Chapter 4 – The House

CY 579, Month of Readying 28 (Freeday)

Askyrja had no baggage. In fact, she had no possessions at all aside from her clothes, cloak, knife, side-pack and money-purse, so Colson just led her into the hall through the front door, which creaked as he opened it. She came in, peering all about when they came in and paused shyly by the door, fingering her cloak anxiously as she looked around.

The coster building was largely unadorned, dusty and a little dank, with old wooden floors bowed with dry rot, windows with panes stained by age, sconces for candles or oil lamps and – to her frank surprise – a spiraled three-foot horn mounted on the wall over a shelf of large, heavy books toppled onto their corners. Another big book lay open on a counter that blocked off the back third of the room. The ceiling was criss-crossed with thick oak rafters. A single door in the back wall led to Askyrja knew not where.

The room also held half a dozen men – all carters and labourers for the warehouse, she assumed – looking out the windows with their hands in their pockets, leaning on the counter. A thin old man with spectacles and a scrubby growth of beard stood behind the counter, making notations on a logbook. They were talking loudly among themselves as Colson brought her inside, and then every single one stopped and turned to stare; first at Colson, then at her. One man's jaw fell so that his half-chewed chaw tumbled to the dirty floor; he hastily picked it up and stuffed it back in his mouth. A big blonde fellow squinted bleary eyes at her; he seemed almost Suel, though the rest clearly were not.

'Lo,' Colson said casually. 'Just brought the load from Eglath in, Orvil. Need some limberers,' he said to the older man behind the counter. 'Terrence, for sure.'

No one moved. Their eyes went back and forth between Colson and Askyrja. She pressed back against the wall frame beside the door, feeling herself start to blush.

Colson walked up to the counter. 'Orvil,' he said again to the venerable fellow there, tapping on the board. 'Three tons spruce. It's less than what they said, but it's all that was there.'

The older man – who Askyrja presumed was Orvil – frowned, then bent to tap his ragged quill in a small inkpot on the counter and scribble an entry in his balance book, glancing up repeatedly.

'Colson,' a burly bearded man leaning on the other end of the counter said. 'Whatcha got there, now?'

'Three tons spruce, from Eglath,' Colson said, trailing off as he realized the actual meaning of the question. He glanced backwards and Askyrja, feeling self-conscious, tried to comb the knots out of her hair with her fingers again, feeling her face burning.

'Oh,' Colson said, shifting his feet. 'Lo, Albrecht, all… this here's As-keer-ja,' he said, pronouncing it carefully. 'She's a friend. She's… uh… foreign.'

'That right?' the man Colson had called Albrecht asked. 'Just a foreign friend, is that it?'

'She helped a bit with the run,' Colson said, almost defensively.

Albrecht raised one beetle brow. 'Really, now?'

'Ask Merrim if you don't believe me,' Colson shot back.

All eyes turned to Merrim, who was standing by the rear door.

Merrim gave them an expressionless squint and went out through the back.

'Well, I don't care what Merrim says,' Albrecht scorned. 'Why's she here?'

Colson frowned. 'Well… all right. Me and Merrim found her out on the Viscount's road. She seemed out of sorts, and she needed a lift into town, so we picked her up. She's a nice girl and all by herself, and she hain't made no trouble; in fact, she's right a personable lass and nice to talk ter!'

Albrecht's skeptical snort punctuated the air but Colson pressed on anyway. 'Look, Orvil, she come in off a boat, almost got killed when she fell in an' her party just kept on sailin'. She out o' sorts and she ain't got nowheres to go, see, and an' I was thinkin'… You're shop steward. Can she just stay a night until she gets herself sorted out? Just for a night? You know we've got some spare rooms these days; coster's not half full, even. An' she did help,' he repeated, falsely.

Orvil scratched his chin. 'Well, now… that's unusual, but… well if she did lend a hand then I suppose we can – '

'So you found some girl out on the road and now you want to know if you can keep her,' Albrecht translated. A couple of the others laughed. 'That don't seem right to me.'

'Well,' Orvil mused, 'When you say it like that, I guess I'm not sure we should – '

'It ain't like that,' Colson protested to Albrecht, then addressed Orvil again. 'She's had a rough few days, and needs some help, that's all. There ain't nothin' goin' on here,' he said flatly. 'I just think as we could help her out.'

'Damned irregular, Orvil,' Albrecht objected as if Colson hadn't spoken. 'The House is employees only. Can't say as I've ever heard of some stranger staying in the hall before, let alone a woman. Sure you didn't find her at Madame Lavey's in town, and just figure to bring her out here under our noses for a bit of the what-not?'

'No, I didn't! An' it don't matter she's a woman!' Colson retorted explosively. 'She's a nice person and just needs a bit o' help! Used to be…' he shook his head like a lion rousing itself for battle, 'You know, it used to be that the Walder's Wains Coster – ' to Askyrja's surprise they all touched themselves on the left breast, eyes reverently lowered ' – took a kindly eye to those as needed a bit o' help now an' then. What's that ol' Walder allus used to say? A friend in need is a customer on the mend.'

There were a few nods around the room. 'He did used to say that, good old Walder,' said the blonde man and again they made the reverent sign as Askyrja watched incredulously.

'Well,' Orvil said, scratching his neck, 'In memory of him, I guess after all it wouldn't do any harm if we just – '

' – an' it used to be thought a decent deed to help out a poor girl on the road – ' Colson added, trying to seize the momentum.

'Oh, is that what this is?' Albrecht scorned. The one chewing tobacco sneezed loudly and wiped his nose with a cloth. 'Sure you didn't just run into her at the Maiden and decide to sneak her into your room right under our noses? Why couldn't you just get a room there?'

'I'm asking for her to get her own room!' Colson said, affronted. 'She's a nice girl and we ought to help her out.'

'This ain't a boarding house, Colson, as even you ought to know,' Albrecht growled. 'We all agreed to the rules here.'

'True, rules are rules,' Orvil fretted, cleaning his glasses uncertainly.

Suddenly Askyrja could take no more. She stepped forward into the centre of the room and held up her hands. 'Please,' she said, shaking her head, fire-gold hair rippling. 'Colson was very kind to give me a ride to town. I do not wish to cause problems for him – or his friends. I will go. I wish him to be in no trouble.' The others gazed at her, frowning a little at her accent.

'Never you mind them, Askyrja,' Colson said stiffly, looking at Albrecht. 'Bunch of cold-hearted misers, that's what.' He went to her and took her arm gently. 'There's a cheap place just down the road from here where we can get you – '

'Now, just a moment here,' Orvil suddenly grumped, thumping his small fist on the counter. 'I'm shop steward, just as Colson says, and just as you all voted, fiveyear ago.' He tapped a hand on his chest importantly, then smoothed his vest and gave Askyrja a pensive look. 'My term ain't done for a tenmonth! So there! So I'll decide, thankee all!' He put his glasses on again and fixed them all with a scowl. 'Now… it's true indeed that the Coster house is meant for employees…' he began, and Albrecht smirked under his beard, 'but it'd be an insult to the memory of ol' Walder himself – ' they reverently touched their chests yet again ' – not to let her stay. So, I says… the girl can stay. For a day and night.' He held up a hand placatingly as a couple of the others grumbled. 'Just so's she's on her feet; it's the least we can do for such a polite young lady. Colson, see she's got a nice room – with a lock,' Orvil added firmly, nodding at Albrecht. 'And see about some food for her as well; I'm sure the Eel has something nice.' He gave her a warm smile. 'Welcome to Walder's Wains, young lady!' And they all made the sign on his chest again.

Askyrja, not knowing what else to do, courtsied prettily in thanks; she'd learned that much in the Great Hall, a lesson her mother had reinforced once or twice with a wooden spoon. But the remembrance opened the way for other things that had scarcely troubled her in days and days of walking, and the focus of survival had dimmed. Now those thoughts settled over her like a pitch-black blanket, dizzying her with despair.

'Thanks, Orvil,' Colson said sincerely. 'Now, if that's settled,' he said, scowling at Albrecht, 'Askyrja, let's get you settled.' Albrecht grunted and made a dismissive gesture.

Orvil and Colson showed her to her room and it was, indeed, the best they had.

It was up on the second floor and small, scarcely three yards across and five long, with a small, grimy south-facing window, sufficient more to the transient needs of the men of the company as they rolled through east or west. There was a simple, rickety wardrobe, a stained side-table and a thin mattress stretched over a rope-frame bed with a lumpy pillow. The wall was an aged, dingy yellow marked with popped studs.

Colson went out and bustled back in with some fresh blankets, which looked scratchy but warm. He also brought a broom and a cloth, engaging in a short frenzy of cleaning and sweeping and tidying up, even scraping at the window's dried grime with his fingernails. 'See? It's… er… nice. The beds don't look like much, but they're comfy! The company don't scrimp,' he asserted, though it was evident that they had, and did.

Askyrja looked inside, then turned and put on a hollow but grateful smile. 'Thankyou,' she said quietly. 'Thankyou for letting me stay here tonight, especially since I am new. I will not bother you, I promise.'

Orvil shook his head. 'You're no bother, young lady! Why, we haven't had as lovely a guest in… well, ever.'

She nodded weakly hanging her bag on the bedpost and standing in the centre of the room, looking around disorientedly. None of it seemed real. Everything was like a wild dream – or a nightmare. The air was chilly and she rubbed her shoulders. 'I'll just nip and grab a log or two,' Colson said quickly, spying the ash-choked ice-cold hearth, and rushed out. Orvil made small talk and helped tidy a little.

Colson returned with some sticks for kindling, which he put in the hearth with the logs atop it, but he hadn't brought a brand to light it with. 'I can do it,' Askyrja said, kneeling beside him in front of the grate. Almost mechanically she drew her knife – alarming the others – and expertly and effortlessly sheared one of the twigs down into a bushy structure, then took a flint from her pouch and struck sparks on it with her knife until one finally caught. She blew on it until it smoldered, then put it in the grate, fanning it as a flame caught and started to rise.

'That's impressive, Askyrja,' Colson said in surprise. 'Didn't think a rich girl like you'ud know a trick like that! Tell you what – if Orvil will add some wood and get the room warmed up a touch – ' he glanced at the window where ice had crept around the corner panes ' – I'll get you some food.'

As Orvil fiddled with the wood and grate, Colson led her back downstairs and down a short hall behind the front room into a somewhat dingy but unexpectedly large eating room with a very long table, a wide cookstove and a broad preparation board. There were cabinets on the wall as well, a washtable and barrel, and a few dirty plates, meatboards and utensils scattered around.

It also occurred to her that she knew nothing about them. Yet, suspicious and dismissive as her folk were by nature, the people of this land did not seem threatening from what she had seen. They seemed kind, almost welcoming. And they clearly knew nothing of weapons; even her knife seemed to concern them. She had been… upset in front of them, and that was embarrassing, but she did not fear them, as such. They seemed more concerned with some strange rule of their business – for that was what this place was, a place of commerce – than with threatening her. The one man, Albrecht, actually resisted her staying here, so she did not think they wished to kidnap her. It was strange. In any event, she would not turn down their help; she would see what came of it.

'Let me see… looks like there's some soup hanging around in the pots,' Colson said. 'Good, still warm.' He fetched two wooden bowls from a drying rack and two spoons, which to his credit he did inspect to see they were clean. He ladled each bowl full and brought them over. 'Here y'are!' Askyrja peered inside – it seemed to be some kind of broth with big rough-cut chunks of meat and a few floating beans. Colson cheerfully dunked a spoon into her bowl. 'Eat up! Won't last forever!' And he set to with a will.

Askyrja picked up her spoon and sipped at the broth. It was acceptable, but stale and unflavoured, spiced only by the brine of what she realized had clearly been salt pork. Someone had boiled that, thrown a few hard red beans in it and called it soup. She wrinkled her nose; surely they could do better than this? Still, she was starving and ate gratefully, though the taste did not recommend it. 'There are fewer of you than there used to be,' she observed, suppressing a wince at the soup.

Colson looked up, surprised. 'That's so. How did you know that?'

She cocked her head, looking up the length of the table and the stove. 'There are only – eight of you? But a room such as this would sit many more than that.' She took another sip, shuddering a little at the soup again. 'The stove and the cutting table are too large for eight, also.'

'Huh,' Colson said, pausing his shoveling. 'But we could just have lads out and around,' he contested, using his spoon to gesture.

'I do not think so,' she replied confidently. 'I looked at the doors of each of the rooms upstairs and there was dust in front of the doors of all but about eight. There are fewer of you than there used to be?'

Colson stared, then slowly nodded. 'Yer right. That's… amazin'.' He shook his head in disbelief. 'But yer right. Used t' be that we had a lot of lads, but a lot of 'em done quit; said the roads got dangerous, like I was talkin' about before. Hit a peak about the time Dalg and Rodrik went down south with some cloth; they vanished, them an' the whole caravan. Just gone.' He stirred his soup. 'Since then… people been leaving. Orvil was thinkin' about stopping south runs altogether, but he ain't so far. Not sure what's like to happen to us,' he said quietly after another moment. 'It ain't good. And we ain't the only ones sufferin', neither. A few businesses seen people lit out for Veluna or Furyondy. Friend o' mine went all the way to Greyhawk, if you can believe it.'

'Why does not your – Viscount? – do something?'

'Well, s'like I said – he's gettin' on, Elf blood in him or no. He wasn't all that spry back during Elmridy Meadows, neither. Someday mebbe he'll do summat, an' someday soon, I'd hope.' He looked up. 'But anyway, enough of all that – how's your soup?'

'It – it is good,' she lied, then thought. 'I wonder... you could add some herbs to this. Garlic, pepper, sage, butter – there are many that might make it… better,' she said.

Colson made a face. 'Well… I suppose it's a bit bland now that you say it… do you know a lot about makin' food, Askyrja? I didn't think rich girls knew about that.'

She blinked – another deviation in her story – but the solution was simple and came to her instantly; her life simply filled in the gaps. 'My mother insisted that we learn how things were done in the kitchens, so that we would always know how to manage them. And I always liked to see the food being made.' She smiled disarmingly and he asked nothing more.

When they'd finished, Colson cleared up – which involved him putting the bowls in a pot of water – and took her around the neighborhood. 'Not much t' see here, Askyrja – warehouses an' shops an' such.' It was true enough that there was little of interest here; nearly the entire district was for businesses, including numerous long halls, very square and lightly made – by her reckon – for the storage of goods. He led her around a little longer, pointing out some of the inns and taverns, and then took her down by the waterfront.

There was a harbor there with long stone piers bounded with logs. It was nicer than the business district –she liked the heady, damp air – and he took her on a promenade around the docks. There were a score of longships, knarrs, cogs and small carracks in with their rigging rolled up and river sailors everywhere. Some were bringing in catches of river fish – trout, carp and shad, others crates, building supplies, barrels and tuns of she knew not what. Askyrja seemed to attract less attention here, suggesting they were more used to foreigners. There did seem to be a variety of people about: bronze Flan, tan Oeridians with hair colour ranging from gold to brown and more of the strange Bakluni, a people she had never seen until she met Merrim, along with mixes of all of the above.

There was another strange people here too, though fewer: short and olive-skinned with long dark curly hair, wearing colourful clothing of dyed cotton and linen. They plied strange flat-bottomed skiffs with triangular sails backed by square rigs along the edges of the river. 'Rhennae,' Colson said, eying them. 'Wanderers up an' down all the rivers; they have little boats like those you see here, but also big barges with several families on 'em, all related. Cheerful enough people, nice enough to their own kind, sure… but like we say, you count your rings after you shake hands with 'em.' Askyrja nodded slowly. One of the men aboard a short, wide skiff noticed her looking and waved effusively, calling to her in his tongue. Colson grunted and led her away.

'This is very nice of you to take me around, but should you not be at work?' she asked at length.

'Nah,' he said. 'I done lots of overtime on that run, and the lads are getting the loading ready for tomorrow's deliveries anyway. Tomorrow I'll be busy, though – an' you can come into the City with me too, an' have a look around.'

'So long as you are not in trouble,' Askyrja pressed, though in truth the company was well to her mind, for it kept away the shades haunting her.

'No worry of that,' Colson said firmly.

The light was falling and Askyrja's heart began to sink with it. 'If it is well with you, may I sleep for a little before dinner?' she asked as she opened her door with the key they'd given her.

Colson could see the fatigue around her eyes. 'Of course!' he said heartily. 'You get some rest an' I'll bring up some food later. Mebbe not that soup though.'

'You have been most kind,' she said earnestly to him. 'Thank you.' And she touched him on the arm.

Colson smiled from ear to ear. 'Goodnight, Askyrja,' he said from the doorway, a little longingly, then went down the hall as she gently closed the door.

Askyrja looked around the plain, dusty room and took a long breath, then carefully made the bed, putting one blanket between herself and the old mattress. She slipped off her boots, undressed and lay down in her smallclothes. The moon was up already and the bare window glowed like a silver square in the dim light.

How weird everything seemed in this small strange room in this strange new place. It was only – two days ago? – that she was being hunted by her father's killers for a letter she'd stolen weeks before, after a hunt spanning half a hundred leagues of flight and terror. She found herself lying rigid and still, listening intensely, half expecting the thunder of hooves and heavy fists pounding on the door, but that was foolish and she forced herself to be calm, to relax; wherever she was now, they at least did not know it. They were far behind her now.

She noticed a spider – early for the season, perhaps – crawling on the ceiling. She contemplated killing it, but why? When it was gone, who would know that it had passed? What would its lone death mean?

Then her heart thudded sharply and she trembled. Moments later her tears began flowing and she tucked herself into a small shape under the scratchy wool blankets, holding herself and weeping a long while until the dark overtook her.

She slept right through the soft knock on the door and her softly whispered name, tossing and turning as her mind catapulted her into the night.

She was riding the roan mare she'd stolen from her father's stronghold, racing west on the road from Soull to Granrud, her father's soldiers dark dots on the high snowy pass behind her, growing larger, and closer. Her mount was already frothing and flagging; she would need to steal another one in the next town.

She hurtled through a wooded bend in the road, losing sight of her pursuers for a few moments; perhaps they would slow to check her horse's tracks to see if she had dropped out of the saddle to hide in the woods and sent the horse on to fool them. It could buy her more seconds. She needed those seconds. She was panting in fear, sweating as much as her mount despite the blowing snow.

Suddenly an enormous, bearded figure burst out of the woods right in front of her, taller standing than she was on her horse, huge muscles bulging in his bare chest. She screamed in terror as the enormous figure of her very father, Jarl Orvung Bearslayer himself, stomped across the roadway forcing her to start to pull up on the reins. He was the size of a hill giant, or maybe even bigger. 'Thief! Traitor to your blood!' he roared, grabbing her horse's bridle and wrenching it to the ground one-handed, tumbling her out of the saddle to fall stunned at his feet. She dragged herself to her hands and knees, gasping with pain as a twisted ankle sent a shock of agony right up her leg into her spine.

'Thus do I pay all traitors!' Orvung's voice thundered triumphantly as the massive axe raised up, the perfect edge gleaming silver. She shrieked as it swung down for her neck in a steel flash of doom.

Askyrja awoke with a shriek of terror, scattering her blankets, and pressed a hand to her throat, chest fluttering as she looked everywhere, bewildered.

She was not in Rhizia – that was first a note of relief, and then of mixed relief and dread. She was… elsewhere… and most importantly, her father's soldiers were far away. She closed her eyes, breathing hard and feeling her heart thudding in her chest.

Then she jumped at a knock at the door, clutching her blankets to herself in alarm. 'W-who is it?' she asked, voice tremulous.

'It's – it's Colson, miss Askyrja,' came the familiar voice of the carter, sounding aggrieved. Askyrja let out a long, shaky breath, then got up and went to the door, wrapping the blanket around her. She unlatched it and peered out.

Colson was there, wearing a freshly-washed shirt and a clean jerkin, and carrying a plate of food on a tray: beef, rice and vegetables. It was a strange choice for the morning but the smell made her legs tremble and her stomach rumble. Askyrja rubbed her eyes. 'What – what time is it?'

Colson fidgeted. 'Just mornin',' he said, shuffling his feet. 'Ye slept in a little, but I – I didn't have the heart to disturb ye, figgered you was really needin' it. You seemed… tired. A little sad, mebbe.' His eyes were kind and solicitous. 'How d'ye feel now?'

'Better, I think.' She looked into his eyes. 'I…' she began, but trailed off, not knowing what to say. They stood there, Askyrja in her smallclothes and a blanket clutched to her body, and Colson the Carter in her doorway, awkwardly holding a tray.

'Look, er – why don't you get dressed and I'll take you into town for a look-see, see what we can do for you,' Colson said. 'And… Orvil said to say that, if you want to stay another night, he's all right with it, too. Said half the lads were better behaved than they have been in years, no cussin' and spittin' and whatnot on his floors; knew a lady were in the house, y'see. And yer no cost to house – the food ain't practically nothin'. So, if ye'd like to stay – ' He said suggestively, a little blush colouring his smiling face.

'I… I think I would like to take up your jarl Orvil on his offer… but I must pay.' Colson started to protest but she reached out and took his wrist. 'You have already been too kind. I cannot ask more from you.'

Colson blushed from his collar to his forehead, a bright, deep crimson. 'Well – I – if you're – all right – I'll just – ck – !' he blurted, then put the tray down and fled, mumbling something incomprehensible.

She watched him go, then picked up the tray and closed the door.

A few minutes later she came down the dusty stairs to the main office dressed in her old trews and shirt. She hadn't been able to wash but she wore her shining hair half up, with a braid tugging her bangs back over her ears and the rest cascading over her shoulders in reddish-golden sheaves. 'I thank you once again for letting me stay here,' she said shyly to the men there with another court curtsy. Orvil was behind his counter and Colson by the door – and two of the other men, one a big blonde man with tired-looking eyes, and the other chewing some kind of hard wadded leaves cemented in a paste. He paused, seeing her, and snatched up a handkerchief to sneeze mightily into it, expectorating thereafter at his feet. 'And – for your offer of another night,' she said, ignoring the crude gesture, 'I wish to accept, if it is still well with you, Master Orvil.' She gave them back the empty plate with a little curtsy, as her mother had taught her.

Scowling at the spitting man, Orvil was caught off guard. 'It – why, yes, of course!' he said, coming round the counter to her and taking her hand. 'It's no bother! You're a most pleasant guest, Miss Askyrja,' he added, making a short bow. 'Did you sleep well?'

'I did,' she said with a wan smile. 'I… I was… very tired. I have had… long days since… since I fell off the boat.'

Orvil's looked wonderingly at Colson. 'Well… anyway… you take your time, young lady,' Orvil said sagely. 'We're happy to have you.'

Askyrja she gave him another little curtsy in thanks and he inclined his head. 'You are very kind to let me stay,' she said shyly, brushing her hair back, smiling and fixing him with her soft, expressive eyes exactly as Kara had taught her. 'Your beds are most comfortable,' she lied smoothly. Practice was improving her skills, she felt.

Orvil blushed warmly and his smile went from ear to ear. He straightened his leather vest and puffed out his chest. 'Well now, that's quite all right, miss Askyrja; your money's as good as the next person's,' he added, as if to justify his choice. 'Hell's bells, maybe we should think about making this place an inn, Colson my lad,' Orvil opined sardonically. 'Money's money and we've certainly the room these days. And it seems to attract all the nicest customers,' he added, addressing Askyrja again.

'I suggested,' Colson said, 'maybe we could like send a letter to someplace in Urnst, let them know that if the boat she came in on – and then fell off of,' he added, giving her what she would have sworn was a teasing smile, ' – comes in they should get noticed she was alive, and here. Got to be a caravan heading that way sometime soon, though it'll be a long time afore we hear back. We just need paper and pen. Can you write, Askyrja?'

Askyrja shrugged; she could, as it happened. 'I can read and write, but only in Suel,' she clarified. Her father had insisted on her being able at least to do that, and she could manage a few written words in Common. She was better at spoken tongues and could do so prodigiously, knowing a little Goblin, Ogrish and even a little Giantish, though she had never so much as met any. Which was probably for the best, she reflected.

'Well, we can find someone, I suppose,' Orvil mused, scratching his chin. Clearly he was illiterate in Common, too. 'But he'd come back and get you, Miss Askyrja? He wouldn't just leave you here?'

Askyrja opened her mouth, then shut it and shook her head helplessly. 'I… do not know for sure,' she finally said, looking at the floor, feeling horrible for putting them to such trouble for the sake of her lie.

Orvil's mouth dropped open and he went red, then white with outrage. 'What? Why, I don't know what sort of cad would leave a helpless young girl here on her own! But never you mind, Miss Askyrja: you stay here just as long as you like. Outrageous!' he huffed, beginning to pace angrily, bow-legs stumping along. 'What times are we coming to?'

'Well, here's ink, paper and wax,' Colson said, retrieving them from behind the counter. 'We can at least try 'em. Now – where to send it?' But it turned out that none of them knew where ships generally put in in Urnst.

They asked around and finally Albrecht suggested that the most likely port any ship approaching Urnst would arrive at was Radigast City or, failing that, High Mardreth or maybe Bampton. He'd never lived there, but had cousins who did. 'Why do you ask?' he scowled, leaning on his doorframe.

'Miss Askyrja's going to write a letter to there, see if she can reach him before he's gone again.'

Albrecht rolled his eyes with a groan and shut the door.

Colson muttered something under his breath. 'Well anyway, Askyrja, now we know where, let's write 'em – one for each city, just to be safe.' Orvil took up the implements and quickly jotted out three letters. It only took him a few minutes but the weight of guilt at her deception still lay heavy on Askyrja's shoulders as she watched him scrawling. When they were done, Orvil folded them, wrote the name of the city in question on each and sealed them with wax. 'There. Colson, I'll have a lad run them down to the harbor and see if he can find anyone to take them. No, no – no charge, young lady,' he insisted when Askyrja reached for her purse. 'We're a shipping company and no one minds taking such for us.' He smiled benevolently, even taking up the manner of a kindly inkeep. 'Now, what are your plans for the day?'

'I've a couple deliveries in town ye could come along for this afternoon,' Colson suggested casually. 'You could see some of the city, maybe buy some things ye need.'

'I would like that very much,' she smiled. 'But – I would also like to help. I am strong.' She rolled back one sleeve and flexed dramatically, lithe feminine muscles compact and taut under their sleek feminine padding.

Orvil looked pained. 'Oh – no no, miss, you don't have to do that! You're a guest! We're doing what's right and proper and we wouldn't want to put you out.'

'Please,' Askyrja said gently, taking Orvil's hand now. 'I would like to help. You have already been so kind – I wish to return your kindness.'

Orvil considered. 'Well, you're already paying for your room, so I don't know how you figure it – but I suppose you could give Colson a hand, if you like. And he could show you about, too – and he'd be there to keep an eye on you too as you go about. Don't take me wrong, miss, the city's all right but there are a few bad characters in there and you just never know. Still, I suppose it would be up to Colson…'