Prince Edward turned a corner, entering the business district. Citizens paced the walkways, laden with baskets of fruit and vegetables, laundry, or personal crafts. A cart approached from the opposite direction. Edward and Nightfall drew the horses aside to let it pass before continuing onward.
Soon, Grittmon’s stone and wood tavern came into sight, its green sign matching its cheerily painted trim. Smoke fluttered from the chimney. The odor of hay and manure wafted from the attached stables, liberally mixed with the pleasant, distinctive smell of horses.
Prince Edward stopped, smiling his relief. "Sudian, I’ll get the room. You take care of the horses, then head out to market and find a spade."
Gods! Not the damned spade thing again. Nightfall opened his mouth to protest, then changed his mind. Arguing would only irritate Ned. Grittmon’s would not become dangerous until after sundown. In the meantime, he was free to handle his business with Kelryn while Edward tended to his personal hygiene.
Wanting to smooth Prince Edward’s transition to a world where he had to pay for his comforts, Nightfall seized the horses’ bridles and tugged them toward the stables. Drawn by the aroma of hay and water, the animals followed without much coaxing, trotting eagerly after Nightfall.
A stable boy in tattered, filthy homespun met him at the entrance. He wiped a runny nose on the back of his sleeve. “Can I help you, sir?"
"Here." Nightfall rummaged through the purse he had stolen from the steward, emerging with a silver coin. He offered it to the boy.
The child’s gaze locked on the silver, but his hands reached for the bridles instead. "You pay inside, sir."
"No, this is for you." Nightfall pressed the coin into the boy’s hand. "You’ll get two more if the horses and tack are well cared for and here when it’s time for us to leave."
The boy stared at the coin in his fist.
Nightfall unlashed his own pack as well as Prince Edward’s, letting them slide gently to the ground. "Any gear l leave with the horses is welcome to disappear." With that, he shouldered up the prince’s heavy pack and his lighter one, and chased after his master.
Nightfall caught sight of Prince Edward as he was entering Grittmon’s. A lean, handsome pickpocket named Myar caught the door as Edward stepped to the threshold, holding the panel for the prince’s entrance.
Always suspicious of politeness, especially from a thief, Nightfall watched Myar’s free hand dip into the prince’s pocket and deftly flick the purse from Edward’s possession to his own.
"Thank you," Edward said.
"My pleasure," Myar replied honestly.
Though crushed beneath the weight of Prince Edward’s armor and effects, Nightfall rushed to the door before Myar could let it swing shut. "Master, wait!” Aware the pickpocket would be more attuned to cunning movements than gross effrontery, Nightfall crashed into Myar with enough force to drive him against the door.
Breath rushed from Myar’s mouth in a startled cry. The packs teetered in Nightfall’s grip, but he still managed to reappropriate Edward’s purse, along with another in Myar’s possession, and slip both into his own pocket. “I’m sorry. I’m so sor1y." Nightfall fawned over the pickpocket, now dropping both packs in awkward apology. The heavy pack clanked onto Myar’s toe.
Myar bellowed in pain, half-staggering, half-hopping out the door. Wedged in the door frame, the packs kept the panel from closing, and Nightfall tripped after Myar, wringing his hands and ceaselessly berating his clumsiness. "I really am sorry. I didn’t mean-"
"Stupid!" Myar lashed a hand across Nightfall’s face with a suddenness that surprised even the squire. Stumbling backward, he tripped over the pack. He caught his balance naturally, then thinking better of a blatant display of grace, sprawled to the barroom floor. His cheeks felt on fire, more from rising rage than the force of the blow. Not since his mother’s death had anyone struck Nightfall, and it was all he could do to keep from leaping to his feet and jamming a dagger between the pickpocket’s ribs. Instead, he pretended grogginess, rolling to his hands and knees. He gained a strange view of the common room, a sea of table, chair, and human legs.
"Witless servant." Myar pursued, aiming a kick at Nightfall’s ribs. "Clumsy bastard."
Accustomed to acting, Nightfall kept his temper, cringing from the blow he knew must land. But Prince Edward stepped between them, seizing Myar’s, leg in mid-stroke with a quickness Nightfall would not have thought possible from one so inexperienced. "Don’t hit my squire! No one hits my squire. Not even I hit my squire." He tossed down the captured leg.
Nightfall had never seen Edward angry before, and the prince’s size and golden presence made him glad Edward chose not to hit his squire. It felt strange to let the prince protect him, yet it fit the act and he knew Edward was in little danger. Few thieves were killers and few killers thieves, and he knew Myar was no exception. Quietly, while all attention fixed on the exchange between Myar and Edward, Nightfall rose and slipped the purse back into the prince’s pocket.
Myar retreated, glaring at Nightfall around his master. "Yeah. Well, maybe if you did hit him, he wouldn’t be such an oaf." Spinning on his heel, Myar stormed off into the street.
Prince Edward turned, concern clearly etched on his features. "Are you hurt, Sudian?" He hefted his own pack, then took Nightfall’s in the other hand.
"No, Master. Thank you, Master. You are, as the gods told me in my dreams, the most wonderful of all masters. And I am proud to serve you." Nightfall reached to take the gear, but Edward did not relinquish it.
"And I’m honored to have you, Sudian." He fumbled through his purse, passing Nightfall a silver coin, blithely unaware he had not had possession of his money just moments ago. "I’ll take care of our things and the room. You get the spade."
I don’t believe this. We just had a double robbery, an assault, and a shouting match in a barroom doorway, and he’s still thinking about that damned spade. Nightfall accepted the silver, thinking it safer in his own pocket than Edward’s. With it, he could buy a gross of spades.
The oath-bond buzzed through Nightfall, and he examined the inn’s common room for evidence of danger. In broad daylight, few men patronized Grittmon’s; and, at the present time, every customer watched Prince Edward. Four men sat in the far corner, the cards in their fists temporarily forgotten for the action in the doorway. Nearer, a pair of leather-clad city guardsmen exchanged relieved glances, apparently pleased that the conflict had not flared into a fight. A plump, aging barmaid sprawled at a table near the card players, chewing kommi and studying Edward with a look that expressed interest and an attitude that revealed doubt. Windows in the walls on either side of the door gave a view of surrounding streets. An elaborate stairway at the farther end of the room led to a cat-walk. From previous experience, Nightfall knew that around the back side of the stairs, a door led into Grittmon’s private room.
Looks safe enough. It occurred to Nightfall to worry about Edward’s purse as well as his person, but he dismissed the thought. I can’t sew myself to his side. Maybe a robbery might give him a taste of reality. The thought made him smile. Ned’s innocence made life so simple for Nightfall, he hated the idea of corrupting it. Besides, he’s so cute when he’s being childishly noble. "I’ll be back shortly, Master." Turning, he strode from the bar onto Nemix’s streets.
The oath-bond quivered within Nightfall like-a chill. He paused, moving slowly to see if it worsened, not wanting to lose his soul over a missing spade. But the feeling remained constant, apparently just a warning that he had left the prince alone and not in the safest place. I’ll be back before dusk. I can’t be with him while he bathes, and no one who saw him work Myar will stand against him.
The oath-bond eased, apparently satisfied with the rationalization. Nightfall headed toward the Nemixian dance hall. Now, to take care of my own business.