Page 6 of Dishonor Among Thieves
“Never you mind, sir. Never you mind.” The clerk waved a hand at me, his eyes wide as he took in the man’s fine clothing and sleek hair. “I must be mistaken about this one.”
“This one?Are you referring to the lady?” His voice was imperious, and the clerk quickly warmed.
“The lady, yes, of course. This…refined…young lady right here.” The clerk was scrambling now, pulling out some kind of ledger from behind the counter. “I’ll just check the records… I’m sure I can sort this out and we can all be on our ways then, eh?”
The gentleman peered at the ledger before yanking it from the innkeeper’s hand. “This?” he challenged. “This is your ledger?” He flipped through the pages. Not a single word or figure was recorded. “I think the shire-reeve would be very interested to see whether yourrecordsand your taxes are in alignment.” He touched a fingertip to his lips. “Fraud, theft, manipulation… I don’t know the law in this shire, but I suspect there will be sufficient cause for an official investigation. Where is that Billy after all?”
“All right.” The clerk yanked his blank book back from the gentleman and slammed it closed on the counter. “Ya made yer point, sir. The young girl’s room is on the house. Now I’d ask ya both to take yer leave.”
The man with the sleek black hair dropped two silver coins on the counter. “I trust this will more than satisfy my bill. And any expense you’ve incurred from the lady’s stay.” He set a key almost identical to the one I’d been given on the counter, then turned to me. “Shall we?” he asked, offering me his elbow.
I frowned. I’d gotten away without paying for the room, not thanks to my wits or skill, but thanks to this man. If the shire-reeve had been called and I’d become embroiled in some type of scam… My heart sank as I realized even the shire-reeve might have been in on the ruse. What if he’d come and placed me under arrest? A sour taste filled my mouth as shame flushed my cheeks.
I slipped my hand in the crook of the gentleman’s elbow and turned to look over my shoulder at the clerk. I wrinkled my nose and stuck my tongue out at the nasty little man, giving in to my more immature impulses. Then I lifted my chin and followed my companion into the square. As soon as we out in the sunlight, I yanked my hand from his elbow.
“You’re welcome,” he said, nodding at me.
“I was not going to thank you,” I seethed, angry at myself, at the situation, and unable to control my fear from exploding from between my lips. “I had the money to pay for my room! I did nothing wrong!” I stopped my rant and glared at him. “Why are you here? I thought you said last night you’d be ‘gone from Fish Head’s End by morning!’” That last bit I said in a low voice intended to sound like his.
He didn’t appear amused by my mockery.
“That’s true, I did say—”
“You lied!” I snapped. “Why are you here, then? Where’s the friend you dined with at the pub last night? Or aren’t you a close enough friend to be invited to his home to wait out the curfew?”
The man’s eyes darkened at my words. He pointed behind him. “Myfriend,” he said, making it sound like his dinner companion was not a friend at all, “had too much ale to make it back to wherever it is he’s staying. I suspect if you and I hadn’t just been kicked out of that inn, we’d see him rolling out of a room with one of the ladies from the pub sometime around noon.”
“We weren’t kicked out,” I insisted. “I was sorting out a misunderstanding.”
“A misunderstanding which might have found you in shackles and answering to the shire-reeve had it gone on much longer.” He sighed as though I were exhausting him. He tugged his hood over his hair and stared at me, his bright yellow-gold eyes boring into my face. “Again, you’re welcome.”
He turned and strode toward the village square. I watched him walk away, realizing if he was still here, there was still a chance to persuade him to give me that job.
“You owe me,” I called out. “We’re nowhere near the point of me thanking you!”
He stopped fast, the hem of his cloak skimming the dusty path. “Debt? You believe I owe something to you?”
I took off at a run, catching up to him and peering up at his face. The rays of the early morning sun reflected off his unusual eyes, making them seem even more golden than they’d seemed in the pub. “You do realize,” I said, “that you bullied that man. Manipulated him with your wealth, your means. I don’t condone what he was doing. The greedy little goblin is a common thief.” I shuddered, trying not to let the irony of my accusation slow my argument. “But what you did? That was an unequal transaction.”
“Unequal transaction,” he echoed, his voice sputtering in disbelief. He narrowed his eyes and leaned close to me. “And yet it appeared to me when I stepped in and spoke up—on your behalf, I might add—that you were on the losing end of that unequal transaction.”
He was not wrong there.
I sighed. “Please. I feel as though we’re talking in circles, but truly, we have no dispute with each other.” I met his eyes, thoughtlessly reaching for the charm around my neck. My fingers itched, and I was badly in need of comfort. “I need a job. If you’re still looking for a caretaker…”
He shook his head. “No,” he barked, far too quickly. “This is not work I would entrust to one like you. It’s far too dangerous. Get yourself home or someplace safe. The world will eat alive innocents like you.” He began walking toward the stables, his steps long and his stride quick.
I struggled to keep up with him. “You have no idea how far from innocent I am,” I blurted out, immediately regretting my choice of words.
He turned and looked at me, a sly smirk on his full lips. “Is that so?”
I quickly shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts. “You said the job was dangerous. I’ve seen quite a bit in my life. I am trustworthy. I can manage any task…”
“Except perhaps paying for a room without being accosted by the innkeeper?” His voice was irritatingly smug.
“That’s not fair.” I followed him through the square as he walked at far too great a speed. “I cannot be blamed for someone else’s lack of honor. Can I? How is what happened my fault?”
He reached the village stable and turned back to face me. “I’m not blaming you for that, what happened back there. But I’m unconvinced that you have any right to demand the job that you should not even be aware I have. You were listening to my conversation. I know I was charged for more sausages than my companion and I ate. And then, there’s the matter of my eating blade…” He handed a quarter-coin to the stableboy. “I’m here for the blood bay,” he reminded the teen.
