Page 111 of Paladin's Faith

THIRTY-NINE

“Just as well, really,” said the artificer, stepping around the edge of the screen. “Sitting on that stool was going to put a permanent crease in my backside.” She made her way, slowly, to the small bench beside the table. Davith hastily jumped to his feet and pulled it out for her, bowing dramatically. This time her snort was clearly audible.

Ashes Magnus was seventy if she was a day. Shane thought that she might be older than she looked, because she was also very fat and had the sort of cherubic face that aged less quickly than her cohorts. She had immense sloping shoulders and nimble fingers so covered in ink and burns and small scars that it looked as if she were wearing patchwork gloves.

“Magnus,” Lord Nallan said, clearly dismayed. “Be you sure about this? We can still send these outlanders off with a flea in their ear.”

“No,” said the artificer with a sigh. “You’ve been nothing but kind to me, Lord, and I don’t plan to repay that by having your warriors killed for nothing. These Sail people are ruthless. It’s best I leave while I still can.”

“We don’t fear any hired lowlanders,” Lord Nallan said.

“They already burned my workshop. If they decide to burn your fields or start putting the outlying houses to the torch, your warriors will have their hands full.”

The lord glowered, but didn’t argue. His gaze lingered over the four outsiders. “And you be trusting these people?”

“Two of ’em are paladins. I’m not going to get a better deal than that. And the White Rat’s people are as good as holy folk get, and better’n most. Besides…” She grinned at Shane and Davith. “The view won’t be bad, at least.”

Shane coughed. Davith swept another bow, this time brushing the floor with the back of his hand. “Madam Artificer, you will put me to the blush.”

“Doubt anything’s put you to the blush since you were out of split pants, my lad,” Ashes said, firmly cementing Shane’s good opinion of her observational skills.

“I can send warriors with you—” Lord Nallan began.

Ashes was already holding up a hand. “You’ve done enough and more than enough. I’m already bringing trouble here, and I feel bad about that. You’ve put me up on no more than the word of a man that I know you don’t even care for, and don’t think I don’t know it.”

“At first, maybe,” Nallan said. “But Bryant tells me that that new chimney you showed him means we’re burning a lot less fuel to keep the air going, and any fuel we don’t have to use on that be more fuel for the forge. I’d ask you to stay for that alone.”

“Bah, it’s nothing,” said Ashes gruffly. “Bryant would likely have figured it out himself with time, he’s a quick lad.”

“Mmm,” said Lord Nallan, glancing in Marguerite’s direction. “You be taking care of her, you hear?”

“I promise you that we’ll put her safety above our own,” said Marguerite.

“You’ve got paladins, so that’s not saying much,” Ashes said, elbowing Davith in the ribs. “You’re not one though, are you lad?”

“No,” said Davith pleasantly, “I’m the entertainment.”

“Ha!”

Nallan shook his head. “If the Rat doesn’t treat you right, you’ve got a home here, Magnus. As long as I’m lord, anyway, and if my son doesn’t promise the same, he’s not the man I raised him to be.”

“Bah, don’t talk like that. You’ll outlive me by fifty seasons, I’m sure. But it’s good to know, nonetheless.” She leveled small, bright eyes on Marguerite. “The Rat’s gonna give me the money to build another device? The Sail dropped my workshop’s ceiling on top of the first one.”

“You’ll have to talk directly to the Bishop for that,” said Marguerite, “but if she doesn’t, she’s not the person I think she is. I’ll scrape up money for it myself, if I have to sell my body on the street.”

Shane cleared his throat. Marguerite winked at him. “You’re right, I’ll sell your body instead.”

“No one is selling anyone’s body until we talk to the Bishop,” said Shane firmly, then recognized the voice that was coming out of his mouth. It wasn’t even the paladin’s voice. It was… “Oh, Dreaming God, you’ve got me sounding like Beartongue now.”

Marguerite looked as smug as a cat who had been dipped in cream. Lord Nallan rose to his feet, still looking skeptical, but increasingly resigned. “Very well. If this is what you choose, Magnus, I’ll not be standing in your way.”

For obvious reasons, Lord Nallan did not throw a feast to celebrate Ashes’ leave taking, but he gave them full Nallan hospitality, which included fine food and, praise all the gods, beds. Good beds. In separate rooms, no less. (After a discreet word, a guard was posted outside of Davith’s door, but given the sounds he made upon seeing the mattress, it seemed unlikely to be necessary.)

Marguerite lay in her extremely comfortable bed and pretended that she wasn’t waiting for the door to open.

This lasted for about an hour, and then she pretended that she wasn’t disappointed that the door hadn’t opened.

It’s fine. He gets to choose. It’s fine.

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