The Thief's Gamble (Einarinn 1) (12 page)

15th of For-Autumn

Hold it, you beauty.' Casuel gritted his teeth as he hauled on the reins. The sudden shock of cobbles underfoot helped, and the horse skidded to an uncertain halt, snorting its disapproval.

'That's better.' Casuel applied the gig's brake and looked around the marketplace for the principal inn. He pursed his lips in surprised approval. 'This is an improvement on what I had imagined. And we made good time too,' he commented to Allin good-humouredly.

'This is much more comfortable than travelling by carriers' coach.' The last stage in an open carriage had given her pasty cheeks an attractive colour for a change.

Casuel glanced round, hesitating about which way to take; the tail-end of the day's market was still cluttering up what passed for a town square.

'Clear the road, mester!'

The horse shied as some peasant waved an irritated staff in their direction and Casuel was about to tell the oaf what he thought of him when he realised he had stopped, in fact, directly in front of the water-trough. He clicked his tongue and slapped the reins on the horse's rump, looking disdainfully over the head of the impatient fanners waiting to water their beasts before setting out for home. He lurched before he remembered to loosen the brake so that they could move off.

An urchin spoke up hopefully from somewhere near Casuel's knee.

'What did you say?' This mangled dialect was even thicker in these hamlets off the main coach routes, he realised with a shock.

'Hold your horse for a copper quarter, sir?'

Casuel narrowed his eyes at the lad but after a moment reached into his pocket for the coin. This was hardly Col, after all. He held up a whole penny and the youth's eyes brightened.

'Where can we get rooms and stabling for the night?'

'Over yonder at the Stag Hound.' The urchin bobbed an attempt at a bow. 'Follow me.'

Casuel directed the horse awkwardly through the bustle. 'You see, I don't have much need to drive in Hadrumal,' he explained to Allin, but she was too busy looking round. The inn yard was busy, but the sight of such a well-dressed driver soon brought an ostler to the gig's side.

'We require accommodation and livery for the night.' Casuel reached round for their bags and handed them down. 'Take these and bespeak us two chambers.'

'I can see to it, sir.' The groom clutched Allin's tattered valise to his chest, looking a little startled.

Casuel descended and grimaced as shoulder muscles unused to the demands of driving protested. He looked at the crowd growing around the water-trough and beckoned to the urchin.

'Walk the horse till he's good and cool, water him, and then bring him back here, and the penny's yours when I leave in the morning.'

Stalking a little stiffly into the inn, Casuel was satisfied he had cowed the child into obedience. Allin scrambled down awkwardly in a confusion of petticoats and followed, bumping into Casuel as he halted, taken aback to find the bar counter three deep in thirsty peasants. He hovered uncertainly for a few moments then gritted his teeth. His future could depend on what he learned here, he told himself.

'Excuse me. By your leave.' Politeness was going to get him nowhere, he realised, as an elbow caught him agonisingly in the ribs and a burly farmer shoved past him to reach for an ale.

'Service!' His unfamiliar accent rang out over the hum of the busy tap-room and he fought a blush as the suddenly silent throng stared at him.

'I would like a jug of ale, if you please.' Casuel shook the dust from the folds of his caped cloak and coughed to cover his embarrassment.

The buzz of conversation resumed around him and the innkeeper shoved a jug and cups across the bar. Casuel took a seat at the end of the counter and looked suspiciously at the oily surface of the brew. Allin examined it dubiously.

'I know. I'd have preferred wine but there's no point even asking outside the larger towns in Ensaimin.' Casuel heaved a sigh of homesickness for his neat rooms in Hadrumal or better yet, his parents' well-ordered house.

'Excuse me.' He caught at the sleeve of a maid hurrying past with a tray of bowls.

'You can order food at the kitchen door.' She tried to shake her arm free without losing her load, not even turning her head towards him.

'No, I'm looking for someone,' Casuel began.

'Try the wash-house next door,' the maid snapped, twitching her elbow out of his reach.

Casuel sipped his drink and immediately regretted it. The barkeeper was at the far end of the counter and there was no sign of the pace of business slowing.

'I'd say we've got a rat in a dog-pit's chance of managing a quiet conversation here,' he muttered to Allin.

She nodded, momentarily silenced as thirst overcame caution and she tried the ale. She screwed up her eyes and coughed.

'Do you think they might have some milk?' She blinked.

'Not drinking?' A sour smell assaulted Casuel's nostrils and he turned to see a creased and dirty little man hovering by the yard door, eyes darting from side to side.

'Not this swill,' Casuel grimaced.

The ragged man's eyes brightened and he reached for the jug.

'Not so fast.' Casuel lifted it out of reach for a moment. 'I'm trying to find someone…'

'Wash-house next door,' the old vagrant said promptly, eyes still fixed on the jug.

'What's so special about this wash-house?' Allin wondered in an undertone.

Casuel shook his head, exasperated. 'We might as well go and find out. We'll get nothing here but a night in the privy.'

He caught the barkeeper's eye and dropped some coppers on the counter, only too happy to abandon the ale to the gleeful vagabond and to leave the heaving tavern. He stood on the step and took a long breath of fresh air. Allin squeaked behind him and squeezed her way under his arm, rubbing her rear.

'Where do you suppose this wash-house is, then?'

'There's steam coming from those shutters.' Allin pointed across an alley.

'Come on. I suppose the washerwomen will know who lives where. Women always know that sort of thing, don't they? My mother generally knows the life history of anyone moving into the square before they've even unpacked their trunks.'

Allin smiled uncertainly. Casuel led the way but then hovered uncertainly by the door as he heard giggles from inside. He'd never really been at ease with women, especially not when they gathered together. He looked at Allin; perhaps she could do the talking. No, perhaps not.

Casuel squared his shoulders and went inside. He nearly stepped straight out again when he found himself facing a girl wearing an extremely low bodice over little more than a shift. She greeted him with a very frank smile.

'Can I help you?' A woman of about his mother's age looked up from a wash tub.

'I'm looking for some information.' Casuel tried to ignore the sweat beading on his forehead. Of course, it was bound to be hot in a wash-house. Obviously women working here would wear light clothing.

A smile twitched the corners of the matron's mouth. 'What kind of information would that be?'

Casuel removed his cloak, fearing sweat stains in his coat, and loosened the neck of his shirt. 'I'm trying to find a man who was once chamberlain to Lord Armile of Friern.'

'That'd be Teren, I'd say.' The speaker was a blowsy type with hard eyes and improbably russet hair loose around her shoulders. She looked past Casuel at Allin and a faint frown wrinkled her brow.

'Can you tell me where I might find him, madam?' Casuel asked with stiff politeness, gratified that this was proving so easy.

The redhead exchanged a rapid glance with the washerwoman. After a still moment, she looked at Casuel, amused. 'You know the track to the Dalasor high road?'

'I can find it,' Casuel said confidently.

'Cross the bridge beyond the coppices, carry on till the third ride on the left, there's a shrine to Poldrion next to a red-oak.'

'I'll find him there?' Casuel was puzzled.

'Fifth niche on the right, middle shelf.' The redhead laughed heartily and took a drink from a leather flask she'd been holding among the folds of her skirts. She smiled warmly at Allin.

'I'm sorry but he's dead and burned, two and a half seasons gone.' The washerwoman gave her linens a half-hearted stir with a copper stick.

Casuel nearly turned on his heel, outraged to be the butt of such tasteless humour for such women.

'It's no joke for his poor wife.' The lass with the loosely laced bodice emerged from a back room with a basket of bread and cheese which she shared around, offering some to Allin after giving her a long, considering look. 'Come in, girl, no need to wear out the step.'

A flash of inspiration struck Casuel. 'He has left a widow?'

The woman with the flask looked serious for a change. 'Poor bitch, her with five to bring up and no family closer than a three-day walk.'

'It's hard to be so far from your own at such a time.' The washerwoman's tone was sympathetic and she sighed as she chewed on her bread.

'If I cannot do business with her husband, I can at least do what I can for the poor unfortunates he has left behind,' Casuel announced loftily. 'Charity is the duty of all Rational men.'

The redhead muttered something which he didn't catch, what with her mouth full and her dialect suddenly thicker than before. The washerwoman nodded and her expression was thoughtful. Casuel ignored this irrelevance.

'Where would I find this lady?'

'You might catch her at the buttercross about now,' the younger lass volunteered, after checking for a nod from the redhead. 'She sells cheese for Mistress Dowling most days.'

Casuel nodded his thanks graciously. A thought struck him. 'How much would it cost for you to brush and sponge my cloak?'

The women exchanged a glance and the redhead suddenly hid her face in her apron with a sudden fit of coughing. The washerwoman's smile quirked again but she managed to reply civilly enough.

'Four pennies should see to it, your honour.' She smiled at Allin. 'You look like you could do with a freshening, lassie. Why not wait here while his honour's busy?'

'That would be nice.' Allin hesitated, clutching her shawl to herself.

'I'll call later.' Casuel handed over the garment and left, a little bemused by the burst of laughter he heard behind him.

He had no time to waste on the odd behaviour of laundresses, he chided himself. The market square was nearly empty now, the last few wagons either heading out along the tracks to the farms or waiting, canvases laced down, for their owners to quit the taverns which were now bright with lanterns and ringing with noise. With some distaste he picked his way between the straw, dung and fallen vegetables that littered the cobbles, heading for the neat thatched roof of the buttercross. He quickened his step as he saw several women packing up their baskets and leaving the broad stone steps to a few foraging thatch-birds.

'Excuse me, ladies.' He bowed formally and the women halted in startled surprise.

'I am looking for the Widow Teren.' He tried for a winning smile.

'Why's that, then?' one asked cautiously.

'I had business with her late husband.' Casuel decided a masterful approach was called for, since charm seemed to have little effect round here.

The women spent a long moment exchanging glances which conveyed nothing to Casuel. One of them looked round the square and the people going about their business; she nodded to her companion.

'She's with her children, round the far side.'

'Brown dress with a blue apron,' the second added. The two of them moved away, crossing over to the well where they stood in apparently idle conversation, empty baskets swinging loosely on their arms.

The widow was not hard to find as Casuel walked briskly round the buttercross. She was about his own age, thin face tired as she packed her panniers with some heels of bread and vegetables that Casuel's mother would have rejected as unfit for her pigs.

'Just sit down and stop Miri rampaging around, will you?' she snapped at a ragged little boy who was chasing pigeons with his younger sister. The child opened his mouth to protest, wisely thought better of it and grabbed the girl by her tattered skirt, plumping down his skinny behind on the lowest step.

'Shouldn't those children be in bed?' Casuel frowned, looking at the length of the shadows.

'What's it to you?' The woman did not snap at him. She simply sounded defeated, not even looking at him, pushing ineffectually at wisps of hair escaping her headscarf as she tied the little girl's apron strings.

'I'm sorry, let me introduce myself.' Casuel bowed low. 'I am Casuel Devoir. I understand you are the Widow Teren?'

'Pleased to meet you, I'm sure,' the widow replied, standing and looking at him, bemused. The children simply stared at him, mouths open.

'I had been hoping to see your husband…' Casuel halted at the sight of the numb pain on the three faces before him. 'I heard of your loss,' he went on hurriedly, 'and was hoping I might be able to assist you somehow.'

A spark of life returned to the woman's dark eyes. 'Drianon knows we could do with some help. Here.' She passed a frayed basket to Casuel and slung the yoke of her panniers over her shoulders. 'Like you said, this pair should be in bed. Walk me home and we can talk there.'

Casuel opened his mouth to protest but shut it again. He had to have that information, he told himself. If it was important to Darni, it was doubly so to him. He walked after the woman and children, awkwardly trying to hold the basket to prevent the sharp spikes of wicker damaging his clothing. To his relief, the widow soon turned down a narrow entry and knocked on the door of a neat row-house. An older child with a squalling infant in her arms opened up, using her foot to foil a determined toddler's attempt at escape.

'Get your supper and take it in the back.' The widow settled herself on a low settle near the fire and opened her bodice. The children obediently filled bowls with thick soup and helped themselves to the coarse bread, filing out through the narrow door.

'I beg your pardon, I'll wait outside while you nurse your child.' Casuel turned to go, scarlet as the baby suckled with evident enjoyment and no little noise.