Destin Karn was in a good mood. For the first time since arriving in Delphi, he felt he was making some measurable progress on the hunt for the rune-marked girl. Even if he never found her, he could at least prove he’d been thorough in the attempt. Not that any kind of failure would play well in Ardenscourt.
He’d just supervised the barbering of a hundred women coming off the day shift in the mines. Miners had been especially hard to reach, since it seemed that they were always either working or sleeping. So he’d set up a “hygiene station” at the army camp on the road to the mines, so it wouldn’t take them far out of their way.
Over several weeks, Destin had streamlined the hair-cutting process and handpicked his barbers, choosing the least brutal and the most skillful of Clermont’s blackbirds. Each woman treated was fitted with a pair of silver earrings to signify that she had been examined. He’d wrung the silver for the jewelry from the Lord Mayor, who was as corrupt as they come.
He hoped that by making the process as painless as possible, citizens would be encouraged to cooperate. The sooner he got it done, the closer he might be to getting out of Delphi. He only wished he could get shed of Clermont, who insisted on helping. In fact, the captain of the Guard was sticking to him tight as a horse tick.
Destin and his blackbird shadow rode through a blinding snowstorm all the way to town, the sound of their horses’ hooves muffled by the thickening blanket. When they finally reached the city gates, they had to hail the guards to be admitted, the result of Destin’s order. As they entered the city, Destin realized he was tired of the Mug and Mutton, overfamiliar with all of its marginal fare, and weary of the serving girls who scattered at their approach.
Maybe it would be worth visiting one of the smaller inns, a place they hadn’t quartered in. The food might be better, or at least different. He’d heard good reports about the Lady of Grace, in the quiet north end, so he decided to give it a try. Clermont, of course, tagged along.
A painting of a beautiful noblewoman decorated the sign outside. The entrance opened into a large front room with a fireplace at one end and a heating stove at the other. The common room was full. Destin hoped that boded well for the food. Before he chose a table, he walked the length of the room and stuck his head into a smaller room at the back. It had a fireplace, also, and tables for playing nicks and bones.
Destin and Clermont settled themselves in the corner of the main room and ordered up mugs of ale and meat pies. When the pies came, they were enclosed in a tender, flaky crust, fat with meat and vegetables. Destin focused on his food until the edge was off his hunger, and then he once again began to take an interest in his surroundings.
The crowd in the Lady of Grace was more genteel than that which frequented the Mug and Mutton. For one thing, there were women among the customers as well as the help. There were merchants and tradesmen, and travelers complaining about the locking of the gates. A few off-duty officers from the regular army shared a large table at the back. As usual, people kept their distance from Destin and Clermont, but it was less obvious than in the rough-and-tumble atmosphere of the Mug and Mutton.
Some kind of entertainment was going on in the far corner. A crowd had gathered around a table, some standing, some sitting, including soldiers, guardsmen, and travelers. Although Destin couldn’t see above the heads of those who were standing, they were all staring down intently, and now and then they broke into laughter, sometimes elbowing each other, as if to say, “Good one.” Could be a storyteller, Destin thought, though it was difficult to fathom why a traveling talespinner would visit Delphi this time of the year. The weather and the tips were better farther south.
The party in the corner went on while Destin finished his meat pie and ordered up another mug of ale. Finally, it seemed the show was over. Some people drifted away, reclaiming their own tables again. He could just make out somebody sitting against the wall, and then some more patrons gathered around, blocking his view again.
When his server brought his ale, he asked her what was going on.
“It’s a fortuneteller. He reads the cards for people, moves from inn to inn. People seem to like him. Calls himself Lyle Truthteller.” She grinned. “Oftimes he tells too much truth, as some have found. But he always draws a crowd.”