The Magic of Recluce - L. E. Modesitt [72]
“Not right now, thank you.” I managed not to grin back at her, but she had asked.
Before turning from me, she wiped any expression from her face. Then she retrieved the mug from the soldier. “Another hard beer?”
“What else? That’s all you’ll ever provide, and I still have to pay for it.” The bearded man stared at the fire as tentative flames hissed over a pair of green logs.
Annalise disappeared through an open door into what I took to be the kitchen, reappearing with two mugs almost without leaving my sight.
Thump. Herlyt’s mug arrived without a word from the girl.
“Here you are, sir.” My mug came with a plate that held cheese and wheat bread. “Are you from Howlett, Eagle’s Nest, or Freetown?”
The stiffened position of the soldier alerted me.
“I guess I’d have to say not any of them. Came down the coast road and decided not to stay in Freetown with all the rain and gloom. They told me there were no ships anyway.”
The soldier relaxed fractionally, and the girl nodded. “That’s a long ride.”
I grinned. “It’s a cold ride.” Then I sipped the redberry, breaking off some cheese to go with a chunk of the wheat bread.
As I ate, forcing myself to take each bite slowly, she withdrew to the kitchen, and the soldier retreated into his mug.
“Sir…?”
An enormous steaming bowl appeared in front of me, accompanied by a smaller plate of spiced and sliced red apples. Both dishes were heavy earthenware, with the fine cracks of age radiating through the glaze.
Herlyt had been right about the stew, though; it was spicy, hot, and tasty. But I pushed back the bowl before I finished it, knowing that to eat any more would leave me ill, and then some.
“Will there be anything else?”
I glanced over at the soldier, slumped face down on the table.
“Later?” I asked, testing her earlier grin.
She shrugged, but did not smile.
“How much?”
“Five or a half-silver.”
After draining the redberry, I gave her a silver and got back five coppers, one of which went to her, and into her belt before she went into the kitchen.
With a regretful look backward, I climbed the creaking stairs to my room, checking my pack immediately once I had closed the door. Nothing had been touched.
Even as I struggled out of my trousers, I wondered if Annalise had really meant anything by that nod.
She hadn’t…or at least I collapsed into sleep with no gentle tapping on my door or other interruptions.
XXII
THE MORNING DAWNED no less dreary than the day before, drizzle and intermittent rain dropping from formless gray clouds that churned but never seemed to move.
I woke once before I got up, when the angular innkeeper replaced the water basin with fresh water, both quietly and efficiently, and with barely a glance toward me or the wardrobe. After that my eyes closed but my mind spun, asking question after question. Like, why was the Duchy of Freetown getting so much rain? Or why had a chaos-master been in the strange coach barreling toward the port? And why had he used a coach?
With a groan, I eased my feet over the side of the sagging bed, wincing as I did. My thighs were as sore as I could ever recall, even after beginning Gilberto’s conditioning exercises, and my shoulders were stiff. Sitting, even on the bed, was painful.
Washing helped, as did some stretching.
Then I checked my clothing. The cloak was dry, all the way through, as were my trousers. The dried mud on the legs mostly came off with a little scraping and the moistened edge of the towel I had used the night before. Still…I could see that washing my clothes was going to be another requirement before too long, unless I wanted to smell like the stable.
Outside the wind whistled, and the rain splatted against the inn. After dressing and pulling on my boots, I checked my pack, smiling as my fingers touched the book. The Basis of Order—I still hadn’t gotten around to looking at it, but I supposed I would, sooner or later. My father had a reason for everything.
I closed the pack and folded the cloak across it, debating whether to bring them downstairs with me. Finally