Kushiel's Justice - Jacqueline Carey [218]
Kinadius laid a firm hand on my shoulder. "I'm glad you're here.”
"So am I," I said.
Chapter Forty-Five
We broke camp on the morrow and rode east along the bank of the Voorwijk River.
I'd thought Urist would want to cross at the first opportunity, but I was wrong. He frowned at the busy, well-travelled stone bridge and shook his head. We passed it and rode onward. The second bridge was smaller, wrought of timber and not brick. Here we paused. Urist cocked his head, watching a heavily laden wagon cross the wooden bridge. His tattooed nostrils flared. "What's that stink?”
Kinadius pointed downriver. "A tannery.”
"Huh." Urist shaded his eyes and stared. There were figures working on the far side of the river, turning hides with large wooden paddles. "Promising.”
"Why would the bear-witch visit a tannery?" someone asked.
"He wouldn't," Kinadius said. "But I'll wager those fellows working are there every day. That's your thinking, isn't it?”
Urist shrugged. "Worth a try.”
We crossed the bridge and made our way to the tannery. The stink of half-cured hides grew stronger the closer we got. It seemed to be a thriving little business. As we approached, a tall man came out to meet us in the yard, wiping his hands on an apron and eyeing us with open curiosity. He greeted us in the Flatlander dialect, sounding pleased and quite incomprehensible.
All the Cruithne looked at me.
"Gud morgen," I said awkwardly. "Wir jäger sind…wir sind jag ein mann. A man, we're hunting a man." I beckoned to Kinadius. "Lend me your drawing, will you?”
I dismounted and showed it to the tanner, who nodded vigorously. "Ja, ja!" he said. "Der Bär-Mann!" then added a swift burst I couldn't understand. The tanner laughed and laid his hands on my shoulders. "D'Angeline, ja ? “
"Ja," I said. "D'Angeline.”
He turned and shouted toward the complex of buildings that made up the tannery. A woman emerged, hurrying toward us. Like the tanner, she was of middle years, with a face that must have been pretty before work and care took their toll. The tanner said somewhat about her— his wife, he called her—in a proud voice. She beamed at me, clapping her hands together in obvious pleasure.
"A D'Angeline!" She bobbed a curtsy. "How we may help you, my lord? Fine leather? Maybe for boots? Or very fine, maybe for gloves?”
Her accent was thick, but her D'Angeline was more than passable. I smiled at her in relief. "Not today, my lady. We're searching for a man…or mayhap a bear." I showed her the drawing. "Have you seen him?”
Her eyes widened. "That one! Yes, he was here.”
My heart lifted. "Here?”
"Yes, yes." She nodded. "A pelgrim, with the others.”
I shook my head. "No, not a pilgrim. This man.”
"This man, the bear-man." She took the drawing from me, tracing the incised claw-marks. "Yes, he was here." She turned to her husband and they exchanged a quick flurry of words. "Come," she said to me. "I show.”
Urist and Kinadius dismounted to join me. The tanner and his wife led us into a warehouse filled with piles of cured hides in varying levels of quality. He rummaged in one and brought forth a luxuriant armload of fur, presenting it to me with a smile.
A bearskin robe.
I caught my breath, lightheaded and sick. Beneath the pervasive stench of the tannery, I could smell rank musk and sour berries, the scent of the Maghuin Dhonn. Urist and Kinadius exclaimed in Cruithne, the words suddenly as alien to my ear as Skaldic. My healing wounds burned. I shook my head, trying to clear it, and my knees nearly gave way beneath me.
It was Urist who led me out of the warehouse. In the yard, I sat beneath a linden tree and lowered my head, taking deep breaths until the worst of the dizziness passed. The tanner's wife pressed a cup of cool water into my unsteady hand, her face worried. I drank