The startled look in her eyes pleased him. She shoved him away from herself, and he gave her an angry stare.
“That man has no right to treat you that way. They are all cowards, as you can see.” He lifted his voice haughtily, glancing back defiantly at the table. He could see many of the Preachán nearby nudge away from him, as if expecting lightning to strike.
“This is not a game!” Hettie snarled, grabbing a fistful of his shirt. Her features had not softened, but her eyes had. She realized what he was doing. A distraction. A ruse. In a moment, she was playing along. “If I do not get that medicine, then all is wasted! You are only making it worse!”
“It is your own fault you need that medicine. If you would stop flashing your eyes at every man you see along the road, you may not need…”
“It was your fault we lost our way on the road. If you had not dropped the purse, we would not have needed to beg a ride. Flashing my eyes, you make me sick! It was better than walking here…”
“I saw how close you were sitting to the wagon master. Any closer and it would have been on his lap, and do not tell me you would not have fancied that.”
“And here I thought that Bhikhu were immune to jealousy. I see that they failed to teach that at the temple. You are such a hypocrite.”
“I am a hypocrite?”
“Yes! For all your fine talk of being truly free of obligations and misery, you are the most miserable man I have ever met. A girl wants a compliment, not sermons. Why did we even come here?”
Paedrin lowered his voice. “Keep it up.” A little louder, he said, “This is your fault we need the root. And this is the only place it can be bought out of season.” He glanced quickly at the table and found Annon sitting alone, watching them.
Paedrin scowled. “It is a waste of breath even speaking to you. You never listen.”
“And your jealousy may have ruined all chance of getting it,” she shot back in an equally lethal tone. “You never insult a Romani. Never! A grudge given is never yielded but with great interest.”
Paedrin threw up his hands and started walking toward the table where Annon was waiting.
Why would Tyrus have sent them to a place like Havenrook? Annon had felt uncomfortable in the city of Kenatos. What he experienced in the Preachán homeland could not even be described. It was the very opposite of the Druidecht way, and because it was, he knew he was bereft of any of the skills he had learned.
He recognized immediately that survival would come by his wits more than his Druidecht lore. How to find Erasmus quickly? The answer came immediately to his mind, and he recognized it as soon as a half-sober Preachán accosted him.
“Six ducats for your talisman,” the man insisted. “Seven.”
Annon reached into a pouch tied to his belt and withdrew the talisman he had taken off the man earlier. He dangled it in front of the man’s eyes, who promptly began fumbling in his pouch for coins, but Annon grabbed his shoulder.
“It’s worth more than seven. We both know that. Tell me where Erasmus sits.”
“You are a cheat!” the man complained. “Erasmus knows the price of everything.”
“Why do you think I came to see him then? Hmm? Where does he sit?”
He knew the Preachán was going to lie to him, but he betrayed himself first because his eyes darted furtively to the northeast corner in the back.
“That’s all I needed,” Annon said, clapping him on the back. “Thank you.” He tightened his fist around the talisman and plunged into the crowd. The northeast corner was not fully crowded, as most of the betting and dice-throwing was happening near the front. A few patrons sipped slowly from mugs and gathered around tables, playing strange games he had never seen before. Some involved stone pieces set on a wooden board. Others had black-and-white discs. Most of these Preachán dressed well and a few smoked pipes, causing an aroma to permeate the air.
Annon studied the tables quickly and settled on the one with only a single man seated there, his back to the wall, his face in front of the room. He noticed Annon’s approach and muttered something under his breath. He had dark hair with wisps of gray and a prominent nose.
As Annon advanced, he leaned back languidly, folding his arms across his chest. “What business could possibly bring a Druidecht to Havenrook? Are ye here to buy some poetry, perhaps? I happen to own the finest collection outside Kenatos.”
Annon sat across from him without an invitation. He leaned forward, resting his arms on the table and folding his hands. “I have come at the behest of Tyrus Paracelsus of Kenatos.”
The man was startled. His look was suddenly grave. “Have ye?”
“He sent me to Havenrook to inquire of Erasmus.”
The man revealed nothing in his look, only sternness. “Did he now.” The tone of his voice indicated it was not a question.