the knees. And do you have anyone I could send with a message to Kolya?”
“My grandson will go. Do you wish writing materials?”
“No. Just ask him to tell her that I’m here, and would be glad to see her again.”
“Very well. Come this way, and I’ll arrange your bath.”
A short time later, Paksenarrion was scrubbing the trail grime off with a linen towel, hot water, and the scrap end of scented soap she’d bought in Vérella. When she was done, she poured the rest of the hot water over herself, then dried in front of the little fire in the bathing chamber. She’d hung her clean clothes near the fire to take the chill from them. They felt soft and warm when she put them on. She counted the coins in her purse and decided that she could afford a good dinner. When she came back down the passage to the common room, she felt ready to face anyone. The big room was empty, but for a serving girl. Paks chose a table near the fire, leaning her bow against the wall. The girl came to her at once.
“Master said would you want a private room to eat in?”
“No,” said Paks. “This will be fine. What do you have?”
“Roast mutton or beef, redroots, white cheese or yellow, mushrooms with gravy, barley pudding, meat pasties, pies—”
“Enough,” said Paks, laughing. “Let’s see—how about roast mutton and gravy, barley, mushrooms, and—do you have soup?”
The girl nodded, “We always have soup. If you’re cold, I can bring mulled cider, too.”
“Good. I’d like that.” The girl left the room, and Paks pushed the bench closer to the wall so that she could lean against it. She stretched out her legs to the fire. The fire murmured to itself, occasionally snapping a retort to some hissed comment. She could hear the rain fingering the shutters, and the red curtains on the windows moved uneasily, but by the fire she was warm and felt no draft. She wondered what Kolya would say to her message. What had Kolya heard? Her eyes sagged shut, and she slipped a bit on the wall. She jerked awake and yawned. This was no time to go to sleep. She ought to be thinking what to say to Kolya, and to the Duke.
The door opened, letting in a gust of cold wet air and a tall figure in a long wet cloak. Paks thought at first it might be Kolya, but as the woman came into the light, Paks saw that she was younger, and certainly had both arms. A man came in behind her. The woman threw back the hood of her cloak to reveal red-gold hair, stylishly dressed. Under her cloak she wore a simply cut gown of dark green velvet, and when she drew off her gloves, she wore rings on both hands. Her companion, who seemed vaguely familiar to Paks, wore black tunic and trousers, and tall riding boots. Paks wondered who they were—they belonged in some city like Vérella, not up here. Before she thought about it, she had turned the Duke’s ring round on her finger so that only the band was visible. The serving girl had appeared as the door closed, and led the pair at once down a passage toward the interior of the inn. They must be known, then, thought Paks. She felt uneasy as they crossed the common room to the passage, but they did not seem to look at her.
“Here you are,” said the innkeeper, breaking into her thoughts. The platter of food steamed, and smelled good. “And Councilor Ministiera sent you a message—she’s in a meeting right now, but would be pleased to have you stay with her. She’ll come here when she’s through with the meeting.” Paks thought that Kolya’s invitation impressed him. “This room is often crowded from suppertime on, and noisy—if you’d prefer a quieter place to wait, I have several rooms.” Paks thought about it, and decided she would rather not see Stammel just yet.
“Yes—thank you. I think I will. But I’ll finish supper first—no need to move this.” She gestured at the platter and bowls. He smiled and left her. The mutton was tender and tasty; the soup warmed her to the toes. By the time she had finished, several townsmen had come in and ordered meals, staring at her curiously. She signalled the serving girl, and asked directions to the jacks and the private rooms.
“Right along here,” said the girl. “And master said you were to have this room—” she pointed to a door, “when you were ready.” Paks opened the door to find a pleasant little room with a fire already burning on the small hearth. Three chairs and a small round table furnished it, with a bench along one wall. The girl lighted the candles that stood in sconces on either side of the mantel. “Will you be wanting something from the kitchen?”
“No, not now. Probably when Kolya comes.” Paks tried to compute the probable cost of the meal, bath, and private room. But she wouldn’t be paying for a room tonight, and she had enough.
When she came back from the jacks, she settled into one of the chairs by the fire, and took her bow across her knees. She inspected it as she’d been taught, and rubbed it lightly with oil until it gleamed. She took the bowstring from her pouch and slipped it on, then bent the bow to string it. It was as supple and responsive as ever in her hands. She unstrung it and set it against the wall.
Her hand found her dagger, and then she was standing, staring at the door. She shook her head and sat down. Silly. Here, of all places, alone in a room in the Duke’s realm, nothing could menace her. She turned his ring again, looking at the seal in the black stone. It must be simple nervousness—fear of what Kolya had heard, or what she might say. Paks realized her dagger lay unsheathed in her hand. She stared at the blade, and felt the edge with her thumb. Sharp enough, and smooth. She slid it back in its sheath and stood again, pacing the length of the little room.
At the far end, away from the fire, she could just hear the murmur of other voices. It could not be coming from the common room, she recalled—it must be from another private room on this passage. She stared at the wall, her sense of something wrong growing, then turned back to the fire. She pulled her chair to face it, and found she could not turn her back on the far wall. She could not sit still; her earlier sleepiness was gone. Nothing like this had happened on the journey north, and she was still fighting with herself, a little angry, when a knock came on her own door.
“Yes?” The door opened, and the innkeeper glanced in.
“Councilor Ministiera,” he said, and stepped aside. Kolya appeared in the door as Paks stood up. The gray streak in her hair had widened, but otherwise she seemed the same. Her strong dark face was split with a broad grin.
“Paks! You brought more rain with you.” She gave Paks a long, considering look.
“Come on in. Don’t you want some ale? Or cider?”
“Ale,” said Kolya. “I get all the apples I want at home.” She entered and sat in one of the chairs, while Paks spoke to the innkeeper about ale. She cocked her head up at Paks. “You will stay with me tonight, won’t you?” Paks nodded. “Good. You’re looking well. The Duke will be pleased to see you. We heard several things—” She paused, and gave Paks another long look.