Page 76 of The Orc's Thief
“What do you mean?” Arlon asks.
“This could be the date,” she says, pointing to a series of lines and dots, “and there’s a column for every month of the year, if you count them. Then this here would signify the nature of the trade—payment for a service or goods.”
When we stare at her blankly, she clicks her tongue and hauls a large, leather-bound ledger from beneath the counter.
“See, this is one of mine.” She turns the book so we can both see the numbers and lowers her voice. “I pay Jillie down the road an exorbitant amount for eggs every month, as you can see, but she only uses the best feed for her chickens, so those are the damn best eggs in the village. She delivers them weekly. Then there’s the goat cheese from Mr. Hough’s cows—that’s also a monthly payment. And all my grooms’ salaries, paid out every week.”
The neat columns are marked in clean shorthand, with an E for eggs and a C for cheese, unlike Damen’s cryptic notes, but the structure of the ledger is similar, just as she said.
“So you think these are all new employees?” I ask, returning to the stolen pages.
Mistress Maeve nods. “With the first month’s payments already gone out, if I’m reading this correctly.”
I exchange a glance with Arlon, then fold and pocket the ledger pages again.
“Thank you so much,” I tell the innkeeper. “This was very helpful.”
She shrugs. “My pleasure.”
A muscle twitches in Arlon’s jaw, as if he’s mulling something over. I raise my eyebrows at him, and he grimaces before placing a handful of silver coins on the bar.
“Should people come looking for us, or for my wife, specifically, in the next couple of days, we would be much obliged if you told them we took the southern road out of town.” He nudges the coins closer to the innkeeper. “Unless it’s orcs bearing the same colors as me, that is.”
Mistress Maeve eyes the yellow and green embroidery at the hem of Arlon’s tunic. I hadn’t noticed it before, but now that he’s pointed it out, I realize it’s on his jacket as well, and the same yellow and green ribbons were tied to his horse’s tack. These must be the Bellhaven Clan colors, different from the ones representing the clan we’re heading toward.
“I don’t want any bad business in my house,” the innkeeper says firmly. “Whatever issues you have are no concern of mine.”
Arlon nods gravely. “And I understand that. We don’t mean any harm, but the people who might be following us do. It’s in your best interest to be mindful of anything strange happening around here, especially since yours is the only inn in the area.”
She purses her lips, then finally palms the coins and drops them into the pouch at her waist. “Fine. Since we’re talking about this, I did have some people disappear in the night. They paid upfront, so I didn’t think anything of it at the time, but they left without waking anyone. Even the grooms were surprised to find their horses missing.”
Dread pools in the pit of my stomach. But Arlon snaps into warrior mode, shifting to place himself between me and the bar, as if expecting a band of armed criminals to burst through the door at any moment.
“Who was it?” he demands, glowering at the innkeeper.
I think of the man who’d been sitting alone at the bar last night, bent over his plate. He could have been a spy for the Ravens.
“A young couple,” the innkeeper says. “I don’t usually pay much attention to what my guests are up to, but those twodanced all evening and seemed so happy together. Now, though, I wonder…” She half turns toward the kitchen, then adds, “One of my girls said something that stuck with me. I’m thinking it might be connected to your issue.”
I lean in, dreading the news. “What was it?”
“Well,” Mistress Maeve draws out the word, clearly enjoying holding us in suspense, “she went to deliver a pitcher of hot water to their room and surprised the woman. She wasn’t indecent, as you might think, but she had a whole array of knives spread out on the bed, cleaning them, or so it seemed.”
Silence falls as we both digest the story.
“Fuck,” Arlon murmurs. “It could be nothing—they might not have been waiting for us. But we have to be more vigilant from now on.”
I clench my hands, trying to stay calm. “Did anyone see which way they went? Any of the other villagers?”
“Not that I know of,” the innkeeper replies. “But you might ask around if it’s important to you. Drop my name, and people will be more likely to talk to you.”
We thank her and return to our table, but Arlon doesn’t sit down. Instead, he shoulders his bags and picks up mine as well, his movements effortless.
“We have to leave,” he tells me. “Ask the maids for some food for the road, and I’ll get the horses ready.”
He reaches into his pouch for money, but I wave him off. I have the money I stole from him, after all. He gives me a reluctant smile and disappears through the door.
I ask the first maid I see for some lunch we can take with us—packed into two separate bags.
