Flora rearranged her bodice, unlacing it so she could turn under the cloth, giving her as plunging a neckline as any she had worn while walking the streets of Krondor. She removed the kerchief she had worn while riding in the cart, and shook her hair out, letting it fall loose over her shoulders. She tugged at her bodice one more time, ensuring it showed enough to make acceptable working clothes. The night had gone cool and overcast, with the smell of rain on the wind from the sea. That raised goose-bumps; it did nothing to dim her wide smile as the two troopers stumbled out of the door of the Holly Bush. A backdrop of red firelight silhouetted them for a moment, and then their weaving steps were in the muck.
‘Well, hel-lo,’ Flora crooned.
The mercenaries stopped and goggled; it was Forten and Sonnart. Their companions had headed home earlier, and not quite as drunk.
‘Who’re you?’ one of them asked.
‘Not the innkeeper’s daughter with the big teats,’ the other observed owlishly.
‘I’m the new girl in these parts, boys,’ she said cheerfully, rolled a hip and winked, mustering up every trick she had learned to overcome revulsion; she had lain with more repulsive men in her day, but that was before she had come to think of herself as having more to her life than surviving from day to day. Choking down an urge to gag, she asked, ‘You walking home, or do you want to come to the stables and ride, first?’
Negotiations went quickly; the men were practically lowing as they panted after her, bumping into each other and huffing as they staggered in her wake around the rear of the inn.
‘This’s far enough,’ one of them grunted, clutching at her.
‘It’s muddy and it’s going to rain,’ Flora cast back over her shoulder. ‘There’s a roof and nice straw and horse-blankets in the stables. Only a few more steps!’
For all they’d taken aboard, the mercenaries had a well-developed sense of self-preservation; they made her go first through the doors into the darkened stables, and their hands went to their hilts when they saw Lorrie standing there.
They relaxed again, grinning, as they saw it was another girl. ‘Ruthia!’ one blurted. ‘This is our lucky day!’
Lorrie held her hand forward, palm up. As Forten reached for her, she took in a sharp breath and blew across the hand into his face.
Flora was already dodging sideways, holding her breath. The stable was a dim cavern, with only a little light filtering in through the door and the slits under the eaves, but she’d placed the hickory axe-handle precisely where it needed to be, and her hand fell on it.
Forten was already down, falling limp and face-forward in the packed manure and straw of the stable floor. Sonnart behind him hadn’t got much of the dust in his face; he gave a strangled shout and managed to half-draw his sword, a glitter of bright metal in the darkness. Flora took a firm two-handed grip on the smooth length of dense springy hardwood.
Thock!
The yard-long axe-handle landed on his right kneecap with the sound of a maul hitting a block of wood. The mercenary gave a high shrill scream that died away to a gurgle as Flora collected herself and smacked her weapon down again, this time on the back of his head.
Light flared as Lorrie took a bucket off the lamp they’d brought out. Horses stamped uneasily in the stalls, and one. snorted as he caught the scent of blood. Both mercenaries were alive, but Sonnart wouldn’t be feeling well when he woke up.
Lorrie drew her belt knife, teeth showing in what was most definitely not a smile. Flora hurried over and caught her arm.
‘No!’ she said.
Lorrie turned on her. ‘Why not?’ she said fiercely. ‘They work for the man who had my brother kidnapped and my parents killed!’
‘But they’re not the ones who did it,’ Flora said. ‘I wouldn’t stop you if it was. But if we kill these two Tael will get into a lot of trouble—hanging trouble—swine they may be, but they’re a baron’s men-at-arms, Lorrie!’
‘And you heard what they said about Bram!’ Lorrie went on, but the wild look was dying out of her eyes, and she stopped trying to tug her arm free of Flora’s grip.
‘Ah,’ Flora said. ‘Well, I had a thought about that.’ She held up two dried pinecones from the tinder-box of the smithy. ‘You see how all the leaves on the pinecones run one way?’
‘Yes?’ Lorrie said, puzzled.
Half an hour later, two cloaked and hooded figures rode down the highway from the Holly Bush towards Baron Bernarr’s manor. One of them scratched disgustedly.
‘Didn’t they ever boil these to get the nits out?’ she said.
‘It could be worse,’ the other replied.
‘How?’
‘Let me tell you about Noxious Neville, some day,’ she replied.