That almost made Spinner disgorge his evening’s food and drink. He bent over the Golden Girl’s feet to examine the anklet more closely. It was, as he’d noted, thick and wide. What he earlier thought was a larger section of it did seem to be a locking mechanism. In the center was a small opening that could be a keyhole. On the opposite side from the wide place he found what looked like a hinge.
“Where is the key?” he asked.
The Golden Girl shuddered but didn’t answer.
Spinner picked up the curtain from where she tossed it when she showed him the anklet, and again draped it over her nakedness. He tucked her in, then lay down with his chest against her back and curled his legs under hers and wrapped his arms around her. She was shivering; he was sure it wasn’t from cold—the room was too warm. She gripped the curtain’s hem with her fingers and pulled it snug under her chin. He stroked her hair and murmured little nothings into her ear, little nothings that he hoped were soothing.
They must have been because shortly afterward she stopped shivering and twisted around in his arms to snuggle up facing him. He had to straighten his legs to allow her to. Her hands were loosely balled in front of her face. She opened one and caressed his cheek.
“You cannot get the key,” she said, half wistfully. “He will not give it up. But it’s sweet of you to think of it.” She brushed her lips against his and wiggled in closer; somehow the curtain became dislodged and he felt her naked body against him, and his clothing felt more coarse than it ever had before. The Golden Girl must have thought so also. “Your clothes are rough, they scratch me,” she said. She slid her hand from his cheek to the bottom of his jerkin and started to pull it up.
He put his hand on hers and pushed it and the jerkin back down. “No,” he said, thick-voiced. “We can do that later. When you are no longer a slave, when I come to you because you want me to.” Saying that, he realized he wasn’t being like Haft. Haft would not say no under the same circumstances; Haft would help her undress him. “I said I would free you and I will. Where does Master Yoel keep the key?”
She pulled her head back to look into his eyes and laughed at him. “Master Yoel? He doesn’t have the key. He’s not the slavemaster.”
“Then who is? I’ll take it from him and free you.”
She smiled a sad smile. “Master Grouel is the slavemaster. You can’t get the key from him.”
“I can get it from anyone.” He thought about the name she gave. “Grouel? That’s a name I haven’t heard.”
“He’s Jokapcul. It is said he’s a master swordsman as well as a slavemaster. I think he is. I’ve seen him spar with men who others have called master swordsmen. He always wins.”
Spinner swallowed. A Jokapcul here? As a slavemaster? He remembered that afternoon, when the innkeeper claimed he knew nothing about the Jokapcul, had said he’d never even seen one. And they hadn’t seen any Jokapcul since the fight at the border—certainly he hadn’t seen any at The Burnt Man. And the slavemaster was a swordmaster, or so Alyline said. Jokapcul swordsmen were supposed to be among the best in the world—and their swordmasters were supposed to be the very best. The only Jokapcul swordsman he ever faced had been the officer at the border, and he had been very good. Perhaps their swordmasters weren’t all that much better than their average. If they weren’t, he could stand a chance against one of them—if he couldn’t find a way to avoid a fight. And he had been weak and wounded when he’d beaten the Jokapcul officer.
“Every swordsman loses sooner or later,” he said. “Besides, I don’t have to duel him to get the key.”
“How else would you get it?”
“I’ll find a way.”
She looked into his eyes but didn’t ask how.
“You said you saw a serving maid killed by the azren?” She nodded. “I saw anklets on all the serving maids. Are they all slaves?”
“Yes. The innkeeper gets to keep all the most beautiful women who come through here—until they are no longer so beautiful.”
“Who keeps the keys to the locks on the doors down here?”
She laughed, a harsh cough. “These doors aren’t locked, except when a man is with a woman he has paid for. The slavemaster isn’t afraid that any of us will run away. How would we escape the demon?”
“Are there any men who are slaves?”
“Everyone who works here is a slave except for the innkeeper, his wife, the stableman, the chief cook, and the traveling entertainers.” Her voice was bitter. “I’m the only entertainer who is a slave. The slavemaster has a few men-at-arms who aren’t slaves.”
“How many men-at-arms does he have?”
She shook her head. “A dozen. Maybe half that many. Maybe more. I don’t know.”
“Where do the men slaves sleep? Are they down here too?”
“No. I think they are kept in rooms above the stable.”
“What about all the men in the common room? Who are they?”
“Some are local herdsmen and farmers. Others are travelers. Most of them are slave traders, or handlers or teamsters for them, or their guards. Why are you asking all these questions?”
“So I’ll know what I’m up against.”
“Up against? With only two of you?” She pounded a fist on his chest. “Don’t be so stupid. There is nothing you can do.”
But there was something he could do. He didn’t yet know what, but he was sure he could find it. He had to. There was one more thing he wanted to know. “Master Yoel said something when he was leading me here—he said the doors to the rooms are thick, so I didn’t have to worry about being disturbed by noise anyone made. What did he mean? Why are the doors so thick?”
The Golden Girl’s body shook with fury inside his arms. “The serving maids are slaves—some men think that means they are property, not people. If a man wants to, and pays enough, the slavemaster lets him hurt the girls. Sometimes a serving maid spends the night with a man and is never seen again. I don’t know whether they are killed or merely maimed and sent on somewhere else.”
Trying to contain his anger, Spinner held her tightly. The wrong being committed there was even worse than slavery. When he righted the wrong, someone was going to pay dearly. “This will all end tomorrow, I promise you,” he said softly. “In the meantime, sleep. I will protect you tonight. When you are free, we can do more than simply me protect you.”
She looked at him oddly, and he chose to interpret it as gratitude. In reality she was thinking him a fool to turn down the chance to be with the most skilled lover he would ever meet, in favor of something intangible he might receive after accomplishing the impossible.
She turned her back to him, curled up, and went to sleep, secure in the knowledge that the fool wouldn’t ravage or otherwise harm her during what was left of the night.
CHAPTER
TWELVE
When the Golden Girl woke him, Spinner felt like he’d barely closed his eyes. Faint light came from a few guttering candles.
“It is dawn,” she said. “A man waits outside the door to lead you to your room.”
“But—”
She crossed his lips with a finger. “No buts. It is the rule.” She helped him to stand and to straighten his clothes. She softly took his hand in hers and led him to the door. When she opened the door for him, she stood behind it so the man outside wouldn’t see her naked body. She gave Spinner a sad smile. “Thank you,” she said softly.
Spinner smiled and nodded at her. He thought she meant to thank him for the rescue he was going to effect. He watched the door close, then turned to follow the man to the stairs. He thought he recognized him as one of the handymen he’d seen the day before.
“What’s the matter, didn’t you get any sleep last night?” Haft asked when they were seated in the common room waiting for their breakfast. He laughed raucously at his own joke—he knew he wouldn’t have slept if it had been him spending the night with the Golden Girl. “Or did she kick you out of bed?”
Spinner smiled wanl
y. “Actually, we did get a little sleep near the end,” he said, and tried to look happier and more energetic. He had to look more like someone who’d had a memorable time. “If you’d just spent a night with someone like her and you were leaving, knowing you would never see her again, you’d probably be bawling.” He laughed, and hoped the laugh didn’t sound as hollow as it felt.
“Right,” Haft said dryly. He patted the pile of their belongings and the sack of food they’d bought to eat on their journey that sat on a spare chair at their table. “We have to get on the road.” He leaned back and looked wistful. “But it was nice last night. A hot meal, a hot bath, cold beer, a proper mattress . . . though somehow I don’t think my mattress was as comfortable as yours.” He laughed even more loudly than before.
Spinner’s answering grin was weak and he could only manage a chuckle.
Their food came and they were silent as they ate. They had a different serving maid; Doli wasn’t in evidence in the common room this morning. Neither of them asked where she was. Spinner could make a few guesses, but wasn’t sure. The only guess he didn’t dislike was that she had the day off, but he suspected the serving maids weren’t given days off. If what he suspected had happened was true, that would be one more man who would regret—no matter how briefly—what he’d done at The Burnt Man.
Other tables were occupied, but not many. Two merchants sat together talking in low voices over their meals. Men in homespun occupied three more tables. None of them seemed in any hurry to eat and move on. Spinner thought the merchants must be slave traders, the other men in their employ. He tried not to show the hatred he felt for them.
Master Yoel appeared at their table just as they finished eating. With a flourish, he presented the bill to Spinner. Spinner quickly looked it over, decided it was more or less accurate; no item seemed unduly high. He held out his hand. The innkeeper hesitated, then dropped three copper coins into his palm.
Spinner smiled at him but didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to; he knew Haft would.
“You seem reluctant to give change, innkeeper,” Haft said calmly. He picked up the bill and made a show of examining it. “Could it be you have overcharged us somewhere?”
“But, good young sir,” Master Yoel sputtered, “it’s all there. Every tittle. There is naught on that reckoning that doesn’t belong. If you think of what you have paid for similar services in other inns, you will see that my prices are quite reasonable.”
Haft looked at the bill a moment longer then let it slip from his fingers as though it were a thing of no consequence. “Make change more quickly in the future and you will avoid suspicion,” he said solemnly.
Spinner stood. “Has the stableman readied our horses?” he asked.
“I’m sure he has, I sent word for him to do so.”
“Then we will be off.” Spinner gathered his belongings in such a way that the innkeeper couldn’t help noticing how ready to hand were all of his weapons. “Good day, Master Yoel.”
He walked to the entrance with long, purposeful strides. Haft followed almost on his heels. When the door was open and he was about to step through, Spinner turned back to the innkeeper, who was about to disappear into the kitchen, and said in a voice loud enough to be heard by everybody in the room, “Treat all of the women who work here well, innkeeper. Especially the Golden Girl. You never know when a family might take offense to the rough treatment of a daughter, or a sister.”
Master Yoel gave a start at the words. He turned to look at Spinner. Fear shot quickly across his face, to be replaced by a study of innocent confusion.
Haft had no idea what Spinner was talking about, but he gave the innkeeper a sharp look, as though he did and was firmly with Spinner. After all, come what may, he was firmly with Spinner.
“I always treat all of my workers well, young gentleman,” the innkeeper said. His hands fluttered about aimlessly. “Especially the entertainers. Most especially the Golden Girl.”
“Then see to it that you continue to do so,” Spinner said. He stepped outside and strode toward the stable.
In a step or two Haft was alongside him. “What was that about?” he asked.
“Be patient. I’ll tell you once we are out of the valley.”
“Right. You said you’d tell me about the troll too. I’m still waiting.”
“Wait a little longer.” He looked ahead. There weren’t as many horses in the corral as he might have expected from the crowd he thought had stayed at the inn overnight, nor even enough for the men breaking their fast in the common room. The only carts he saw were two wagons that looked like they were used by farmers to carry produce to market. He saw nothing that appeared to belong to a merchant.
The stableman had their horses ready. The horses looked happy and ready to go.
“They look like they had as good a time last night as we did,” Haft said when he saw how the horses pranced.
“Probably better,” Spinner said dull-voiced.
Haft looked at him oddly, but didn’t ask anything—yet.
“Well, good sirs,” the stableman said, “was the bill as honest and level as I told you it would be? Was the entertainment as fine? Do you understand now why people come back and back again? And how soon will you return for more entertainment?”
“It was, it was, I do, and sooner than you may suspect,” Spinner answered. He quickly checked the tackle on the horses and found the stableman had done a better job of saddling them than he himself could have. “But right now the sun is up and we have far to go, much to do, and we must be off.” He quickly mounted his horse and flipped the stableman a copper coin. “With thanks for your trouble and your good care for our horses,” he said.
“No trouble, none at all,” the stableman said as he deftly caught the coin. He looked like he was ready to talk for as long as anyone was there to listen. Spinner didn’t want to stand around listening. He had to tell Haft what he’d found out about the inn and make plans for their return.
“Let’s go,” he said.
Haft hesitated and looked warily at the mare. No matter how confident he’d been on horseback the day before, a night under a roof and in a bed had taken him away from the horses, and now he was no longer so sure of himself.
“There are things you want to know that I’ll never tell you if you don’t get on that horse right now,” Spinner said, and tapped his horse’s flanks to get him moving.
Haft sighed and mounted. Spinner was already leading the gelding along the road before Haft was settled in the saddle. He let the mare canter to catch up.
In minutes they were in the trees again, and Spinner kicked the stallion into a canter. He wanted to put distance between them and the inn before he stopped and told Haft what they were going to do—and why.
Haft didn’t want to wait. “What’s wrong with you this morning, Spinner?” he demanded as soon as he got the mare to trot alongside the stallion instead of trailing the gelding. “You just spent the night with the most beautiful woman either of us has ever seen, but from the way you’ve been acting, anyone would think you had a miserable night. You looked like you had something on your mind at breakfast, and that something wasn’t the great time you had last night. As a matter of fact, you’ve been looking like you’re getting ready for a battle. You gave the innkeeper a hard time over the bill, which looked fine to me, I might add. Then there was that thing you said to him when we were leaving. Anybody would think you were threatening him. You’ve been short with me every time I asked a question. And you were curt with the stableman when he was only trying to be helpful and friendly. And if that isn’t enough . . .”
He looked sharply at Spinner. “You aren’t listening to a word I’m saying! You aren’t listening, and you sure aren’t doing any of the telling you said you were going to do.” He shook his head and glared at the forest that surrounded them. “I could wish we’d run into some robbers, just so I’d have a chance to hit somebody.” He glanced at Spinner again. “And maybe, just maybe, some hi
ghwaymen would wake you up so you’d get around to telling me what’s going on.”
“Don’t worry,” Spinner said grimly. “You’ll get your chance to hit somebody. But it won’t be highwaymen.”
“He lives!” Haft exclaimed with a grand sweep of an arm. “He talks! He listens! At least a little bit. Why, he probably breathes! Maybe he’ll even do some of the explaining he promised.” He looked at Spinner and dropped his voice to a normal level. “Well, what about it?”
The whole time they were riding through the woods, Spinner was watching the trees along their route. He finally saw a break in the forest edging the road where a slab of exposed bedrock wouldn’t take their horses’ hoofprints. “In here,” he said.
“Hey, where do you think you’re going? Don’t you remember what happened the last time we went into the forest? I don’t think we’ll find an imp fence to help us if we run into another cat.” Objecting all the way, Haft followed.
The trees on the side of the ridge were different from those in the lowland forest they’d passed through in Bostia; they weren’t as tall and their canopy wasn’t as dense, though their trunks were thicker. Seedlings and saplings sprouted up through the earth between the trees, but most of them looked stunted. Bushes grew in scattered thickets and much of the ground was open. Sunlight dappled the ground, mostly around the bush thickets. The exposed bedrock only extended a few paces inside the forest before earth covered it. There were a lot of deer tracks, along with myriad tracks of lesser animals. Haft looked closely but found no trace of large predators. Boulders, some small, some the size of a hut, lay scattered about.
When they were far enough into the trees that they couldn’t be seen from the road, Spinner stopped, looked about for a route to take, then picked what seemed to Haft to be a random direction, one that led up the ridge at a shallow angle.
Haft nervously kept all of his senses open to any sight, sound, or smell of danger. Insects buzzed about and a cloud of gnats swarmed around them. A few birds cawed in the treetops, and an occasional one swooped between the trunks, scooping up flying insects.
Demontech: Onslaught Page 16
