Betrayal in the Highlands (17 page)

He looked between the trees.

“Oh, it’s about blasted time!” he cried, sheathing his sword. “I thought we’d never get here. Honestly.”

“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” Edmund said, taking in the view.

“It’s the most wonderful city I’ve ever seen. And I’m not just saying that because I’d give my right arm for a chair and a pint of beer.”

Edmund pointed to a massive column of grey stone rising up from the heart of the river; its base was smaller than its top, like an inverted mountain dropped from the heavens. On its flat summit stood Tor Rød, the majestic castle of Prince Raymond, flags of red and yellow snapping in the fresh spring breeze.

“I wonder how they managed to build that fortress. I mean, nobody in the world could climb that incline—nobody! How did they get masons up there?”

“And how did they get the stone up there to build it?” Pond added.

“Exactly.”

As they stood marveling at the city with its pounding waterfalls and its fragrant ash trees, Fatty staggered up from behind. Gasping and groaning, he put a hand on Pond’s shoulder for support, nearly driving Pond to his knees in the process.

“See there, big fella?” Edmund pointed to the lands below. “That’s where we’re headed. We can rest soon.”

Fatty lifted a meaty hand to thank the gods.

“All right, Becky. Lead the way,” said Edmund. “And remember Pond, call me Mr. Cooper. Forget the name Edmund. Too m-m-many, too many people have heard of me in these parts.”

“What about me?” Pond asked as they followed Becky down the hillside.

“What about you?” Edmund replied.

“What am I going to be called?”

“What do you want to be called?”

Pond thought for a moment. “How about Sir Røggar the Bloodthirsty?”

“A bit dramatic, don’t you think? How about something more innocuous, like ‘William’?”

Pond scoffed. “Boring!”

“Boring and forgettable. That’s what we need. We need to blend in or we’ll be running for the rest of our lives.”

Fatty waddled after them in great huffing breaths, trying to keep up.

“Barton,” Pond said after a few minutes.

“What?”

“That’s what I want to be called—Mr. Barton. It has a ring to it, doesn’t it? Barton.”

“It sounds like a bartender.”

“Or a baron. Baron Barton,” Pond repeated to himself, pleased.

“Stick with just Barton,” Edmund said. “No need to make you nobility just yet. We can’t attract any attention this time. We’ll stay for a couple of days, sell some things, and then figure out what our next move is going to be.”

A group of people rode up the hill toward them. As they passed, the riders lifted their hats politely to Edmund and Pond but laughed openly at Fatty, who resembled a massive boulder ready to cause an avalanche as he staggered down the slope.

“Speaking of not attracting attention,” Pond said when the riders were out of earshot.

“Let’s just find an inn and rest. I might have an idea that will help him and us.”

The road from the hills led to an open gate flanked by friendly guards who bid them each welcome as they entered. Past the gate, the road wound along the inside of the mighty gorge with nothing but a waist-high black iron railing separating travelers from a several-hundred-foot drop straight down.

Soon they came to great ledges upon which shops and buildings had been built. Merchants stood in front of them, calling to passersby, trying to entice them inside. One merchant followed Edmund for several paces.

“I can clean your clothes!” he said. “I can clean them good! Mend them, too! They’d be like new. Like new!”

Edmund shook his head.

“Fresh fish!” a fishmonger bellowed. “Do you want fresh fish?” He reached into a trough and pulled out a large trout, alive and thrashing in his hands. “You can’t get any fresher than this, eh? Fresh fish?”

They passed a tobacconist, the rich smell of aged tobacco wafting out from his shop’s open windows, and then several fine-looking restaurants. At each of these, Pond and Fatty looked hopefully at Edmund; they were all hungry and wanted to sit down. But they were also filthy and stank of swamp. Edmund told them to keep going.

Before long they came to a wide, park-like landing upon which trees grew and townsfolk sat on benches in the shade, chatting among themselves.

“Excuse me,” Pond said to a pair of old men hunched over a chessboard. “Could either of you direct us to an inn? Preferably the one with the best beer, if you don’t mind.”

“Ah!” one man said, moving a black piece forward a space. “That’d be The Fordman’s House, yonder.” He pointed across the river to a four-story, canary yellow building sculpted halfway up the gorge’s northeastern face, with pillars that supported elegant stone gables and a wide stone porch on which many tables were set.

“Best beer,” the other player agreed, moving a white piece. He took a black pawn. “But it ain’t cheap. If good beer is what you want and in the plenty, you might look into The Hole in The Wall.” He motioned down the road toward what seemed to be a crudely hewn tunnel opening in the rock face, from which loud music and laughter rolled. “The beer is very passable, and it won’t empty your purse.”

Pond consulted with Edmund.

Edmund inclined his head toward The Fordman’s House.

“Thank you both very much,” Pond said to the old men, who waved their hands, too engrossed in their game to make a more adequate response.

Crossing one of the sturdy rope bridges spanning the River Neven, the weary party came to The Fordman’s House, a spectacular establishment complete with an exquisitely decorated common room with an attractive fireplace, polished oak tables, and chairs with purple satin cushions. Important-looking men sat in them, smoking pipes and blowing streams of sweet-smelling, bluish-grey smoke into the air.

The proprietor of The Fordman’s House was more than willing to rent a room to Misters Cooper, Barton, and Tim—the name they gave Fatty—and even happier when Pond paid for an entire week upfront.

Bowing low, the innkeeper presented Pond with a key. “Your quarters are upstairs, on the fourth floor and to the right. It’ll be nice and quiet, just as you requested, Mr. Barton.”

Something in his voice made Edmund pause.

He knows we gave fraudulent names!

What of it? As long as nobody knows who you are, you’ll be safe. Now stop acting like there’s something wrong.

Edmund pushed a few more coins into the proprietor’s hand.

The innkeeper brightened.

“Thank you, sir! Thank you very much, indeed! I’ll make sure nobody bothers you.”

Now get out of sight! Everybody is staring at Fatty.

They trudged up a wide marble stairway, still carrying their bulky packs.

“I can’t wait to take a bath,” Edmund said, forcing his legs to the fourth floor.

They turned right and followed a row of brightly burning lanterns lining the wood-paneled walls.

“Or sleep in a clean bed,” Pond replied. “Hopefully Becky won’t destroy it this time.”

They found their room tucked away to the far end of the hall, just as Pond had requested.

Edmund slid the key into the lock. “Remember, Fatty. Keep Becky from wrecking anything. We can’t afford to keep replacing furniture.”

Breathing hard, Fatty shook a tired finger at Becky, who wagged her listless tail. Like everybody else, she stank of mud and marsh water.

“And let’s keep to ourselves,” Edmund added. “I don’t want anybody to know we’re here.”

He opened the door to the room.

A slim figure sat at a table by the window.

“Hello, Edmund,” it said, a touch of anger in a gentle voice. “Come inside and close the door. We’ve got to talk.”

Chapter Nineteen

Abby?

But it wasn’t Abby.

Silhouetted against an arched window, the woman at the table sipped some port, set her glass beside a half-empty bottle, and folded her hands into her lap. She waited.

“E, E … Edith?” Edmund said, recalling the name of the assistant librarian from Eryn Mas’s Lower Library, who’d helped him escape from the city’s law enforcers.

Next to him, Becky withdrew a pace, the hair between her shoulder blades rising.

“Who’s in there?” Pond asked, trying to peer inside.

Edmund cautiously entered the room, checking to ensure nobody else was concealed within the shadows. Becky, Pond, and Fatty filed in close behind.

“I see you have a new dog,” Edith said, not surprised. “I was afraid Thorax would not live long. She had a good spirit, but her time in this world was short.”

Edith gestured for Becky to come, but Becky lowered her head and bared her teeth.

Ignoring the growls, Edith rose like a praying mantis unfolding itself. “And you have some new friends. How delightful.”

She held out a bony hand to Pond, who shook it as he would handle a corpse. But when she reached for Fatty, he flinched, whimpering.

“He’s—” Pond faltered. “Well, he’s a bit shy of strangers.”

“I understand,” said Edith. “That’s very sensible. Now, if I may say this without being rude: I’d like to speak to Edmund alone, if you two don’t mind.”

Immediately, Fatty made for the door.

“Wait,” Edmund said.

Fatty stiffened.

“They’re m-m-my, my friends. We’re family. You can speak freely in front of them.”

Edith seemed to blench. “I think you’d be putting them in harm’s way if they remained. Even more so than you already have.”

At that, Fatty bounded out the door, patting his thigh for Becky to follow. But Becky didn’t leave Edmund’s side; she glared at Edith like a young wolf stalking a hunter. Edith turned to Pond.

“What do you want me to do?” Pond asked Edmund.

Edmund wanted him to stay but couldn’t find a way to say so without sounding like a scared rabbit.

What could happen? She just wants to talk.

Everything from the hair on my head to the tips of my toes tells me she’s dangerous. How the hell did she even know I was going to be here?

She’s a magic user.

Another reason to be wary!

Edmund nodded at Pond. “G-g-go … go with Fatty,” he said. “Pay the innkeeper for four hot baths tonight.”

“Four?”

“Becky needs one as well.”

“Ah!” Pond set his muddy pack beside one of the neatly made beds lining the left wall. “That’ll be a delight.”

“And get some decent food,” Edmund said, ignoring his sarcastic remark. “I’m sick of dried rations.”

“Then why don’t you just make more yourself?” Edith asked quietly.

Edmund’s heart jolted.

How did she know I could do that?

He stared at her.

Edith held his gaze.

“Ed?” Pond’s voice sounded distant in the tense air.

Edmund nodded again. “Go. Fatty’s going to get lost if you aren’t with him. Keep him safe.”

“Okay,” Pond replied. “We’ll be back in a little bit.”

“Take your time,” said Edith. “Edmund and I have a great deal to discuss.”

As he closed the door, Pond made deliberate eye contact with Edmund.

“Sit down, Edmund,” Edith instructed. “We need to talk.”

Edmund inched farther into the room, Becky leading the way.

“Wh-wh-what … what are you doing here?” The pitch of his voice came higher than he’d intended; even to his own ears he sounded like a frightened schoolgirl. “How did you know I’d be here?”

Edith returned to her seat by the window. Sunlight streamed through her wineglass, making the port look like blood. She took a sip.

“Why didn’t you respond to me? I thought I made myself perfectly clear.”

“Respond to you?”

The letter! She’s talking about the letter!

“Oh! It, it was from you.” Edmund glanced around again to make sure no other surprises lurked under the beds lining the left-hand wall or behind the sofa in the middle of the room. The rosewood armoire to the right might have contained somebody but with its doors closed, it wasn’t too much of a threat. Not yet, anyway. “I wasn’t sure. You, you see, B-B … Beck, Becky ate it. Well, she, she ate most of it. I didn’t know what it said or who’d sent it.”

“Becky?” Edith repeated.

Edmund dropped his pack to the floor with a lifeless thud. Even without it, he felt pulled down to his grave. He motioned to Becky next to him.

“She ate it. She can be a bit of a, a handful at times.” He aimed to sound lighthearted and unafraid, but his carefree chuckle was closer to a crazy cackle.

Edith stared at Becky. Becky glared back, upper lip lifted to reveal her long white canines.

“Interesting.” Edith took another sip of port then returned her attention to Edmund, who was still standing closer to the closed entrance door than to her.

“You’re in peril.”

“P-peril?”

“But I can help you,” she went on. “I can protect you, my friends and I.”

“What’s … what’s this all about? How am I in peril?” Edmund asked, trying to appear more in control of the conversation than he actually was, yet he felt vulnerable, standing there in the middle of the room like a child being lectured to. He needed to sit before his legs buckled, but the sofa faced away from Edith, and the only other chair sat across from her. Pretending to be indifferent to her presence, he approached, pulled the chair away from the table, and sat.

“Do you remember the promise you made me?” Edith asked.

“Pr-pr-promise?” Edmund stammered as he picked at his dirty fingernails.

“You promised me that if you survived your ordeal with Kar-Nazar—”

Edmund’s head shot up.

Edith smiled—a bitter smile full of scorn and contempt.

“Oh, yes. I know. I know everything, Edmund. Unfortunately, so do many other people who would do horrific things to you if given the chance.”

Don’t say anything. Just let her keep talking. Maybe you can finally get some answers.

Staring out the window to his left, Edmund pretended to admire the tumbling waterfalls on the opposite side of the gorge, where light from the setting sun shimmered across the wet rock like a rainbow. It was a beautiful view, one that he could get used to seeing, especially if he had somebody to share it with. But at the moment, he found no pleasure in it.