‘Do I look like the Constable to you?’ Jimmy asked. ‘And isn’t this something the constable should be doing?’ He gave Flora a look that said, Yes, this is something the Constable should do and you know it.
‘No one would believe me,’ Lorrie wailed. Flora shushed her. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘All our neighbours thought my parents were killed by wild dogs or something and that my baby brother was dragged off by them. But he wasn’t. There were two men. One big, the other skinny. They rode off on horseback and came here. Now they’ve moved on, going inland, and they’ve taken Rip with them. I can feel them getting further and further away.’ She broke down, weeping as though her heart would break. ‘Please find him. Please.’
Jimmy looked at the two young women with astonishment. ‘How can I do that?’ he asked. Even if I wanted to, which I dont. ‘I don’t know what these men look like, or where they’ve gone, I don’t know your brother, I don’t have a horse, and even if I did, I can’t ride. You’re asking the impossible!’
‘Be quiet!’ Flora hissed. ‘Go and think about it while I clean Lorrie up.’
Thus dismissed, Jimmy sat looking out of the window. Why am I suddenly a villain? he thought, reminding himself not to pout. I already rescued her! Twice!
After what seemed like a very long time—and one or two small, smothered sounds of pain, somehow more disturbing than the many he’d heard before—Flora said, ‘You can turn around now.’
‘Look,’ he said, noting how pale both girls were, ‘I’m not trying to be mean-spirited. It’s just that . . .’
‘That you’d rather not get involved any further,’ Flora finished for him.
He raised a protesting finger. ‘I didn’t say that.’
‘You don’t have to,’ she said scornfully. ‘I know you, Jimmy. But . . .’
Flora stopped and sighed, letting her shoulders droop. ‘Helping Lorrie’s not something you would have done in Krondor. I can’t help but be disappointed; I thought you’d changed.’
Jimmy raised one eyebrow and tightened a corner of his mouth. He most certainly would have helped Lorrie, even in Krondor. But that wasn’t something that Flora would know; she’d never met the Princess and knew nothing about his feelings for her. And maybe it wasn’t something he wanted her to know. He glanced at Lorrie, who really did look very much like the Princess Anita, even to the haunted look the Princess had worn when thinking about her imprisoned father.
Lorrie’s eyes shifted and met his. As he watched one crystal tear rolled silently down her cheek. Jimmy heaved a sigh. He was undone: there was no way he could walk away from those eyes and not feel less of a man.
‘All right, I’ll try,’ he said. He rose, every move speaking his reluctance. ‘I’m not making any promises, and I don’t know when I’ll be back.’ To Flora he said, ‘You’ll have to come up with a story to tell your aunt about why I’m gone.’
‘I’ll tell her you’re travelling for a bit . . .’
‘Tell her it’s an employment opportunity. Apprentice to a trader or something. Be vague; I didn’t tell you details—I’ll have a completely cooked-up story when I get back.’
Flora nodded. ‘I think they’re moving northeast along the coast road,’ Lorrie said. ‘Try going that way first. And be careful. Those two killed my mother and father and Emmet handily enough and none of them were soft or weak. You watch yourself.’
‘Thanks,’ he said, ‘I will.’ He looked at Flora who was rolling up a bandage looking proud enough to pop. ‘Give my regards to your aunt, in case this takes a while.’
She was up and giving him a fierce hug before he could say anything else. Then she released him and gave him a little push.
‘Go on then, and be careful.’ She crossed her arms beneath her breasts, looking grave. ‘You know where to find me.’
Jimmy smiled at her and shook his head. She was changing so fast he hardly knew her. Then he turned away and climbed out of the window. First thing he should do, probably, would be to get a horse.
‘No,’ the innkeeper said indifferently. ‘Left just after dawn, they did. Same as always.’
Jarvis Coe dropped a couple of coins on the bar. Surprising, he thought. From the way they were talking yesterday, I’d be expecting them to drink a long breakfast. Low-priced thugs rarely had much discipline or sense of purpose. If they did, they’d be in another line of work . . . or charging higher prices, at least.
The innkeeper ignored the copper, polishing around it. His eyebrow twitched when silver rang beside the duller metal.
‘Which road did they take?’