Sailing to Sarantium (21 page)

'What is happening? I can't see! He shoved me inside!'

'Listen, then. Little to see. But be quiet. I need to be careful,
now.'

'Now, you need to be careful? After I'm almost broken in pieces?'

'Please, my dear.'

It occurred to Crispin that he'd never said anything like that to the
bird before. It might have occurred to Linon, too. She fell silent.

One of the cousins did kneel, head bent to the prone man. 'He's
alive,' he said, looking up at his father. Crispin closed his eyes
briefly; he had swung hard, but not as hard as he could. He was still
holding the staff.

It was cold in the courtyard. A north wind blowing. None of them had
had time for cloaks or mantles. Crispin felt mud oozing beneath his
sandalled feet. It wasn't raining now, though there was a feel of
rain in the wind. Neither moon was visible, and only a changing
handful of stars where the racing clouds parted to the south towards
the unseen mountains.

Crispin drew a breath. It was time to move this forward and he needed
an audience. He looked directly at the innkeeper and said, in his
most frigid voice-the one that terrified the apprentices at home-'I
wish to know, 'keeper, if this thief, indeed his entire party are in
possession of Permits that allow them to stay at an Imperial Posting
Inn. I wish to know it now.' There was an abrupt, shuffling silence
in the courtyard. Morax actually staggered. This was not what he had
expected. He opened his mouth. No words came out.

New voices now. Others approaching, out of the dark towards the
circle of torches. Crispin glanced over and saw the girl, Kasia,
being hustled over, two of the inn's servants on either side of her,
hands gripping her elbows. They weren't being gentle. She stumbled
and they dragged her forward.

'What is happening? I can't see!'

'The girl's here.'

'Make her the hero.'

'Of course. Why do you think I sent her up?'

'Ah! You were thinking, this afternoon.'

'Alarming, I know.'

'Let her go, rot you!' he said aloud to the men jostling her. 'I owe
this girl my Permit and my purse.' They released her quickly. Crispin
saw that she was barefoot. Most of the servants were.

He turned deliberately back to Morax. 'I haven't had an answer to my
question, 'keeper.' Morax gestured helplessly, then clasped his hands
together pleadingly. Crispin saw the man's wife behind him. Her eyes
were burning: a rage without immediate direction, but deep.

'I will answer that. We have no Permit, Martinian.' It was Erytus,
the uncle. His narrow face was pale in the ring of torches. 'It is
autumn. Morax has been kind enough to allow us his hearth and rooms
on occasions when the inn is less busy.'

'The inn is full, merchant. And I assume Morax's kindness has a price
and the price is of no benefit to the Imperial Post. Was I to pay a
surcharge to your nephew?'

'Oh, well done! A bowshot at both of them!'

'Linon! Hush!'

The satchel strap remained in the nephew's hand. No one had dared
touch it. Lying on his back in the mud, Thelon of Megarium had not
moved since Crispin felled him. He was breathing evenly, though.
Crispin saw it with relief. Killing the man had not been part of his
plans, though he was unavoidably aware that someone else might. In
the north, a thief is hanged on the god's tree. He was moving quickly
here, little time to assess, and less to sort out why he was doing
it.

Erytus swallowed, said nothing. Morax cleared his throat, glanced at
the merchant, then back at Crispin. His wife was right behind him and
he knew it. His shoulders were hunched forward. He looked like a
hunted man.

Crispin, no longer a fisherman with a lure but a hunter with a bow,
said icily, 'It becomes clear that this contemptible thief was
staying here illicidy with the sanction of the authorized 'keeper of
an Imperial Posting Inn. How much are they paying you, Morax? Gesius
might want to know. Or Faustinus, the Master of Offices.'

'My lord! You will tell them?' Morax's voice actually squeaked and
then broke. It might have been comical, in another setting.

'You wretched man!' It wasn't hard for Crispin to summon a tone of
fury. 'My Permit and purse are stolen by someone who is here only
because of your greed-and you ask if I will complain? You haven't
even said a word about punishment yet, and all I've seen so far is a
manhandling of the girl who stopped this! He would have got away if
not for her! What do they do to caught thieves here in Sauradia,
Morax? I know what they do in the City to Imperial 'keepers who
breach their trust for private earn. You imbecile!'

'Hah! But be careful. He could kill you. His livelihood is at risk
in this.'

'I know. But there is a crowd.'

Crispin was painfully aware that no one in this courtyard could be
considered an ally, though. Most of them were staying illegally and
would want to continue to be able to do so. He was a threat to more
than Morax right now.

'All of the . . . my lord, in autumn, or winter, almost all the
Imperial Inns allow honest travellers to stay. A courtesy.'

'Honest travellers. Indeed. I see. I will be prompt to offer this in
your defence, should the Chancellor ask. I have put you another
question, though: what do you do with thieves here? And how do you
recompense aggrieved patrons who are here legitimately?'

Crispin saw Morax glance quickly again at Erytus. The innkeeper was
almost cringing.

It was the merchant who spoke. 'What compensation would assuage you,
Martinian? I will accept responsibility for my nephew.'

Crispin, who had spoken of recompense in the fervent hope of hearing
exactly this, turned to Erytus and let the anger seem to drift from
his voice. 'An honourable thing to say, but he is of age, is he not?
He answers for himself, surely.'

'He should. But his... failings are manifest here. A grief to his
parents. And to myself, I assure you. What will serve to make this
right?'

'We hang thieves back home,' one of the Karchites growled. Crispin
glanced over. It was the one who'd raised his beer mug to him,
earlier. He had a bright, inebriated glint in his eye. The prospect
of violence, to cheer a dull night.

'We hang 'em here, too!' said someone else, unseen, at the back of
the crowd. There was a sharp murmur. An edge of excitement now.
Torches danced, pressed nearer in the cold.

'Or cut off their hands,' said Crispin, feigning indifference. He
pushed away a torch that came too close to his face. 'I care not what
the course of law dictates here. Do with him what you will. Erytus,
you are an honest man, I can see it. You cannot redress the risk to
my Permit, but match the sum in the purse-the sum I would have
lost-and I will accept that.'

'Done,' said the merchant, without a pause. He was a dried out,
humourless man, but impressive in his way.

Crispin said, trying to keep the same casual tone, 'And then buy me
the girl who saved my purse. I will let you fix your price with the
'keeper. Don't let him cheat you.'

'What?' said Morax.

'The girl!' said the wife from behind him, urgently. 'But…'

'Done,' said Erytus, again, quite calmly. He looked faintly
disapproving and relieved, at the same time.

'I will need household servants when I reach the City, and I owe her
for this.' They would think he was a greedy Rhodian pig; that was all
right, that was fine. Crispin bent down and hooked the satchel strap
from the fingers of the prone man. He straightened, and looked at
Morax.

'I am aware that you are not the only 'keeper to do this. Nor am I,
by nature, a teller of tales. I would suggest you be extremely fair
with Erytus of Megarium in naming your price, and I am prepared to
report that because of the intervention of one of your honest and
well-trained serving girls no lasting harm has been done.'

'No hanging?' the Karchite complained. Erytus looked over at him
stonily.

Crispin smiled thinly. 'I have no idea what they will do to him. I
don't care. I won't be here to see it. The Emperor has summoned me
and I will not linger, even for justice and a hanging. I do
understand that the good-hearted Morax, deeply contrite at our having
been driven outside into the cold, now offers Candarian wine to all
those who feel the need of warmth. Am I correct, 'keeper?'

There was a burst of raucous laughter and agreement from the men
crowded around them. Crispin let his smile deepen as he met a few
glances.

'Nicely done, again. Mice and blood! Will I be forced to respect
you?'

'How would we ever deal with that?'

'Husband! Husband!' the wife was saying urgently, for the third or
fourth time. Her face was a blotchy red in the torchlight. She was
staring at Kasia, Crispin saw. The girl looked stunned,
uncomprehending. Either she was, or she was an extremely good
actress.

Morax didn't turn to his wife. He drew a shaky breath and took
Crispin by the elbow, walking him a little way into the dark.

'The Chancellor? The Master of Offices...?' he whispered.

'. . . have more pressing concerns. I will not trouble them with
this. Erytus makes good my risk of loss, and you sell the girl with
all her countersigned papers as compensation. Make the price fair,
Morax.'

'My lord, you want... that girl, of all of them?'

'I can hardly use all of them, 'keeper. That is the one who saved my
purse.' He let himself smile again. 'She's a favourite of yours?'

The innkeeper hesitated. 'Yes, my lord.'

'Good,' said Crispin briskly. 'You ought to lose something in this,
if only a yellow-haired bed-partner. Pick another of your girls to
mount in the dark while your wife sleeps.' He paused, his smile
disappearing. 'I am being generous, 'keeper.'

He was, and Morax knew it. 'I don't... that is, she isn't... my wife
...' The innkeeper fell silent. He drew a shaky breath. 'Yes, my
lord,' he said. Tried to smile. 'I do have other girls here.'

Crispin knew what that meant, as it happened.
'I told you,'
Linon said.

'No help for it,' he replied, silently. There were questions embedded
in this that he could not answer. Aloud, he said, 'I mean it, Morax
... a very fair price for Erytus. And serve out the wine.'

Morax swallowed, and nodded unhappily. Crispin was uncontrite. The
expensive wine would be the innkeeper's only real loss, and Crispin
needed the other patrons to feel kindly towards him now, and for
Morax to know that they did.

It began to rain. Crispin looked up. Dark clouds blotted all the sky.
The forest was north, very near, a presence. Someone approached them
from beyond the torches: a hefty, reassuring figure, with Crispin's
cloak in his hands. Crispin smiled briefly at him. 'It's all right,
Vargos. We're going inside.' Vargos nodded, his expression watchful.

They had picked up Thelon of Megarium and were carrying him in. His
uncle and cousins walked beside him; servants carried torches. The
girl, Kasia, lingered uncertainly, and so did the innkeeper's wife,
her gaze poisonous.

'What is happening?'

'You heard. We are going in.'

'Go upstairs, Kitten,' Crispin said mildly, walking back towards the
light. 'You are being sold to me. You have no more tasks in this inn,
do you understand?' She didn't move for a moment, her eyes enormous,
then she nodded once jerkily, like a rabbit. She was shivering, he
saw. 'Wait for me in the room. I've some good wine promised me,
before I come up. Warm the bed. Don't fall asleep.' It was important
to be casual about this. She was a slave, bought on impulse; he knew
nothing more than that.

'About the wine, my lord?' Morax's voice at his elbow was low,
complicitous. 'The Candarian? It is wasted on almost all of them, my
lord.' That happened to be true.

'I don't care,' Crispin replied icily.

That happened to be untrue. He found it almost painful. Candarian
island wine was celebrated, it was far too good to waste. Under
ordinary circumstances.

'Mice and blood, artisan. You are still an imbecile. You do know
what this means for tomorrow?'

'Of
course I do. No help for it. We won't be able to stay. I count on you
to protect us all.'
He meant it
ironically but it didn't quite come out that way. The bird made no
reply.

There was a god's tree somewhere in that forest beyond the road and
tomorrow was the Day of the Dead. And despite what Zoticus had
advised him, they were going to have to be away from here and
travelling at sunrise or before.

He went inside with the innkeeper. Sent the girl upstairs with the
key. Sat again at his table in the common room to drink a flask or
two of the wine, prudently watered, and earn what goodwill he could
from those who shared in the liquid bounty. He kept his purse on him
this time, with his money, his Permit, and the bird.

After a time, Erytus of Megarium reappeared, having concluded an
encounter with Morax. He presented Crispin with certain papers that
indicated that the Inici slave girl, Kasia, was now the legal
property of the artisan, Martinian of Varena. Erytus also insisted on
finalizing the financial compensation upon which they had agreed.
Crispin allowed him to count the contents of his purse; Erytus
produced his own, and matched it. The Karchite merchants watched them
but were too far away to see anything clearly.

Erytus accepted only a very small cup of wine, in earnest of
goodwill. He looked weary and unhappy. He extended renewed apologies
for his nephew's disgraceful conduct and rose to leave a few moments
later. Crispin stood and exchanged a bow with him. The man had
behaved impeccably. Crispin had, in fact, relied upon that.

Looking at the papers and the quite heavy purse on the table beside
him, Crispin sipped the good wine. He expected the Megarium party to
be gone even before he was in the morning-if the nephew was allowed
to leave. He suspected that some further outlays on Erytus's part
would achieve that end, if they hadn't done so already. He found
himself hoping so. The young man was a rogue, but he'd been seduced
into this crime, had his skull dented for it, and would doubtless
suffer extremely at his family's hands. Crispin did not particularly
want to be the agency of his being hanged from a pagan oak in
Sauradia.