found himself hoping that the gods would show mercy on the northern king and let him die in his sleep that night.
5
A Dropletof Peace
“During the years of the Great Death, most fairies were driven out of the lands of men, accused of spawning and spreading that terrible plague. But Phayallos and others claim that fairy-villages such as a cave city near Falopetris in Ulos were found empty but for the bodies of dead Qar, who had succumbed to the pox before any man had reached them.”
—from “A Treatise on the Fairy Peoples of Eion and Xand”
“ N O.” THE BARMAID SLAMMED the coin down on the wet, greasy board and walked away.
Matt Tinwright wanted her to take it, but he had to admit to a certain ambivalence. It was the last of his money, a single silver sturgeon borrowed—along with the three he’d already spent in the last fortnight—after a heroic wheedling of old Puzzle, a feat of flattery, exaggeration, and outright sniveling that would be celebrated among the guild of beggars for centuries to come. Not that Tinwright had exaggerated everything he had said to get Puzzle to take his coins out of the odiferous little bag he kept in his boot: he really did need the money, and it really was a matter of life or death.
“Please, Brigid,” he said quietly as the barmaid passed him again. There weren’t many people in the Quiller’s Mint at this time of the day, and those who were would doubtless not know the difference between voices inside their head or outside, but it was not the sort of thing one talked about loudly. “Please. There is no one else who can help me.”
“And I don’t care.” She stopped in front of him, fists on hips, and bent forward so that her face was only a hand’s-breadth from his own. Normally he would have been distracted by the amount of bosom this pose displayed, but even his most dominating instincts were at the moment shriveled by fear of his awesome responsibility. “My brothers helped you get her out of her rooms and I helped you get her over to the new place—I even carried the snobby cow while you ran off and piddled your pantaloons.”
“A base lie!” he said, then lowered his voice. “I had to go and distract those men. They were priests—clerics from the castle’s counting house. They are sober men and would have known right away something was not right.” He remembered the terror of that moment, hearing them coming down the passage as he and the serving wench were dragging a dazed, barefoot Elan M’Cory to the room he had rented and prepared for her near Skimmers Lagoon. It had been even more frightening than the time he had thought he was about to be executed by Avin Brone: that time he had not known why he was in trouble, but this time Tinwright had helped a young noblewoman poison herself—although without letting her actually achieve that goal. Now he had to keep the recovering Elan hidden from Hendon Tolly and the others. Almost being caught like that—well, he wouldn’t admit it to Brigid, but the state of his clothing had been a near thing.
“You know, it’s a funny thing, Matty, but I still don’t care.” Brigid tossed her curly hair. “I’m not interested in your problems anymore. I’ve got a new man and he’s got money. Not just drips and drabs like you and that poor old stick you cadge yours from, but a good living. He’s got a house in Oscastle, and a shop, and he has nice clothes and a walking stick with a handle made of real whale ivory . . .”
“And a wife back home?” Tinwright said, none too nicely.
“What of it? She’s a sour old cow—he told me so. He’ll set me up in a place of my own and I won’t have to live in this bloody place anymore and let Conary feel my bubs just to earn my wages.”
“But Brigid, I’m in terrible trouble . . . !”
“And who put you there, Matt Tinwright? You did. And who’s got to get you out? None other than the same person. Learn that lesson and you’ll be halfway to
5
A Dropletof Peace
“During the years of the Great Death, most fairies were driven out of the lands of men, accused of spawning and spreading that terrible plague. But Phayallos and others claim that fairy-villages such as a cave city near Falopetris in Ulos were found empty but for the bodies of dead Qar, who had succumbed to the pox before any man had reached them.”
—from “A Treatise on the Fairy Peoples of Eion and Xand”
“ N O.” THE BARMAID SLAMMED the coin down on the wet, greasy board and walked away.
Matt Tinwright wanted her to take it, but he had to admit to a certain ambivalence. It was the last of his money, a single silver sturgeon borrowed—along with the three he’d already spent in the last fortnight—after a heroic wheedling of old Puzzle, a feat of flattery, exaggeration, and outright sniveling that would be celebrated among the guild of beggars for centuries to come. Not that Tinwright had exaggerated everything he had said to get Puzzle to take his coins out of the odiferous little bag he kept in his boot: he really did need the money, and it really was a matter of life or death.
“Please, Brigid,” he said quietly as the barmaid passed him again. There weren’t many people in the Quiller’s Mint at this time of the day, and those who were would doubtless not know the difference between voices inside their head or outside, but it was not the sort of thing one talked about loudly. “Please. There is no one else who can help me.”
“And I don’t care.” She stopped in front of him, fists on hips, and bent forward so that her face was only a hand’s-breadth from his own. Normally he would have been distracted by the amount of bosom this pose displayed, but even his most dominating instincts were at the moment shriveled by fear of his awesome responsibility. “My brothers helped you get her out of her rooms and I helped you get her over to the new place—I even carried the snobby cow while you ran off and piddled your pantaloons.”
“A base lie!” he said, then lowered his voice. “I had to go and distract those men. They were priests—clerics from the castle’s counting house. They are sober men and would have known right away something was not right.” He remembered the terror of that moment, hearing them coming down the passage as he and the serving wench were dragging a dazed, barefoot Elan M’Cory to the room he had rented and prepared for her near Skimmers Lagoon. It had been even more frightening than the time he had thought he was about to be executed by Avin Brone: that time he had not known why he was in trouble, but this time Tinwright had helped a young noblewoman poison herself—although without letting her actually achieve that goal. Now he had to keep the recovering Elan hidden from Hendon Tolly and the others. Almost being caught like that—well, he wouldn’t admit it to Brigid, but the state of his clothing had been a near thing.
“You know, it’s a funny thing, Matty, but I still don’t care.” Brigid tossed her curly hair. “I’m not interested in your problems anymore. I’ve got a new man and he’s got money. Not just drips and drabs like you and that poor old stick you cadge yours from, but a good living. He’s got a house in Oscastle, and a shop, and he has nice clothes and a walking stick with a handle made of real whale ivory . . .”
“And a wife back home?” Tinwright said, none too nicely.
“What of it? She’s a sour old cow—he told me so. He’ll set me up in a place of my own and I won’t have to live in this bloody place anymore and let Conary feel my bubs just to earn my wages.”
“But Brigid, I’m in terrible trouble . . . !”
“And who put you there, Matt Tinwright? You did. And who’s got to get you out? None other than the same person. Learn that lesson and you’ll be halfway to
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