She’d give them as much chance as they’d given their “wares.”
Red jerked the doorman back and thrust her dagger deep into his thigh. He collapsed with a cry, and she spun to deal with the other two.
The one by the fire was quick, reaching for a sword. The dicer was still rising from his chair. She shoved the table hard with her free hand, sending him sprawling.
The faster one came at her, snarling. Not calling for help, the fool was intent on taking her on his own. She dodged, and scored his cheek with her dagger as he moved past. He cursed, starting to turn as he reached for his face. She rammed the short blade into his lower back, punching through the leather armor.
He dropped like a rock.
The dicer was on hands and knees, scrambling for the door. Red flipped the table aside. The dice went flying across the floor as she took two steps and drove the toe of her boot up between his ass cheeks.
He collapsed with a high-pitched squeal, grabbing for his “injuries,” so to speak.
Red stood still and held her breath. There was no alarm.
“Damn you.” The one by the door had his hands clasped around his thigh, trying to stop the bleeding. He glanced up, but the rope was well out of reach.
Red knelt before him, her dagger pointed at his throat. “How many guards?”
He stared at her, and licked his lips. “Eight, counting us.”
“Near as I can figure, lady, there’s about fifteen regulars.” The innkeeper had said. “There’s always a crowd of them in here, drinking themselves stupid and harassing my girls.”
“One more chance,” Red said softly, holding his gaze with hers. “How many?”
The man didn’t blink. “Eight—”
Red shoved the dagger up through his throat, then yanked it free as he gurgled out his last. She cleaned it quickly on his clothes, sheathed it, and then dragged his body to a dark corner.
It took but a moment to set the table aright and get the other body slumped in a chair. With all but one lamp extinguished, the darkness helped conceal the details. She placed the dice on the table, rather pleased with that touch, then unlatched the door she’d entered through. Just in case. So far, so good.
She knelt next to the dice player, still wheezing, trying to catch his breath, his eyes wide.
“How many?” She asked.
“Who … who are you?” he croaked in a whisper, darting a glance at the bodies.
“A mercenary in the service of Lord Josiah, High Baron of Athelbryght.” Red drew her dagger again, and tapped the tip of the blade on his cheek.
The man was trembling. Red was certain it was half pain, half fear. “Now,” she said, pulling her dagger. “How many?”
“Guards, there’s ten not counting us.” He flinched back as Red shifted her dagger. “But there’s a special shipment came in today with five guards. Their wagons are in the courtyard.”
Muck. Red kept her face still, and her dagger point close to the man’s face. “Servants?”
“None that sleep here.” The man gasped for breath, staring at the tip of her blade. “Master uses slaves and they’re chained at night. Even the ones in his bed.”
Red tightened her grip on the dagger.
“Try not to kill them all. Most are just men, working for coin.” The High Baron’s voice echoed in her thoughts.
“On your belly,” Red ordered with a sigh.
He swallowed hard and rolled over, his face making it clear he thought she’d cut his throat. She should. It’d be safer. More expedient.
Muck.
She trussed the fool up fast and gagged him with a rag, then stuffed him back into the shadows and threw a cloak over him. She leaned over him and placed the edge of her dagger against his neck. “Don’t move, don’t make a sound, or I will return and gut you slow.”
He quivered, but made no noise.