“Neat trick,” Chadde said, watching me. “I heard that you’d once stopped a flight of arrows, Lord Rabbit?”
“During the rebellion,” Thadro said before I could answer. “A whole lot of people would’ve been killed otherwise, including His Majesty. Including me.”
“A very neat trick, then.”
“It’s the wind,” I said, thrusting the quarrel through my belt. “It does as it wills.”
The peacekeeper’s eyes narrowed in speculation. “I remember you saying that last night—”
“Chadde,” choked Helto.
“Maybe we can talk later, my lord,” Chadde said. “Master Laurel, if you please.”
Laurel released Helto and the taverner stumbled away from the wall and bent over, his hands on his knees as he coughed and wheezed breath back into his lungs. Taking him by the arm, Chadde led Helto to the table and gently pushed him into a chair. “I would get you something to drink,” the peacekeeper said as she also sat, “but I’m afraid anything here will make you gag worse.”
“If my customers wanted fine wines and smooth ales, they would go to the Hart’s Leap,” Helto rasped, massaging his throat. I could see the indentations Laurel’s claws made in his skin, and thought the taverner was going to have an interesting pattern of bruising.
“And you always do that, don’t you?” Chadde said as Thadro sat next to her. “Providing your patrons what they ask for: bad ale and worse brandy, weighted dice and light-fingered bawds. And, that all-time favorite, a loaded crossbow.”
Standing at the Lord Commander’s back, I looked over at Laurel, but neither he nor Wyln appeared interested in joining us at the table. Still holding the crossbow, the enchanter had moved behind the bar, while Laurel shifted to where the taverner had stood, the cat’s eyes raised to the mirror.
“As I said, I know my customers.” Helto’s hand fell from his throat and he took a shuddering breath. “There are times when strong measures are needed to keep order.”
“You must not get much repeat business using a quarrel’s flight to quell brawls,” Thadro said.
“The crossbow’s for show,” Helto said. “This is the first time it’s been shot.”
“It looks pretty well maintained for something that’s just a prop,” Thadro said, glancing at the weapon in Wyln’s grip.
“Soldiers visit my establishment, and a weapon in disrepair wouldn’t be very convincing to them,” Helto said. “Jeb would wave it about, and most times everybody would calm down. Unfortunately, Bram is new and was most likely spooked by both the magicals and the fight. I’m sure it was just a mistake. An almost fatal one, certainly, but still, a mistake.”
‘“Would wave it about’?” Chadde’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “The hell he did. Jeb would’ve shot himself in the ballocks before he got the crossbow above the bar top. However, Bram handled it like he was once in the army himself—or was a mercenary. Maybe both.” The peacekeeper leaned forward. “Bram did not shoot out of confusion and fear, Helto. I myself have marked how much Lord Wyln resembles His Majesty. Bram had that crossbow aimed at his lordship until Lord Rabbit shouted kin—”
“Close,” I murmured.
“—and Bram realized Lord Wyln wasn’t the king. So he shot at Lord Rabbit instead.”
“So you’re saying that Bram and Jeb conspired to assassinate either the king or his heir?” Helto asked. He didn’t wait for Chadde’s answer. “I assure you, that’s not the case. Not only do they not know each other, but they didn’t know that Lord Rabbit or the elf were coming.”
“But you knew I was,” Chadde pointed out, “and that I was bringing Laurel Faena with me.”
“So I did,” Helto admitted. “However, why would I want you dead? You’re harmless enough. No, Chadde, it definitely was a mistake, and so I shall say to Magistrate Ordgar—”
“Not a mistake, House Master,” Laurel said. “The crossbow was shot on purpose.”
Helto did not look at the Faena. “A civilized discussion, Chadde, does not include magicals.”
“But we are very civil,” Wyln said from behind the bar. “At least I am. Laurel is a little rough with claws and fangs and hunting his dinner down. You, however, are an ill-mannered dog who has violated the most basic tenets of Hospitality.” He waved a hand up at the mirror. “From where you stood against the wall, you could see the entire room, including your tapster. You saw him duck down to pick up the crossbow, you saw him aim it and you saw him shoot it. And you said nothing.”
A derisive look came over Helto’s face as he kept his gaze on Chadde. “Why do I have to listen to the blatherings of dolts? I wasn’t looking anywhere except right in front of me. It was a barroom brawl, for Heaven’s sake! I was more concerned about chairs flying my way than what my tapster was doing on the other side of the room.”
“I watched you,” Laurel said. “You didn’t take your eyes off the mirror at all, which makes me wonder about the genuineness of the fight.”
Helto, brave now that he was away from Laurel’s claws, suavely sneered, “And who’s going to believe you, pussycat?”
“I find him very believable,” Chadde said.
“As do I,” Thadro said.
“I also believe him, sir, Peacekeeper Chadde,” I said. “Especially about the fight. Bram signaled Isa just before she started it by screaming and throwing her ale.”
“He did, Lieutenant?” Thadro said, not taking his eyes off Helto. “Perhaps we should ask Mistress Isa about that.”
“Oh, we’re going to question everyone in the entire inn,” Chadde said. “See what they all have to say.”
The sneer disappeared off Helto’s face, leaving it as blank as the tapster’s had been. Then he exploded up from his chair with a flash of steel as his hand came up with a knife. Shoving the table against Chadde and Thadro, he threw the knife at Laurel in one smooth motion. Laurel twisted out of the way and the knife embedded itself in the wall. Thadro’s chair knocked into me, causing me to stumble, but I recovered fast, pulling my own dagger as Chadde and Thadro pushed the table out of their way. Another knife appeared in Helto’s hand and he jabbed it at Chadde, the peacekeeper jerking back. Freed, Thadro drew his sword as he headed around the table and I started the other way, seeking to trap Helto in between. But before either Thadro or I reach could reach him, I heard a muted twang and a sharp thunk, and a quarrel bloomed out of the table, pinning the taverner’s sleeve to the wood.
“Such an ingenious engine,” Wyln said. Apparently he had found Bram’s stash of quarrels for he reached under the bar and brought up another one. Cocking the crossbow with one hand in a casual display of strength, he loaded the quarrel and aimed it at the taverner. “Shall we discover where else I can put one of these?”
The “magical” must’ve rankled.
Helto stared at the enchanter, then let the second knife drop from his hand to clatter on the table.
“Wise choice,” Laurel rumbled. Plucking the first knife out of the wall, he walked over to Helto and placed a paw on the taverner’s shoulder. Laurel’s claws dug in as he shoved Helto back into the chair.
“Pussycat” probably touched a sore spot too.
Chadde picked up the second knife from the table, examining it. “Very nice. Turalian steel, isn’t it? From one of Ednoth’s caravans.” Holding the knife in one hand, she went to Helto and moved Laurel a little to the side. Grabbing a handful of hair, the peacekeeper yanked the taverner’s head back, her gray eyes cold as they stared down into Helto’s pale blue ones. “No more shoveling muck at me,” Chadde said. “Or I will help Lord Commander Thadro burn this place down. With you in it.”