“I thought it was Jollin,” Royce corrected.
“It smells like apples and cinnamon in here.” Albert sat down on one of the elaborately embroidered couches. Hadrian had loaned Albert his thick woolen winter trousers and his cloak, which he had wrapped about him. Underneath he still wore his filthy nightshirt.
“The girls smell even better,” Hadrian said.
“I can only imagine. And it’s quiet. Usually you can hear the creaking of the bed frames overhead. This place is great. Must be expensive, and popular, and yet I never heard of it. Is it new?”
Hadrian shrugged. “We were only here the one time.”
“We need to get you cleaned up,” Royce told the viscount, realizing just how unpleasant the noble looked. He didn’t want to meet her with him like that, but he didn’t have a choice now. “Hadrian, while I take Gwen to dinner, do you think you could maybe—”
Hadrian laughed.
“What?”
“Do you really think you’re fooling me?”
“I just thought that—”
“You just want time alone with Gwen.”
Royce made to protest, but Hadrian held up his hand. “Relax. I’ll deal with Count Nightshirt.”
“Viscount.”
“What’s the difference?”
“A whole lot of money.”
Jasmine came back down the stairs, moving much slower than she had gone up. “Um … Gwen asked me to tell you that … she doesn’t want to see you.”
Royce wasn’t certain he’d heard her correctly. “I don’t understand. She doesn’t want … but why? Did you tell her I just wanted to take her to dinner? Did you tell her Hadrian is with me? We’ll all go together if she prefers. It won’t be just the two of us, if that’s the problem.”
“So much for my shave and new clothes,” Albert said.
“I’m sorry, she really made herself quite clear,” the girl replied. “She won’t see you under any circumstances. I really am sorry.”
Hadrian placed his elbows on the table and frowned when it rocked. “I hate when they wobble like this.”
They were in The Hideous Head Tavern and Alehouse across Wayward Street. The place had looked destitute from the outside, similar to the barn in which they’d found Albert, and Hadrian had thought it couldn’t be any worse inside. He was wrong.
Thin planks of uneven widths formed the walls, leaving gaps between warped boards that granted ample passage to both sunlight and cold air. The shoddy carpentry turned out to be a benefit, as the place had few windows—none that opened—and the fireplace was poorly ventilated. The gaps helped provide an escape for the smoke and an exit for the rats that appeared to frequent the storeroom.
“We passed, what, four carpenters on the way here?” Hadrian was looking under the table and rocking it. “I mean, how hard can it be to level a table?” He pulled his short sword and, drawing it along his chair’s leg, planed off a small wedge-shaped sliver, which he tucked under the table. He tested it and smiled.
“I don’t understand,” Royce said for the third time. “Why wouldn’t she even come out?”
“Perhaps she didn’t recall your name,” Albert suggested. “Also she might have been busy.”
Royce shook his head. “The girl said she wasn’t accepting guests. I’m not even sure she does that—not anymore at least. She never entertained when we were there. I think she just manages the place. And if she was busy, we would’ve been told to wait, not, ‘She won’t see you under any circumstances.’ ”
Hadrian knew that it was those three words at the end that irked Royce the most. He almost never saw his partner caught off guard. Royce expected the worst of people and, unfortunately, they rarely proved him wrong. But this was different. He had seen Royce’s face when Jasmine, Julie—or was it Jollin?—had said those words. Royce had been visibly stunned. To be honest, Hadrian had also been surprised.
After catching an arrow in the back and passing out in Tom the Feather’s barnyard, Hadrian had woken up on a comfortable bed surrounded by lovely women. He thought he’d died and regretted every time he’d ever cursed Maribor’s name. Gwen had spent most of her time with Royce but had ordered the girls around like a seasoned marshal and she saw to it his every need was met. Not knowing how they had arrived there, Hadrian assumed Medford House was a refuge Royce had used in the past and that he and Gwen were old friends. But as the days passed, he learned that they had never met before the night they showed up on her doorstep.
Hadrian wasn’t sure how many days he had lost, drifting in and out of consciousness while the Nyphron Church had continued to search for them. Patrols entered the Lower Quarter. Questions were asked. Gwen had made preparations to hide them at a moment’s notice, but no one ever attempted to search the house. After the first week, things had calmed down. By the end of the first month it appeared they had been forgotten. Still, he and Royce rarely set foot outside.
It was Royce who had finally announced that they would be leaving. He hadn’t heard of any disagreement between the two and Gwen gave them both a tight hug, and Royce received a kiss when they left. That kiss had shocked Royce too. Maybe she did it because she liked spooking him. Royce often reminded Hadrian of a cat, a bit too self-assured and surefooted. It was entertaining to see him knocked off balance. They had left on good terms and that’s why her refusal to see them made no sense. She had seemed genuinely sad when they had gone away.
Albert sat with his back to the bar, his hands folded on the table, looking over his shoulder longingly.
“We’re here for a meal,” Hadrian reminded the viscount. “The nonliquid kind.”
Albert turned back, licking his lips. “Right … of course.”
Hadrian stared at the viscount. The man was the very picture of poverty, his face little more than a pair of eyes peering out of a wreath of grimy hair. “You know, it’s hard to imagine what you’d look like without that beard. Is there really a face under there?”
Albert sat up straight. “Of course, and a handsome one at that. I was a looker when I could afford it.”
“I just don’t understand,” Royce mumbled again.
“Understand what?” A man approached the table, wiping dirty hands on a dirtier rag.
The moment he saw him, Hadrian thought of the scarecrows that had dotted the farms along the country roads. There had been one in particular, with a pumpkin for a head and a straw-stuffed hat, that could have been this man’s twin. The main differences being that the man was far older and less attractive than the pumpkin.
“Why there is such a shortage of fetching barmaids,” Hadrian answered for him. Hadrian had meant it as a joke, but the man scowled back, causing Hadrian to rethink whether he had anything in common with a pumpkin at all.
“They’re all across the street,” he replied with a sour look at the wall, which if it had a window would look out on Medford House. His stare was so intense and sustained that all three followed his line of sight. “Had a whole passel working a year ago, but she made them all leave.”
“She?” Royce asked.
“Yeah,” the barman said with a sneer and a dismissive wave of his hand at the wall. “That Calian whore that runs the joint. She used to work here. Then the bitch betrayed me. She left and took the rest with her. Now look at the place. A man can hardly make a decent living with them across the street.”
“How about we get a round of ale?” Hadrian said quickly, causing Albert to brighten.
“I’d prefer rum,” Albert declared.
“No rum,” Hadrian said. “Oh yeah, and no ale for him either—just bring a small beer for him and a pint for me. How about some wine, Royce?”
“No.”
“Well, think on it while I get the others. Only got two hands anyway,” the man said. “Name’s Grue, by the way … Raynor Grue. I own this place.”
“Royce?” Hadrian asked after Grue left. “Whatcha thinking?”