to stay and see for yourself?'
'No. I do not.'
Alec made his way across the tavern with his usual posture: head thrust forward, shoulders slumped, as though he were expecting to run into something. Richard looked curiously after him. After the fight at the Old Market Alec was probably safe enough on the streets, but his mood seemed strange, and Richard wondered what had made him leave so suddenly. He thought he'd go after him, just to ask; just to see what he'd say and listen to him talk in that creamy voice... the one-eyed messenger could come again tomorrow night if he really wanted him. Richard excused himself and hurried after Alec, who had stopped in front of the door as it opened inward. A tall man in a black felt hat came in. Alec looked up sharply at him, then brushed past, almost elbowing him aside in his haste to get up the stairs. Richard was about to follow when the man removed his hat, brushing snow off the crown. His left eye was covered with a black patch. He had turned his whole head to look over his shoulder after Alec. Then he slammed the door shut behind him, and turned and saw Richard.
'Dear me,' he said wearily, 'I hope you're not another unemployed swordsman.'
'Well, I am, actually,' said Richard.
'I'm afraid my needs are quite specific'
'Yes, I know,' he answered. 'You wanted St Vier.'
'That is correct.'
Richard indicated an empty table. 'Would you like to sit by the fire?'
The man's mouth froze in the act of opening; then it stretched into a smile, a speaking smile that conveyed understanding. 'No,' he said courteously, 'thank you. If you won't be too cold there, I would prefer a corner where we will not be disturbed.'
They found one, between a support-beam and the wall. Richard folded himself neatly into his seat, and the stranger followed, taking care with the placement of his clothes and the end of his sword. It was an old-fashioned, heavy sword with an ornate basket handle. Carrying it exposed him to the danger of a challenge, but not carrying it left him looking more vulnerable than he would wish.
The man's face was long and narrow, with a dark, definite jawline, heavily shadowed. Above it his skin was pale, even for winter. The cord of his eyepatch disappeared into hair as dark as a crow's plumage.
Unbidden, Rosalie brought two mugs to the table. The one-eyed gentleman waved them away. 'Let us have wine. Have you no sack? Canary?'
The tavern mistress nodded mutely, and snatched the beer-mugs back. Richard could have told him that Rosalie's wine was sour, her sherry watered; but no one had asked him.
'So you're St Vier,' the man said.
'Yes.' The stranger's face went opaque as he scrutinised the swordsman. None of them could ever resist doing it. Richard waited politely as the man took in his youth, his uneven good looks, the calm of his hands on the table before him. He was beginning to think this was going to be one of the ones who said, 'You're hardly what I expected,' and try to proposition him. But the stranger only nodded curtly. He looked down at his own gloved hands, and back at Richard.
'I can offer you 60,' he said softly.
It was a very nice sum. Richard shrugged. 'I'd have to know more about it first.'
'One challenge - to the death. Here in the city. I don't think you can quarrel with that.'
'I only quarrel on commission,' Richard said lightly.
The man's lips thinned out to a smile. 'You're an agreeable man. And an efficient one. I saw you fight off two men at Lord Horn's party.'
'You were there?' Richard hoped it might be a preface to his identity; but the man only answered, 'I had the fortune to witness the fight. It's a mystery to everyone still, what the whole thing was about.' His one eye glinted sharply; Richard took the hint, and returned it: 'I'm afraid I can't tell you that. Part of my work is to guard my employers' secrets.'
'And yet you let them employ you without any contract.'
Richard leaned back, entirely at ease. He had a fair idea of where this was
'No. I do not.'
Alec made his way across the tavern with his usual posture: head thrust forward, shoulders slumped, as though he were expecting to run into something. Richard looked curiously after him. After the fight at the Old Market Alec was probably safe enough on the streets, but his mood seemed strange, and Richard wondered what had made him leave so suddenly. He thought he'd go after him, just to ask; just to see what he'd say and listen to him talk in that creamy voice... the one-eyed messenger could come again tomorrow night if he really wanted him. Richard excused himself and hurried after Alec, who had stopped in front of the door as it opened inward. A tall man in a black felt hat came in. Alec looked up sharply at him, then brushed past, almost elbowing him aside in his haste to get up the stairs. Richard was about to follow when the man removed his hat, brushing snow off the crown. His left eye was covered with a black patch. He had turned his whole head to look over his shoulder after Alec. Then he slammed the door shut behind him, and turned and saw Richard.
'Dear me,' he said wearily, 'I hope you're not another unemployed swordsman.'
'Well, I am, actually,' said Richard.
'I'm afraid my needs are quite specific'
'Yes, I know,' he answered. 'You wanted St Vier.'
'That is correct.'
Richard indicated an empty table. 'Would you like to sit by the fire?'
The man's mouth froze in the act of opening; then it stretched into a smile, a speaking smile that conveyed understanding. 'No,' he said courteously, 'thank you. If you won't be too cold there, I would prefer a corner where we will not be disturbed.'
They found one, between a support-beam and the wall. Richard folded himself neatly into his seat, and the stranger followed, taking care with the placement of his clothes and the end of his sword. It was an old-fashioned, heavy sword with an ornate basket handle. Carrying it exposed him to the danger of a challenge, but not carrying it left him looking more vulnerable than he would wish.
The man's face was long and narrow, with a dark, definite jawline, heavily shadowed. Above it his skin was pale, even for winter. The cord of his eyepatch disappeared into hair as dark as a crow's plumage.
Unbidden, Rosalie brought two mugs to the table. The one-eyed gentleman waved them away. 'Let us have wine. Have you no sack? Canary?'
The tavern mistress nodded mutely, and snatched the beer-mugs back. Richard could have told him that Rosalie's wine was sour, her sherry watered; but no one had asked him.
'So you're St Vier,' the man said.
'Yes.' The stranger's face went opaque as he scrutinised the swordsman. None of them could ever resist doing it. Richard waited politely as the man took in his youth, his uneven good looks, the calm of his hands on the table before him. He was beginning to think this was going to be one of the ones who said, 'You're hardly what I expected,' and try to proposition him. But the stranger only nodded curtly. He looked down at his own gloved hands, and back at Richard.
'I can offer you 60,' he said softly.
It was a very nice sum. Richard shrugged. 'I'd have to know more about it first.'
'One challenge - to the death. Here in the city. I don't think you can quarrel with that.'
'I only quarrel on commission,' Richard said lightly.
The man's lips thinned out to a smile. 'You're an agreeable man. And an efficient one. I saw you fight off two men at Lord Horn's party.'
'You were there?' Richard hoped it might be a preface to his identity; but the man only answered, 'I had the fortune to witness the fight. It's a mystery to everyone still, what the whole thing was about.' His one eye glinted sharply; Richard took the hint, and returned it: 'I'm afraid I can't tell you that. Part of my work is to guard my employers' secrets.'
'And yet you let them employ you without any contract.'
Richard leaned back, entirely at ease. He had a fair idea of where this was
Similar Books
