The Gold Falcon - Katharine Kerr [61]
“Goodman Neb,” she said. “May I ask you a favor?”
“Certainly, my lady.” Neb bowed again. “I’d be honored.”
“Could you give this to Lady Galla?” Solla handed him a message tube, sealed at both ends.
“Nothing would be easier, and I’d be glad to.” Neb tucked the tube inside his shirt and settled it against his belt to keep it there.
“I do hope she’s well? It seems like such a lonely life, out there on the border.”
“She’s doing well, indeed. And she has company now, her niece, Lady Branna.”
“Oh, how nice for her.” But Lady Solla’s voice had turned flat, and she bit her lower lip. “I’ve not seen Branna for many years now. She was such a pretty child. No doubt she’s grown into a great beauty.”
“Not precisely, my lady. Now, I happen to think she’s the most beautiful lass in all Deverry, but most men would call her pretty or handsome.”
“Ah, I see.” Solla smiled again. “And does Branna favor you, perhaps?”
Neb suddenly realized that he’d been indiscreet, perhaps dangerously so. “I’m but a scribe in her uncle’s dun,” Neb said. “I assure you I’m always mindful of that.”
“Oh, come now, there’s no need to despair! After all, she’s a lass with no dowry, no position to speak of. If she decides that her rank matters naught, well, then, it won’t matter, will it?” Solla lowered her voice. “Should I see her again, I’ll speak well of you to her.”
“Would you?” Neb could feel himself grin and hastily sobered his expression. “My thanks, my lady, my great thanks.”
As the warband was mounting up, Neb noticed the lady standing in the doorway and watching them. From the direction of her glance, he could tell that it was Gerran who drew her interest. Oho! he thought. No wonder she was so kind to me. She thinks Branna is her rival. And of course, in a way she’s quite right. Neb urged his horse up next to the captain’s.
“Do you see Lady Solla over there?” he said. “She’s certainly a lovely lass.”
“I suppose.” Gerran scowled at him. “What—”
“I think she favors you highly. You’re a lucky man, Captain.”
“Ye gods! You’re as bad as that babbling gerthddyn!”
But Gerran did look the lady’s way and make her a half-bow from the saddle, a gesture that made her smile and acknowledge the captain with a ladylike wave. In smug satisfaction, Neb clucked to his horse and rode back to his place, farther down the line of march.
Only later did he hear his own voice speaking in his memory, saying that to him Branna was “the most beautiful lass in all Deverry.” A rush of feeling came with the memory: elation, triumph, and fear, all tangled together. He knew that he’d solved the riddle, that the dead lass of his dreams was indeed Branna, but how they could be the same person was a second riddle, and one that would take him a long time to solve.
After some searching, Salamander found an inn that catered to humans, not dwarves, or to be precise, he found a reasonably clean room above a tavern with a stable for his horses. Most merchants of the taller sort came with caravans and camped outside the town gates. Before he went out to work the market, he changed from his shabby riding clothes into a pair of new brigga of fine gray wool and a linen shirt, as stiff as canvas from the luxurious embroideries of flowers and interlace ments on the sleeves and yokes. Inside the shirt, under the concealing embroideries, lay loops of thread and little pockets where he hid the various items for his sleight-of-hand tricks.
The rest of his gear he stowed in a corner, then stuck his head out of the door and called to the tavern owner’s lad, a boy who was trying, with very limited success, to raise his first mustache.
“A bargain for you, lad.” Salamander reached up into empty air and produced ten shiny copper coins, which he spread across his palm. “See these coins?”
“I do, sir.” The lad’s eyes had gone very wide.
“Good. Now, I desire to go out and walk around the market, but I also desire to find all of my possessions here when I get back. Do you think you can keep them safe?