Then Laurent rose and made his way around the table, sitting himself beside Damen, close as a lover.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Verisimilitude,’ said Laurent. The earring winked at him. ‘I’m glad I brought you along. I wasn’t expecting to have to tear things out of walls. Do you visit brothels often?’
‘No,’ said Damen.
‘Not brothels. Camp followers?’ said Laurent. And then: ‘Slaves.’ And then, after the satisfaction of a pause: ‘Akielos, the garden of delights. So you enjoy slavery in others. Just not in yourself.’
Damen shifted on the long bench, and regarded him.
‘Don’t strain yourself,’ said Laurent.
‘You talk more,’ said Damen, ‘when you’re uncomfortable.’
‘My lord,’ said the innkeeper, and Damen turned. Laurent didn’t. ‘Your room will be ready shortly. The third door at the top of the stairs. Jehan will bring you wine and food while you wait.’
‘We’ll try to entertain ourselves. Who’s that?’ said Laurent.
He was looking across the room at an older man with hair like a handful of straw protruding from under a dirty woollen cap. He sat at a dark table in the corner. He was shuffling cards as though, although earmarked and greasy, they were his prize possessions.
‘That’s Volo. Don’t play him. He’s a man with a thirst. He won’t take more than a night to drink your coins, your jewels and your jacket.’
With this advice, the innkeeper left.
Laurent was watching Volo with the same expression with which he had regarded the women in the brothel. Volo tried to cajole wine out of the house boy, then he tried to cajole something altogether different out of the house boy, who was not impressed when Volo performed a sleight-of-hand trick that involved holding a wooden spoon in his hand and then vanishing it, as though into thin air.
‘All right. Give me some coin. I want to play that man at cards.’
Laurent rose, leaning his weight against the table. Damen reached for the purse, then paused. ‘Aren’t you supposed to earn gifts with service?’
Laurent said, ‘Is there something you want?’
His voice was sinuous with promise; his gaze was steady as a cat’s.
Damen, who preferred not to be eviscerated, tossed Laurent the purse. Laurent caught it in one hand, and took for himself a handful of copper and silver. He tossed the purse back to Damen as he made his way across the inn floor, seating himself opposite Volo.
They played. Laurent bet silver. Volo bet his woollen cap. Damen watched from his table for a few minutes, then cast his eye around the other patrons to see whether any of them were close enough to him in class to make an invitation plausible.
The most respectable of them was dressed in good clothing with a fur-lined cloak thrown over his chair, perhaps a cloth merchant. Damen extended an invitation for the man to join him if he wished, which the man very much did, hiding his curiosity about Damen only imperfectly, under a blanket of merchant manners. The man’s name was Charls, and he was a trading partner of a significant merchant family. They did indeed trade in cloth. Damen gave an obscure name and pedigree from Patras.
‘Ah, Patras! Yes, you have the accent,’ said Charls.
The talk was of trade and politics, which was natural if you were a merchant. It proved impossible to prise out news of Akielos. Charls did not support the alliance. Charls trusted the Prince to stand firm in negotiations with the bastard Akielon King more than he trusted the Regent uncle. The Crown Prince was camped at Nesson this very minute, on his way to the border to stand up to Akielos. He was a young man serious about his responsibilities, Charls said. Damen had to make an effort not to look over at Laurent, gambling, when he said it.
The food arrived. The inn provided good bread and platters. Charls eyed the plates when it became evident that the innkeeper had given Damen all the best cuts of meat.
The patrons in the common room were thinning out. Charls took his leave shortly after, heading upstairs to the second-best room of the establishment.
When he looked over at the card game, Damen saw that Laurent had managed to lose all his coin, but gain the filthy woollen cap. Volo grinned, slapped Laurent soundly on the back in commiseration, then bought him a drink. Then he bought himself a drink. Then he bought himself the house boy, who was offering very generous rates—one copper for a poke, three coppers for the night—and who had warmed up a great deal to Volo now that he had piled in front of him all of Laurent’s coin.
Laurent took the drink and picked his way back across the room, where he put it, untouched, in front of Damen.
‘Spoils of someone else’s victory.’