The Seeker - Isobelle Carmody [136]
She nodded thoughtfully, her eyes on Darga. “A fine creature that, for all he puts me in mind of th’ Herder breed.”
“I’ve heard they use dogs to protect the Isle,” I said.
“An’ th’ cloister here in Aborium. But who in their right mind would want to break into one?” She looked at Darga again with faint unease. “Yet he’s a match, though small an’ th’ wrong shape. Well, th’ inn ye seek is just a step from here. Ye dinna say who ye were lookin’ for.”
“A seaman,” I stalled.
She cackled. “A seaman? Ha! Well, what else would ye find a man doin’ in a seaport? I myself ha’ two strappin’ sons, an’ my bondmate were a seaman, too, Lud rest his head.”
“The man I’m looking for is called Brydda Llewellyn,” I said.
The color drained from the washerwoman’s face.
“What is it?” I asked quickly.
She smiled, a horrible false twist of her lips. “ ’Tis naught. I were thinkin’ somethin’ else for a minute. I hardly heard ye. I dinna know th’ name.”
“She is afraid,” Darga sent as the old woman took me onto the street and pointed the way to the inn. I felt her eyes boring into my back until I was out of sight.
“What happened?” Darga asked when we had gone out of her sight.
“I don’t know. One minute we are talking like two sisters, and the next she looks as if I murdered her best friend. And all after I mentioned the name of Katlyn’s son.”
“He is well known?” Darga suggested.
“I don’t know what it means, but I don’t like it.”
The inn was not far from Luma’s house, and rather than being the grand place I had half imagined, it was a modest establishment with a faintly dingy air and peeling paint. Along the front was a stone veranda where men sat in the fading twilight talking in low voices. Wishing I had reached the inn before dark, I told Darga to wait in the street. “If I don’t come out within an hour, go back to the others.”
“Better not to go in,” he sent.
I glanced down at him, wondering what he sensed. “I don’t want to, but I promised.”
The men on the porch fell silent as I approached. I asked for the manager of the inn in what I hoped was a confident voice. One of the men jerked his head toward the door.
“Thank you,” I said.
The reception room was dim and cool. For a moment, I could see nothing and blinked, trying to accustom my eyes to the lack of light.
“What do you want?” asked a sharp voice. I jumped and heard a snicker of laughter. A woman and two men were sitting near the window, silhouetted against the fading pink sunset.
I swallowed dryly. “I’m … looking for a man. I have a message to deliver.”
“What is his name?” the woman asked coldly.
I made myself speak, though I was regretting not listening to Darga. “Brydda Llewellyn.”
A match flared and a lamp was lit on the table, illuminating the narrow, ratty face of the manageress and the hard, wary faces of the men.
The woman smiled, a folding rather than a curve of thin lips. “Brydda lives at the inn, but he has been on his boat this last moon. He will be here tomorrow morning. I can let you have a room for tonight.”
Again the sour smile, and as she rose, dark satin skirts rustled around her feet like a nest of snakes. “Come with me,” she commanded, and I dared not refuse. The inn was larger than it looked, and I was filled with unease as she took me downstairs where there were a number of bedrooms. The room she gave me was halfway down a hall and had a narrow window, level with the street. It was sparsely furnished.
“This is the only room we have free. Best if you keep to it until morning. The men who stay here are not used to having women around. I’ll send water for you to wash and some supper.”
Forcing a smile, I went across and tested the springs of the bed. “It’s been a while since I’ve slept in a bed,” I said casually. “I don’t mind a bit of rest.”
“I’ll lock the door so you’re not disturbed. Ring the bell if you want anything.” She nodded smugly and departed.
My false smile fell away the minute the door closed, for I had no doubt I was a prisoner. The moment I tried to leave, the thinly veiled pretense would end. I pushed a bench to the window