A gentle hand had touched her head, and she heard him say, “You’ll be all right. Use one coin to see that your mother is taken care of. Be generous-she deserves the best. Use a second to pay for your expenses to reach Medford, and be frugal. Save the remaining four. Hide them away. You mustn’t spend them, no matter how bad things get. Wait until it’s absolutely necessary.”
“Why?” She didn’t know whether she had said the word or if her memory had merely filled that hole. She couldn’t imagine having the power of speech, not after looking in his eyes-after seeing what she had seen.
“A desperate man will come to you in Medford. He will come at night, dressed in his own blood and begging for help. You must be there. You must save him.”
The man had walked to her mother’s side where he stood and lingered for a moment. When he turned, Gwen had seen tears on his cheeks. “Take care of her. She was a good woman.”
That had been a lifetime ago and so very far away. The four hidden coins were holy relics to her now. She kept them beneath the knotted board in the little room at the end of the corridor, the same one with the loose bedpost. She had cherished them for five years, told no one of their existence, and prayed to them often.
“Stupid, useless, bloody piece of crap!” The sound of Dixon the carter startled her. He kicked the wheel of his wagon, whose axle was still broken, propped outside Bennington’s Warehouse like a wounded animal. Dixon didn’t look much better. While the man was still big as an ox, his cheeks were growing hollow. Wayward Street was the end of the road for many people. He paused when he saw her notice him and tipped his hat.
The gesture made her smile, and she nodded in return.
The sun had cleared the crooked roofs, painting the street in gold. Clouds were moving in, and clouds in autumn meant a cold rain. She looked at Dixon sympathetically. At least she had a roof and food, such that it was. Gwen considered her life could be worse-and then it was. Marching down the street was Stane with a bundle of wood under one arm and a hammer in the other.
“Lumber,” Gwen said to Grue after Stane carried his burden up the stairs of The Hideous Head. “Where did he get lumber?”
“Don’t know and don’t care. He’s fixing the doorframe. ’Bout time too. Probably doin’ a lousy job. He’s a fisherman or a dockworker or some such thing, not a woodie.”
Gwen found it odd that Grue didn’t know Stane was the net hauler for the Lady Banshee. Maybe he did know but was playing stupid to distance himself. Grue was like that-not the type of man to stand beside you when the weather changed. Of course, it was possible he really didn’t know. After all, Grue only served the bastard drinks. He didn’t sleep with him or have to listen to his chatter afterward.
Grue was wiping slop from the surface of the pine-plank bar. She wondered why he bothered. No one cared. The men who came each night would hunker down along the sewer out back so long as Grue continued to serve the drinks. Still carrying the filthy rag, Grue crossed to the base of the steps and yelled, “That door better open and close without sticking!”
The only reply was the sound of hammer on wood.
“So he’s been paid?”
“Seems that way.” Grue returned to the bar and rocked the kegs to determine how full they were. “Everyone working the docks gets their due on the new moon, and last night was pretty dark.”
“How much? How much did he get paid?”
“How the hell should I know?”
“More than eighty-five?”
Grue paused, turned to her, and shook the bar towel in her face. “He paid that already.”
“I know. And now he has more.”
“So? That’s good for us. He’s got the coin to fix the door and pay for drinks.”
“And women?”
“What are ya getting at, ya stupid tart?”
“You can’t sell me to him, Grue. You just can’t.”
“The man paid his debt.” Grue walked over to the slate and tapped it, his wet fingers leaving black dots among the list of names and the amount each owed. Stane’s entry was gone, leaving a blank space. “His slate is clean.”
“If he has the money, he’ll kill me. He knows he can get away with it now. He even knows the cost-how much you charge for the pleasure.”
Grue huffed. “That’s not true. What happened was an unfortunate accident. You make it sound like Stane is a monster and kills girls for fun.”
“He does!”
Grue frowned. “No, he doesn’t. He’s bought you several times, and you’re still alive. Why, he’s had every girl in here a dozen times. Stane’s always been a good customer. You just have to understand, men like him-fellas who spend day after day dealing with stinking fish and taking orders from boat handlers and dock foremen-they need a break. They need to feel like men, so they like to roughhouse a bit. Grabbing a girl by the hair, giving her a little shake, it gives him the sense he can control something-anything. And that’s what he’s here for. That’s what they all come for, to see what it’s like to be in charge of their own lives.”
She folded her arms and shifted her weight.
“It was an accident, Gwen. Besides, do you really think I’d put up with him-with anyone-killing my girls? That sort of thing’s not very good for business. Not only do I have to find a decent replacement, but also people don’t like the disturbance. I lose customers, and then there’s the need to scrub the bloody floor. Trust me, if I thought Avon’s death was anything more than an unfortunate accident, Stane wouldn’t be allowed in here.”
“But he has done it before. He told me there was another girl in Roe.”
Grue rolled his eyes. “And why would he tell you that? Next thing you’ll be accusing him of spreading the plague and drowning puppies. By Mar, Gwen! I know you’re still upset, but Stane’s not a killer. And I had a long talk with him. There won’t be any more trouble-understand?”
Gwen certainly did not but didn’t see the point in saying so.
“I told him that if he rented a horse and then broke the thing’s leg-”
“A horse? You compared us to a horse?”
Grue smirked. “It’s what he understands.”
Gwen was pretty sure it was what Grue understood too.
“Stane agreed to behave,” Grue said.
“He’ll kill me, Raynor.” She hoped that by using his first name her plea would sound more personal, as if she were talking to an old friend instead of the man who had forced her into prostitution. “He wants me dead because I ran to the sheriff.”
“Well, I guess ya shoulda thought about that before, don’t ya think?”
She didn’t answer. How could she answer that? If she were a man, she’d give him the beating of his life, but if she were a man, she wouldn’t need to.
Seeing her face, he softened slightly. “Look, I’m just saying ya bring things on yourself. Besides, if Stane really did want to kill you, he wouldn’t have to come here to see it done. But it doesn’t matter anyway. He’s getting Jollin.”
“He asked? And you agreed? You’re actually going to sell another girl to him?”
“Ale, gambling, and women is how I make my living. That’s all there is to it.”
“Don’t you do it! Goddammit, Grue, you can’t. You just can’t!”
“I already told ya, he didn’t ask for you.”
“I don’t care. He’ll kill her. Don’t you see that?”
“He’s got nothing against Jollin.”
“He had nothing against Avon either. He just liked seeing her scared.”
“Getting real tired of your mouth, Gwen. Drop it.” Grue shoved her roughly out of his way and returned to checking the kegs, giving the Ole Roundhouse Nut Brown a stronger rocking than necessary.
“You don’t own us.”
“Oh no?”
“Ethan won’t let you keep us here against our will. The sheriffs have to report to the high constable, who reports to the king, and King Amrath cares about-”
“What in Novron’s name do ya know about King Amrath and his thinking? Or the sheriff’s for that matter? You’re just an ignorant whore, Gwen, and that’s why I don’t have to keep ya at all. I told you that. You can leave any time you want.” He grabbed a fistful of her hair and dragged her to the door, shoving her out to the porch. “There … go. Go on, get!” He stared at her. “Where ya gonna go? What ya gonna do? Winter is coming and nights are already getting chilly. Where ya gonna sleep? How ya gonna eat?”