Page 37 of The Iron Dagger
“Good riddance to good rubbish. It served me well,” he said, fastening his cloak about his shoulders. His courtly attire suited him, and Hara caught herself gawking before she turned away with warm cheeks. The ill-dressed man she’d become accustomed to had transformed into a tall, intimidating stranger.
He turned those pale blue eyes to her and said, “Now, it’s your turn. We need to find a shop, Madam Witch Hunter.”
They rode Ruteger into the small hamlet of Mortimer. After tying him to a mounting post, they roamed the square, trying to find a shop where they could buy suitable clothing.
They’d barely exchanged more than a few words that morning, and Hara wondered if the awkwardness was due to regretful feelings on his part. Much as she would like to deny it, she felt no such regrets. Hara couldn’t with full confidence say she would turn him down if such a thing happened again. If that was what his fingers could do, she was intensely curious about the rest of him, and she knew that made her a fool.
Soon they would be back at court with his father nearby and the important task of finding her mother. They would not have time to steal moments with each other, and if they did, it would be unwise. No doubt his father and Corvus had spies.
With a small sigh, Hara tried to keep her mind from wandering to those passionate words of desire he had whispered against her neck at the height of her pleasure. She would examine them later, when she was alone in bed.
Finally, Gideon spotted a promising establishment.
“Aha. Secondhand goods. We’re likely to find something suitable in there.”
They stepped into the shop and their nostrils were assaulted with the musty smell of shelves upon shelves of travel-worn items. There were old cooking pots, bedding rolls, herbs for medicine, iron charms to ward off magic-folk, weapons, books, and clothing.
“Looking for something in particular?” the ruddy faced shopkeeper asked as he glanced up from his scales.
“Courtly attire for a witch,” said Gideon.
The man jerked his thumb before turning back to his bookkeeping. “Over there.”
A trunk in the corner overflowed with cloaks, boots, and traveling garb, so Gideon and Hara set to work. They sifted through clothing in various states of disrepair until Gideon was satisfied that they had found what they needed to make her into a convincing witch hunter.
They brought the clothing to the counter, and the man glanced at their pile. “Sixteen silver marks.”
Gideon nodded and said, “Would you have a storeroom we could use to change? Want to be sure everything fits.”
The man waved them towards a dank store room stacked haphazardly with boxes and musty goods.
“You don’t have to come in with me,” she said as Gideon made to follow her. He had seen her in her shift many times, but now, the thought of him watching her change into the new clothing made her feel shy. He had seen and felt her come undone on his fingers just hours ago.
Thankfully, Gideon did not press her, and he waited on the other side of the cloth hanging.
The supple hide of the black trousers clung to her legs, and she had to shimmy and hop about to pull them up. It felt unseemly to reveal the shape of her legs, but that was the least distasteful thing about this outfit.
The deep-crimson cloak looked like a mantle of blood as she fastened it around her shoulders. She raised the hood over her head, and her soft brown curls disappeared in shadow so that only the bottom half of her face was visible. The shining points of her eyes in the darkness of the hood gave her a forbidding aura, and Hara quickly lowered it. It was an effective disguise.
When she emerged from the storeroom, Gideon and the shopkeeper turned to study her. The red cloak caught the shopkeeper’s eye.
“Going witch hunting, are you?” said the man, nodding approvingly as he slipped some coins into his strongbox. “Lots of coin to be made from it, but they’re harder to find nowadays. They’ve grown clever, working their wiles on the fringes. Why, this past summer’s drought was caused by a witch what lived in my sister’s village. Turned her in and it rained the next week. We need more trustworthy magic-folk to turn in the evil ones, smoke them out like vermin. If Norwen wasn’t so soft . . . ”
Hara ignored the man’s distasteful ramblings. She noticed that Gideon held two bone knives sheathed in a belt, apparently purchased while she had been changing. His eyes had not left her, and Hara felt a hint of self-consciousness.
“Are those for me?” she asked, indicating the knife belt.
Gideon nodded and stepped forward, looping the harness about her waist. “The Recruiters use these, I’ve been told.”
It made sense, Hara thought. It would be too uncomfortable for most witches to wear steel. The bone daggers rested against her hips, easily concealed by the cloak but within reach. Hara hoped the mere sight of them would be enough warning to would-be attackers.
“Do you know how to use them?” he asked.
“No, but—” she began, but he was already slipping his hands beneath her cloak, bracketing her waist to grip the handles of the daggers.
“Watch carefully,” he said and, faster than an adder, unsheathed them and turned to the shopkeeper, who ceased his blathering immediately.
Gideon leapt over the counter and backed the man against a display of Mycanese crossbows behind him. One blade was pressed against the man’s throat, while the other was pressed just under his ribs.
