Crown of Fire - Ed Greenwood [59]
Behind her, Shandril heard a sharply indrawn breath. She turned.
"Who let her in here?" demanded a furious voice. The tall, battered doorguard of the inn stood facing them, staff in hand. Barring his way with drawn knife, Delg squinted up at the man fearlessly.
"I did," Shandril said hotly. "She can heal, and it was needed."
The man strode forward and, with a sweep of his staff, thrust Delg aside into a helpless sprawl. "But she's a leper! She's-" -Always wanted to pay you back for belting me, Thomd." said the woman in rags, rising with smooth, agile speed to thrust the reaching staff aside and embrace its wielder. They went over together with a splash into the mud, and the filthy lips met his sputtering ones firmly. Then the beggar woman rose atop him and laughed heartily.
"Ah, but it's a good thing I've not got the wasting disease, Thomd, or you'd be sharing it now." She rolled off the panting, frantic man in the mud and winked at Shandril with cool gray eyes. Pulling open the filthy lacings of her bodice for an instant, she revealed a tiny silver harp pendant nestling in the filthy folds of a gargantuan bosom.
Then she turned back to Mirt, shook her head resignedly, and said, "Well, now that you've let the world know I'm not as I seem, perhaps you'll let me use your bath, Mirt, while I watch over the healing of your young man, here. Give me your cloak, Thomd."
The struggling man in the mud looked at Delg's dagger, inches from his nose, and with a helpless grunt unpinned the cloak and rolled out of it "Hand it here," Baergasra said merrily, "and don't mind the mud-I'm used to it, gods know." Delicately she began to strip off rag after rag, dropping them all into the trampled mud at her feet "One more thing, Thomd," she added, nudging the tall man with tier foot as he slowly sat up, "burn these for me, will you.' I never want to see. any of them again."
Delg and Thomd watched in identical amazement as the barrel-shaped woman stripped off rag after rag, and stood at last clad only in grime. Lots of grime and mud, caked thickly in places. She scratched some of those places, grinned at them both and held out an imperious hand for the cloak.
Delg bowed low and presented it to her as one would to a great lady. She swirled it about her shoulders and reached for the pin. Thomd handed it to Delg with a sigh, and Delg handed it on with a low whistle of appreciation.
The filthy woman stuck her tongue out at him as she pinned the cloak close about her, grinned again, and said to Thomd, "Did you see any leprous bits? Well?"
Thomd shook his head. "N-No," he managed through his teeth. "But the smell…"
Baergasra sighed. "You know," she said slowly, "one gets used to it?" She scratched again and said,
"Well-get up, man, and get going! I want that bath"
Mirt looked up from Narm. Shandril could see an ugly purple scar just forward of his armpit, but the skin was whole again, and the blood had stopped. He still slept, presumably from the venom.
Venom. The dagger. Shandril looked in the direction the Harper had thrown it, and saw its glint in the shadows. Carefully she picked it up and stuck it in her belt. You never know…
"Ah, Thomd?' Mirt said. "If ye go in and fill the bath, I'll bar the gate again. Delg, go in and tell them to calm down, hey? Well clean up, I give my promise… If anyone gives ye trouble, mention my, er, close friendship with King Azoun. Shandril, as much as I hate to ask ye to do it, will ye guard us, until we're in and settled?"
"Of course, Mirt. It's a pleasure," Shandril said happily, and meant it.
Chapter 8
SOAP, STEAM, AND SOFT CURSES
It's usually around bath time that the tithe collectors cone to call. Besieging warriors, on the other handnow they generally have consideration enough to come early so you know how best to plan your day.
Estimyra of High Horn
Twenty Winters a War Wizard
Year of the Dragon
"Allow me, Lady," the dwarf said gruffly, handing a brush and a handbucket