Eona - Alison Goodman [17]
The innkeeper held aside the red door flags of the lodging house and ushered us inside. I hurriedly followed Dela over the raised threshold into a foyer that was little more than a corridor and stairwell. Gone was the rich enticement of stewed meat and gravy. Instead, the smell of rancid matting soured the air, the burn of fish oil from two dirty wall lamps adding to the stench. At the end of the passage, a back doorway opened to an outside area—judging from the tang of manure on the slight night breeze, it led to the stable yard. Somewhere out there Solly was stabling the oxen, waiting for a chance to free Ryko.
Vida and the innkeeper entered the narrow space, and I was forced back against the edge of a steep staircase, its handrail patched with mismatched wood. I caught Dela’s eye; she had covered her nose and mouth with her hand, trying to hide her disgust. Beside the luxury of her palace home, this place was a hovel. Still, it was good compared to some of the inns my master and I had endured five years ago.
The unwelcome memory cut through me like acid. Even though my master was dead, his betrayal was still raw. That long-ago journey was before he had deliberately had me crippled; I was newly delivered from the slavery of the salt farm, learning to act like a boy, and reveling in the freedom to move without the bite of a whip or the weight of a salt bag. Then my master secretly arranged to have my hip broken to hide my sex and make me untouchable. All in the pursuit of the power and money he craved. In the end, he regretted causing me such pain—he told Chart as much—and even came to love me in his own way. Perhaps now that I was healed and had the power of a dragon, I should forgive him. Yet my rage was as hollowing and hot as ever.
The innkeeper unhooked one of the oil lamps and climbed the stairs. We filed up behind him, me struggling with my long gown, Vida straining under the weight of the traveling basket.
The air was no better on the second floor; the day’s damp warmth had carried the fishy stink throughout the house. The innkeeper led us along a short passageway that ran between the sleeping chambers, each divided from its neighbor by paper walls. There would be no unguarded talk tonight.
“My best room,” he said, sliding open a flimsy screen. “Since there are no other guests, I’ve put you at the back of the house, so you won’t get the tavern noise.”
It was surprisingly spacious. Two bedrolls rested against the far wall, ready to be laid out, and a low eating table stood in the center. There was no rancid straw matting—a godsend—although the large gaps in the bare planked floor let in weak lamplight from the foyer below. A stained screen in the corner shielded a night bowl from the sleeping area, and a shuttered window promised fresh air.
The innkeeper hung the lamp on a hook just inside the doorway and bowed us into our accommodation.
“I’ll have your dinner and the extra pallet brought up by next bell,” he said.
Another pleased bow took him from the room. We waited in silence until his footsteps descended the stairs and were lost in the lower level of the house.
Finally judging it to be safe, Dela murmured, “Vida and I will go and help Solly.”
“What about me? What can I do?”
“You’ll have to stay here. No merchant woman would enter a stable, let alone wander an inn by herself.” She saw the rebellion in my eyes. “I know it is frustrating, but only a whore or a servant girl would venture downstairs, especially with these soldiers about. You must stay in character.”
“I know, Respectable Woman Overcome with Grief,” I said sourly. “Maybe I can keep watch for you.” I crossed to the window and pushed open the shutters, but the view was of a ramshackle