The City of Splendors_ A Waterdeep Novel - Ed Greenwood [125]
As they fell past, forgotten, she found herself awake, bolt upright in bed, heart pounding.
A second shriek brought remembrance, fury, and her wits, all at once. Her landlady's new rooster, a large, handsome bird with pure white feathers and a keening crow piercing enough to make a banshee rise up and applaud, was an early riser with no respect for hard-working lasses who'd fallen into bed only two or three bells ago. "Blast it all to the Abyss and back!" Lark swore, pounding the bed with both fists. "Bugger that wretched fowl on a leeward run!"
She went on in this vein for some time, until thumping on the wall told her she'd awakened-and possibly offended-the sailor next door.
Muttering dire threats of chicken stew, Lark tossed aside her covers and stumbled to the window. If the sun had risen, its rays had yet to reach the small fenced yard behind her rooming house. A streetlamp, visible over the low roof of the stable next door, sparked and guttered as the last of the night's oil burned dry.
No sense burrowing back into the warmth; she was needed at the Dyres' by sunrise. Slamming and bolting her shutters, Lark fumbled for the flint to light her current candle-stub.
Its feeble circle of light reached all of her walls; Lark's room was barely large enough for its narrow cot and tiny table. A chest under the bed held her smallclothes and ribbons, and her two changes of clothing hung from hooks on the wall. Her carefully hoarded coins were in the vault in the Warrens, and they'd stay there until she'd earned enough to buy free of this place. This life.
Pouring water into her chipped washbasin, Lark dipped in a scrap of linen to wash. Out of long habit, she lingered over the mark of indenture on her upper arm, scrubbing it vigorously though she'd learned as a child that nothing she could do would make it go away. Someday she'd have coin enough for magic to remove the brand, but first must come her own shop and her own rooms… and before that, this day's work ahead.
She dressed swiftly, as the cock crowed several times more. She sent dark thoughts its way as she set off through the swiftly awakening streets.
To her surprise, Faendra met her at the kitchen door, still wearing her gray mourning gown. In silence she tilted her head meaningfully in the direction of her sister.
Naoni was sitting on the high kitchen stool, lacing her best slippers with sharp, impatient movements. Despite the early hour, she wore a fine pale green gown.
She looked up, her eyes bright as angry stars. "I'm glad you're early. If you'll help Faendra press the cheese, we'll change the mattress straw when I return."
Lark glanced at the younger Dyre sister, eyebrow crooked quizzically. Faendra rolled her eyes and towed Lark into the buttery. "It's about the man who's following us," she whispered.
"There's no need to do aught," Lark murmured, seeing again Elaith Craulnober speaking his promise. "He'll bother us no more."
"Good, but 'tis only one side of the coin. 'Twas Lord Helmfast hired the guard!"
"Ah." Lark's smile was less than nice. "Such a generous gift, and given with no thought of repayment."
"Generous indeed," Faen agreed, ignoring Lark's biting tone, "but like you, Naoni always thinks the worst of wealthy men. She assumes he's buying, not giving, and she's determined to let him know she's not for sale at this price or any other."
"Good for her. Better yet, I'll carry that message and save her the wear on her fine shoes and good name."
Faendra whispered in Lark's ear, "And take away her excuse to visit Korvaun Helmfast?"
Lark blinked. "Ye gods! Thus blows the wind?"
"Aye. She'll deny it, of course. Yet I've-"
"Faen!" Naoni called.
Her sister stepped back into the kitchen, her smile so open and guileless that none might guess she'd been gossiping.
None but Naoni, who sent her a narrow, knowing look.
Lark smiled. Her elder mistress was no fool-save, perhaps, when it came to her taste in men.
"Jivin's lurking in the herb garden," Naoni told her, "doubtless come early in hopes of a morning mug of ale.