She felt herself start to go light-headed, and realized she still hadn’t eaten. She had to find something decent to eat before she fell over.
Half an hour later Lorrie was licking the few remaining crumbs of a meat pie off her fingers and contemplating buying another one. Afternoon was fleeing, and the streets were crowded but already starting to thin out. The vendor had only one pie left and was moving away. If she wanted another, she had to decide now. She was just about to rush over to the pie-seller to see if she could get a bargain on the last sale of the day when a man walked up to her.
‘Hey there, young fellow,’ he said cheerily.
Lorrie looked at him. He was about her father’s age and short, only a little taller than she was. He wasn’t any too clean, though not beyond the bounds of respectability, and his clothing wasn’t worn at the collar and cuffs. All in all he looked like a city man and probably a bachelor. He sported a wide black moustache and an even wider grin. Lorrie was certain from the lines in his face the man used dye to make his hair and moustache so absolutely black. She had heard of noblewomen colouring their hair with different things, but never heard of a man doing it. It struck her as odd, but he seemed friendly enough.
‘Hello, sir,’ she said cautiously.
‘You seem a likely lad,’ he said.
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘How would you like to earn two shiny silver pieces?’ he asked.
‘Very much, sir,’ Lorrie said eagerly. That would help. Gods knew how long it would take to find Rip.
‘Can you run, boy?’
‘Oh, yes, sir,’ Lorrie assured him, ‘faster than anyone.’
The man laughed and pointed to an alley nearby. ‘There’s a fellow waiting there at the far end of the alley who needs someone to take a small package across the city for him. His name is Travers and he will give you your instructions. Tell him you’re the lad Benton sent him. Now, go, let me see you run!’
She raced to the alley and down it to the corner where a man stood picking his teeth under the creaking sign of a tavern; it was a relief to get out of the narrow lane, where daylight hardly filtered through. The city looked to Lorrie to be worse than a forest at night, with houses that towered up three and even four storeys on either side. She wrinkled her nose: a farm-girl didn’t grow up squeamish, but where she was raised dung went on the fields where it belonged, and people didn’t piss up against buildings.
‘Sir?’ she said, ‘would you go by the name of Travers?’
The man nodded and swept a glance over her from head to foot. ‘Who’re you?’ he demanded.
‘I’m the boy Benton sent you,’ Lorrie told him.
‘Ah.’ He pulled out a purse from his pocket. ‘I need ye to take this to The Firedrake, an inn near the north gate. There’s a gentleman there named Coats who’s waiting for it.’ He handed it over. ‘Go on, then. What’re ye waiting for?’
‘Urn, Benton said that I would get two silvers for this errand,’ she said.
‘And so ye shall, when ye’ve done it,’ Travers roared. ‘The sooner ye do it, the sooner ye’ll be paid. So get goin’!’
Lorrie took to her heels feeling foolish and just a little unnerved. Of course she wouldn’t be paid until she’d delivered the package, no one would take your word on such a thing here. But she couldn’t help reflecting that Travers was a very surly man, not nearly as nice as Benton.
The streets were far less crowded now as the day waned and she still had nowhere to spend the night. Perhaps if The Firedrake looked like a reasonable place she could stay there. Lorrie paused and looked around. Then she dashed down a short street toward the city wall, reasoning that following it would lead her to the north gate eventually.
Suddenly she went flying, knocking her forehead on the cobbled pavement with an oof! and a dizzying wave of pain. Blood trickled down into her eyebrows, warm and sticky. Through the buzzing in her ears she heard far in the background a cry of ‘Stop! Thief!’ and was glad she’d got past the place without trouble.
Lorrie started to push herself up when something hard struck her in the middle of her back and pushed her back down again.
‘Stay where you are!’ a familiar voice barked.
The girl turned her head and stared in astonishment at the cheerful Benton, looking far less than cheery at the moment.
‘Ah ha!’ Travers said, arriving in a hurry. ‘Caught the little rat I see!’
‘Then this is the thief?’ Benton said.
‘Indeed, sir! With my purse in his hand!’ Travers said loudly.
Lorrie looked in disbelief from one to the other. The few people about were pausing to see what the excitement was about and she felt compelled to protest.
‘But you gave it to me!’ she cried. ‘You told me . . .’
Benton smacked her with his cudgel on the back of the neck with precisely calculated force, and she fell back, dazed.
‘None of that!’ he cried. ‘You can tell your lies to the judge and see what he thinks of them.’