Asunder: A Gathering of Chaos by Cameron Hopkin (electronic book reader .txt) 📗

He’d never felt such a panicky, trapped feeling before. Maybe seeing all the grand places in the world is less important than I thought. A pang of homesickness coursed through him. He thought of the peace and lazy excitement of stalking a boar through the forest, feeling solid earth under his feet and knowing there wasn’t another human to be found for a kilometer in any direction. Will I ever be able to go back? Puldaergna told me to come back to them as we were boarding the ship, but he never said when. I don’t think he meant soon. I’m not even sure he really meant it at all. He pushed the thoughts aside. They were not new ones.

Gamarron stepped up the stairs to a multi-story ship with a low porch tacked on its side and a painted sign proclaiming it to be The Gladiator’s Berth. Underneath the words was a fairly good carving of a fighting man sitting atop his armor with a mug in one hand and the other around a buxom woman. The old monk seemed entirely at ease as he stepped through the door. Light and convivial noise poured out, and Kest ducked in behind him. Inside, the low ceiling showed exposed timbers blackened with soot, and torches burned on every other pillar. Dim afternoon light filtered in through portholes paneled with vidrin, and the common room filled the entire underdeck at this level. Long tables were hemmed in by rough benches, and perhaps two dozen mainlanders sat scattered across the room. There was a raised dais in one corner where a tired-looking woman sang a slow, pleasant song as she plucked a stringed instrument with an oversized body and a neck that came up above her head. No one was listening, and from her expression, she knew it. The biggest fire spore Kest had ever seen burned in the stone hearth at the far wall. Gamarron approached a long bar where another handful of customers sat on stools, and Kest followed.

A slender, balding fellow in a neat green suit stood behind the bar and looked up from a lively conversation with one of the drinkers as they approached. “Welcome, sir, and you too, lad! Have a seat where you like, and my son will be along in a moment to help you.” He seemed unnaturally pleased to see them, and Kest distrusted him immediately. His northerner companion, however, simply nodded and moved to an unoccupied stretch of table.

As he sat, Kest asked, “Why is that man being so friendly? It’s like he’s planning to steal something from me.”

Gamarron took a careful second look at the man in green. “He’s an innkeeper. It’s his business to be friendly. Happy people spend more than angry ones, I would imagine. It’s good business.”

Kest grunted. “Makes me feel as if I ought to keep a hand on my money.”

The older man chuckled. “You haven’t got any money.”

“Yes, I know, thank you.” There was a splinter sticking out of the well-worn table, and Kest picked at it with unnecessary vigor. “Since you bring it up, how long are you going to force me to work for you without pay?”

Gamarron raised an eyebrow. “I paid the price your chief asked.”

An angry retort welled up in him, but before he could speak, a youthful voice piped up behind them. “Good even, wise elder. Will you be wanting dinner for you and the lad?” Turning about, Kest saw a slight boy of no more than twelve wearing a clean white apron, a tray tucked under his arm. He could only have been the proprietor’s son. He had the same unnatural smile, the same slender frame, and only marginally thicker hair than his father. It stung to be called a lad by such a skinny whelp, but Kest held his tongue. He was getting plenty of practice at that lately.

Gamarron smiled at the youngster. “Thank you, child, yes. Bread and beer for both of us. What meat are you serving tonight?”

The boy’s smile never wavered. “We’ve got roasted king capon, two flats for a half, or a joint of ox turning in the back you can have for one per slice.”

Gamarron turned to Kest. “Beef or bird?”

Having never heard of capon bird nor tasted ox before, Kest shrugged, at a loss.

“Two of the capon, I think,” the monk said to the boy.

“And will you be staying the night? It’s a blue flat for a shared room. Two berths.” The lad had his job down pat, not missing a beat. He may have been imagining it, but Kest thought he saw a predatory gleam in the little boy’s eyes.

The older man must have seen it too, for he frowned. “Too much. Go get us dinner, and tell your father that I’ll give seven whites a night for a three-day stay. Otherwise, we’ll find somewhere else.” The crisp little waiter bowed his head and swept away without another word.

Kest jumped back to the subject at hand. “All right, you paid the price for me, fine. I’m… glad to benefit my tribe.” Even if they don’t want me. “But do you expect me to just follow you like a koira pup waiting for scraps? I don’t know what we’re doing or where we’re going. You won’t tell me what we’re doing. I’m not a child.”

“Anyone who must insist he is not a child has yet to prove otherwise,” murmured the savage.

Kest gave him the flat stare that statement deserved.

“Still,” said Gamarron, “I appreciate the sentiment. I had not thought –” he hesitated, then quite obviously changed what he’d been about to say. “I have not been a good travelling companion, I know. Whatever would put you at ease I apparently lack, and I am sorry for that.”

Kest shifted in his seat, surprised by the man’s openness. That’s a good start, at least.

Gamarron shrugged. “You have not wanted to talk to me, and I thought I was honoring your wishes. But if you wish, I can