Sanctuary - Lynn Abbey [178]
By then, Cauvin’s heart beat so furiously that his hands shook. He kept the cloak around his shoulders. Froggin’ sure he wouldn’t let the regulars catch him fumbling the knots holding it closed.
Mimise, the tall, rangy wench who slept in the room beside Leorin’s, reached Cauvin first. She plunked a brimming mug of ale on the table and stayed to stare.
“Reenie’s stone-smasher. As Ils will be my judge, I didn’t believe my eyes,” she declared with her slow, Twandan drawl. “What happened to you?”
Cauvin took a deep breath, and said, “I lost a fight with the city guard.”
Mimise propped a hand on her hip and leaned away from it. “If that’s what comes of losing to the guard, then we’ve all been playing this game wrong. Reenie’s out back. You want me to get her—or has that changed along with the rest of you?”
“It hasn’t,” Cauvin answered. He broke Mimise’s stare by adding: “And it won’t, either.”
He was calmer after the Twandan left and shed his cloak confidently. Two other wenches found reasons to walk toward his table. They hadn’t cared when their sister in service was less than faithful to a sheep-shite stone-smasher, but let him show up in a pale linen shirt and a substantial cloak—Suddenly they were ready to freshen his mug before he’d taken a sip from it. Each offered to fetch Leorin, but only after telling him that she’d been with another man earlier in the day.
Still, flattery was pleasant, and Cauvin was listening to the second wench—her name was Rose or Rosa or Rosy, and she couldn’t be a day over fourteen—talk about her life at the Unicorn when Leorin emerged from the storeroom. She raked the commons with her eyes and smiled when she found Cauvin. Then she saw Rose, and the smile vanished. Cauvin could have warned Rose that the storm outside was nothing compared to the one marching across the commons, but that would only get him in trouble with his beloved, and no warning was going to spare Rose. The girl yelped and overturned an empty mug when Leorin’s hands clamped down on her shoulders like eagles’ claws.
Besides, there was no flattery to compare with Leorin caushing a rival.
“They’re looking for someone to clean up out back.”
Leorin’s voice was cold as winter, and her fingers were white. She wasn’t at all gentle shoving Rose toward the storeroom, then she flowed into the empty chair like a cat. With a changer’s narrowed eyes, Leorin sized up Cauvin’s new shirt, his freshly trimmed hair, the heavy cloak draped over the third chair.
Shite for sure, Leorin looked worried, and worry was not one of Leorin’s usual expressions. Cauvin could have repeated what he’d told Mimise and would eventually have told Rose—he wasn’t interested in other women—but silence had served him well lately, and there was no reason to change tactics in a froggin’ storm.
“Are you going to tell me what’s happened?” Leorin demanded, sobering Cauvin in a heartbeat.
He nodded. “A lot’s happened. We need to talk—”
“I can see that. Did they all die up on Pyrtanis Street?”
The question caught Cauvin by surprise, though it would be the simplest way to explain his change in fortune. “No, Grabar’s fine,” he mumbled. “They’re all fine.”
“The old man—the one that gave you the box—Did he give you more silver? Gold? Did he finally die?”
“No, nothing like that.” He and Leorin had become the center of uncomfortable attention. “Can we go upstairs? I don’t want to talk about it down here.”
“I’ve got customers to tend—regulars.” Which meant they expected good service from their favorite wench, and she expected extra padpols each time she visited their tables.
Cauvin took a deep breath before saying, “Let