They left the buildings behind and entered the lagoon, and Raine’s nightmare went from bad to worse. The flickering torches that lined the canal faded in the distance and darkness pressed down on them, heavy and thick as a woolen blanket. Their slender boat pitched and rolled with the heavy waves.
Raine held fast to the side of the garpolla and did not look at the water. Far ahead in the bay, a mile or so from the counting houses, was an island dotted with tiny lights. This, then, was their destination, the bar known as the Dog’s Body.
Raine kept her gaze on the pinpricks of light in the distance, and prayed.
Chapter 29
Startling Reflections
Mumbling dire threats under his breath, Kaffo rowed for the island ahead. After a small eternity, they crossed the bay and entered the watery avenue that bisected the Dog’s Body. Abandoning his oars, Kaffo retrieved the long pole from the side of the boat and pushed them along the canal. Hundreds of twisting, turning channels snaked off the main conduit. Without hesitation, Kaffo turned into one of them, maneuvering the garpolla through first one and then another, until Raine was hopelessly lost.
At last, they bumped to a stop, and Kaffo secured the garpolla to a stone column. A single torch burned on a stand, casting a dim light.
The sour-faced little man jerked his thumb inland. “The Neatfoot lies that way. I go no farther.”
Mauric leapt out and helped Raine and Chaz onto the stone quay. Declining his offer of assistance, Gertie hitched her robe up her hairy legs and climbed out. Kaffo shuddered and averted his gaze.
“Here.” Gertie tossed the boatman a coin. “To lessen your humiliation.”
Kaffo pocketed the money without a word, and glided into the darkness.
Raine staggered to the nearest building and pressed her face against the stones. Dry land; she was back on dry land.
“Raine?” Chaz tugged on her cloak. “Why are you hugging the wall?”
Raine opened her eyes to find Mauric watching her with concern. “Lass?”
She met his gaze. “If you’ve any feelings at all you will never—never—ask me to ride in one of those paper boats again.”
“Poor Raine.” Chuckling, Gertie came up and laid a paw on Raine’s shoulder. “A hot bath and a cup of tea are what you need.”
“A bath? A real bath in a real tub?”
“Yes, pet. Come along. It isn’t far now.”
“More walking?” Chaz sat down in the street. “I’m tired of walking.”
“Then I suppose I’ll have to carry you,” said Mauric.
He lifted the child in his arms, and they set out again. Kaffo had deposited them in a thriving neighborhood of well-kept homes and quaint shops, but the hour was advanced and the streets were deserted. The doors of the houses glistened with fresh paint, the cobblestone streets were freshly washed, and the gutters emptied. Although the odors of salt and fish and cooking were still discernable, the sour, rotten smell of the Spree was gone. Scarcely five blocks from the canal, they came upon the Neatfoot, a sprawling, two-story, white-washed building on one side of a wide square.
“The first story of the inn is stone,” Gertie told Raine, “the upper part wood and stucco. As for the roof, it’s red tile from Valdaria.”
Raine nodded and squinted up at the roof, but it was too dark to see. Torches burned on either side of the sturdy front door, and flowers spilled out of the enormous pots flanking the main entrance. The shutters were drawn on the windows upstairs, but light shone through the mullioned windows of the first-floor taproom. They approached quietly, so as not to disturb the inn’s inhabitants. Drawn by the welcoming light, Raine peeked through the window into the pub. Fat candles glowed on tables and in wall sconces, and a cheery fire crackled in the stone fireplace. Pewter mugs and plates winked from shelves in the candlelight.
“I can see Brefreton,” she said in an excited whisper. “He’s sitting in a chair by the fire.”
The wizard’s shoulders were slumped, and he looked careworn and out of sorts.
“So he is,” Gertie said, joining Raine at the window. She pushed back the hood of her robe, and tapped on the glass. “Ho, Bree. Wake up.”
Brefreton lifted his head. He stared at the troll without recognition for a moment, then sprang from his chair. “Gertie, you old hobgoblin.”
He burst out of the front door of the inn and into the courtyard. “You’re late.” Grinning like an idiot, he shook hands all around. “Where’d you get the boy? Never mind, you can tell me later. By Rebe, I don’t know whether to kiss you or thump you on the head, I’m that glad to see you.”
“What’s all the fuss?” A woman with an ample bosom and generous hips stepped out of the building.
She looked them up and down, but showed no dismay at their late arrival or their motley group. Garbed in an ankle-length dress with a wide skirt and a belted waist, the woman appeared to be on the far side of forty. She had a pleasant, friendly face, and Raine liked her at once.
“I see you’re still keeping company with that disreputable troll, Bree,” the woman said, her gaze lingering on Mauric. “The rest of them I don’t know.”
Brefreton bowed. “My friends, allow me to introduce Altrusia Neatfoot, the proprietress of this worthy establishment.”
“Trudy,” the woman said at once, smiling at them.
“Trudy, this is Mauric.” Brefreton slapped the warrior on the shoulder. “He’s a Finlar.”
“Really?” Trudy murmured, sizing up the warrior. “I never would have guessed.”
“Nice to meet you, Trudy.” Mauric gave her a wolfish grin and juggled the sleepy child in his arms. “This is Chaz, an orphan we acquired in our travels. Say hello, Chaz.”
Chaz lifted his head and gave Trudy a drowsy smile. “Hello. You have big bumpers.”
“Pay no mind to the boy,” Gertie said. “We’ve been on the river the past few weeks, and I’m afraid he’s picked up some bad habits.”
“He’s not the first to notice my bumpers.” Trudy glanced at Mauric. “Or the last, I daresay.” She reached out and stroked the child’s curls. “There now, love. We’ll get you bathed, and then you can have a slice of warm gingerbread and milk. Would you like that?”
“I like sweets,” Chaz said. “Baths, not so much.”
Trudy laughed, a warm, comfortable sound. “That doesn’t surprise me. My son hated washing until he got old enough to notice girls.” Her warm gaze fell on Raine’s cloaked figure. “And who’s this hiding in the shadows?”
“This is Raine,” Brefreton said, pulling her forward. “The . . . er . . . special guest I’ve been telling you about.”
“Of course,” Trudy said. “Why are we standing around in the dark? Come inside. I’ve rooms prepared—Bree had me hold them for you. Paid me for ’em, too. I’ll rouse that slug-a-bed Kipp to set the water to boil. I’m afraid I can’t offer you anything but a cold supper—ale, meat pies and bread, or perhaps an omelet—but I’ll wager the big fellow won’t mind. Nor Gertie, unless she’s much changed.”
Keeping up a steady stream of chatter, Trudy escorted them into the inn.
Brefreton stopped Raine at the door. “Keep your hood up until you’re in your chamber. You never know when a guest might hear the noise and pop out of a room.”
Raine sighed. Tugging the cloak over her forehead, she followed the others inside and looked around. The Neatfoot seemed a tidy, well-run establishment, with plank floors polished to a shine with lemon and beeswax, and freshly whitewashed walls. Dark beams supported the low ceiling and flowers sprouted in pots and hanging baskets. Directly across from the front doors were the stairs leading to the second floor, flanked by two tall potted plants. To the right and through a set of double doors, Trudy explained, was the formal dining parlor; to the left, the taproom.
“I’ll set out the food while you wash,” Trudy said. “
A little soap and water will do you a world of good. You all look as though you were shot out of the wrong end of a goggin.” She shook her head. “None of you touches my sheets until you’re clean. As for you—” she eyed the troll—“you’ll get a woolen blanket after you’ve washed. You’ve ripped the last of my linens with your claws.”
With this pronouncement, she disappeared into the back of the inn, returning shortly with a sleepy-eyed young man in tow.
“My son, Kipp,” she said, nudging the lanky youngster forward.
The boy bobbed and gave them a shy smile. “How do?”
“Kipp, bring hot water for our guests,” Trudy said. “I’ll show them to their rooms.”
Raine paused at the foot of the stairs. “How soon can we go to the Great Market?” she asked Brefreton.
He shook his head. “I’m afraid that’s out of the question. It’s not safe.”
“But—”
Gertie held up her paw, silencing Raine. “I promised her, Bree. The girl needs a wizard stone.”
He gave her a sharp look. “She does?”
“Aye, she has talent. Besides, you-know-who already knows.” Leaning closer, Gertie said in a low voice, “There was an incident on the river with a mud goggin. Raine helped. I’ll tell you about it over a pint of Trudy’s excellent ale.”
“You’ll do your drinking in the kitchen, thank you,” Trudy said from the top of the stairs. “I won’t have my guests dithered by a great, manky troll at my bar.”
“As you like, Trudy,” Gertie said. “I think I’ll get a head start on that ale, now. Bree?”
“I’ll go with you.”
Raine, Mauric, and Chaz followed Trudy to the guest rooms on the second floor.
“I’ve put you in the room between Bree and the warrior,” Trudy told Raine. She flung open a chamber door, and motioned to Mauric. “You and the boy will stay here.”
“That’ll do fine.” Mauric winked at the boy. “We menfolk have to stick together, don’t we? There may even be talk of bumpers.”
“Don’t encourage him, Mauric,” Raine warned.
Mauric grinned, unabashed. “No need for that. He’s doing well enough on his own.”
“That’s what worries me,” said Raine
Trudy turned down their beds, then hustled Raine into her own room. Keeping up a flow of small talk, she moved about the chamber, lighting a candle and starting a fire in the grate. Raine let the gentle flow of words wash over her. After weeks on the run, it felt strange to be indoors again, surrounded by four walls. The room Trudy had shown her to was small, but neat and simply furnished, with a bed and feather mattress against one wall, and a sturdy wardrobe on another. The whitewashed walls were bare, but a crockery jar containing fresh flowers brightened the space, and added a welcoming touch.
Kipp shuffled in with a large wooden tub and set it by the fire.
“You’re good friends with Bree and Gertie?” Raine asked Trudy as the innkeep set out towels, soap, and a sponge for Raine’s bath.
“Oh, my, yes. I’ve known them all my life. They’ve been regulars at the Neatfoot these three hundred years and more. You know wizards. They live practically forever.”
Three hundred years? Raine’s brain whirled. And she didn’t know wizards, not really.
Trudy fluffed the pillows on the bed. “Gertie’s a dear. She taught me to cook and my mother and grandmother before me. I hate to confine her to the kitchen, but she upsets the guests. People can be awfully set against trolls, you know.”
Kipp came back in, lugging hot water. He emptied the cans into the tub and turned, staring with unabashed interest at Raine.
“For shame, gawking at our guest,” Trudy scolded, noticing his perusal. “Where are your manners?”
“Can’t see nothing but her boots, Ma,” the boy said. “Not when she’s wearing that great cloak and hood.”
“Well, then, there’s nothing for you to look at, is there? Go on with you.”
Trudy shoved him out of the room and closed the door with an apologetic smile. “There now, he’s gone. Give me your things, and you can have a soak while I fetch you a nightgown.”
“That sounds wonderful,” Raine said. “I’ve dreamed of a hot bath for weeks.”
She threw back the hood and removed her cloak, draping it over one arm.
“Gar,” Trudy said, staring at Raine in astonishment.
“Is something wrong?” Raine looked down at her baggy trousers. “It’s the clothes, isn’t it? Captain Braxx—he’s the barge captain we traveled downriver with—found them for me. They belonged to a former member of his crew. If you think these are bad, you should have seen what I was wearing before.”
“What? No, no . . . I’ve seen muckers and slops before, though, admittedly not on a woman. I was admiring your hair.” Moving like a sleepwalker, Trudy crossed the room and took the cloak from Raine. “The wigmakers in the market would pay a small fortune for it.”
“Really?” Raine pulled her long braid over her should and examined the ends. Her once-dry, lifeless locks did seem healthier and softer to the touch. “Cut it.”
“Oh, no, that would be a shame. Besides, Bree would kill me.”
“Bree has nothing to do with it. It’s my hair, and I say cut it. It’s too long and heavy, and it’s giving me a headache.”
Trudy hesitated.
“Sell it in the market for me, and you can keep half,” Raine said, using a coaxing tone. “I left home . . . rather abruptly, and I have no money of my own.” She cast about for an argument to sway Trudy. “Think of Kipp. Teenage boys grow fast, and I’m sure you could use the extra coins.”
“I don’t know, miss . . .”
“Either you cut it, or I’ll do it myself, if I have to hack it off with a kitchen knife. My mind’s made up.”
Trudy gasped. “Oh, no. Don’t do that.”
“Then you do it. Please. You’d be doing me such a favor.”
The innkeeper’s resistance crumbled. “If you’re sure. Give me a moment to find something to wrap it in.”
She disappeared, returning shortly with a length of cloth. Now that she’d decided to do the thing, Trudy was all business. She pushed Raine into the chair by the fire and unbound her hair. The thick curls fell to Raine’s waist.
“Like waves of black silk,” Trudy murmured, removing a pair of scissors from her apron pocket. “Are you quite certain you want to do this?”
“It’s hair, Trudy, not a kidney. It will grow back.”
Trudy laughed. Picking up a heavy hank of hair, she made the first cut slightly below Raine’s shoulders, then laid the snipped section aside.
“Shorter,” Raine said.
Trudy snipped another section of hair. “And have you looking like a shorn lamb, and me to blame? That I won’t do.”
In the space of a few minutes, the job was finished. “There.” Trudy stepped back with a satisfied sigh. “All done.”
Raine shook her head. Her shortened locks tumbled around her shoulders. When had she last cut her hair? Not since before Mimsie had died. She looked down at the mound of hair on the cloth, and felt lighter . . . free.
“Hard to believe that was on my head a moment ago.” Raine jumped out of the chair and gave Trudy a hug. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Trudy worried her bottom lip. “I hope Bree won’t be too angry with me.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll take the blame.”
Trudy carefully wrapped Raine’s shorn locks in the cloth. “Your bath is getting cold. Have a long soak while I find you something else to wear.” She hugged the bundle of hair to her breast. “I’ll take this to market at first light.”
“There’s no hurry. I’m pretty sure we plan to be here a few days.”
Trudy nodded and left. Raine quickly stripped off the tunic and loose trousers and s
ank into the tub. The hot water was pure bliss. Using the pitcher and the bar of soap beside the tub, she wet and shampooed her hair and scrubbed her body. It felt glorious to be clean again. She slid deeper into the tub, resting her head against the wooden rim. The warm soapy water lapped against her breasts, pulling the weariness from her body. She closed her eyes and drifted to sleep.
She awoke sometime later when Trudy re-entered the room. The water had grown cold, and she was groggy and disoriented from her nap. Rubbing her grainy eyes, she sat up.
“Gertie’s in the kitchen scratching up a late supper,” Trudy said in her cheerful way. “I’ve brought you the nightgown I promised and a dress for the morrow.”
“That’s very kind of you, but I can’t take your things.”
“Nonsense. I’ve gowns to spare, and your things are filthy, besides being highly improper.” She draped a clean nightgown over the chair near the fire. “Poor thing, you’re done in. You should get right into bed.”
Trudy turned her back, and Raine stepped out of the tub to dry off. The linen towels were not very absorbent, but, with vigorous rubbing, she managed to wring most of the moisture from her hair. She slipped into the nightgown and noticed a puddle on the floor.
“Oh, dear,” she said. “I’m afraid I’ve made a mess.”
Trudy laid an extra blanket across the bed. “Not to worry,” she said, turning around. “A little damp won’t hurt these . . .” She blinked at Raine. “Gar’s paw, but you’re a lovely thing.”
Raine clutched the folds of the gown. “Truly?”
Trudy shrugged. “There’s a mirror in the wardrobe. See for yourself.”
She picked up Raine’s dirty things and left, closing the door behind her. Raine shivered. The fire had burned low and the room was cold. The nightgown Trudy had loaned her was made of stout flannel, but the innkeeper was a good four inches shorter than Raine, and the garment hit her above the ankles. Raine wiggled her toes. Her feet were freezing.
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