Page 79 of Charmless
Stunned, I let go of the bottle. “My father askedyouto protect me? Why?”
“Because the foolish man trusted me.” Withypole’s hand trembled as he measured himself out another drink. “If anything happened to him, I promised to look out for you. But I have made poor work of it, miserable useless creature that I am.”
“I knew you were acquainted with my father, but I had no idea you were his friend.”
“I am not a good friend to anyone. Leave me alone.”
“Mr. Fugitate… Withypole, please. I have so many questions and you could give me the answers. Especially about this.”
I retrieved the piece of parchment from my cloak and slapped it down on the table between us. Withypole froze in the act of raising his glass to his lips. His eyes bulged, his face draining so white I feared he was about to faint.
“Where did you get that?” He lowered his glass and tried to snatch the paper, but I was quicker, drawing it back out of his reach.
“I found it in a book in Papa’s library. I remembered the night Hiram Hawkridge gave it to him.”
“What? You should not have been able to recall anything about that night. Your memory was befogged. I?—”
“You what?” I prompted.
Withypole refused to look at me, clutching his face in his hands. Suddenly it was as though the last wisps of mist clouding my mind vanished. I could clearly see the man who had been concealed in Papa’s wing back chair, rising to his feet.
“It wasyou,” I cried. “You were the third person at that midnight meeting.”
“No, no!” Withypole made a muffled denial from behind his hands. I pried one of them away, obliging him to look at me.
“I remember everything, Mr. Fugitate.”
Withypole regarded me with anguished eyes. “Why can I never do anything right? I was sure I had succeeded in erasing your memory.”
“Why would you do such a thing to me?”
“Because you were only a little girl and there were things too dangerous for you to know.”
“Like about the fairy orb and the missing heir?”
“Keep your voice down,” Withypole hissed.
I looked behind me. The men in the tavern continued to sweep and scrub, although they were not achieving much beyond shifting the dust and dirt from one corner to another.Despite their fear, I detected a curiosity in their eyes as they stole wary glances at me and Withypole.
I shoved to my feet, waving the Fear Blade.
“Enough cleaning!” I commanded.
Everyone froze, the proprietor making an absurd attempt to hide behind his broom.
“It is time for you all to clear out of here and go home to your wives.”
“But I haven’t got a wife,” the little bald man wailed.
“Then go find one,” I snapped.
“Yes, miss. Right away, miss.”
The ruffians nearly tripped over each other, pushing, and shoving in their haste to get out the door. The tavern’s owner backed away trembling, wielding his broom like a shield until he was able to vanish through an arch behind the bar. The only one left in the taproom was the drunk sprawled out on the floor and he showed no sign of stirring.
As I resumed my seat, Withypole said, “You realize that witch’s spell is going to wear off as soon as those rogues get far enough away from you. They’ll wonder what happened and come creeping back.”
“I will be ready for them if they do,” I said, laying the blade on the table. I was dismayed to realize the parchment was missing. Withypole had used my momentary distraction to seize it.
