It’s not an unworkable system.’
Croft went ahead to scout the town. To pass the time while they waited, Risha answered Nolan’s questions about Torfell and her journey to Caledon with Marit’s traders.
The news Croft brought on his return was encouraging . ‘Seems quiet enough. No sign of any Westlarns. Lake docks are busy but nothing out of the ordinary so far as I could tell. There’s a tavern just south of the harbour — far enough from the barracks that we’re unlikely to run into anyone we know — where we could find a meal and listen out for any gossip.’
Risha’s belly rumbled. They’d not eaten since breakfast and the sun was sinking rapidly toward the horizon.
Nolan glanced at her. ‘You won’t pass close scrutiny like that, short hair or no. Have you a dress that will cover the bruising?’
She ducked behind the boulders where they’d rested and shrugged into Lyse’s dress, arranging a shawl around her shoulders. A battered young woman travelling with two similarly battered guardsmen was hardly ideal as a disguise, but it would have to do. Scrubbing her face with a splash of water from her flask, she pushed her ragged hair behind her ears and straightened her shoulders. It was Risha, rather than Guardsman Rush, who rejoined the men.
Nolan looked her over and gave a terse nod. ‘All right. Our aim is not to attract attention. We sit in a corner andkeep our heads down. Any trouble and we get out, no arguments. Understood?’
‘Agreed,’ Risha said pointedly.
Croft’s cough sounded suspiciously as if it might have begun as something else.
As they neared the lakefront, the smallholdings of Leighton’s straggling southern outskirts gave way to workshops and goods sheds. Risha had seen nothing of the town on her visit three years ago. She suppressed a shudder at the memory of being transferred from Olli’s ketch to Fenn’s barge by way of a barrel.
The tavern was a squat, dark building with stables behind. Nolan gave a lad a coin to tend their horses and led them inside. The proprietor looked up as they entered. It was early and there were few patrons: a group of fishermen toasting their day’s work and a couple of singletons who looked as though the drinks they nursed were not their first.
The proprietor took their order and Nolan chose a table against the wall. When the man delivered their meal his eyes lingered on Risha. She pulled her shawl a little higher.
The stew was good, spicy and rich, and they gave it their earnest attention. Croft finished first, spearing the last chunk of fish and pushing his plate aside with a satisfied sigh.
‘Get you anything more?’ The woman was middle-aged with broad hips and the signs of a life of hard work and worry etched on her face.
‘That was excellent.’ Croft burped and patted his belly. ‘Just like my ma used to make. Don’t suppose you do an apple tart?’
‘We’ve baked apricots and custard. Three servings?’
Risha shook her head.
‘If it’s as good as that fish, I’ll eat double,’ Croft announced. ‘Best I’ve eaten in months.’
The woman barely acknowledged his flattery, but set another jug of ale on the table with the laden bowls she brought out.
The tavern had begun to fill as they ate. After a few mouthfuls Nolan slid his bowl towards Croft and sauntered to the bar. Risha watched surreptitiously as he struck up a conversation with a couple of newly arrived patrons.
Croft emptied Nolan’s bowl and sighed. ‘A lot better than my ma used to make, actually. She was never much of a cook.’
Risha smiled.
‘How’s the shoulder? Still sore?’
‘Not so bad as it was. Your face still looks a mess.’ The bruising on his jaw had faded to a tattered yellow-brown , half-hidden by four days’ growth of beard. It might have been taken for a smear of dirt, were it not for the darkened eye that went with it.
He ran a hand across his bristly cheek. ‘Must have been why she didn’t soften to my charms, eh?
Croft went ahead to scout the town. To pass the time while they waited, Risha answered Nolan’s questions about Torfell and her journey to Caledon with Marit’s traders.
The news Croft brought on his return was encouraging . ‘Seems quiet enough. No sign of any Westlarns. Lake docks are busy but nothing out of the ordinary so far as I could tell. There’s a tavern just south of the harbour — far enough from the barracks that we’re unlikely to run into anyone we know — where we could find a meal and listen out for any gossip.’
Risha’s belly rumbled. They’d not eaten since breakfast and the sun was sinking rapidly toward the horizon.
Nolan glanced at her. ‘You won’t pass close scrutiny like that, short hair or no. Have you a dress that will cover the bruising?’
She ducked behind the boulders where they’d rested and shrugged into Lyse’s dress, arranging a shawl around her shoulders. A battered young woman travelling with two similarly battered guardsmen was hardly ideal as a disguise, but it would have to do. Scrubbing her face with a splash of water from her flask, she pushed her ragged hair behind her ears and straightened her shoulders. It was Risha, rather than Guardsman Rush, who rejoined the men.
Nolan looked her over and gave a terse nod. ‘All right. Our aim is not to attract attention. We sit in a corner andkeep our heads down. Any trouble and we get out, no arguments. Understood?’
‘Agreed,’ Risha said pointedly.
Croft’s cough sounded suspiciously as if it might have begun as something else.
As they neared the lakefront, the smallholdings of Leighton’s straggling southern outskirts gave way to workshops and goods sheds. Risha had seen nothing of the town on her visit three years ago. She suppressed a shudder at the memory of being transferred from Olli’s ketch to Fenn’s barge by way of a barrel.
The tavern was a squat, dark building with stables behind. Nolan gave a lad a coin to tend their horses and led them inside. The proprietor looked up as they entered. It was early and there were few patrons: a group of fishermen toasting their day’s work and a couple of singletons who looked as though the drinks they nursed were not their first.
The proprietor took their order and Nolan chose a table against the wall. When the man delivered their meal his eyes lingered on Risha. She pulled her shawl a little higher.
The stew was good, spicy and rich, and they gave it their earnest attention. Croft finished first, spearing the last chunk of fish and pushing his plate aside with a satisfied sigh.
‘Get you anything more?’ The woman was middle-aged with broad hips and the signs of a life of hard work and worry etched on her face.
‘That was excellent.’ Croft burped and patted his belly. ‘Just like my ma used to make. Don’t suppose you do an apple tart?’
‘We’ve baked apricots and custard. Three servings?’
Risha shook her head.
‘If it’s as good as that fish, I’ll eat double,’ Croft announced. ‘Best I’ve eaten in months.’
The woman barely acknowledged his flattery, but set another jug of ale on the table with the laden bowls she brought out.
The tavern had begun to fill as they ate. After a few mouthfuls Nolan slid his bowl towards Croft and sauntered to the bar. Risha watched surreptitiously as he struck up a conversation with a couple of newly arrived patrons.
Croft emptied Nolan’s bowl and sighed. ‘A lot better than my ma used to make, actually. She was never much of a cook.’
Risha smiled.
‘How’s the shoulder? Still sore?’
‘Not so bad as it was. Your face still looks a mess.’ The bruising on his jaw had faded to a tattered yellow-brown , half-hidden by four days’ growth of beard. It might have been taken for a smear of dirt, were it not for the darkened eye that went with it.
He ran a hand across his bristly cheek. ‘Must have been why she didn’t soften to my charms, eh?
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