Sanctuary - Lynn Abbey [45]
Cauvin couldn’t think of a way to answer that question without backing himself into a froggin’ deep, dark corner. “Froggin’ gods all be damned, Bec, the—” Cauvin barely kept himself from blurting out the geezer’s name. “The old man told me to go to the Broken Mast to redeem a box—that box, the one you’ve put back together—so I’d have the coins to buy him froggin’ parchment, ink, and quills tomorrow morning before I go out to the red-walled ruins.”
“The old man, he’s a seaman?”
“Froggin’ gods—he’s an old man, the oldest I’ve ever seen. His pizzle shriveled up years ago.”
“You saw it?”
“No!” Cauvin raked his hair in frustration. “Look, he gave me a token, I took it to the tavern, and redeemed the box. That’s froggin’ it. There’s nothing more to tell.”
“You were gone a long time.”
“I stopped at the Unicorn on my way home. To see Leorin.”
“Did you make babies?”
The ale Cauvin had drunk at the Unicorn was souring in his gut. He covered his eyes and shook his head repeatedly. “That’s not a question you ask someone, Bec. Not anyone, not froggin’ ever. It’s late, too late. Mina will have our froggin’ hides if she finds out you’re outside the house.”
“Did you?”
“Are you listening to me? That’s no froggin’ concern of yours.”
“She’s mean, Cauvin. Reenie’s real mean. I bet you told her about the old man, though, and getting the box from the Mast and the coins.”
Cauvin lowered his hand. “Yes, I told Leorin about the old man. I showed her the box. We’ve pledged to each other. We don’t keep secrets.”
“And she still didn’t let you make babies with her? Even after she’d seen silver and gold together?”
If it hadn’t been his nine-year-old foster brother asking outrageous and barbed questions, Cauvin would have been pounding his questioner’s skull against the nearest wall. As it was, Cauvin could barely keep his hands at his sides. “All right—since you’re so froggin’ determined—when Leorin saw how much was in the box, she wanted us to leave Sanctuary right away—tonight, in fact.”
The boy was at an age where words could hurt more than blows. He shrank in his skin, and whispered, “What did you tell her?”
“That I had to come back to the froggin’ stoneyard.”
Bec’s mouth worked, but moments passed before he made a sound. “You’re leaving, Cauvin? You’re really leaving and not coming back forever?”
By the way Bec glanced around the loft, a stranger might have thought he was a cat cornered and looking for a way to escape. Cauvin knew better: The boy was checking the whereabouts of the few possessions Cauvin called his own. They were few enough in number and less in value. Had Cauvin meant to leave Sanctuary, he’d never have bothered to collect them, but for the boy’s sake, he made a different excuse—
“I gave my froggin’ word to that old pud. I told him I’d be back in the morning with his froggin’ parchment and quills. Gods all be damned, Bec—he’s an old pud. Got no business spending a night like this in a roofless ruin. I left him with fire and wood for the night, but sure as shite, he’s wounded in the leg and can’t stand to tend it—” In his mind’s eye Cauvin saw the Torch sprawled helpless and dying on the cold ground. “I should’ve taken him to the palace. He wouldn’t go but, frog all the rotted gods, I should’ve just drug him; he couldn’t have froggin’ stopped me.”
“You should’ve gotten him blankets and a flask of brandy to keep himself warm if you were gonna leave him out in the ruins all night.”
Cauvin nodded absently. He owed the Torch an armload of the best blankets and brandy in Sanctuary along with the best parchment, best quills, and ink. The old pud had made him a rich man.
“What did Reenie say when you told her about the old man?”
“She didn’t think I needed to come back here, Bec. Sure as shite she didn’t tell me to check on the geezer,” Cauvin conceded.
He could purchase brandy at any tavern, but Mina made their blankets, and he couldn’t very well ask her for help.
“I’ll bet she did. I’ll bet she asked if he had any more boxes filled with gold and silver.