Kushiel's Justice - Jacqueline Carey [224]
I explained what I thought the guard had meant. "We can camp freely or seek lodgings at an inn. The great hall, that's where we petition for an audience with Adelmar.”
Urist shrugged. "Why waste time?”
I glanced around at our company. "We don't exactly look like a delegation from the Cruarch of Alba, Urist. We look like twenty-odd men who've been riding hard and living rough.”
He snorted. "You just want a bath.”
"It wouldn't hurt you, either," I retorted.
In the end, we decided that the bulk of our company would make camp, while five of us lodged at an inn. I picked Urist and Kinadius to accompany me, while the others drew straws for the privilege. A smug Deordivus drew one, while the other fell to one of the older veterans, a solid fellow named Brun. A good balance, I thought.
We left our mounts in the picket-line at the camp and entered Maarten's Crossing on foot. I felt pricklish and wary. Skaldi sauntered along the streets, longswords strapped to their backs, staring openly at us.
Get used to it, I told myself.
We were in Skaldia.
There was no trouble finding an inn. I picked the place at random, simply because the sign above the door—a proud rooster—reminded me of the Cockerel at home. It was run by a heavyset blonde Skaldi woman who took one look at me and beamed. "D'Angeline!" she cried, with considerable more enthusiasm than any of the men had showed.
"D'Angeline," I agreed, ignoring my companions' snickers.
I was just glad to be ensconced peaceably. The proprietress, Halla, had no husband in evidence, but several tall daughters, ranging in age from some sixteen years to a few years older than me. They were fresh-faced and bright-eyed, eager and curious, and uncomfortably attentive. When I pantomimed filling a tub and bathing, they laughed and led me to a small room with a wooden tub, bringing buckets of cold, clean water.
"Baden?" one asked hopefully, holding a sponge.
"I'll manage," I assured them.
They lingered, watching me undress, oohing and ahhing at the sight of my wounds when I managed to get the bandages off. Since they didn't seem inclined to leave, I gave up on any attempt at modesty and asked them questions while I sat in the tub and scrubbed away the layers of grime that a dunk in the river never seemed to erase. I didn't learn much—none of the innkeeper's daughters had seen the bear-man—but my efforts to communicate amused them. There were worse ways to practice Skaldic, I suppose.
Once I'd finished, Urist and the others had a turn, albeit without the same level of solicitous attention. We rummaged through our packs to find our least filthy attire, although there wasn't much to choose from. Everything I owned smelled like horse. Well and so, I thought; if it doesn't trouble the innkeeper's daughters, I suppose it won't bother Adelmar of the Frisii.
Clean and combed, we departed the inn and made our way to the great hall. I'd expected another confrontation, but to my surprise, the guards admitted us without any argument, pointing the way to a large antechamber filled with petitioners.
There we waited.
And waited.
There was a man in charge, a burly fellow with a heavy silver chain around his neck, trailed by an assistant carrying a scroll. He took our names on our arrival, giving us a long, hard look before bidding his assistant write them down. I made a point of repeating "Cruarch" and "Alba" several times, but it didn't appear to make an impression on him.
"Petty official," Urist said sourly. "He wants to make us sweat.”
"Why don't we just go?" Deordivus asked. "We know the bear-witch was here. All we have to do is follow his trail like before.”
I'd been watching while various petitioners