He gave another little laugh that turned Gwen’s stomach. Stane walked to the door, but instead of leaving, he stuck his head out and looked both ways before closing it. When he turned around, he was grinning and his eyes were fixed on Gwen.
“Run!” Jollin shouted.
As Gwen ran for the back door, she heard him curse. He fell hard, probably slipping in the puddle of Avon’s blood. It sounded like a chair or a table fell over, too, but by then Gwen was running in the dark, her skirt hiked. She sprinted up the alley past the tanner’s shop to the “bridges,” a couple of narrow wooden planks crossing the river of sewage that ran behind the buildings. She was too scared, going too fast. Her feet skipped off slick, unsteady boards, and she fell forward into the muck. Gwen’s arms sank to the elbows, but she saved her face.
She expected him to be on her, bloody hands closing around her throat and forcing her into the foul soup, which smelled of urine and dung. She spun, but he wasn’t there. No one was. Gwen was alone.
Pulling her arms out, she wiped them on any clean parts of her dress she could find. She found few, and in her frustration the tears finally came. Sitting next to the filthy trench, she sobbed so hard her stomach hurt, and each gasp of air was thick with sewage.
“I don’t know what to do!” she cried out loud. “Tell me what to do!” She scooped a fistful of manure and mud and flung it as hard as she could. Tilting her head back, she screamed at the sky. “Do you hear me? I’m not strong enough. I’m like my mother and I’ll break.” She sucked in a shuddering breath. “And if I don’t break first, he’ll kill me. Me, Jollin, Mae, and all the rest. I can’t … I can’t wait anymore. Do you hear me? I can’t. It’s been five years! I just can’t wait for him any longer.”
She shivered, panting for air and listening for a reply, but all she heard was the wind.
CHAPTER 3
THE BERNUM RIVER BARGE
Hadrian crouched on the deck of the river barge as two large workhorses drew the boat up the Bernum River. Lifting his head, he peered through the morning mist, trying to catch a glimpse of something familiar. He could see farmland nestled in the hills beyond the bank and the faint outlines of small towns. Everything seemed strange. This was an alien land, filled with odd people, customs, and accents. He felt uncomfortable and out of place, never certain just how to act or what to say. Everyone, he imagined, saw him for the outsider he was, although at that moment he guessed he was less than a half day’s walk from home.
The plump man came out of the boat’s cabin, slapping his chest and taking deep breaths. “Crisp morning, eh?” he said, looking at the sky.
He might have been speaking to the god Maribor, but Hadrian replied just the same. “Chilly. I’m not used to the cold.” He had selected this spot to be sheltered from the wind. He wore everything he owned, including two pairs of pajama-loose pants, his traveling and dress thawb, a wide-wrap belt, his cloak, and a head wrap. Even so, he was still cold. He planned to buy wool when they reached Colnora, something heavy that weighed like armor. He felt naked without the extra pounds.
“You’re just up from Dagastan, right? Warm there, I imagine.”
Hadrian tightened his thawb. “Linen weather when I left.”
“I’m envious.” The man drew his robe tight. He glanced around the barge with a disappointed scowl, as if expecting some miraculous transformation to have occurred overnight. He shrugged and mimicked Hadrian by settling down out of the wind until they faced each other. “I’m Sebastian of Iber.” The man extended a hand.
“Hadrian,” he said, shaking the man’s hand. “You’re with the other two?” Hadrian had seen them the night before, Sebastian and two companions, all dressed similarly in finely crafted robes. For all his rushing, the barge ended up being delayed as dockworkers strained to hoist numerous trunks on board. The three had shouted orders and reprimanded the workers for each bump or jostle.
The man nodded. “Samuel and Eugene. We’re in the same business.”
“Merchants?”
Sebastian smiled. “Something like that.” His sight drifted to the swords slung at Hadrian’s sides. “And you? Soldier?”
He grinned back. “Something like that.”
Sebastian chuckled. “Well said. But seriously, there’s no reason for arms. The rest of us don’t wear steel, so I don’t see why you’re bothering … Oh, right … I see!”
Hadrian studied the man. In his experience there were two types: the kind you could trust and the other kind. Over the past five years, Hadrian had come to rely on men who wore metal, had scars, and whistled through gaps of missing teeth. Sebastian wore thick robes-plush and pricey-and sported golden rings on each hand. Hadrian had seen his type as well. Whatever Sebastian had been about to say, he guessed he wouldn’t like it. “You see … what?”
Sebastian lowered his voice. “You’ve heard about the murders. The town guards were everywhere and asking questions even as we set out.”
“You’re talking about the murders in Vernes?”
“Yes, exactly. Three over the same number of nights.”
“And you suspect me?” Hadrian asked.
Sebastian chuckled. “Absolutely not! You were one of those just off the Eastern Star out of Calis. Your clothes betray you. It would make more sense to suspect myself. At least I had the opportunity. You weren’t even in town.”
“So you’re saying I should suspect you?”
“Not at all. My associates can vouch for my whereabouts, and the steersman will tell you we had our passage booked weeks in advance. Besides, do I look like an assassin?”
Hadrian had never seen an assassin, but Sebastian didn’t seem a likely candidate. Round and soft with pudgy fingers and an infectious smile, he would be more the sort to order his killings by way of an unsigned letter.
“I’ll tell you who does, though.” Sebastian’s eyes strayed toward the front of the boat where a cloaked figure stood near the prow. He had his back to them, and rather than seek the warmth of sunlight, he stood in the shadow of the stacked crates. “He looks like an assassin.”
“You suspect him because he wears a hood?”
“No, it’s his eyes. Have you seen them? Cold, I tell you. Dead eyes. The kind used to seeing and handing out death.”
Hadrian smirked. “You can tell that from a man’s eyes, can you?”
“Absolutely. A man accustomed to killing has the look of a wolf-empty of soul and hungry for blood.” Sebastian leaned forward but kept his sight on the man at the bow. “Just as learning certain truths robs us of innocence, taking lives robs a man of his soul. Each killing steals a bit of humanity until a murderer is nothing more than an animal. A hunger replaces the spirit. A want for what was lost, but as with innocence, the soul can never be replaced. Joy, love, and peace flee such a vessel and in their stead blooms a desire for blood and death.”
Sebastian spoke with a serious tone, as a man who knew such things. His self-confidence and easy manner exuded a worldliness that suggested wisdom born from experience. But if what Sebastian had said was true, Hadrian doubted the plump merchant from Vernes would choose to sit so close once he’d seen Hadrian’s eyes.
“I’ll tell you something else. He came aboard at the last minute without a single bag or trunk.”
“And how do you know that?”
“I was on the deck when he booked his passage. Why was he so late? Who jumps on a boat bound so far north on a whim? And why no baggage? People don’t just set off on long excursions like they do for an afternoon pleasure cruise, do they? Maybe he evaded the guards’ searches and saw the barge as a means of escape.”
“I arrived late as well.”
“But you carried a bag at least.”
“There you are, Sebastian!” His two associates stepped out of the cabin.
Samuel was the older one. Tall and thin, he appeared to have been stretched out like dough. His robe hung loose, the sleeves so long they completely covered his hands, revealing only the tips of his fingers. Th
e other was Eugene. He was much younger, more Hadrian’s age, and his body hadn’t yet decided if it wanted to be more like Samuel’s or round and plump like Sebastian’s. He, too, wore a fine robe, a dark burgundy held at the shoulder by a handsome gold clasp.
Both wore a look of exhaustion, as if they had been at hard labor all night rather than just risen from bed. Samuel caught sight of the hooded traveler at the bow and nudged Eugene. “Doesn’t he sleep?”
“A tormented conscience will do that,” Eugene replied.
“A man like that has no conscience,” Sebastian declared, if a declaration could be made via a whisper.
Overhead, an unbalanced chevron of geese crossed the blue sky, honking. Everyone looked up to watch their passing, then adjusted cloaks and robes as if the geese had alerted them that winter was coming. Eugene and Samuel joined Sebastian, all three huddling for warmth.
Sebastian nodded his way. “This is Hadrian … er, Hadrian…” He snapped his fingers and looked for help.
“Blackwater.” He extended his hand and shook with each.
“And where do you hail from, Hadrian?” Eugene asked.
“Nowhere really.”
“A man with no home?” Samuel’s voice was nasal and a bit suspicious. Hadrian imagined him the type of man to count money handed him by a priest.
“What do you mean?” Eugene asked. “He came off the boat from Calis. We talked about it just last night.”
“Don’t be a fool, Eugene,” Sebastian said. “Do you think Calians have sandy hair and blue eyes? Calians are swarthy brutes and clever beyond measure. Never trust one, any of you.”
“What were you doing in Calis, then?” Eugene’s tone was inquisitorial and spiteful, as if Hadrian had been the one to declare him foolish.
“Working.”
“Making his fortune, I suspect,” Sebastian said, motioning toward Hadrian. “The man wears a heavy purse. You should be half as successful, Eugene.”
“All Calian copper dins, I’ll wager.” Eugene sustained his bitter tone. “If not, he’d have a fine wool robe like us.”
“He wears a fine steel sword, two of them in fact. So you might consider your words more carefully,” Sebastian said.
“Three,” Samuel added. “He keeps another in his cabin. A big one.”
“There you have it, Eugene. The man spends all his coin on steel, but by all means go right on insulting him. I’m certain Samuel and I can manage just fine without you.”
Eugene folded his arms across his chest and watched the passing hills.
“What is your trade?” Samuel asked, his eyes focusing on Hadrian’s purse.
“I used to be a soldier.”
“A soldier? I’ve never heard of a rich soldier. In whose army?”
All of them, Hadrian almost said but resisted the urge. While funny at first, the reality depressed him an instant later, and he had no desire to explain a past that he had crossed an ocean to leave behind. “I moved around a lot.” A simple sidestep, an effortless maneuver. In combat this tactic decided nothing, although if done enough, it could sometimes tire or frustrate an opponent into resignation. Samuel looked like the stubborn type, but at that moment the cabin door opened again. This time the woman emerged.
Her name was Vivian, and the merchants had lavished all their attentions on her the night before. Her emergence cast the same spell, and the three jumped to their feet the moment she stepped on deck. Unlike the others, Vivian did not bundle herself in woolen robes or cloaks. She wore only a simple gray gown, the sort a young wife of a successful journeyman might choose. It hardly mattered what she wore. Hadrian thought she could make a gunnysack look stunning. Vivian was beautiful, which was saying a great deal, as Hadrian was fresh out of Calis, where the native women, particularly the Tenkins, were perhaps the most beautiful in the world. Vivian was nothing like them, and he guessed that was part of her allure. Fair-haired, pale, and delicate, she seemed like a porcelain figurine amidst the men. She was the first western woman Hadrian had consorted with in two years.
Samuel helped Vivian settle discreetly between himself and Sebastian, leaving Eugene to take a seat next to Hadrian. “Did you sleep well?” Eugene asked, leaning in closer to her than necessary.
“Not at all. I had nightmares, dreadful nightmares brought on by last night’s events.”
“Nightmares?” Sebastian scowled. “There is no need to concern yourself, dear lady. Vernes and those heinous crimes are far behind us. Besides, everyone knows the rogue was known to kill only men.”
“That’s precious little comfort, sir, and that man”-she indicated the solitary figure at the front of the boat-“frightens me.”
“Never fear, dear lady. Only a fool would try something nefarious on so small a boat,” Samuel said. “There is no privacy to commit a crime and no retreat in its wake.”
“Its wake-how witty of you, Samuel,” Vivian said, but the merchant did not seem to understand his own wordplay.
“And look here.” Sebastian pointed toward Hadrian. “We have a young soldier on board. He is fresh from the wilds of Dagastan. You will keep her safe from any would-be brute, won’t you?”
“Of course,” Hadrian replied, and meant it, although he hoped not to be tested. He started regretting wearing the swords. In Calis, they were as commonplace as his linen thawb or keffiyeh, and in truth a man would be thought strange without at least one displayed at his side. He’d forgotten they were a rarity in Avryn, but to start leaving them in his cabin now would be awkward. After five years his swords had become as much a part of him as his fingers, and their absence would be as distracting as a lost tooth. While he was certain Sebastian’s earlier conclusions had been based more on stories than firsthand experience, Hadrian knew the merchant was right about one thing-killing carried a price.
“There, you see.” Sebastian clapped his hands as if he had just performed a magic trick. “You’re safe.”
Vivian offered a weak smile, but her eyes glanced once more toward the bow and the man in the hood.
“Perhaps one of us should talk to him?” Eugene suggested. “If we find out his story, there might be nothing to fear.”
“Our young apprentice has a point,” Sebastian said with enough surprise in his voice to draw a scowl from the younger man. “It’s upsetting to have a tiger about and not know if it’s hungry. Go speak to him, Eugene.”
“No thank you. I had the idea.”
“Well I certainly can’t,” Sebastian said. “I’m far too talkative. It’s a trait that has often led to problems. We don’t want to provoke the man unnecessarily. What about you, Samuel?”
“Are you insane? You don’t send a lamb to question a tiger. The soldier should go. He has nothing to be afraid of. Even a murderer would think twice before challenging a man with two swords.”
They all looked at Hadrian.
“What do you want to know?”
“His name,” Sebastian suggested. “Where he’s from. What he does-”
“If he’s the murderer-” Vivian burst in.
“I’m not so sure you’ll want to lead with that,” Samuel said.
“But isn’t that what we all want to know?”
“Yes, but who would admit to such a thing? Better to get enough information to build a picture and then infer the truth from that.”
“But if you ask straight out, that will serve as a warning that we’re wise to him and on our guard. Any plans he might have will be spoiled and abandoned.”
“How about I just see how things go,” Hadrian said, rising.
The team of horses moved along the towpath, hauling the barge smoothly up the river. Still, Hadrian carefully checked his footing as he climbed the short steps of the foredeck and skirted around boxes covered in tarpaulins and lashed with fishing nets. From his new vantage point he could see the expanse of the Bernum. The wind caught him full face, bringing the smell of pine with its cold chill. Wool, he promised himself again. A thick shirt and heavy cloak.
&nbs
p; “Excuse me,” Hadrian said, and the man turned partway but not far enough to reveal features, not even a nose. After Sebastian’s comments Hadrian was curious about the man’s eyes. “My name is Hadrian Blackwater.”
“Congratulations.” The reply was as cold as the wind that carried it.
“Uh … what’s yours?”
The man turned away. “Leave me alone.”
“Just being friendly. We’re all cooped up on this barge for a couple of days. Might as well get to know each other.”
Nothing. Like talking to a wall.
Walls usually surrounded fortresses. To get in you could lay siege, dig under, or slip an agent inside. Maybe Vivian had the right idea. There was always the suicidal frontal assault. “Just thought you should know that there might be a killer on board.”
The head turned to face him again. This time it came farther around and Hadrian caught a glimpse of one eye. It did not glow, nor did Hadrian see an elongated pupil, but Sebastian might have a point. Hadrian saw menace there, a piercing glare he’d seen many times before, usually followed by the clash of steel.
“I’m certain there is more than one,” the hooded man said. “Now go away.”
This gate was tightly sealed. Hadrian gave up and returned to the others.
“Well?” Vivian was the first to speak.
Hadrian shrugged. “Doesn’t like to talk much.”
“What about his eyes? He has eyes like a wolf, doesn’t he?” Sebastian asked.
“Well, he’s not a friendly sort-that much is certain. As to his eyes … I wouldn’t exactly call that conclusive proof.”
“He is the killer. I knew it!” Sebastian gloated.
“At least we know,” Samuel agreed while struggling to roll his sleeves up in a way they would stay. “Now we can take steps to protect ourselves.”
“We don’t know anything,” Hadrian said. “Just because he’s solitary doesn’t mean he’s a killer.”
“I agree with Samuel,” Vivian said. “We need to act. What steps can we take?” She was pressed close to Sebastian as if he were a campfire, her arms crossed over her breasts and hands tucked under for warmth.
The Crown Tower trc-1 Page 3
