Prince of Lies - James Lowder [44]
The man sprawled against the Serpent's Eye. His haggard face and scraggly beard were limned with frost. His nose was blue from cold. Holding shaky hands out to Rinda, he pleaded, "A copper, missy. Anything."
The scribe stopped and crouched before him. "I've got no money, but I can bring some clothes here for you." She glanced up through the tavern's windows. Dark. "Will you stay here for a while? The Serpent's closed, so they won't chase you away."
Slowly the man nodded. "You have anything for me to drink till you get back, missy?" He reached under his tattered tunic and pulled out an empty bottle. "That'll keep me warm as any rags…"
"No," she said firmly. Rinda stood and turned away. "I'll send someone with the clothes as soon as I can."
It never helped to get angry with the poor wretches – not when gin was cheaper than food and more plentiful than clean water – but Rinda always found herself railing inwardly whenever she came across someone crippled by drink. Without hope, they drowned the sting of each passing day with a ten-copper bottle. Hodur had been like that when Rinda first found him, but the dwarf had managed to pull himself out of the gutter. Maybe this old man could, too.
The swell of hope washed against the events of the night before and dissipated. Rinda closed her eyes for an instant, willing the dark monolith of despair to crumble. It wouldn't. As large and as immovable as the black spires of Cyric's temple, the tower of hopelessness dominated her thoughts; the Prince of Lies had taken control of her life, at least until this damned book of his was done.
No, she chided herself sharply. He'll take control of my life only if I let him.
After all, she wasn't being held prisoner – despite what Patriarch Mirrormane had suggested. If she arranged her time carefully enough, there might still be a few hours a day to devote to the unfortunates. And there were always men and women who needed her help…
When she finally arrived home, Rinda found the door hanging open slightly. More from habit than concern, she scanned the alley, looking in the doorways and windows of the surrounding buildings for signs of trouble. If robbers or ruffians were waiting in the house, there'd be a lookout posted – someone like the unshaven man watching her from the second-story window across the street. Scowling, Rinda moved away from the door. No sense in walking into a trap alone when she could muster a few friends to help out.
"Hey, Rin! Where you going?"
Hodur's gruff voice stopped the scribe short. She turned to find the dwarf standing in the doorway, his beefy hands planted on his hips. "I was getting worried. It ain't like you to stay out all night."
Rinda sighed in relief. "You shouldn't leave the door open like that," she said. "Not even when you're around. You never know who might wander in."
Just before she followed her friend inside, Rinda looked up at the window across the way. The unshaven man was still there. One elbow planted on the sill, he cupped his chin in his hand. Brazenly he returned the scribe's gaze, with eyes that betrayed more intelligence than his demeanor suggested. He lowered his arm, revealing the grinning white holy symbol of Cyric on his purple clerical robes.
"So you're not a prisoner, hmmm?" Rinda muttered to herself and slammed the door closed behind her.
Hodur had already dropped into his chair by the door, though he didn't plant his feet on the table as he usually did. The stained and scarred tabletop was crammed with bowls and mugs. He'd only cleared one small circle, at the center of which squatted a leather cup full of dice.
Another man – or, more precisely, an elf – sat across from Hodur. He watched Rinda enter, his back painfully straight, his shoulders set squarely, in military fashion. A neat gray tunic draped his thin frame. The material was clean, though a few stubborn bloodstains marred the sleeves. In one hand he held a deep-sided bowl. Carefully, with long, thin fingers, he drew a wriggling beetle from the dish and popped it into his mouth.
"Ivlisar," Rinda