The coins vanished into the innkeeper’s big hand. ‘North on the coast road, same as always.’
You couldn’t rent a horse at a stable, but you could buy one with the understanding that eventually the stable-owner would buy it back. Coe walked briskly through the North Gate, cursing the delay; it was a mildly warm late-season day, perfect for travelling—for his quarry, too, worse luck. Even then his trained eye caught details—the casual way the guards leaned on their spears and halberds, offset by the relaxed alertness of their captain’s eyes; and the state of their gear, which was worn but serviceable. From everything he heard, the lord of Land’s End had taken an unusual position on the care of his barony’s main town; he had garrisoned the bulk of his army—some two hundred men-at-arms—in the old fortification on the edge of the city, and had kept only a small honour-guard in his household estates many miles away. But he had no heir, so perhaps he felt the safety of the citizens outweighed his own.
Administration seemed to be left to the one royal magistrate in the district, the leaders of the town’s guilds and the harbourmaster. It was probably a fair enough system as long as war didn’t break out, or the Duke call up a levy. But the local garrison had come to neglect the countryside: there was not even so much as a regular patrol between the old castle and the Baron’s country estates up the coast.
That had left the countryside in disarray. It didn’t take much by way of neglect for bandits to move in. Or for a dozen local bullies to decide they’d rather rape women and steal sheep than work. And the local constable had neither the time nor resources to really enforce the law, short of a baronial order or a writ from the magistrate.
Coe reflected on this odd state of affairs as he walked through the gate. Land’s End was still more of a large town than a small city, comprised of the usual gaggle of trades and workshops impractical or illegal inside a walled city, so no true foulbourg had been allowed to spring up outside the walls, but a thriving open market had been established beyond the clearing under the wall. He headed for the unmistakable smell of a dealer in horses, and slowed as he drew near.
‘Master Jimmy!’ he said. ‘This is a pleasant surprise. How’s your young foster-sister?’
If Jimmy was equally surprised he made a masterful job of hiding it. In fact, his dark eyes were level, coolly considering, beyond his years, even if he had grown up rough and quickly, which Coe would wager he had.
Looking him up and down, Coe revisited a judgment he had formed aboard ship about Jimmy: barely a boy, well short of fifteen summers. But a very unusual and gifted boy. Inside that egg of boyhood is a man tapping at the shell, and a dangerous one, too, from all appearances. Curly brown hair—badly cut, likely with a knife—contrasted with carefully respectable but not showy tunic and trousers; Coe suspected that the boots hadn’t acquired their wear on Jimmy’s feet.
But here was the thing, Coe thought, he carries himself without a trace of adolescent awkwardness. He moves like an acrobat, as fluid as a cat sensing everything around him; he has the trick of avoiding people without needing to watch for them, deftly slipping through crowds without jostling them. Coe smiled. Perhaps that wasn’t entirely true, but should Jimmy bump into someone on the street, Coe suspected it would be intentional.
The sword at his side was enough to catch the interest: it was a tall man’s blade, far too richly hilted for the part the boy was playing, of someone on the ragged edge of gentility. But Coe suspected that the blade was of equal quality to the guard and scabbard, which would make it worth the rent of a dozen farms. And more to the point of how it had come into his hands, the boy could use it with enough skill to make challenging him a very hazardous choice. Even now, a wise man will be careful This one is quick as a ferret, I’ll wager, and would give as little warning when he went for the throat.
‘Flora? She’s making Aunt Cleora very happy,’ Jimmy said. ‘Nice to see you again, sir.’
‘And you, my lad. Are you looking for work as a stablehand?’
‘Gods no, sir!’ Jimmy grinned. ‘I know nothing of horses. But I’ve got to take the coast road a way and I guess I’ll need one.’
‘In which direction?’ Coe asked.
Jimmy gave him a suspicious look. ‘Uh, north, east.’ He shrugged.
‘The very way that I’m going,’ Jarvis said cheerfully. ‘Why don’t we ride together?’
Without waiting for an answer, he called to the stable-master to saddle another mount and before Jimmy could object, tossed a gold coin to the man, saying, ‘We’ll wish to sell them back when we return.’
Catching the coin, the stable-master said, ‘If you bring them back sound, I’ll buy them.’
Turning to look at Jimmy, Coe smiled and said, ‘There. It’s done.’
If the boy resented such highhandedness, he hid it well. All he said was: ‘I’m not experienced.’