A World Without Heroes - Brandon Mull [28]
The woman sighed. “I don’t mean to be rude, Jason, but these are ugly times. Fair faces and kind words can disguise foul intentions.”
“I’m only asking for directions,” Jason maintained. “I’m not trying to make waves.”
The woman opened the door wider, and an enormous dog padded onto the porch. The beastly canine looked like a bulldog the size of a Saint Bernard. Its hair was short enough to imply it had recently been shaved bald. The animal shook its deeply folded face and emitted a brusque sound between a growl and a cough. Jason would not have been eager to steal anything from a house with such a monstrous guardian. Aster was apparently bolder than Jason had realized.
“Puggles here would prefer if you stopped straining our hospitality,” the woman insisted. “I have an alarm beside the door. Don’t make me call the militia.”
Jason glanced over toward where Aster was hiding. “Listen, lady,” Jason confided in a loud whisper. “I don’t really need anything from you. I have food in my bag and a destination in mind. But I have important information.”
She narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean? Who sent you?”
“Nobody sent me. I just happen to know about a thief who intends to raid your house.”
Her expression relaxed, and she chuckled. “You mean Aster?”
“You know him?”
A smile crept onto her face. “That scoundrel takes food from me three times each week, like clockwork. I’ve known him for years. The loafer refuses to accept charity, but if I let him feel like he’s stealing, he’ll swipe whatever I leave to cool on the windowsill. He fancies himself a soldier of fortune. I would welcome him to stay in a guest room, but he won’t have it. Believe me, I’ve tried.”
“How odd.”
“Perhaps. But he keeps his pride, and I perform a service for a friend. He watches out for me. He’s run off troublemakers more than once.”
“You’re a generous person.”
Her smile widened, then faltered. “Funny he didn’t bother you.”
“We spoke,” Jason said.
She nodded. “He’s an able judge of character. You must have landed on his good side.” She looked Jason up and down. “You tried to warn me of trouble. You can’t be all bad. You wear strange apparel. Do you come from far away?”
“You have no idea,” Jason said. “Look, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but I could really use directions to the Blind King.”
The woman paused, biting her lower lip. “I’m Francine. Franny. I hate to be unwelcoming. It isn’t my desire. You can come up to the porch if you like, Jason. I can at least offer you some bread.”
“Would you rather I swiped it from your windowsill?”
“Don’t try it. Puggles knows Aster. I’d end up finding pieces of you buried around the yard.”
Jason held up both hands. “Okay. Maybe the porch would be best.” He reached for the gate, and Puggles barked. Jason paused.
“Puggles, heel,” Franny ordered, slapping her thigh. She pointed for the dog to go back inside the house, and the bulky canine trundled out of sight.
Jason let himself through the gate. Franny disappeared inside. By the time Jason had mounted the porch steps, she had returned with a loaf of bread wrapped in a coarse bag.
“I have a weakness for the downtrodden,” she confessed. “But that doesn’t make me gullible. A word from me, and Puggles will tear you apart. If you know boarhounds, you know I’m not exaggerating. And we know Aster is watching as well.”
“I hear you,” Jason said politely. “About the Blind King . . .”
“It isn’t far. Continue down my lane to the crossroads and turn left. You’ll pass the Gamester’s farm, fork right onto the gravel road, and shortly come into view of the castle.”
“So he’s a real king with a castle and everything?”
“Not everything,” Franny clarified. “He’s the unofficial arbiter around here. It would be a stretch to label him a real king. Opinions about him vary. He settles disputes, offers advice. Some do his bidding, but he lacks real authority from the emperor.”
“Will it be hard to get into his castle? Do I just knock?”
“Speak with the gatewarden. The king grants audience liberally. You really know