Sanctuary - Lynn Abbey [28]
“Unless you’re dead.”
“Then you’ll bury me—and Sinjon’s box will be yours. But don’t get your hopes too high, Cauvin. I may have set myself adrift, but I’m nowhere near ready to drown—and you’ve taken my token. I’ve marked you for a man of conscience. I’m never wrong about such things.”
The old man’s confidence worried Cauvin. Froggin’ truth to tell, everything about Lord Molin Torchholder worried Cauvin, and the tiny ship, which he’d tucked into his boot along with a single silver soldat from the Torch’s purse, worried him most of all. He wasn’t a man of conscience, no more than he was a dreamer because, like dreams, conscience brought back memories he’d rather not remember.
The jade ship pressed against his calf like a hot coal. He thought about tossing it away, but that wouldn’t help. He couldn’t abandon the Torch or pretend that nothing had happened—even if he’d wanted to. Grabar wanted bricks to tempt Tobus the tailor, and the old red-walled estate was the only place to scavenge them. Cauvin would have to come back tomorrow, and he’d have to go to the Broken Mast tonight.
Clouds had piled up in the west to block the sunset and bring an early twilight to Sanctuary. The night watch was on duty at the East Gate when Cauvin arrived at the wall, but the gate itself was still open. He and Flower got in line behind a mountainous hay wagon and a trader’s string of five overburdened donkeys. The watch challenged the trader and demanded that he unpack his lead donkey; they passed Cauvin through while the man was still untying the pack ropes.
Pyrtanis Street was dark by the time Cauvin reached it. Grabar was waiting for him with fire in his eyes and the stink of wine on his breath. He’d spent the day at the Well. Grabar didn’t drink himself drunk often, but when he did, there were sure to be arguments.
“You’re damned late! The boy’s in tears. The wife’s been waiting on you since the first-watch bells! Been two murders—” Grabar began, then he noticed the nearly empty cart. “What’s this?” he demanded. “What were you doin’ all day?”
Cauvin told him, “A merchant hailed me before I left the city. He had stock to move, and his own mule was lame.” Cauvin dug out the Torch’s purse. He tossed it gently in Grabar’s direction. “He offered a fair price for my labor, so I sold it to him.”
Grabar spilled the purse into his palm. He wasn’t so drunk that he couldn’t count coins. “Damn sure you don’t work this hard around here,” he commented, but his temper had cooled, and his tone was largely admiration.
“Tell Mina I’m going out to celebrate,” Cauvin said, careful not to make his words a question or a request. He nudged Flower toward her stall at the back of the yard.
Grabar hurried after them. “You held some back!” he complained.
“I earned it—an honest day’s work.” That much, at least, was true. Cauvin hadn’t broken any laws, but there was an edge on his voice. “What difference does it make if I held out a sheep-shite soldat or two? You were froggin’ tickled a moment ago when you thought you had it all.”
Grabar took a long step back and raised his hands, palms outward, not in fists. “It’s fair. It’s fair. Keep what you’ve kept. No need to be tellin’ me how much you got—but you be the one to tell the wife that you won’t be eating her supper. I told her you’re needed around here; she made up a peace offering: mutton stew, just the way you like it. And you be tellin’ the boy that you’re back. You scared him for froggin’ fair this morning.”
Cauvin let loosening Flower’s harness serve as a reason to hide his face. He didn’t care if Mina and Grabar had taken his threats seriously, but Bec? He’d thought he’d set that to rights before he left.
“Froggin’ forget it,” Cauvin said, lifting the harness from Flower’s back and hanging it on the wall. The mule let out a jackass bray of relief and trotted into her stall. “Tell Mina I’m not going anywhere until I’ve had