Maggie got up and greeted the strangers. “Come in and get out of the weather, sit by the fire and dry those soggy cloaks. Would you poor folks like some dinner, a room?”
The tall man spoke with an odd speech impediment, loud enough so that the entire room could hear, “It is said that there is a place near here, art ancient arch with strange symbols carved on it-Geata na Chruinne. Do you know of it?”
Until that moment, everyone in the room had been listening but pretending not to. Now, they cocked their ears and became conspicuous about it.
Gallen wondered if these strangers might not be adventurers, out to see the sights of the world. Geata na Chruinne sometimes attracted such people.
“I know of the place,” Maggie said suspiciously, studying the stranger’s face, “as does everyone around here.”
“Is it easy to reach?” the stranger asked in a thick voice. “Could we make it tonight, after a brief rest and dinner?”
“No one goes to the arch after dark,” Maggie said uneasily. “People say it’s haunted. You can stand beneath it on a hot day and feel cold air blowing off it like a sheet of ice. Besides, it’s deep in the forest, in Coille Sidhe. You can’t go there in the night.”
“I could pay for a guide,” the stranger offered.
“Well,” Maggie said, “there are a couple boys in town who know the way, if you’re willing to wait till morning.”
“No-they can’t be boys,” the stranger said, standing over Maggie. “I want a man, a seasoned soldier. Someone who can defend himself.”
Maggie glanced toward Gallen, lines of worry in her face. Few people in town had actually been to the ancient ruins called Geata na Chruinne, “Gate of the World.” And only one had any kind of fighting skills.
Gallen wasn’t sure that he trusted these well-armed, secretive people. But he didn’t want to miss the chance to make some money. He nodded.
“Gallen O’Day could take you there in the morning,” Maggie told them as she jerked her chin toward Gallen.
The hooded stranger glanced at Gallen, said, “Are you a soldier?”
He advanced on Gallen, the hood shielding his face. “He’s an armed escort,” Maggie boasted, “and he’s killed over twenty robbers. He’s the best there’s ever been.”
As the stranger got close, Gallen could see that the tall man had vivid blue eyes, tawny hair going silver. He regarded Gallen with a distant expression.
Without flinching an eye, the stranger drew his sword and swung at Gallen’s head. Gallen leapt from his chair and grabbed the stranger’s wrist, pinching the nerves between the radius and the ulna, then twisting. It was a painful grip, Gallen knew, and made the victim’s fingers spasm open. The stranger’s sword stroke went wide, then the sword itself clattered to the table. Gallen twisted the man’s wrist painfully in a come-along so that the stranger soon found himself at arm’s length, standing on his tiptoes.
The stranger nodded, and said, “Well done. You’ve the reflexes of a cat, and you must have studied a bit of anatomy to have figured out that trick.”
Gallen let the man go, surprised that the fellow had wanted to test him. Gallen’s reputation had grown so wide that few employers ever bothered to test his skills anymore.
The young woman in blue looked Gallen over, shook her head. “Not him, he’s too small.”
“Size is an illusion,” Gallen said, catching her eyes. “A man is what he thinks.”
“And I think that if a foe who outweighed you by a hundred pounds swung a sword at you, you would never be able to parry his blows.”
Gallen listened to her words with difficulty, realized that like the man, she too spoke oddly, as if she had a mouthful of syrup. Yet her accent wasn’t as thick. He said, “I’ve been strengthening my wrists since I was six years old, knowing that I’d have to parry blows from bigger men. I believe a man can become anything he puts his mind to. And I assert that by thought, I have made myself bigger than I seem.”
“He’ll do,” the guard said, picking up his sword and shaking the pain from his hand. “He’s got a hell of a grip-better than mine.”
The woman in blue opened her mouth in mild surprise, then smiled.
“I’ve already contracted a job for tonight,” Gallen said. “But I can pick you up at dawn. The hike to the gate makes for a short trip, only five miles.”
The stranger spoke to Maggie briefly. Once he’d purchased rooms for the night and ordered dinner inside, the two began walking up the staircase, and then stopped. The old man said, “We just came from the south, from Baille Sean. There’s a large bridge over the river there. Lightning struck it just after we crossed. I suppose you’ll want to inform the town.” Several people cried out in dismay. By law, the two towns would have to come together and repair the bridge, an onerous task.
Gallen knew that he could not let the young woman, his new employer, go without introducing himself.
He stood and said in a loud voice, “My lady?” The two stopped in their tracks, and the woman glanced over her shoulder at him. Gallen continued, “When you walked in the room just now, and your hood fell back to expose your face, it was as if the morning sun had just climbed over the mountains after a dreary night of rain. We’re curious folks hereabout, and I think I speak for many when I ask: may I beg to know your name?” The little speech came out sounding so sweet that Gallen could almost taste the honey dripping from his tongue, and he stood with his heart pounding, waiting for the woman’s reply.
She smiled down at him and seemed to think for a moment. Her guard waited cautiously just above her on the stairs, but he did not look back. After a few seconds she said, “No.”
They continued upstairs, turned the corner of the hall, and were gone. Gallen O’Day sat down in his chair, staring after them, feeling as if his heart had just turned sideways or he’d died a small death. The last few patrons in the inn looked at Gallen and chuckled. Gallen’s face was hot with embarrassment.
Maggie quickly made up two plates and readied them to take upstairs, then came back to Gallen and set the plates on his table a moment and said, “Oh, you poor abused child! To think that she’d mistreat you so.” She leaned over and kissed him heavily on the mouth.
Gallen suspected that she was both hurt and angry. He also reminded himself that, wisely, he’d made her no promises. He held her gently as she kissed him, then she slapped his face, grabbed her trays, and danced off, smiling at him over her back.
Gallen put his chin on his knuckles and sat alone, feeling stupid until Seamus O’Connor began to sing and the rain outside quit splattering the windows, then Gallen knew it was time to be off. He helped Seamus to his feet, Seamus snagged the whiskey bottle with his left hand, and they headed out the door.
Amazingly, the storm clouds were scudding by fast instead of lingering like they usually did. Gallen could see pretty well by the slivered moons that shone down like twin sets of eyes, gazing from heaven. Seamus’s old mare was across the street, tied in the livery stable with plenty of sweet grass piled before it. Gallen saddled the horse and helped Seamus climb atop, then led the horse out of the stables north toward An Cochan. The mare’s hooves clattered over the paving stones. At the back of the inn, in the dim starlight Gallen saw two bears feeding in the rubbish bin and stopped the horse, asking, “Orick, is that you?”
One of the bears grunted in a deep voice, “Hello, Gallen.”
“What are you mucking in the slop for?” Gallen asked, surprised that he hadn’t seen Orick leave through the back door of the common room. “I’ve plenty of money. I can have Maggie fix you up a platter.” Gallen felt nervous to make the offer. Bears eat so much that they’re notorious for always being broke.
“Don’t bother,” Orick said. “Maggie saved a nice plate of leftovers for me. When I finish here, I’m going up the hill to hunt for a few slugs. It will be a grand feast, I assure you.”