‘Whenever you like.’
‘Can you recommend a place to stay for a few nights?’
‘There’s a tavern close by. They have rooms, and the finest food you’ll ever eat. They also have a musician who plays the sweetest music I ever heard. The place is called the Wise Owl. Turn south outside the entrance and it’s in the third street on the left. You’ll not find better. Mention my name to Ceofrin, the owner.’
‘Thank you,’ said Tarantio, turning to lift his saddlebags and blankets from the gelding.
‘Do you have a name, son?’ asked Chase.
‘I am Tarantio.’
Chase grinned. ‘I’ll have the gelding’s saddle close by him, day and night.’
Hefting his saddlebags to his shoulder, Tarantio strolled away, Brune following. ‘That was a lot of money,’ said Brune. ‘I have never seen seven gold pieces together before. I saw one once. Lat had one; he let me hold it. It was heavier than I thought it would be.’
‘Gold is a heavy metal,’ said Tarantio.
They reached the Wise Owl just before dusk and tapped on the main doors. ‘We open in an hour,’ a tall, burly man shouted from an upper window.
‘We are seeking a room for a few days,’ Tarantio told him.
‘I’m not letting rooms at the moment.’
‘Chase sent us to you,’ said Tarantio.
‘Well, why didn’t you say that in the first place? Wait there and I’ll be down.’
Two log fires had been recently lit, one at each end of the wide dining area inside, and two serving girls were cleaning the wicks on the wall lanterns. There was a raised dais to the right of the long bar, upon which a blond young man, dressed in a shirt of green silk and leggings of brown wool, was tuning the strings of a hand harp. ‘I have just the one room,’ said Ceofrin, ushering the two men inside. ‘Two beds and a good fireplace. It overlooks the main square. The price is a quarter silver a night, but that also buys you breakfast and an evening meal. Wine or ale is extra. How many nights are you staying?’
‘Probably no more than four. I’m looking to rent a small house for the winter.’
‘There’s lots empty in the North Quarter. That’s where the Eldarin Plague hit hardest.’ Suddenly a series of shimmering notes filled the room and Tarantio jerked as if stung. Brune looked at him quizzically, but nothing was said, and the two men followed Ceofrin up the wide staircase. ‘Do you want to book a table for tonight? It’ll be busy and if you don’t book you’ll miss the music.’
‘Have some food brought to the room,’ said Tarantio. ‘I am not in the mood for music.’
‘I am,’ said Brune. ‘He sounds very good.’
‘You’ll not believe it until you hear it,’ said Ceofrin confidently.
As they moved along an upper corridor, a beautiful, dark-haired girl stepped out of a room and walked towards them, limping heavily. ‘My daughter, Shira,’
said Ceofrin, pride in his voice. ‘She will be cooking tonight.’
Tarantio bowed. Brune stood, mouth open, as Shira smiled at him. His mouth was dry, his mind reeling. In that moment he realized his hands were dirty, his clothes travel-stained, his hair a tangled, greasy mop. ‘Hello,’ she said, holding out her hand. Brune looked at it, then realized with a jerk that he was supposed to shake it. He glanced down at his own grubby palm, and wiped it quickly down the side of his leggings. Then he took her hand and gently squeezed it. ‘And you are?’ she prompted.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I am.’
‘He is Brune,’ said Tarantio, with a wide smile.
‘Yes . . .’ he said. ‘I am Brune. Pleased to meet you.’
‘And I am Tarantio,’ said the swordsman, taking her outstretched hand and raising it to his lips. With another dazzling smile she eased past them and made her slow, ungainly way down the corridor.
‘This way,’ said Ceofrin, leading them into a wide room with two well-crafted beds of pine. The ceiling was white and low, supported by long oak beams, and there was a stone-built fireplace set against the northern wall. The wide windows were leaded and Tarantio moved over to them, glancing out and down on the cobbled square. ‘It is cold now, but I’ll get a maid up to light the fire. Then it’ll be cosy, you mark my words.’