“I did, milord.”
“Write it down then! In detail!”
Coingood began scribbling again.
“And note my exultant pose, will you? This stance here, see how it exudes power? Somewhat wide-legged, as if I might jump in any direction. Arms held out but the hands hanging like … like the weapons of death that they are. Weapons of death, Scribe, you got that? Excellent. Now, look at me, I’m covered in blood. I need a change of clothes-wait, are you writing all that down? You damned fool. It was an aside, of course. That bit about my clothes. Tell me you’ve washed and dried my other black robe?”
“Of course, milord. Along with your other black vest, and your other black shirt and other black leggings.”
“Excellent. Now, clean up around here. I will meet you in the Grand Chamber.”
Coingood bowed. “Very well, milord.”
After Fangatooth marched from the room, Coingood set down the tablet and studied it ruefully for a moment, noting how flecks of ash had marred the golden sheen of melted wax. “No wonder my eyes are going,” he muttered.
“For the blessed gods of mercy, Coingood, release me!”
The scribe looked over at the wretched figure. “Them slaps weren’t so bad, were they? The kicks to the shins, well, that must’ve smarted. But you have to agree, sir, today’s session was a mild one.”
“You’re as evil as my brother!”
“Please, milord! I am in his service, and take my pay the same as the maids, cooks and all the rest! Does this make us all evil? Nonsense. What is evil, sir, is you inviting me to hardship and discomfort. I need to eat, don’t I? Food on my table, a roof overhead and all that. Would you deny me such rights? In any case, how long would I survive defying your brother? Oh no, he wouldn’t just fire me, would he? No, he’d set me on fire! Why, I’d be up in those chains, screaming myself hoarse. Do you really wish that on me, sir? All for a few moments of blessed freedom?”
Warmet’s bleak eyes remained fixed on Coingood throughout the scribe’s reasoned defense. Then he said, “My flesh is in ruin. My soul cries out in unending torment. The joints of my arms rage with fever. The muscles of my neck tremble with this effort to hold up my head. I was once a hale man, but look at me now, and wait to see me tomorrow, when I will be even worse. So, you will not lift a hand. Then I curse you, Coingood, as only a dying man can.”
“That was cruel! Spiteful! I am not to blame! It is your brother who commands me!”
Warmet bared bloodstained teeth. “And there we are indeed different-you and me, Coingood. Look at me and know this: despite these chains, my soul remains free. But you … you have sold yours, and it came cheap.”
There was a moan from the direction of the other man hanging in chains, and both Warmet and Coingood looked over that way, to see the prisoner stirring, drawing his legs under him and then slowly, agonizingly, standing to relieve the weight of his chains. His terribly scarred face swung to them, and the man said, “It’s green and comes in all sizes, but that’s all I’m giving you, Warmet.”
Warmet’s sweat-beaded brow wrinkled above the red weal of burnt flesh. “All right, give me a moment. Coingood’s still here.”
“Green-”
“I’m having a conversation, damn you!”
“You’re down to four questions, Warmet!” the man sang.
“Shut up! I’m not ready to start again!”
“Four questions!”
“Bah! Solid or liquid?”
“Both! Hee hee!”
Coingood collected up his tablet and hurried from the chamber.
“Wait, Scribe! Where are you going?”
“I can’t!” Coingood cried out. “Don’t make me stay, milord!”
“You have gore, shit and piss to clean up-your master commanded it!”
Coingood halted almost within reach of the door’s latch. “Unfair!” he whispered, pushing the scented cloth against his nose. But Warmet spoke the truth, damn him. He swung round. “Hot or cold?”
“You can’t ask questions!” the other prisoner shrieked.
“Hot or cold?” Warmet shouted. “That’s my next question!”
“In between!”
Sighing, Coingood said, “Snot.”
“Cheaters!”
“Snot?” Warmet asked. “Is it snot? It’s snot! Snot! I win!”
Feloovil Generous adjusted her breasts beneath the stained blouse and then sat down opposite the sailor with a heavy sigh. “We don’t get many strangers visiting,” she said, “for long.”
The man shrugged, hands wrapped tight around the tankard of hot rum-a rather excessive amount of rum, but then he’d dropped a clean silver coin onto the tabletop before she’d even finished pouring it, so she wasn’t of a mind to advise him on medicinal portions-the man was chilled down to the marrow in his bones. She could see that. “Wreckers’ lot,” he said in a low, unsympathetic rumble.
“Well now,” she replied, leaning back. “No reason to be unkind and all. Let’s start anew. I’m Feloovil Generous, and I own the King’s Heel.”
“Happy for you,” the sailor replied. “My name’s Emancipor Reese. Not that you’ll need to remember it, since we won’t be here long. I hope.”
“As long as you got the coin,” she said, “you’ll be welcome in here, is what I’m saying.” She glanced over at Spilgit who shared the table with the sailor, and scowled. “Take heed of that, Factor, since you got rent owing and the winter ahead’s long and cold.”
Spilgit leaned closer to Emancipor. “That’s why she calls herself Generous, you see.”
“Oh I’m generous enough,” she retorted, “when it’s appreciated. One thing I ain’t generous about is some fool showing up calling himself a damned tax collector. We built this place up ourselves and we don’t owe nobody nothing! Tell that to your prissy bosses, Spilgit!”
“I will, Feloovil, I will, and that’s a promise!”
“You do just that!”
“I will do just that!”
“Go ahead, then!”
“I will!”
Ackle spoke from the window. “What’s he doing with those bodies?”
Only Emancipor did not turn at that, still hunched over his steaming tankard and breathing deep the heady fumes.
Feloovil grunted her way upright and walked over to the inn’s door. She pushed it open a crack. Then quickly drew her head back and swung to Spilgit. “That the one who killed the golem?”
“He was tearing out its insides when we come up,” Spilgit said.
“How did he kill it?”
“No idea, Feloovil, but he did it and without getting a scratch!”
She realized she was having a conversation with the tax collector and quickly looked away, edging the door open a little further to watch Hordilo leading his two prisoners up the street towards Wurm Road. Spilgit showing up with her sweet daughter had been enough to make Feloovil want to slit the man’s throat right then and there. But that kind of public murdering was bad for business, and more than a few of her girls would be pretty upset with her and that was never good. Instead, she’d sent Felittle up to her room to await a proper hiding. For the moment, that little slut-in-waiting could stew for a while longer.
Ackle edged up beside her and she recoiled slightly at his smell. “He’s a bit too possessive for my liking,” he then said, squinting up the street. “About those corpses, I mean.”
She pulled him back inside and shut the door against the cold. “I told you, Risen, y’can sit at that one table since it’s the smallest one here and out of the way of the others, and y’can keep my dogs happy, too, but you ain’t a proper customer. So stop wandering around, will you? I swear I’ll lock you out, Ackle, and leave you to freeze solid.”
“Sorry, Generous.” The man stumped back to his seat.
Thinking, Feloovil returned to Emancipor’s table and sat down again across from him. “Spilgit, go away,” she said. “Find another table, or go upstairs and say hi to the girls.”