The Magic of Recluce - L. E. Modesitt [73]
Without even a single light, the narrow hallway appeared gloomier than the night before. My boots scuffed on the bare wood of the floor.
“…attack on Freetown…”
“…any of them around here.”
I paused at the top of the stairs, deciding to wait a moment to see what else the speaker said.
“The courier said there were two blackstaffs, and several others, including a black warrior, a damned woman.”
“Majer, I wouldn’t even know what a blackstaff looked like. All we have are two commercial travelers and some well-off young student. The commercial travelers I see three or four times a year. The student—he’s barely old enough to let loose on his own.”
“Did you see any weapons with him?”
“Weapons? Hardly. A short knife.”
“Where is he?”
“You might check by the fire.”
“Come with me, and point him out, Natasha…if you would be so kind.”
“Certainly, Majer…assuming he is there.”
Click…click…
As the heavy boots passed the stairs, I eased down the stairs further, casually, as if I had not heard a word, but trying not to step heavily.
Annalise stood by the desk counter, her eyebrows raised. Then she pointed toward the doorway and mouthed something.
I grinned, waved, and ducked through the main doorway, yanking on my cloak as I did so. While the majer and Natasha looked for me by the fire, I dashed through the rain to the stable, glad I had brought the pack with me.
Sploosh, sploosh…sploosh, sploosh, sploosh…My boots sloshed through the puddles in the courtyard clay.
The wide sliding door was ajar. The stableboy was nowhere to be seen as I scurried toward Gairloch.
Rain or no rain, storm or no storm, I needed to put some distance between me and Freetown’s finest. While they might be persuaded that I was not a blackstaff, something told me that the majer was under orders to round up anyone who might be from Recluce. The questioning would not be gentle.
I would have liked to see whether Annalise had anything in mind besides flirting…but that was out now. Besides, she only had played up to me to avoid Herlyt, or because any man with a horse was bound to have money.
Trying to saddle Gairloch in the dim inn stable was a joy, knowing that I didn’t have much time. First, I got the saddle blanket on sideways. Gairloch whinnied at that, but he didn’t actually buck until I threw on the saddle.
Thunk. The saddle slammed down on my feet and onto the planking.
“All right, you miserable beast.” I rearranged the saddle blanket, then eased the saddle into place, but could barely get the cinch closed.
Gairloch, gray-looking in the gloom, skittered but did not make a sound as I fumbled with the closures. Something…
Finally, I reclaimed my staff from the straw and placed the black wood firmly, but gently against the pony’s forehead.
“Whufffffff…” When he let out his breath I yanked the cinch tight. I suppose I could have kicked him, the way the saddler in Freetown had, but using violence unnecessarily bothered me…besides being boring. The staff trick worked, although why the pony would pay attention, I still didn’t know. That bothered me, too, but not as much as kicking him would have.
I had trouble with the hackamore, until I slowed down and forced myself to be calm. All that left was tying my pack in place and putting the staff in the lance cup. Then I untied Gairloch and walked him to the sliding door of the stable.
“Hallo! Hallo, the inn!”
That voice was too hearty for my liking. Even behind the stained beams and planks of the stable door, I could picture yet another duchy cavalry officer, dripping rain from his shiny blue or gray waterproof, looking for a warm brew and a solid stew, or for the majer with even worse news or more punitive orders.
“Damnable innkeeper…no stableboy on a morning like this…”
Realizing he was coming in, stableboy or not, I tied Gairloch to the beam fronting the first stall, then swung the door open.
“You…keeping an officer in the rain…” The officer, wearing a gold leaf on his collar, had been reaching for the door. He stood at least a half-head taller than me, and his horse made