“We’re porters, not bloody horses!” said the lead porter.
Roo turned and gave the man a dark look. “I’m cold, wet, and in no humor to argue. You can pick it up and carry it like porters for all I care, but move it over there!” he shouted.
Something in this little man’s manner impressed the porter, for he didn’t argue and signaled his men to form up. Four took the ruined traces, while the other four moved to the rear of the wagon. They raised the tailgate and two got ready to push while the other two moved to turn the rear wheels by hand.
It took some struggling and a great deal of swearing, but after a bit of work, the wagon was broken loose from the mud and was half rolled, half dragged through the mud across the street and down the little alley that led to the rear courtyard of the abandoned building.
“How did you know there was a courtyard behind that house?” asked Jason.
Roo grinned. “I told a friend I might buy that place someday, so I got curious and looked around. There’s a little alley that leads around it, and two windows that look out of the sitting room over it. Might be a nice place for a lady’s flower garden.”
“Going to marry a fine lady?” said Jason in only slightly mocking tones.
“I don’t know,” said Roo. “I might marry that Sylvia Estherbrook you speak so highly of.”
Soon the sausage maker and his half-dozen apprentices and workers were finished with their bloody work, and they carried off the horse, leaving some scraps of skin and entrails behind. Roo said, “The rain will clean things up quick enough.”
He led Jason back toward the entrance as the porters returned. “Here, now!” shouted the seniormost porter. “About our pay . . . ?”
Roo motioned for them to follow and led them across to the portal to find McKeller still there. “Sir, these men need to be paid.”
“Paid?” said the headwaiter. It was obvious to Roo that the old man hadn’t given a thought to cost when Roo had gone to get the porters.
“These are guild porters, sir.”
At mention of that word, McKeller almost winced. Like every other person in business in Krondor, he was used to the many guilds in the city, and no business could long endure if it found itself at odds with the guilds of the city. “Very well. How much?”
Before the head porter could answer, Roo said, “Ten gold sovereigns, sir.”
“Ten!” said McKeller. That was more than a skilled craftsman might expect to earn in a week.
“There are eight of them, sir, and it is raining.”
McKeller said nothing as he removed a large purse from his belt and counted out the coins, handing them to Roo.
Roo went to where the porters stood and gave the head porter nine. The man frowned. “You told the old coot—”
In low tones, Roo said, “I know what I told him. You take the nine and give eight to your guild scribe, and he gives you back your share. He doesn’t complain about the ninth coin he doesn’t know about and you don’t complain about the tenth.”
The man didn’t look pleased, but he didn’t look that unhappy either. The extra few silver royals each man would get were a proper bonus. He slipped the money into his tunic and said, “I get you. We’ll hoist a drink to you this evening.”
Roo turned away and moved back to the entrance, where Jason was toweling himself dry. Roo stepped into the area and saw it was now filthy with mud and rain. The wind was picking up, and McKeller said, “We’d better close the shutters and then we’ll clean up this mess.” He signaled for Kurt and another waiter. “Clean up this area.” To Roo and Jason he said, “Go around back and come into the kitchen from the alleyway. I don’t want you tracking mud across the floor. Change into clean clothing and get back to work.”
Roo tossed his dirty, wet towel back into the metal pan and saw Kurt glowering at him, as if this extra work was Roo’s fault and not the result of the weather. Roo grinned at him, which deepened Kurt’s irritation.
As he started to leave, McKeller said, “Avery?”
Roo turned. “Sir.”
“You thought and acted quickly. You did well.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Roo as he and Jason stepped back into the storm.
As they headed for the alley behind the coffee house, Jason said, “That’s rare.”
“What?”
“You don’t often hear McKeller compliment one of us. Sometimes he calmly tells us how we’re lashing things up, but most of the time he says nothing. He expects us to do the right thing. You’ve impressed him.”
Roo rubbed his nose. “I’ll remember that when I’m dying of a cold tonight.”