The merchant secured that lead rope to another loop nailed to the back of the bench and called over his shoulder, “I suggest you climb up quickly.” He flicked the reins and spurred his horse into movement.
Rahlizje had only a few seconds to put it all together before the rope around her waist gave her a sharp tug. She stumbled forward after the cart, then reached the open gate he’d neglected to close and leaned forward onto it until she could push her boots off the dirt road and roll into the bed of the cart.
It took her some time to unravel herself from the extra lead rope dangling behind her captor, but at least she wasn’t bound to the side of the cart until they stopped again. She crossed her legs beneath her and sat, wrists tied behind her back, swaying with the rocking motion of their slow and steady ride north.
That was when she realized all her practice with cracking open those who thought themselves better, smarter, or more capable than herself had been rendered entirely useless with this mercenary merchant. For all intents and purposes, it seemed he truly was all those things. Whatever he meant to do with her at the end of their shared journey, Rahlizje was running out of options, and the experience was entirely new to her.
Chapter 4
After that, Rahlizje ate and drank everything the man had to offer. They didn’t speak beyond her calling out for two more brief stops that day. The mercenary didn’t seem to hold any reservations about fulfilling her requests, and she did not tempt her own fate by trying to escape from him again. Their second night on the wide road leading north, the man left her in the cart once more, tied to iron ring in the sideboard. But he went so far as to settle a rough woolen blanket smelling of horse over her shoulders, and she thought he might have made his camp and the fire a bit closer to the wagon than the night before.
The odd pair passed only one other traveler—a silent man on horseback who barely acknowledged them—before they reached a long, squat building at the point where this road and another from the west met at a T. It was the first time since she’d been knocked unconscious and abducted as a prisoner that Rahlizje had seen anyone else but the one-eyed merchant who’d made himself her keeper. Even after just over two days alone with him, the sight of so many strangers bustling around the first occupied building along the road nearly overwhelmed her.
When they approached what looked like a barracks building but was clearly something else, a team of men were already hard at work loading barrels and crates of supplies into two large wagons pulled up beside the stable on the northern end of the property. They gave the merchant and his mostly empty cart a few brief, cursory glances before returning to their work, conversing easily amongst themselves.
Rahlizje glanced at the main building and the brightly painted wooden sign hanging over the door. This was her first visit to Gileath Junction, as the sign proclaimed, and she was making it as a filthy, rancid thief tied up for her crimes.
The merchant cleared his throat as he brought his horse and the cart to a slow stop. Then he turned to look at her over his shoulder. “Don’t get any ideas.” He leapt off the cart and set to unhitching his horse. The beast seemed completely unaffected by the growing bustle around them outside the main building, nor did the animal seem to care an inch for the two mules milling about in the small paddock behind the stable. Rahlizje glared after the mercenary merchant, who amicably greeted the young men loading up the carts. One of them took his horse and led it toward the stable and the trough, and the one-eyed man headed toward the front door of Gileath Junction.
He was in there less than half an hour, but that was quite long enough. When the man emerged from the long stone building again, he was accompanied by three other people, two of them in riding leathers. The third broke off from their group to shout something at the men loading the wagons, his bald pate glistening in the morning sun. The others headed right for Rahlizje and the cart.
“Well, you never lack in entertainment.” A man with short white hair and an equally white beard and mustache shook his head with a small smile. “Taltaz, the Merchant of Gethlem. Taking personal requests from landholders and traveling with an empty cart.”
“Not completely empty,” the woman beside him added. Her hair was the same bone-white as the man’s, though it was quite long and fell in a thick braid over her shoulder. With dark, piercing eyes, she studied Rahlizje, her lips pressed firmly together.
“No.” The one-eyed merchant apparently called Taltaz leaned over the front of his cart to retrieve his satchel. “That piece of cargo will end up costing me far more than I bargained for if I can’t find an interested party.” Rahlizje felt his gaze on her for only a few seconds. “Might be the first.”
“Who is she?” the old man asked, peering at her as if she were a hunter’s catch for trade and not a person who could see and hear the entire exchange.
“A thief.”
“Bounty on her head?”
Taltaz swung the satchel over his shoulder and turned to face his acquaintances. “No. Only on what she took.”
“Hmm.” The white-haired man stroked his beard. “And you’re toting her along because…”
“I mean to take her with me as far as Arahaz,” Taltaz replied. “If there’s no use for her between here and there, I wager I’ll just have to cut my losses.”
“She must have some use beyond the added weight in your—”
“She can talk,” Rahlizje growled. “And hear.”
All three of them eyed her in surprise. The older man blinked rapidly, his mouth popping open, then roared with laughter. “Oh, aye. She’ll cost you.” He turned toward the Merchant of Gethlem and clapped a hand on Taltaz’s shoulder. “And you insist on maintaining your tall tale, eh?”
“Not a tale, Mattheus.” Taltaz shared a glance with the old woman standing beside the cart and nodded. Then he turned with the other man, and they headed toward the building together.
“The temple witch is a story to scare children out of their swaddling clothes,” Mattheus added. “Where are you really headed?”
“Let’s put it this way. I’ll meet all your prices, and you continue to stay off my route.” Chuckling, the men disappeared through the thick wooden door.
Rahlizje stared after them for a bit longer, then glared at the woman still regarding her beside the cart.
“Nina,” the woman said, stepping into action now that the men had disappeared. She rounded the back of the cart and set to untying the lead rope from the iron ring mounted in the wood. “If you wish to address me, that is my name.”
With no desire for small talk—especially with those who both knew Taltaz the merchant and were entirely unaffected by his arrival here with a live prisoner—Rahlizje said nothing. She remained as she was on her knees, wrists bound behind her, and stared at the front of Gileath Junction’s single stone building. But she heard Nina slip the free end of rope through the iron loop before the woman unlatched the cart’s back gate. Slowly, Rahlizje turned her head.
“You are unarmed,” the woman said. “I’m not.” It wasn’t an angry threat but a statement of pure fact. Rahlizje had not forgotten this, and neither had anyone else, it seemed. With a curt nod and a wave of her gloved hand, Nina beckoned the thief forward out of the cart. Rahlizje did not look away from this old woman who acted just like Taltaz, even as she shifted her feet from beneath her and inched forward on her backside to the end of the lowered gate.
When she jumped out onto the dirt, the woman made no move to untie her wrists. Instead, Nina held the lead rope tied around Rahlizje’s waist—much as Taltaz had for the last few days—and nodded toward the building. Like a broken horse, the thief followed her new apparent caretaker, keeping a few feet behind the old woman. The rope hung slack between them and occasionally swung into the dirt. Then Nina pushed open the door and led her charge into the long front room of Gileath Junction.
It was quite dark inside—just a few flames flickering within the mounted lanterns and only one window letting in light on the right-hand w
all behind the huge, empty hearth. There, Taltaz and the old man named Mattheus, who looked so much like Nina, spoke in low tones at a table. A long, low bar stretched nearly the entire length of the back wall, where two young men stopped their conversation over a few pints of ale to view the rare spectacle of the filthy, stinking woman being led behind the bar by their employer. No one said a word.
Nina led her even farther through the building, past the larder on the other side of the partition behind the bar. After that, they came to a narrow hallway with half a dozen doors, and the old woman stopped to open one of them. This room was currently used for storage, filled with empty, haphazardly stacked barrels; a few casks of wine; broken or soon-to-be broken chairs and tables, a few stacks of linens, and an enormous pile of crates in the back. A massive tin washbasin sat in the center of the room.
With the rope in one hand, the old woman hooked her boot around a chair leg, pulled the furniture toward her, and lifted the chair with her other hand. She spun it around to face Rahlizje and muttered, “Sit.”
The thief did as she was told, wondering just how much she was to become a part of the abandoned, forgotten things in here. The thought didn’t sit well with her, but she said nothing as Nina tied the end of the lead rope to the spigot of the ale barrel in the center of the precarious stack. Then the woman left and closed the door behind her.
Rahlizje sighed and shifted in the chair, looking over her shoulder at the tower of barrels. It was smart, at least; if she tried to run, the entire tower would come crashing down behind her. There was no way to untie the lead rope or her own hands, with them bound behind her back, and no doubt that barrel would keep her from getting very far at all. So she was to wait, then.
The woman gave Rahlizje plenty of time to wonder just what would happen to her here in the storage room. The repeating squeak of a rickety wheel warned her of Nina’s return before the door slowly opened again. In came a small wooden pushcart carrying half a dozen tin pails. Then the old woman entered, pushing the whole thing across the dusty wooden floors. She stopped beside the washbasin and unceremoniously dumped one steaming pail after the other into it. Even when the scalding water splashed back up onto the woman’s hands, arms, and possibly her face, Nina gave no indication that she’d felt a thing. Every empty pail went swiftly back onto the pushcart with a clang.
Finally, the old woman removed a small platter with a brick of lye soap and a rough woolen cloth. She shoved the cart back into the narrow hallway and dropped the platter on the floor beside the basin. Then she turned toward Rahlizje and gestured for the thief to stand. The minute Rahlizje was on her feet, Nina approached her to untie the lead rope from the other woman’s waist with swift, deft fingers, surprising for her old age. Next, she moved to the bonds on her ward’s wrists before tossing both ropes to the floor with a muffled thump. “Strip.”
Rahlizje stared at the woman. “Do you mean to bathe me too?”
Nina folded her arms and squinted at the younger woman standing before her. “From what I’ve seen, I’d wager you’ve learned your lesson. Whatever it is. You smell like piss, and I have no intention of touching you more than I already have. But if you prefer the scent, it’s a waste of my time trying to convince you otherwise. I won’t.”
For a few seconds, they glared at each other. Then Rahlizje undid the ties at the top of her dark blouse before quickly lifting it up over her head and tossing it onto the floor beside the chair. She held the old woman’s gaze as she undid her breeches next, then let them drop to the floor. Nina echoed the thief’s skepticism and never once looked away from her ward’s face, even as the younger woman stood fully naked before her, covered in dirt and sweat, her hair matted with the same.
When Rahlizje was sure there was nothing more to this than the simple yet seemingly impossible task of scrubbing her own body clean again, she bent to untie her boots before stepping out of them and her breeches. Then she turned and approached the washbasin. The steaming water looked too good to be true; gooseflesh rose on her skin at the thought of sitting in it and soaking the undignified journey out of her muscles. Wasting no more time in thought, she lifted one dirt-caked foot over the side of the basin and down into the bath.
It hurt. For a moment, she thought she’d mark herself a fool and a fragile craven by removing her foot. But she didn’t. She gripped the sides of the basin, swung her other foot over the rim, and slowly lowered herself into the scalding water.
“Half an hour,” Nina said.
With her back now to the woman, Rahlizje rolled her eyes. “How generous of—”
The door slammed shut, leaving the thief alone again with the prospect of cleaning as much of herself as she could within the allotted time. With a grunt, Rahlizje lowered her arms into the tub, meaning just to soak for the first few minutes. The water on her raw, chaffed wrists burned something fierce. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she gritted her teeth, willing to bear the pain because it made her who she was. After all, it was hardly the worst thing she’d ever experienced.
Chapter 5
Rahlizje expected the old woman to return when her allotted half hour had run its course. Instead, someone else entirely unexpected opened the door to the storage room turned washroom and stepped inside.
The older man was quite short, hunched over a pile of dark cloth in his arms, and shuffled into the room with an usual thump and muffled slide. Huge, thick spectacles sat on the bridge of his nose, and it took a few seconds for him to look up from the floor at the washbasin in the center of the room. When he noticed a relatively clean Rahlizje—fully naked, her arms draped over the side of the basin and the filthy water rising just below her breasts—he started, as if he’d come upon a coiled snake or a massive spider instead of a woman.
“Oh, for the love of—” The man blinked and shook his head in irritation, then walked with the odd, thumping gait of his clubfoot toward the chair in which the old woman had beckoned Rahlizje to sit. “No decency. No common courtesy. Always expectation and demands and…” His speech trailed off into a low mumble Rahlizje couldn’t decipher.
She smirked. “I must admit, I’ve never been met with that reaction before. It’s refreshing.”
The man froze at the sound of her voice, the hump in his back curving even more as he bowed his head in obvious discomfort. Then he shot Rahlizje a quick, judgmental glance. “Not you.” With a snort, he dropped the pile of dark cloth beside the lone chair and shook his head again. Then, grumbling to himself, he turned and shuffled back out of the room before disappearing down the hallway.
The door remained open, though, which made it impossible to ignore the conversation just outside.
“Didn’t know we’re running a whorehouse now,” the man muttered.
“We’re not.” It had to be the old woman Nina; Rahlizje hadn’t seen a single other woman at Gileath Junction since she’d arrived.
“Well I’d say we’re almost out of charity, the way you just give it away—”
“Cor…”
“Bah.” The man’s telltale thump and shuffle receded down the hall.
Then Nina appeared in the open doorway, leaned against the doorframe, and folded her arms. “You’re finished.”
Rahlizje dipped her head in mock deference. “Seems I have no choice.” The woman didn’t offer any visible reaction beyond a nod at the pile of cloth Cor had deposited beside the pool of Rahlizje’s soiled clothing. With a sigh, Rahlizje pushed herself up from the basin of gray, still-warm water, sending a cascade of it sloshing back into the tub. A bit of it sprayed over the side, followed by the constant drip across the floor when the thief swung her legs back over the rim and stepped barefoot across the dusty wood. Nina watched her every move in silence. When Rahlizje lifted the garment on the top of the pile and held it in front of her dripping body, she studied the loose gray tunic. Then she eyed her unamused caretaker. “Are these yours?”
“I wouldn’t mistake a kindness for comradery, thief. Get dressed.” The old woman nodded
again, her brown eyes narrowed within the wrinkles of her face as she scrutinized Taltaz’s prisoner.
The corner of Rahlizje’s mouth twitched, but she did as she was told. The garments were just a bit large on her and itched a little against her skin, but they served their purpose well enough. Once she’d donned the tunic, breeches, and the coarse, woolen cloak, she unburied her boots from the reeking pile of her old clothing and quickly laced them on her feet.
Only then did Nina step forward into the room to collect the ropes she’d removed from Rahlizje’s wrists and waist half an hour before. With another brusque, sideways nod, she approached the younger woman and lifted the shorter rope. Rahlizje dutifully turned around, her head cocked, and stared at the far wall. “A whorehouse wouldn’t be the worst idea. Might be it warms this place up a bit. You’d enjoy yourself, I’m sure.”
The rope encircled her wrists again with gruff swiftness; whether the old woman meant to tie it just as tightly again, the bonds still burned the flesh of Rahlizje’s already chaffed skin. Nina wasn’t gentle or particularly careful as she tied the lead rope around the thief’s waist one more time, knotting it and cinching it tight with a quick tug. Rahlizje had a feeling she’d rather struck a nerve somewhere along the way. Another smirk tugged at the corners of her mouth.
The old woman jerked one more time on the rope as a reminder. “Time to go.”
Rahlizje turned and let herself be led from the storage room, feeling much cleaner and marginally less pathetic despite the fact that Nina had tied the ropes around her wrists just as tightly as Taltaz had. They moved back through the narrow hallway and the larder and emerged from the room behind the bar’s partition.
The two men who’d previously been sitting at the bar had now been joined by four others, all of them with a tankard of ale in front of them and half-cocked smiles as they laughed at some jest or another. This time, everyone inside Gileath Junction ignored the prisoner being led like a horse through the building, as if this were a common occurrence in these parts.
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