The Magic of Recluce - L. E. Modesitt [71]
As in Freetown and on the road, travelers seemed few indeed.
“Yes?”
The voice was the sharp one and belonged to a waspish lady dressed in a faded brown dress and stained yellow apron. Her face was clean, if angular, and her silver-streaked hair formed a neat bun at the back of her head.
“How much for a room, and some supper?” My voice was hoarse, rough from the wet and cold.
The eyes raked over me. “A silver a night.” She paused, and the dark vulture eyes took in my soaked cloak. “Paid in advance. That includes bread and cheese in the morning. Dinner is extra—what’s available on the bill of fare. Not much is left tonight.”
After fumbling with the obvious front pouch, I produced a silver and five coppers. “For me and for my horse.”
Part of the vulture look vanished as she took the coins. “You rode in this weather?”
“It seemed like a good idea when I started. Freetown wasn’t a place I wanted to stay. Then there wasn’t any place to stop, and…” I shrugged.
The woman glanced at the door, then back to me. “Hrisbarg is part of the duchy, and Majer Dervill likes to stop here.”
I got the message. “Travelers don’t always know the local weather, madam, and I was just hoping for a warm inn and some hot food.”
“We can help there. Just go in and sit down. Annalise will see to you shortly. Unless you want to see a room first?”
“I think I’d like to see the room. At least to lay out the cloak and dry out.”
“Clean towel and basin are another copper.”
“Two towels, with fresh water in the morning,” I countered.
She smiled. “In advance.”
So I paid another penny, wondering if I should have asked for a chit, but deciding against it. The towels were thick and clean, both of them, if a shade gray, and the basin held clean lukewarm water.
The room itself was barely large enough to hold the sagging double bed and battered red-oak wardrobe. The bed had a single coarse sheet over an even lumpier-looking mattress, covered with a heavy brown blanket. A wall sconce held a single scrawny candle that the thin innkeeper had lit from her lamp.
The door had no lock, but with so few guests I decided to risk my cloak and pack for the moment.
When I returned to the dining area, another body sat at the table closest to the fire, a man in a dark blue uniform and a posture that was arrogant even while slouched at the table and cradling a mug of something.
I took a wall table for two on the other side, not quite so close to the fire.
After a casual look at me, the soldier took another deep swallow from the mug. “Annalise!”
“A moment, please,” returned the pleasant voice I had heard but not seen earlier.
I stretched out, enjoying the warmth of the room and beginning to feel more human and less chilled.
“Thank you, Herlyt. I didn’t know we had another customer.” The blond girl, probably not even my age, nodded to the soldier.
“But…”
She ignored him and walked straight to my table, long blond braids swinging at her shoulders. “Good evening, sir. I’m afraid the larder is a little low tonight. We still have some bear stew, and a pair of chops, I think. Wheat or corn bread, and stewed spice apples. Also some white cheese.” The open smile displayed strong if uneven white teeth. The open low collar of the peasant blouse showed some other strong features, especially as close as she stood.
“Which is better, the chops or stew?”
“The stew,” called Herlyt. “Take the stew. Those chops have been heated every night for a week. Get me another mug, Annalise.”
Annalise raised her eyebrows, then nodded faintly.
“I’ll try the stew, cheese, apples, and a few slices of wheat bread. What is there to drink?”
“Mulled cider, hard beer, Largo wine, and redberry.”
“Redberry.”
“Real drinker you got there, Annalise. Real manly fellow.”
Annalise shrugged as if to dismiss the soldier. Then she grinned. “Would