Sanctuary - Lynn Abbey [196]
Cauvin took the Unicorn stairs two at a time, no matter that he heard Mimise calling, “She’s not up there.”
Leorin’s door was latched. Cauvin knocked once, then put his fist to the planks while shouting her name. The walls shook and three other doors opened, but not Leorin’s.
“She’s not there!”
Stopped by the sound of a man’s stern voice, Cauvin turned and saw the Stick standing at the top of the stairway, an ax handle in his hand.
“Where’s Leorin?”
“Don’t know.”
“When did she leave?”
“Don’t know that, either. Do know you’re leaving now and not coming back.” The Unicorn’s barkeep thumped the handle against his open palm. “You don’t want trouble, now—do you?”
In the right hands, a length of hardwood, cut on the grain and baked in a kiln, was as deadly as the sharpest sword and, by everything Cauvin had heard, the Stick had the right hands.
“I’ve got to find her.”
“I’ll tell her you’re looking for her when she gets back … right after I tell her to clear out.”
The Stick stood aside, motioning Cauvin toward the stairs. Reluctant, but without another choice, Cauvin eased past the barkeep. Downstairs, he would have struck up a conversation with Mimise—she might have some idea where Leorin went when she left the Unicorn. froggin’ sure, Cauvin didn’t; other than that first time, two years ago, when he’d spotted her on the Wideway, Cauvin hadn’t seen Leorin except at the Unicorn. With the Stick in a froggin’ foul mood, Mimise wasn’t about to follow Cauvin onto the street for small talk.
The alleys near the Vulgar Unicorn were no place to wait for his betraying beloved. In the Maze, an unlucky man could die of boredom, and with Bec caught up by the Hand, Cauvin wasn’t feeling lucky—until Soldt’s name crossed his mind. He set off for the Inn of Six Ravens.
The same guard as before sat on the bench inside the inn’s gate. He recognized Cauvin and let him in. Cauvin found the inner courtyard deserted and the door and windows of Galya’s quarters still battened down from the storm. He pounded on the door and called the laundress’s name until he heard the bar scraping in its brackets.
“I need your help Galya,” Cauvin said as the door cracked open. “I’ve got to get word to Soldt—”
Rather than invite Cauvin in, Galya came out into sunlit courtyard, pulling the door shut behind her.
“The Torch was attacked last night at Red Walls right after the storm. My sheep-shite brother was with him. He’s been kidnapped by the Bloody Hand of Dyareela—”
Words poured out of Cauvin’s mouth and would have kept coming if Galya hadn’t held up her hand.
“Slow down, Cauvin. What happened last night?”
“The Torch was attacked—Lord Molin Torchholder—” This time Cauvin paused, waiting for her to say that the Torch was dead, but Galya simply nodded. “He killed four of them—four of the Bloody Hand—before he collapsed. But four wasn’t enough, and the ones the Torch didn’t kill, they left him for dead. He’s not, not yet, not when I left him a little bit ago, but the Hand just left him lying there in the root cellar. They took my brother instead. He’s only a boy. I’ve got to find my brother, Galya. I’ve got to find Soldt because I—he—” Cauvin couldn’t finish. He didn’t want to admit the roles he or the assassin had played in the catastrophe.
Galya led Cauvin to an overturned tub.
“Soldt will understand,” Cauvin explained, watching the laundry door and refusing to sit down.
“What will he understand?”
“He’ll understand that Bec’s got to be rescued, even if it’s mostly my fault that the Hand’s got him. And the Torch, too—somebody’s got to protect the Torch, in case the Hand realizes they don’t have what they think they have.”
“And what does the Bloody Hand of Dyareela think it has?”
The voice asking that question was Soldt’s voice, and it came from behind. Cauvin spun around to see Soldt in plain clothes, no cloak, no weapons. He had a brindle dog beside him and, wherever he’d come from, he hadn’t made a sound getting to within striking distance of Cauvin’s back. The dog was massive across