The Bristling Wood - Katharine Kerr [157]
Jill considered him and his story both over a sip of ale. Although she was inclined to think every inhabitant of the Bilge a liar, she doubted very much that a man like him had the imagination to think up so detailed and strange a description of this Briddyn fellow. When she looked at the other men, listening carefully at their table, she realized that her informant’s little tale had made them uneasy, too. Yet, something simply smelled wrong. She slid over the last silver piece.
“My thanks. Now, this Briddyn was staying at the Golden Dragon Inn, but I’ll wager he’s long gone by now.”
“No doubt.”
In one fluid motion she drew her dagger with her right hand and grabbed his shirt with the left, dragging him half onto the table. Except for one slight shudder, he went perfectly still, staring into her eyes like a rat mesmerized by a ferret. He apparently could tell that she wanted to kill him just for the satisfaction of seeing blood run.
“Listen to me carefully, or you die. The first thing you said to me was this: ‘I had naught to do with getting him away.’ Getting him away where? You know more than you’re telling.”
He whimpered then, and threw a desperate look to the others sitting at their table. None of them moved; one even made an ostentatious show of drinking from his tankard, as if naught in the world troubled him at that moment.
“You whoreson scum,” she went on. “I came here willing to pay good coin for what you know, and you hold out on me. Has the Bilge fallen on evil times? A man used to be able to buy what he wanted here.” She laughed, a little mutter that was utterly crazed, and let him go with a shove that had him reeling in his chair. “Answer me. Get him away where?”
“I don’t truly know.” The fellow was whining like a child. “I don’t. Please believe me. All I know is that Briddyn said that once we had him, he’d be taken away. So we didn’t have to worry, like, about having to kill him or suchlike.”
There was more—she knew it—but the others were beginning to get restless, and there were, after all, five of them as well as her informant. Jill rose, keeping the dagger in hand.
“You in the blue brigga! Get your hand away from that throwing dagger, or I’ll nail you with mine.”
With an oddly good-natured grin he complied, settling down again on the bench. The tavernman stepped forward.
“Get out, silver dagger. Get out of my tavern now. You have what answer you get. No one knows what happened to Rhodry. Briddyn must have gotten him, and after that, no one knows. Now get out.”
“Well and good, then. I will. Oh, I believe you well enough. Who knows where the hawks fly, huh?”
She’d said it just as an idle chance, a random bit of bait, but the trap sprung closed fast As the blood drained from his face, his dark skin turned as gray and sickly as dirty snow.
“I said get out.” He could barely whisper. “Get out before you die.”
The Deverry men watched in sincere puzzlement at his terror. Jill stepped closer, raising the dagger, and let herself laugh, that same crazed chortle, wailing higher and higher until he sank to his knees in the straw.
“Here!” One of the others rose to his feet. “What are you doing to our Araelo?”
“Leave him alone!” The tavernman was screaming now. “Leave him alone! Get out! All of you!” Then he burst into tears, dropping his face into his hands.
The men sat as if turned to stone. Jill stopped laughing cold, sheathed the dagger, and walked out. It took all her will, but she left slowly, calmly, and strolled down the middle of the street for about a hundred yards. When she glanced back, she saw that the door of the Red Man was closed—and bolted on the inside, too, she’d wager. She let out her breath in a long sigh and felt a fear-cold sweat running down her back and breasts under the leather jerkin. It was time to