“Yeah, the Nationalists have been marching up from the coast sacking towns. People been running ahead of them and most come here. Not that I mind—been great for business.”
Ayers pulled a tap out of the old keg and hammered it into the face of the new barrel with a wooden mallet. He turned the spigot and drained a pint or two to clear the sediment. Wiping his hands on his apron, he began filling the demands of his customers.
“Is there no place to find lodging for the night?”
“I can’t say that, just no place I know of,” Ayers replied, and finally took a moment to wipe a sleeve over his face and clear the drop from his nose. “Maybe some folks will rent a room in their houses, but all the inns and taverns are packed. I’ve even started to rent floor space.”
“Is there any left?” Hadrian asked hopefully.
“Any what?”
“Floor space. It’s raining pretty hard out there.”
Ayers lifted his head up and glanced around his tavern. “I’ve got space under the stairs that no one’s taken yet. If you don’t mind the people walking on top of you all night.”
“It’s better than the gutter,” Hadrian said, shrugging at Royce and Arista. “Maybe tomorrow there will be a vacancy.”
Ayers’s face showed he doubted this. “If you want to stay, it’ll be forty-five silver.”
“Forty-five?” Hadrian exclaimed, stunned. “For space under the stairs? No wonder no one has taken it. A room at The Regal Fox in Colnora is only twenty!”
“Go there, then, but if you want to stay here, it’ll cost you forty-five silver—in tenents. I don’t take those imperial notes they’re passing now. It’s your choice.”
Hadrian scowled at Ayers but counted out the money just the same. “I hope that includes dinner.”
Ayers shook his head. “It doesn’t.”
“We also have three horses.”
“Lucky you.”
“No room at the stable either? Is it okay to leave them out front?”
“Sure … for another … five silver a horse.”
They pushed and prodded their way through the crowd with their bags until they came to the wooden staircase. Beneath it, several people had discarded their wet cloaks on nail heads or on the empty kegs and crates stored there. Royce and Hadrian stacked the containers to make a cubby and threw the coats and cloaks on them. A few people shot them harsh looks—the owners of the cloaks, no doubt—but no one said anything, as it appeared most understood the situation. Looking around, Arista saw others squatting in corners and along the edge of the big room. Some were families with children trying to sleep, their little heads resting on damp clothes. Mothers rubbed their backs and sang lullabies over the racket of loud voices, shifting wooden chairs, and the banging of pewter mugs. These were the lucky ones. She wondered about the families who could not afford floor space.
How many are cowering outside under a boardwalk or in a muddy alley somewhere in the rain?
As they settled, Arista noticed the noise of the inn was not simply the confusing sounds of forty unrelated conversations, but rather one discussion voiced by several people with various opinions. From time to time one speaker would rise above the others to make a point, and then drown in the response from the crowd. The most vocal was the red-haired young man.
“No, he’s not!” he shouted once more. “He’s not a blood relative of Urith. He’s the brother of Urith’s second wife.”
“And I suppose you think his first wife was murdered so he could be pushed into marrying Amiter, just so Androus could become duke?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying!” the youth declared. “Don’t you see? They planned this for years, and not just here either. They did it in Alburn, Warric … They even tried it in Melengar, but they failed there. Did anyone see that play last year? You know, The Crown Conspiracy. It was based on real events. Amrath’s children outsmarted the conspirators. That’s why Melengar hasn’t fallen to the New Empire. Don’t you see? We’re all the victims of a conspiracy. I’ve even heard that the empress might not exist. The whole story of the Heir of Novron is a sham, invented to placate the masses. Do you really think a farm girl could kill a great beast? It is men like Androus who control us—evil, corrupt murderous men without an ounce of royal blood in their veins, or honor in their hearts!”
“So what?” a fat man in a checked vest asked defiantly. “What do we care who rules us? Our lot is always the same. You speak of matters between blue bloods. It doesn’t affect us.”