Getting Alen’s generous gift home would be challenging, but… ‘I can get these back,’ he said confidently. ‘Thank you, Alen, thank you!’
‘It is my pleasure,’ he smiled. ‘Use them well. Teach others. Make it your goal in life to see this information applied throughout Eldarn, and then update them, Hoyt – it’s been nearly a thousand Twinmoons since anyone has published anything new. Even more important than becoming a doctor: your charge will be to find the right people to add knowledge.’
Hoyt ordered the tenderloin, a first for him in a public house. It was expensive, and a rarity – few people had spare silver to be ordering such elaborate meals from a tavern – but this was a celebration, after all. If anyone tried to roll him, they’d get a bit of a surprise: Hoyt invariably carried a homemade scalpel in easy reach; any would-be assailant would get more than he had bargained for. Still, neither the two elderly gentlemen throwing multi-sided dice, nor the young couple talking over a flagon of wine, nor the small group of men engrossed in some business discussion looked at all interested. He turned his attention to his meal.
He had waited for this day half his life; now Alen had made it a reality. All he had to do was work out how to get this treasure trove back to Southport. That would need some planning.
While he was contemplating options, a young woman approached and, without asking, took a seat across from him.
‘Good evening,’ she said.
Hoyt, both his thoughts and his meal interrupted, was irritated. ‘Not tonight,’ he said shortly as he reached for the wine, and gestured towards the door. ‘Go find someone else.’
The woman, several Twinmoons older than Hoyt, was wearing a simple wool skirt and a light tunic with loose-fitting sleeves. She had a thin leather strap of some sort around her neck. She ignored him and motioned for service.
‘I’ll have the same,’ she told the barman, ‘and another flagon of that too, please.’
Hoyt reached for his goblet again, and said, ‘I’m sorry, maybe you didn’t hear me. I’m not interested. And I am not buying you dinner.’
She tossed a leather pouch onto the table which jangled with the unmistakable sound of Mareks – a bold move, showing off that much money. Despite the fact that no one appeared to have noticed, Hoyt was uncomfortable with such a public demonstration of wealth.
‘I’m not a prostitute; so relax,’ she said softly. ‘I can pay my own way. I was just looking for someone interesting with whom to have dinner.’
Hoyt raised an eyebrow. She was straightforward; he appreciated that quality, and as he sneaked a longer look he realised that she was not unattractive. Her curly hair was closely cropped, her eyes were large and wide-set over a narrow nose. Her face was scarred – beneath one eye, across her chin, and through the gentle incline of her upper lip; Hoyt found that curiously endearing: the perfect women who cavorted with Malagon’s generals or lived in his palaces could learn something from a woman like this. Maybe this woman’s scars came from a rough-and-tumble childhood; maybe from her more recent past – either way, she had captured his attention.
He pushed his chair back and turned to order more wine for himself, and as he did so he caught sight of her tanned deerhide boots rising halfway up her calves, the soft double-wrapped type popular with those who spent much of their time on their feet. In one was stashed a bone-handled knife, sheathed in an inside flap for quick access, not the type of blade one used to slice bread or cut meat from a spit.
Hoyt smiled. His attractive dinner companion smiled back. Her teeth were straight and clean; she had obviously grown up in a privileged community, probably somewhere in Malakasia. ‘So no chance I can get you to leave?’ he said, this time bantering.
‘Oh no, not now I’ve just ordered dinner. That looks delicious. How is it?’
‘One of the best tenderloins I’ve eaten in Middle Fork.’ This was the first time Hoyt had ever tasted it, anywhere in Eldarn – but it was undeniably delicious.
‘Are you celebrating something?’
He shook his head. ‘No. I just enjoy good food. It’s my one vice.’
She laughed, and to his surprise, Hoyt found he desperately wanted to hear it again.
‘Do you want to know what my vices are?’ she asked.
His hand started to shake. ‘No-’
‘Why not?’ Her seductive manner was difficult to resist; Hoyt moved his hand to keep it from rattling the plates. He enjoyed the charade of being a wealthy man, and he hoped she was enjoying her role as the temptress, but it hadn’t taken him long to know who she really was.
‘Because I am too busy tonight to spend time on silly pursuits.’
‘Since when is love silly?’
‘Since the very first time it was mistaken as love by someone – probably a man – in the throes of lust.’ His hand had stopped trembling now and he deliberately picked up his fork and speared a piece of meat, then popped it into his mouth and savoured the taste.
‘What a negative outlook on human emotion.’ She reached across the table and took his hand, and in spite of himself he felt his heart race. Perhaps there was something to be said for a full-blown case of raging lust. She toyed with his fingers, almost absentmindedly. ‘You need a strong woman to take you to heights of pleasure you will remember for the rest of your life.’
‘Ah, now I understand.’ He withdrew his hand. A half-aven of pleasure followed by two hundred Twinmoons of wishing I could recapture it, even once. Forgive me, but that doesn’t sound like a terribly appetising offer.’
Her food arrived, and as she sorted out coins from her purse, the barman tried to steal a clear look down her tunic.
A withering glare from Hoyt sent him on his way. ‘You ought to close that up. People kill for that much silver.’
‘I’ll be all right.’ She slipped it back inside her tunic. ‘You realise my offer doesn’t have to be just one night.’ As much as Hoyt wanted to feel the woman’s fingers entwined with his again, he kept his hands busy with his cutlery.
‘Ah, but it would be, wouldn’t it?’
‘What makes you say that?’ Her voice had dropped again and Hoyt felt it resonate in his bones, stirring him from within. He wanted to clear the table and take her right there, in the tavern – but that was what she wanted him to feel; she had been manipulating him from the start. His body responded to his desire, playing into her hands.
Hoyt smiled, it had been a thoroughly enjoyable game – and now he had to end it.
He leaned in close to her, enjoying the triumphant smile that crossed her lips. ‘Because, my dear, you are a thief,’ he whispered, enjoying even more the sudden change of expression. ‘Your entire persona screams I am a thief, louder than if you were standing on top of this building, screaming it out to all of Middle Fork. You have a knife tucked into a hidden sheath in your boots, which in turn are tough but more importantly, silent. You’re wearing a tight-fitting skirt, but I would guess your loose-fitting tunic has sleeves filled with all sorts of nasty sticking and stabbing devices. Your hair is short – quite attractive, I would add – but short enough to stay out of your way when you’ve tucked it beneath a hood or a mask. You have exceedingly strong hands and fingers, a quick wit, and three scars on your face that I very much doubt came from playing chainball with your older brothers. You are obviously not a prostitute, and obviously not a businesswoman, but you’re carrying enough silver to buy much of Middle Fork.