Sanctuary - Lynn Abbey [116]
“Hiding in the Vulgar Unicorn,” Soldt answered.
Soldt was a foreigner, so he probably thought that was explanation enough. When sheep-shite foreigners came to Sanctuary, they didn’t know which way to the froggin’ ocean, but they’d heard of the Vulgar Unicorn. Cauvin could think of several Hillside taverns whose reputations were so unsavory he wouldn’t cross their froggin’ thresholds on a gold-coin bet, but from sunrise to sunset, the Vulgar Unicorn was the stuff of froggin’ legend.
The Torch was a foreigner, too, but he didn’t think like one. “Not for ten years, Soldt. No woman works the Unicorn for ten years—not without my knowing that she’s got Imperial looks. She wouldn’t survive.”
“Leorin survived the pits. She survived the Whip. There’s nothing at the Unicorn she can’t handle. And I didn’t say she’d been there for ten years.”
“That’s true, you didn’t. Where did she hide herself?”
“Not in Sanctuary. I told you, the Whip pulled out right before you arrived, and took Leorin with him. As soon as they were clear of Sanctuary, she killed the Whip with his own knife, then took his plan, his disguise, his money for herself. She wound up north of Ilsig city, but the dreams followed her, and when she ran out of road, she turned around and came back. Our paths crossed two years ago—a little more than two years. She said she’d been back since winter.”
“It fits, Lord Torchholder—some of it. I made inquiries. The woman calling herself Leorin showed up about three years ago. She told a story about Ranke, kidnapping, and a family that wouldn’t take her back. With her looks, it was believable enough.”
“So, what doesn’t fit, Soldt?” the Torch asked. “What did you see that you didn’t like?”
“It’s not the way she looks. Leorin’s got a Rankan face, yes—but Kadakithis was before my time. His face means nothing to me. It wasn’t who she looks like that caught my attention; I learned that afterward. It’s how she acts. She carries a shadow, Lord Torchholder, a cold shadow. She looks at a person and sees a thing. Even Cauvin. She took another man upstairs while he still sat watching her.”
“Jealousy,” the Torch said. “Women think it’s an aphrodisiac, men, too.”
“Jealousy without passion, Lord Torchholder? She led him past me. I looked into her eyes and felt her shadow. Leorin has no heart, my lord. Her soul’s burnt down to ashes—”
Before Cauvin could call them both liars, the ruins echoed with the sound of Bee’s small feet slapping across mud and gravel, headed gods-knew-where.
—“It is not for me to question,” Soldt continued. “But whatever the truth of this woman’s past, she’s trouble doubled and not to be trusted—”
“You don’t know!” Cauvin found his voice. “You weren’t there. You think you know what went on in the pits, Torchholder, but you don’t know the froggin’ half of it. Shite for sure, Leorin’s not like other women. The Whip didn’t choose another woman, the froggin’ bastard chose her. You think you sent me and the others to sheep-shite safe rooms. You think you did us some great froggin’ favor. Do you know how many are left? I can tell you how they died. Harl hung himself not two months later. Canissi, the next spring. It goes on—Pendy gave up and slit her own throat last winter. Not counting the five who left town, there’s three of us left, and since I met you, pud, now I’m having nightmares!”
“That’s the point, Cauvin. Everything I see and hear from you tells me I was right to separate you. Everything I hear about Leorin tells me I’d have sent her back where they found her for her final meal.”
Cauvin turned his back on the two men. Bec had gone to ground beside Flower and was feeding the mule frost-dried weeds. Their eyes met, then Bec darted out of sight on the far side of the cart.
“All right,” he conceded, returning to the men. “All right. Leorin’s cold. She doesn’t get happy, but she doesn’t get angry, either. Life’s all the same to her, and only money matters. She can count money and lock