The Queen of Mages

Katin clipped a sheet to the clothesline, then peered around it. Master Coalridge was yelling at someone at the far end of the caravan—she was quite familiar with that tone by now—but she couldn’t make out the target of his wrath.

  Maggie glanced at her. “Susan! Quit dallying, or the master’ll have your hide.”

  Katin realized she’d been staring. She grabbed a pair of trousers from the washtub and wrung them out. Coalridge was quick to make his displeasure known, especially when someone was slow or lazy. He was not cruel, not exactly, but the brute little man gave no quarter if he thought someone was shirking.

  Laundry mistress. That’s what she’d been set as. She didn’t mind the work, but it left her sore each evening, on top of the fetching and carrying she had to do during the day. When the caravan stopped, the clotheslines came out, and Katin had to get the linens and dresses and trousers cleaned and strung up to dry overnight. Tonight her assistant was Maggie, a pinch-faced girl who gossiped endlessly and whose careless tongue had drawn the sting of Coalridge’s hand more than once.

  Supposedly everyone in the caravan took a turn at each chore—to break up the monotony—but of course none of the wagon owners ever got assigned to assist with the laundry. Only the apprentices, and sometimes a guard who’d done something to earn Coalridge’s ire.

  Worse, tonight the caravan hadn’t stopped until just before sunset, and by the time Katin had gotten the washtub ready and the clothes soaked, twilight was upon them. A campfire and a few torches gave more light now than the fading sky.

  The caravan was camped outside Averhel, a walled town on the edge of Barrowmere County. Katin had been dismayed when they’d turned south into Barrowmere, which sat in the Dukedom of Tidemere, instead of heading east into Seawatch, but she would not risk their cover by complaining. “Susan Smith” did her work and stayed out of trouble. Liam had suggested they steal horses and make for the coast, east past the Stormrest Hills, but Katin thought it better to wait until the caravan drew closer to the coast on its own.

  The town magistrate and half a dozen hastily deputized constables had emerged from Averhel to tell the caravan they’d have to camp outside the walls, even though the gate was still open when they arrived. Everyone heard Coalridge shouting at the magistrate, who replied firmly that no strangers would enter the town until morning.

  Katin looked up at the sound of footsteps. She smiled to see Liam walking toward her. “Dear wife,” he said to Katin. “Good evening, Maggie.”

  Katin heard irritation in his voice. “Husband,” Katin said.

  Husband. He had the perfect excuse, but still he hadn’t tried to bed her. She was grateful; she’d lain with men before—strangers—but ever since Parvis, the idea of bedding anyone chilled her.

  He kept his distance now, watching her as she hung up sheets and shirts and wash-up cloths. “No work to do, Mister Smith?” Maggie said as she scrubbed at a dress.

  “No trade today, so nothing to put in the ledgers. Tomorrow’ll make up for it, though.” Liam—“Oliver Smith”—had been assigned to help with the account books Master Coalridge kept in his wagon. Katin would gladly trade with him, if she could work with numbers the way Liam had been taught. Sitting in a cozy wagon all day sounded a sight better than scrubbing stains from underclothes.

  “What was all the shouting?” Katin asked.

  Liam rubbed at his chin. “I, ah, made a suggestion about the ledgers. Master Coalridge thought I’d best shut my hole until I learned a thing or two.”

  Katin shook her head at him. “You ought to know by now he doesn’t want your ideas.”

  “Is it my fault if he wants to waste a dozen crowns a year because he doesn’t separate sundries from dry goods? Honestly, I’ve no idea how the man got this far.”

  “Let sleeping dogs lie,” Katin said.

  “Don’t let him hear you call him a dog. I think he might have fleas.” He scratched comically at his hair, making Maggie laugh. Katin found herself glaring at the girl.

  ———

  Master Coalridge pounded on the town gate the instant the morning sun peeked over the trees. The magistrate came back and threatened to bar them from the town, until Coalridge threw him a small, jingling pouch. The gates opened soon after, but the magistrate still had every member of the caravan questioned. Katin had no idea what he wanted; he only asked her where she was from and how long she’d been with the caravan. She answered as truthfully as her false identity allowed, saying she was from Hedenham, where she’d joined the caravan. The magistrate eyed her dubiously but told the guards to let her pass.

  She’d had to pack up the laundry, which hadn’t completely dried in the cold night. It was damper here than Hedenham or even Cleavesport had ever been. So once the caravan rumbled to a halt in Averhel’s town square, Katin had to bring the laundry out again, to dry in the rising sun. Maggie helped, grumbling about wasted work.

  Katin nearly screamed when the magistrate, a petulant old man with beady eyes, told her she had to take the laundry down again. They wouldn’t tolerate such an unsightly display in the middle of the town square, he huffed at her, as if it were obvious. She went to Coalridge to ask if there was anything he could do, but he waved her away. “You’re bothering me with this rubbish?” he barked, counting through coins and scratching numbers on a sheet of parchment. He didn’t even bother to look up at her. She glanced at Liam, sitting beside him and double-checking the caravan master’s arithmetic. Liam only glanced up for a moment, smiling helplessly, but he could not say anything. “Go deal with your problem, girl,” Coalridge growled.

  She came to a compromise with the magistrate. Three of the wagons—the ones with the caravan’s supplies, and bunks for the apprentices, that weren’t used for shop fronts—could be pulled around into an open square, and she could put the laundry between them. That way the laundry wouldn’t be an eyesore to the town’s residents. For the fourth side she could use the wall of the magistrate’s office, which sat at one edge of the square.

  It still took half the morning to get the laundry stowed again, get the horses hitched up to each wagon and pulled around to the right position, and then get the laundry out and strung up. Katin’s arms ached by the end of it, and it was not even noon.

  Maggie, who’d been helping, left as soon as they were done. “I’ll tell the old dog you’re finishing up, if he asks,” the girl said, eyes crinkling. Katin was glad for her help, even if she did natter endlessly. Luncheon would come soon, and Katin wanted to rest a spell first.

  Katin perched on the back step of one of the wagons, hidden from prying eyes. She rubbed at her sore arms. She’d never had to work this hard, not even at the brothel in Cleavesport. At least then she’d had a real bed, even if she shared it with two other girls, in a cozy room in the back. Living out of a wagon was a mad existence.

  Well, the wagon owners were all mad enough to do it. She couldn’t understand why someone would choose to live on the move like that, never settling down in one place. When she’d come off the streets, a safe place to call home had been a prize beyond measure to her.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock. She jerked to her feet, fearing it was Coalridge coming to growl at her, but instead she saw the handsome face of Cameron Longwood, one of the wagon owners, peeking around the edge of the laundry wagon. “Lunchtime, love,” he called out in his soft baritone.

  “Oh, it’s you,” she sighed, relieved.

  “You thought it was old Coalridge come calling,” Cameron said, stepping out and leaning against the wagon. Katin realized he was blocking the only way out of the little laundry pen she’d made. She stood and waited.

  Most of the caravan folk wore linen or wool in dull shades. Cameron always went about in fine, bright silks. Today he had an embroidered doublet the color of flaxseed to complement his sandy hair, with scarlet stripes down the sleeves and matching scarlet trousers. Cameron insisted on washing all his own clothes, for fear that “a clumsy lowborn girl like you might damage them.” He’d
said it so apologetically, she’d taken a while to realize he’d been insulting her. And lowborn? He was just as common as her! The memory incensed her all over again, but she tried not to glare at him.

  He watched her for a few seconds, a permanent smirk twisting his lips. They were nice lips, on a nice face, but Katin mistrusted him. He fancied himself a ladies’ man, always flirting with the girls, or at least the apprentice girls. The two female wagon owners were wise to him. And so was Katin. Besides, she had Liam.

  “Well, if it’s lunchtime, let’s go eat,” she suggested neutrally.

  Cameron smiled at her, and stepped forward. “You’re too pretty a girl to stay laundry mistress forever,” he purred. “I bet you could learn to be a proper trader.”

  She felt like backing away, but held fast. “I’m not much for numbers. My husband’s better at that.”

  He came closer. “Oh, it’s not just numbers, girl. There’s a certain knack to it, a willingness to…” He glanced down at her feet. “Stand your ground,” he finished.

  She lifted her head a little, trying to look defiant, and crossed her arms. “Thank you, no.”

  He stopped close. Too close. “A word from me and you could be sitting pretty next to your man, working the ledgers rather than breaking your back at laundry all night.” He reached up and caressed her chin.

  Goosebumps broke out all over her at his touch. Reflexively she slapped away his hand and drew her dagger.

  Cameron lurched back, startled. Katin circled wide around him and backed out of the wagon pen. She slipped away the dagger and forced herself to walk steadily toward where everyone else had gathered for luncheon. The altercation had started her heart racing, and the sight of other folk made her feel safer.

  A cauldron steamed over a fire next to a wagon the color of spring leaves, with garlands of golden flowers painted all over it. JANICE BRIGGS—VOLCANIC VICTUALS was written on the side in white letters. Janice herself stood over the cauldron, stirring absently. Few enough townsfolk had come to visit the caravan, and only a few men had been brave enough to try the spicy dishes she served up. Most of the apprentices had lined up already, bowls in hand, ready for soup and bread.

  Katin ended up in line behind Stump, the enormous, muscular chief guard, who said a pleasant hello. When Katin saw Cameron pass by, looking irritated, she moved halfway behind Stump. She felt much better when Liam came up to the line a few moments later and took her hand.

  Katin’s stomach grumbled as Janice declared the soup ready and started ladling portions into waiting bowls. Katin had gossiped plenty with the other girls, and they all despised Janice’s cooking. Everything was much too spicy, and the bread she made was bland and doughy. The men all complimented her, though, which probably had less to do with the food and more to do with her glossy raven hair and her enormous breasts that bulged out of her bodice. Some days Katin suspected that was the only reason she was still in the caravan at all. Janice’s bosom would have to be made of solid gold to get David Coalridge’s attention, though.

  Katin’s turn came and she took the soup and bread graciously. She and Liam retreated to the laundry wagon and sat on its back step. It was as close to private as they could get.

  Or it would have been, except Maggie and Amanda came rushing over. “Susan! Goodness, you won’t believe what we just heard,” Maggie cooed. Amanda, a skinny redhead who bobbed like a bird, nodded energetically. “Tell her!” she encouraged Maggie.

  Liam put down his bowl and took Katin’s hand. “Let me guess: someone in the caravan has done something scandalous, terrifying, or hilarious,” he deadpanned.

  The sarcasm went unnoticed. Maggie nodded vigorously. “Master Coalridge,” she whispered, and then stopped to look around warily. “Master Coalridge is sleeping with someone.”

  “What, right now?”

  “No, silly,” Maggie said, touching Liam’s arm for a moment. Katin glared at her, her grip on Liam’s hand tightening. Apparently “Oliver” holding hands with his “wife” wasn’t enough to dissuade the girl from flirting. Maggie went on, heedless. “I overheard Mister Venn talking to Miss Li, and he said something about ‘David’s little blossom,’ and winked at her!”

  “So who is it?” Liam asked.

  Maggie shrugged. “I don’t know.” She gasped. “Maybe it’s Miss Li herself!”

  Katin snorted. Tall, graceful Li Saong bedded by stumpy, glowering Master Coalridge? Certainly stranger things had happened, but Katin didn’t think it was a likely match.

  Liam leaned forward, his face set in a sober mask. “That would be serious indeed. Keep us informed if you find out anything else.”

  Maggie’s eyes widened. “S—serious? Why?”

  Liam glanced around furtively and leaned in even closer. Maggie and Amanda bent down, straining to hear as he whispered. “A caravan master who plays favorites with his wagon owners risks breaking up the whole enterprise. Why, if suddenly Miss Li’s wagon is moved to the front, the other owners will wonder. Then will come the accusations, the fighting, and one day—” He clapped his hands sharply, making them all jump, even Katin.

  The silence hung for a moment as the two apprentice girls stared at each other, mouths agape. Maggie turned back to Liam and nodded. “I’ll keep my eyes open.”

  Liam nodded solemnly and watched them leave.

  Katin glared at him. “Don’t encourage the girl. She’s going to get into trouble.”

  Liam’s false gravity dissolved in an instant. “It’ll keep her from putting her hand on my arm any time soon.”

  Katin’s breath caught. He’d felt her squeeze when she’d seen that. She blushed and looked away, embarrassed. She clearly remembered when she wouldn’t have felt one speck of jealousy over Liam, and now, after all this time, something was breaking through. She would not dare call it love, and she had no other name for it, so she tried not to think about it.

  Lunchtime ended, the selling began again, and Coalridge told Katin to assist Miss Li. LI SAONG—SILKS OF THE WORLD her cyan wagon shouted. Katin had never seen her like before: waist-length black hair knotted with blue handkerchiefs, curving brown eyes so pale they looked like gold, and wearing a silk dress of intense azure marked with a pattern of bronze circles that was most certainly not a Garovan style. Supposedly she was Liahni, from across the sea. Secretive, majestic, and serene was how Garovans thought of Liahn.

  Li Saong was anything but serene. She nearly yelled to be heard over a small gaggle of buyers, waving a bolt of amber silk like a scepter, sneering at offers she thought too low. Her words were soft and round, all the sharp edges filed off until she sounded like an angry wind chime.

  Katin scurried to fetch bolts or store them away as needed. The woman treated her as imperiously as any noble ever had, stating commands to the air rather than actually addressing her. Katin kept her complaints to herself.

  When the sun reached a hand above the horizon, Averhel’s magistrate showed up again and ordered the caravan out of town by sunset. Katin saw Master Coalridge try to hand another pouch over, but the magistrate shook his head vigorously and pointed toward the gate. Coalridge shouted obscenities at the man, but all the same signaled the caravan to start packing up.

  Katin’s helper this evening was Johann, a stocky fellow that Maggie had claimed was half-Vaslander. He was pleasant and quiet, though, not at all brutish and loud like Vaslanders were supposed to be, and he had a great love of music. He carried a small horn pipe wherever he went, and in idle moments its tender, forlorn whistle could be heard echoing through the caravan. Even Master Coalridge had no complaint about it.

  The caravan returned to its spot outside the walls, and spent the night there before departing at dawn. Coalridge cursed Averhel for having made them lose a day, and Katin saw the magistrate again, standing atop the town’s wall, watching with hard eyes as they left.

  ———

  The whole next day was taken up by travel over bumpy dirt roads. At sundown they came to another town, of a size with Ave
rhel but lacking a wall. When Katin asked, Janice said that it was called Turnbull. “We’ll likely set up in the morning. It’s too dark now,” she said, tossing her black hair over her shoulder and grinning at Cameron as he passed by.

  The silk-clothed trader came to a stop, bowing slightly toward them both. “A perfect evening for entertainment, I should think. I recall there’s a malthouse that’s open to all.” He leered at Janice’s cleavage for a moment, and went on.

  At least they’d been allowed to park overnight in the town square. The magistrate who came out to greet them seemed pleased to have a caravan visiting, and retained his smile despite being faced with Master Coalridge’s sour puss.

  Liam found Katin as she was hanging up sheets to dry. “It looks like most everyone’s going to this malthouse in town tonight,” he said casually. “It’s a public house, they call it, women allowed.”

  Katin sighed. “I don’t know. I’ve barely had any rest these past few days. I was going to sleep early if I could.”

  Liam’s smile faltered. “Ah. Well, if you… if you want me to stay with you, ah… I suppose…”

  He could not be more transparent if he tried. Katin smiled and shook her head. “No, you go on. Have fun. Try not to say anything to upset Coalridge, if he’s there.”

  “A man’s tongue is supposed to be free in a malthouse,” he complained.

  She lowered her voice and stepped closer. “When a man is who he says he is, and isn’t hunted by royalty, a man’s tongue can be as free as he wants.”

  Liam sighed. “I know, I know.” He petulantly kicked a stone as he strode away. Katin released a sigh of her own. How on earth could he forget? Katin didn’t go half a day without thinking of Dardan, and Amira, and Edon, and the horrors of Foxhill Keep.

  Finishing the laundry took until dark, and after a lonely dinner of cold chicken and potatoes, Katin went to lie down on her bunk. But she missed Liam; his presence had become a comfort to her, whether she liked it or not. After arguing with herself for several minutes, she put on her shawl and boots and went back outside. Half a dozen of Coalridge’s enormous guards prowled around the caravan. She saw no one else she knew. I guess most everyone did go. Everyone except me, who’d rather hide in a cold wagon than have a bit of fun.

  Turnbull seemed tidy and prosperous, with none of the suspicious glances she’d seen in Averhel. The malthouse was a few lanes away, so she asked directions, receiving polite smiles from the townsfolk.

  Raucous cheering and laughter assaulted her ears as she came in the door. Armin Venn—the caravan’s fur trader—stood atop a table, capering in time to Johann’s pipe as the crowd clapped. Johann managed to make his pipe sound lively rather than somber. Occasionally someone threw a bits of fried onion at Armin, and he caught them in his mouth, crunching away happily.

  Several of the caravan guards clustered around one table, drinking and laughing, slapping one another on the back. Stump stood near them, showing off his tree-trunk arms to two local girls, one of whom dangled from his biceps, giggling.

  Li Saong had a booth in the corner. She ignored the ruckus, talking quietly to a man Katin didn’t recognize. She didn’t see Cameron anywhere, thank the Caretaker. Liam, it turned out, was the one throwing most of the onions at Armin, shouting “Hey! Ho!” with each piece. Maggie had contrived to sit right next to him, nursing her own cup of ale and laughing at all of Liam’s jests.

  Katin watched for a minute, and almost turned to leave, but was stopped in her tracks by the sight of David Coalridge laughing so hard that tears ran down his cheeks. He sat at a table next to Embuerto Botelli, a mysterious olive-skinned Parilian who rarely came out of his wagon, even when all the other traders were swarmed with buyers. MYSTIC ARTS read the letters on the side of his wagon, drawn in bestial slashes of blood-red paint. In fact blood red was the only color on his wagon at all, sprayed haphazardly around the doorway and windows. Katin wasn’t sure what he sold; his arms were covered in thin black lines that didn’t wash off. Botelli tapped his fingers together as he spoke, grinning below a thin, pointed moustache that curled around his mouth.

  Katin considered trying to eavesdrop on Botelli’s story, curious about what could make a man like Coalridge laugh so, but Botelli’s dark, painted eyes frightened her. Instead she threaded through the crowd over to Liam. He lit up when she tapped at his elbow, and tipsily planted a kiss on her lips. Maggie frowned at her approach, tossing her hair. Harlot. It takes one to know one. Katin almost giggled. How was she in such a good mood already? She hadn’t had a drop to drink. Perhaps the mirth in the air was infectious.

  She did want a drink, though, and was glad when a serving girl brought mugs of ale all around. That and the onions heartened her far better than the cold, gristly chicken had. But she kept reminding herself to not drink too much. Liam shouted and danced and acted the life of the party, and she began to worry that he’d say something wrong. She stood up and shouted into his ear over the din, “Husband. Oliver.” His eyes met hers, and his glee faded for a moment. “Can we find a table? It’s crowded here.” He nodded toward the side of the room, then smiled and gave her another drunken kiss. She found that she did not mind it.

  They squeezed in at a table where a few of the other apprentices drank and chatted. Marcus, a bulky dark-haired man who usually worked with Cameron Longwood, waved as they sat. “The lovely couple,” he said, grinning. “I heard tell someone’s got sharp claws.” He winked at Katin.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she lied, taking a sip of her drink.

  “Ooh, this should be good,” piped up Kelly, a plump middle-aged woman who seemed content with permanent apprenticeship. She’d been with the caravan longer than any of the other apprentices, and even most of the wagon owners.

  “Wha’ happened? Did somethin’ happen?” Liam asked, catching on. He was quite drunk, Katin determined, and she would have to keep him quiet. Her head was already feeling a little light from the ale. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. But she was penned in between Liam and Kelly, and bolting for the door would be even more suspicious.

  “Nothing happened,” Katin said, just as Marcus began, “Heard tell your wifey here pulled her knife on a certain well-dressed gentleman.” He chortled.

  Liam looked hard at her, his face clouding and turning even redder. “What? Who? Cameron?”

  “He was… bothering me at the laundry, in Averhel. I told him to go away.” She took another gulp, hoping someone would change the subject.

  “That man’s destined for bad things,” Kelly said, leaning in. “I heard tell he finagles his books, to cut Master Coalridge out of his fair share.” The wagon owners paid a percentage to Coalridge, for the benefit of being part of the caravan and its protection. If Cameron was cheating Coalridge, and the caravan master found out… Katin shuddered to think of the pain that would be inflicted, even if it was on someone as vile as Cameron Longwood.

  Katin encouraged Kelly to talk more, and was relieved when the conversation shifted away from Cameron entirely. She whispered to Liam, reminding him to keep quiet, and he nodded, looking put out. Well, he could be as put out as he wanted. If he slipped up and called her “Katin” in front of everyone, he’d suffer worse than a little lost fun.

  Her bladder grew uncomfortably full, and she squeezed out past Liam, promising to be right back from the privy. On her return, she saw that Coalridge and Botelli had switched tables, joining Li Saong and her mysterious companion. They all talked quietly, Coalridge’s characteristic snarl rising above the other voices. It scared her as usual, but at least it was less stupefying than hearing him laugh.

  As she passed the table, though, his hand darted out to grab her wrist. “Girl, I need an errand.” Coalridge’s grip was iron, and his breath stank of ale. “Go to the wagons, tell Larkin I need the envelope with the red seal. Red,” he emphasized, tightening his grip until it almost hurt. She wanted to wrench away but made herself freeze, until the caravan master let go a moment later.
br />   “Red seal,” she repeated, “yes sir.” Coalridge seemed to meet with a lot of odd folk in the towns they visited, from what she’d seen and heard. Other apprentices had gossiped about Coalridge’s mysterious envelopes. Kelly had once claimed Coalridge was a spy for the crown, and the envelopes held secret instructions to other spies. It sounded fanciful to Katin.

  She went to Liam, saying Coalridge had sent her on an errand. He barely seemed to notice, laughing at something Maggie said. The accursed girl had slid in next to him in Katin’s absence. Katin felt jealousy grasping at her, but she made herself turn away and go out into the cold night.

  The town seemed not half so friendly on this trip. Shadows lurked, watching her. She encountered no one except a pair of drunken men who whistled at her as she went. She bulled onward, ignoring them.

  She must have taken a wrong turn, because the street she found herself on didn’t look quite familiar. But then there was the square ahead, a torch glowing at each end of the caravan as usual. She must have come at it from another angle. Woozy, she stopped in the doorway of an apothecary, powders and potions on display in the window.

  Her head spun with drink and anger. They were never going to find Amira and Dardan… if the two nobles were even still alive. Katin and Liam had been with the caravan for weeks, waiting. For what? They should have split from the caravan and gone east as soon as they were clear of Hedenham, safely away from Warden Penrose. Instead they’d clung to the safety and growing familiarity of this band of merchants. Time slipped away; autumn deepened and the days grew short. A chill breeze seeped around her shawl, driving the point home.

  Larkin. Larkin, the guard. She’d tell him Coalridge’s command and then go to bed. Sleep. Yes, she needed sleep.

  She took a few steps further, and then jerked to a halt. A shadow ahead moved, or rather a person, slipping from one shadow to the next. A thief? No, something seemed familiar about him. And then he stepped into a pool of moonlight, and she knew that silhouette: Cameron Longwood. Why was he skulking about? He glanced around, then went in a door.

  When Katin reached it, she saw that it was an inn she’d passed on her way to the malthouse, but this was the rear side. Why was Cameron going into an inn? Perhaps he was tired of sleeping in his wagon. Even the largest wagon’s most comfortable bunk couldn’t compare to a real bed. But he had looked so furtive.

  He’s stealing from Coalridge, a voice whispered. What if he was meeting some… some compatriot, who helped him with his duplicity? If she could catch him in the act, Coalridge might throw him out of the caravan for good. It was no less than he deserved, the scoundrel. She recalled his touch on her chin, and shivered.

  Men like him. Men like him, and Edon, and Parvis, that’s what there is to fear. She’d catch him, and get rid of him. Yes. A tiny fragment of her mind screamed in protest, but she growled at it until it fell silent.

  Katin slipped through the inn’s side door. It led to a narrow hall that turned a corner and let into the common room. From there she could see the entryway and front desk. It was late; only one old man sat in the common room, smoking a pipe and staring into the fireplace. He did not look up at her as she stepped quietly past.

  There were no guest rooms on the ground floor. She found the stairs and went up, wincing at every squeaky step. The upper floor’s hall went both directions. Where had Cameron gone? Maybe he hadn’t come up here at all. Maybe he’d just gone out the other door. No; he must have come up. She went left, then changed her mind and went right.

  Katin stopped to listen at each door. At most of them she heard nothing. In one, a voice sang, a woman’s voice, soft. She didn’t recognize it. She moved on and reached the end of the hall. A window there looked out onto the square, and she could see the caravan guards moving silently through the night on their rounds.

  She started back down the other side of the hall. The second door hung slightly open. She peeked in. Empty.

  A click down the hall made her turn. A door opened and Cameron came out. Katin threw herself through the open door beside her and shut it. Her heart pounded. I’ll get caught, and then… then what? Can’t I be in an inn too? She forced herself to take deep breaths, one after the other until her pulse slowed. She opened the door and looked out again, just as Cameron went back into the other bedroom and pulled the door shut. He had been carrying a bucket or something; she hadn’t seen it clearly.

  She waited heartbeats. Ten, twenty, thirty. She tiptoed down the hall, praying to the Aspect of Terror that the floorboards wouldn’t creak. At Cameron’s door, she stood to the side, listening.

  “…tonight he’ll…hours…” She could tell Cameron’s voice, but the words were muffled. A woman giggled, then shrieked, laughing. “…mine…ever know…” he went on, sinister.

  “Move over,” came the woman’s voice, clearly. Katin’s jaw dropped. Janice! “Yes, there… ahhh, there,” she moaned, and then came a sound like someone clapping their hands together softly. Oh. No, not hands. More moaning.

  Katin bit her lip to keep from laughing, and ran to the stairs, down and out the front door past the innkeeper who only had time to say, “What—” as she raced by.

  She stumbled out into the cool night, gulping down air. Cameron and Janice. What a surprise. Well, Janice knew what she was getting into. The woman had made a point of warning her off of Cameron when she and Liam had first joined the caravan. Maybe she’d just wanted the louse for herself. Well she can have him.

  Katin let herself calm again, then went around the corner into the square. She found Larkin sitting on the step of Coalridge’s wagon. “Good evening, sir,” she said.

  “Evening, miss. Trouble?” He hefted his cudgel.

  “No, no. Master Coalridge said he needs, ah… the envelope with the red seal? He’s still at the malthouse with everyone else.”

  Larkin nodded. “Off with you, I’ll have one of the boys take it.” He whistled to one of the other guards as Katin walked away.

  She felt dizzy. The excitement had worn off and her vision popped with pale ghosts. She went to her wagon and struggled to take off her dress. In her shift, stretched out on the bunk, she wanted Liam warm beside her, but she wouldn’t go through the cold night again, not tonight, not for anything. Certainly not for him.

  CHAPTER 31

  LIAM